Sermons
EREV ROSH HASHANAH 5786: NO KING BUT YOU
Her funeral plans were known as “Operation London Bridge.” Queen Elizabeth the II, sovereign of the British Commonwealth, died just prior to Rosh Hashanah. The phrase “London Bridge is down” notified UK officials of her passing.[i] Two days after the Queen’s burial, King Charles, still awaiting formal coronation, was obliged to travel across the British Empire to take oaths before churches and peoples of Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales. Allowing time for the King in the field, Operation London Bridge called for nine months of mourning beyond which came the coronation of King Charles the III.[ii]
From these shores we observe royal rituals with curiosity.
“No Kings!” declared our founders post the American Revolution. They had observed abused power by a monarchy. This new country was to be one ruled by laws, governed by a constitution, with leadership chosen through elections. A skepticism of the rule of a king of flesh-and-blood is found in Judaism as well.
Tonight, on Rosh Hashanah, we sing the Avinu Malkeinu, a prayer that asks God for forgiveness. In Ashkenazi Jewish congregations, the well-known refrain of this prayer focuses on the last line: Avinu Malkeinu choneinu v’aneinu, ki ein banu maasim… – Avinu, Malkeinu answer us with grace for our deeds are wanting save us through acts of justice and love. But if we were to visit a CHaBaD congregation on this day, we are more likely to hear a different refrain, composed by the founder of CHaBaD, the Alter Rebbe: [sing] Avinu Malkeinu, ein lanu Melech, , eileh Atah. Avinu Malkeinu – we have no King but You. This refrain emphasizes God, the King-of-Kings, as Ultimate.
Tonight, we mark the end of the month of Elul and the start of the month of Tishrei.
The Alter Rebbe imagined that during Elul the King-of- Kings leaves his palace and enters the fields, to draw closer to His people — akin to how Charles the III visited his subjects in the months prior to his coronation. On Rosh Hashanah eve, the Alter Rebbe pictured the King-of-Kings crossing a narrow drawbridge, returning to His palace, and there His coronation was to take place. This ritual of crowning the King-of-Kings on Rosh Hashanah is embedded in words and structure, into the traditional prayers we read tomorrow.[iii]
However, when we declare God as our only King, Jewish history presents us with a conundrum. How do we explain the stories of Israel’s monarchy during the first commonwealth? How do we justify King Saul? King David? King Solomon? King Ahab?
In the prophetic books, it is related that as the prophet Samuel aged, the Israelites feared for their future and yearned for a tangible leader, a human king. The prophet Samuel expressed hesitation, yet God instructed him to appoint such a king as the people had requested. Samuel was also instructed by God to inform the Israelites about potential disadvantages to having a monarch. Samuel sounded the alarms: A king of flesh-and-blood would conscript their children for armies; use their children as laborers; seize their property; set taxes. Be careful what you ask for, warns Samuel. Yet still the people cried: “We must have a king over us.”[iv]
The scenario of the people wanting a king of flesh-and-blood is predicted in Deuteronomy 17. The Torah says, when the people demand a sovereign, God will choose the King from among the Israelites. It will be forbidden for this king to use his position to gain wealth or wives. As a safeguard for ethics, this theoretical Israelite king will write, and own, his own personal Torah scroll, read it daily, so his rule is imbued with God’s teachings.[v] Deuteronomy demands that, the Israelite king of flesh-and-blood, like every Jew, is subject to a higher authority, the King-of-Kings.
The Talmud legislates that an Israelite king must show more subservience to the King-of -Kings than any other Jew. When we, the people, chant the Amidah prayer at the center of our services, we bow at the beginning and end of the Avot V’Imahot section, and the Modim rubric, four bows in total, to show our humbleness before God. We are warned not to be over-zealous with our humility. We, the people, demonstrate with our bodies that know our place in the universe. The Cohenim, those of priestly descent who once led us in Temple times, are instructed to bow at every Baruch Ata Adonai so that they too demonstrate humility. But a King of flesh and-blood, who prays this same Amidah prayer, must, according to Jewish law, bow and remain prostrated throughout the whole Amidah, a physical comprehension of his lesser status vis-à-vis the King-of-Kings. [vi]
Let me ask you to rise for a short minute.
- When we bow during the Amidah, we bend our knees on the word Baruch/Bless – to pay homage to God. Say and do it with me. “Baruch”.
- We then bow from the waist on the word Ata/You. Together – “Ata”.
- Finally, we straighten ourselves up when we say God’s Name. Act it out with me – “Adonai”
- Now we are erect, standing facing the world filled with God’s glory.
You just acted out God’s ideal for his style of kingship with your body.God asks that we stand face-to-face with him. God leads not as a tyrant. God seeks our partnership and involvement in decisions that affect our lives. [vii]
Be seated.
Michael Waltzer in his book “In God’s Shadow” argues that from biblical times we can see this tendency for peoples involvement in God’s leadership, an “almost democracy.”[viii] Here is a sample of an almost democracy story from our tradition:
Bezalel son of Hur was the artist appointed to build the tabernacle the Israelites carried in the wilderness. In the Talmud, Rabbi Yitzchak described how this appointment to leadership was made. God says to Moses, “Hey Moses! What do you think of appointing Bezalel to this position? Is he suitable?” Moses responds: “God, Bezalel is suitable if you think so!” God has Moses approval. But that is not enough. God tells Moses to go ask the Israelite people if they think Bezalel, is a suitable leader. Moses then asks the people their opinion. The people replied to Moses: “If he is suitable in the eyes of the Holy One, and in your eyes, all the more so is he suitable in our eyes.”[ix]
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks suggests that in such texts we have the kernel of “We. The people…” Governments derive their authority only from the consent of the governed.[x] He too believes that democracy is an ideal and its tendency is hinted strongly in our holy books.
So, if Democracy is an ideal, why declare God’s kingship? Surely declaring: “No Kings” would make more sense? What is the relevance of this repetitive motif of God’s Kingship, of re-coronating God, on this day of Rosh Hashanah? Here is a story that answers that question:
Once a group of merchants started out on a journey by foot. After crossing the bridge and trekking far from their hometown, they gathered around a fire at night to share what merchandise they had brought with them – one had scarves, another glass vases, and another jewelry. Each merchant believed their goods were more valuable than the others, which led to a debate about potential earnings. One merchant remained silent during the discussion. Eventually, another asked what he had brought? He showed them a tiny Torah scroll. This was met with laughter and dismissive remarks regarding its value.
The next morning, after traveling further, and crossing many bridges, the merchants were robbed. The thieves took the scarves, vases, and jewelry, but dismissed the Torah scroll as worthless, returning it to its owner. The merchants now penniless trekked a distance to the next village.
Once they arrived the first thing the merchant with the Torah scroll did was visit a Bet Midrash, where he found students studying and addressing ethical issues. He answered some of their most difficult questions. Astonished and comprehending the visitor’s wisdom, the students invited him for dinner but also prevailed upon him to consider a teaching position, both of which he accepted.
In the late afternoon, the other merchants, penniless, approached the newly appointed teacher who they saw was prospering with his new students. They were demoralized and hungry. The merchants requested their companion’s assistance in securing food due to their losses. The teacher relayed this request to his students, who agreed to host them for a meal. During the meal, the merchants observed hospitality and ethical Torah discussions.
The merchants, so the tale goes, came to comprehend the relatively poor value of their merchandise, compared to that of the contents of the Torah scroll that had resulted in such wealth. [xi]
The wealth found in Torah is its teachings and values. When we coronate the King on Rosh Hashanah we are reminded of the ideals we need to live by. Torah ethics are our fortune and treasure. Both kings of flesh-and-blood, a country’s leadership, and we, the people, are subject to a higher moral code. To quote Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once more:
“The Jewish people has experienced many forms of political leadership – elders, judges, kings, community councils, … a democratically elected parliament… There are, however, constraints … One is the overarching sovereignty of the Torah: the priority of right over might.”[xii]
Recall that Deuteronomy teaches that a King of flesh-and-blood is required to write their own Torah scroll, which they then own, and read daily, as a constant reminder of the ethics by which they are beholden. Can you imagine, if each time a new Prime Minister of Israel is elected, they had to immerse themselves in Jewish text? Can you imagine, upon inauguration, if an American President, had to seclude themselves, write in their own hand a copy of the Constitution, and then be required to read it daily? How might that change and impact their behaviors?
It is taught that the Men of the Great Assembly, the council of scribes, sages and prophets, who existed from the early second Temple period to the Hellenistic period, were known as a “Great Assembly” because “they returned the crown of the Holy One, Blessed be God, to its former glory.” These men found greatness because these leaders of the people acknowledged God’s wisdom, might and awesomeness.[xiii] They prioritized right over the power that they had as a synod.
Does our generation have the strength to fight for right over might? On this coronation day, can we commit ourselves to promoting God’s wisdom, might and awesomeness? Will we also be known as a generation of men and women that are “Great”, who through deeds of justice and love returned the crown to our King-of-Kings, where the crown belongs?
As we enter this year of 5786, may we find multitude of ways together and as individuals, to walk the narrow bridge of our times, towards morality and ethical behavior, as Jews, as Americans, as citizens of the world.
[i] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_London_Bridge
[ii] https://www.firstpost.com/explainers/explained-why-charles-coronation-is-taking-place-nine-months-after-he-was-proclaimed-king-11432251.html
[iii] https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/article_cdo/aid/155856/jewish/The-King-in-the-Field.htm
[iv] I Samuel 8:9
[v] Deuteronomy 17:14-20
[vi] BT Berakhot 34a
[vii] Teaching from a lecture by Rabbi Michael Strassfield.
[viii] Walzer, Michael In God’s Shadow: Politics in the Hebrew Bible (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), p 200.
[ix] BT Berakhot 55a
[x] Sacks, Jonathan. Deuteronomy: Renewal of the Sinai Covenant (Covenant & Conversation Book 5) , Jerusalem, The Toby Press, 2019) pp. 207-208.
[xi] Based on a story told by Rick Jacobs in Three Times Chai NJ: Behrman House, 2007) pp.52-54.
[xii] Sacks, Jonathan. Leviticus: The Book of Holiness (Covenant & Conversation 3) (Jerusalem: The Toby Press, 2015) p. 90.
[xiii] Yoma 69b, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Assembly
ROSH HASHANAH MORNING 5786: ISAAC AND ISHMAEL
Here are some lyrics from singer-songwriter Matisyahu in his song Akedah.
“Avraham, Avraham,
Take your son, take your blade, take your rope
Three long nights, three long days
And approach to the mountain of the Lord
Yes you’ve been here times before
In your dreams, fantasies, realities, they all bleed”[i]
Each Rosh Hashanah we relive the dream, the fantasy, the reality, of Abraham sacrificing his son. We struggle with God, we struggle with a compliant Abraham, we struggle with a son who seems not to put up a struggle. The narrative we encounter bleeds.
The narrative we encounter bleeds. Visions of October 7. Hostages in captivity. Soldiers at war. Palestinians starved. Buildings demolished. Children are orphaned. Israelis in bomb shelters. Injuries. Death. Rockets. Homelessness. The slaughter of Abraham’s children. Trauma upon trauma. A relived, repeated nightmare.
You think you know the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of his son? Listen again – different source, same story:
“… Abraham said, “O my dear son! I have seen in a dream that I must sacrifice you. So tell me what you think.” He replied, “O my dear father! Do as you are commanded. Allah willing, you will find me steadfast.” Then when they submitted ˹to Allah’s Will˺, and Abraham laid him on the side of his forehead ˹for sacrifice˺, We called out to him, “O Abraham! You have already fulfilled the vision.” Indeed, this is how We reward the good-doers. That was truly a revealing test. And We ransomed his son with a great sacrifice, We called out to him, “O Abraham! You have already fulfilled the vision.” … And We … blessed Abraham ˹with honourable mention˺ among later generations: “Peace be upon Abraham.””[ii]
That is the story in the Quran. Does it not bleed just like our Torah story?
Our early rabbis called the biblical story of Abraham’s sacrifice: the Akedah, meaning: “the Binding”. How are we bound to these chronicles of near slaughter and death? How can we unbind ourselves from these narratives?
In their essay, The Power of Narrative: How Stories Shape Social Consciousness and Identity, Sarah Beth Andrews and Zara Mahmood write that cultural stories shape us: “Our lives, in their essence, are an unfolding skein of narratives, perpetually inscribed, tenderly revised, and endlessly reinterpreted.”[iii] The Akedah for the children of Abraham is perpetually inscribed, tenderly revised and endlessly reinterpreted. The story doesn’t stop at the Torah or Quranic telling. The story of sacrifice finds resonance in each generation who reinterpret, to provide meaning to their lived experience. [iv]
Talmudic rabbis familiar with Roman and Greek oppression, saw the Akedah as the culmination of trials of faith, encouraged by Satan. Hence God’s midrashic plea to Abraham – “stand with Me in this test, that it not be said, ‘The earlier ones were of no substance.”[v] The Talmudic rabbis wrestled in their own lives. How could they maintain faith when facing adversaries? They needed to be prepared to make the greatest sacrifice for their beliefs. Hence like the Quranic narrative, the rabbis portray an informed son who voluntarily accepted his role as atonement for future generations.[vi]
In the 12th century, during the crusades, witness to the York massacres, Rabbi Ephraim of Bonn wrote a poem depicting Isaac’s willing sacrifice on the altar. His interpretation addressed the fears of his contemporary Jews. He drew a parallel between Abraham’s merit being extended to descendants, and the concept that Jewish martyrdom during the crusades, would bring a blessing to the generations that survived beyond them.[vii]
Yehudah Amichai, a prominent 20th-century Israeli poet, wrote the poem “The True Hero of the Akedah.” In this work, Amichai presents the ram as the central figure of the Akedah, rather than Abraham or Isaac. The poem reflects on the concept of sacrifice. Who is the hero? Is it not the fallen? The story in its retelling come to parallel how Israeli society views its fallen soldiers. He writes plaintively: “But the true hero of the Akedah/Was the ram.”[viii]
In Islam, the Akedah also unfolds across the generations.
While the Torah names Isaac as the son of the Akedah, the Quranic text does not name names. In early Islam, Mohammed’s companions argued: Was the child on the altar Isaac or Ishmael? The majority believed that it was Isaac. Three different Hadith, authoritative oral traditions of Mohammed’s companions, anecdotally confirm this older more popular view that the child in the sacrifice was Isaac.[ix]
In the 8th century, Islamic rulers came to power and wished to show a moral superiority over Judaism and Christianity as their empire gained dominance. The argument of whether the Akedah occurred with Isaac or Ishmael fell to the favor of Ishmael. The perspective shifted to a theology that regarded Muslims as the legitimate successors of God’s covenant.[x]
In Judaism the Akedah occurs on Mount Moriah. In Islam, some versions suggest the binding occurred in Syria with Isaac. Other versions of the story name Mecca as the locale, sometimes with Isaac, sometimes with Ishmael. The location of Mecca provided a historical link to the Hajj. There is even a fantastical tale which combines both these locations, describing Ishmael flying with Abraham from Syria to Mecca on a supernatural creature to be sacrificed.[xi]
Another telling of this story in Islam of the near sacrifice ends with God granting a wish to Isaac, as a reward for his willing participation in this trial of faith. Isaac asks, depending on the version of this tale, either to allow those who partner with Allah to be granted entry to Paradise; or not to punish those who believe in Allah.[xii]
So, we see, that the Akedah, in both Judaism and Islam is perpetually inscribed, tenderly revised, and endlessly reinterpreted.[xiii] And when the skeins of narrative morph into something different, new meaning comes to be. The changing Akedah illustrates how Judaism and Islam are adept at changing their narratives to re-interpret their world. As a famous quote from Mahatmha Ghandi teaches: “Your beliefs become your thoughts, your thoughts become your words, your words become your actions, your actions become your habits, your habits become your values, your values become your destiny.”
So, what are the beliefs, thoughts, words, actions, habits, values and current destiny of the Israel-Gaza conflict based upon? Jeremy Ginges and Nils Matlock from the London School of Economics and Political Science surveyed Israelis and Palestinians to explore the psychological barriers to creating peace in the region. Ultimately, they concluded that the narrative barrier to resolution was not the attacks of Hamas on October 7, nor the scars left, nor is it the aggression and destruction and homelessness in Gaza. They listened to the narrative below, and below, the narrative. They dug deep.
What the researchers discovered was eye-opening: both Israelis and Palestinians felt their own side’s violence came from trying to protect their people—kind of like looking out for family. But when they thought about the other side, they figured it was all about hatred and wanting to hurt them, even to the point of genocide of the other. These beliefs made it tough to even think about finding diplomatic solutions and pushed people toward wanting to cut ties or even defeat the other side.[xiv]
A changed narrative can create a new world. For those of you who joined us for the film “The Very Narrow Bridge” on Selichot, we were introduced to family members of Israelis and Palestinians whose loved ones had been killed in conflicts between our peoples over the years. Bereft family members have the best reason to hate the other side, but instead they transformed the narrative by seeing the grief in each other, by leaning into humanity and compassion for each other.
When the narrative we encounter bleeds, descendants of Isaac and Ishmael, are adept at altering their perspectives. You think you know the story of the Palestinian? You think you know the story of Israel? Listen deeply anew. The story might be different to the one you wish or assume or are holding onto. In Israel and Gaza there is a specific narrative about each other, yet that context too can be reframed. If we will it, it is no dream.[xv] Because don’t we all need a different ending?
How are we bound to these chronicles of near slaughter and death? How can we unbind ourselves from these narratives? Matisyahu sings at the end of his song “Akeda”: the word Ayeka. Where are you?[xvi]
What new narrative might you write?
I imagine a new story, a new retelling.
I see Ishmael and Isaac, meeting on a narrow bridge. They are standing in proximity years after their Akedah. Centuries after their binding on the altar. Two brothers standing together silently. Who ‘ve both known trauma, and despite, have lived a lifetime.
Finally, they ask of each other: “Ayeka? Where are you? “How have you learned to live? How have you learned to love? Ayeka?”
On that narrow bridge, Isaac and Ishmael as mature men, finally, truly hear each other, see each other. On that narrow bridge, Israeli and Palestinian hear each other, see each other. All the sadness, all the pain, all the devastation, all the hope, all the dreams, all the love that can be, if they will it.
On that narrow bridge, the story we begin to tell together becomes a new destiny.
Here are some lyrics from singer-songwriter Matisyahu in his song Akedah.
Ayeka
Teach me to love
Ayeka.[xvii]
[i] https://genius.com/Matisyahu-akeda-lyrics
[ii] Quran.com -Sura As-Saffat 37:102-109
[iii] https://www.rockandart.org/narrative-stories-social-identity/
[iv] Shalom Shpiegel, The Last Trial trans. Judah Goldin Philadelphia: JPS, 1950, p.xvi
[v] Hayim Nahman Bialik & Yehoshua Hana Ravnitzky, The Book of Legends (Sefer ha-Aggadah)., NY: Schocken Books, 1992, p. 40
[vi][vi] Shalom Shpiegel, ibid, p. 47
[vii] Shalom Shpiegel, ibid.
[viii] https://ilanakurshan.com/2006/11/09/poetry-of-the-akedah/
[ix] https://www.judaism-islam.com/was-abraham-commanded-to-sacrifice-isaac-or-ishmael/
[x] Journal of Semitic Studies XXX1V// Spring “Abraham’s Son as the Intended Sacrifice (AL-DHABlH, QUR’AN 37:99-113):Issues in Qur’anic Exegesis” Reuven Firestone, Boston University pp. 116, 130-131
[xi] Reuven Firestone, ibid. pp. 106, 108-109
[xii][xii] Reuven Firestone, ibid, p. 114.
[xiii] https://www.rockandart.org/narrative-stories-social-identity/
[xiv] https://theconversation.com/we-interviewed-hundreds-of-israelis-and-gazans-heres-why-we-fear-for-the-ceasefire-249522
[xv] Theodore Herzl
[xvi] Op cit
[xvii] ibid
YOM KIPPUR EVENING 5786: TIKVAH
I feel a little shaky. Do you feel unsteady too?
Reb Nachman of Bratslav used to teach: “Understand: that when a person must cross a very, very narrow bridge, the most important and essential thing is that they do not have any fear at all.”[i] Easier said than done – not heeding our fears.
I picture the sort of narrow bridge I personally dread. A suspension bridge, with ropes and slats, swaying over a wide expanse.
Confession: I don’t like heights. I don’t like unsteady surfaces. My legs shake, my body freezes. Yet, theoretically, to get from here to there I need to cross. How can I not scare myself?
When I do not know how to do something, my how-to fallback is Google. I type in: “crossing a rope bridge.” Leo Walker writes: “…The thrill of adventure calls as you step onto the wobbly structure. Crossing a rope bridge is thrilling. The bridge’s instability adds to the excitement. It makes the experience unforgettable.”[ii]
Yeah. I’m not convinced by that thrill. But I read on … and glean some quick tips for crossing a narrow rope bridge:
- Inspect the bridge for damage before crossing; don’t cross if you see issues.
- Use a properly fitted safety harness attached to the safety line. Wear gloves for a better grip and protection.
- Follow operators’ instructions and observe weight limits.
- Stay calm, move steadily, and ask for expert help if needed.[iii]
To be honest, I lack hope. Both in Leo’s enthusiasm, and in his step-by-step instructions: Check for issues, prepare for safety, follow the rules, stay calm. That’s not how it works in my life.
I feel a little shaky. Do you feel unsteady too?
Have you anguished at the multiple calamities in our world? War, suffering, hostages, pain, hunger? Politics, shootings, climate change? Antisemitism? Anti-Zionism? Racism, Sexism, Xenophobia…. Name your worry.
How do we manage to cross the narrow bridge of our times? How can we traverse from here to there…ignoring our fear, and travelling from angst to hope?
The word “Hope” in Hebrew is “Tikvah.” It appears in the Bible with two meanings.
First, Tikvah refers to something tangible. Literally, a rope or cord, as seen when Rahab ties a scarlet cord in her window to ensure her family’s safety during the fall of Jericho.
Second, Tikvah describes a positive, expectant mindset that is present or lacking. The prophet Jeremiah declares to the conquered people of Israel – there is hope for your future. The book of Job mentions Tikvah most often, struggling with hope in the face of loss. The bereaved Naomi tells her daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, to return to their families because Naomi believes she has no hope. [iv]
So, what connects the image of the rope cord to the idea of hope? A topical lexicon explains “The word moves effortlessly between these senses because biblical hope is never abstract optimism; it is a lifeline anchored in the reliability of God.”[v]
Hope is a lifeline that originates on this day of Yom Kippur.
You’ve heard the story that describes Moses spending forty days and nights atop Mount Sinai, where he received the Ten Commandments. Upon his descent, Moses discovered the Israelites worship of the golden calf, and subsequently he breaks the tablets.
Tradition holds that Moses then returns to the mountain for eighty additional days, seeking forgiveness for the transgression of the Jewish people.
On what is now celebrated as Yom Kippur, Moses came down carrying a new set of tablets, considered even more enduring than the originals. Why? Because they are written with repentance, forgiveness, and lasting hope.[vi]
So how does hope work?
Dr Oded Leshem, an Israeli political psychologist, created a model for understanding the anatomy of hope. It features two axis: one for how strongly hope is expected; and another for how much it is wished, thus dividing the concept into four quadrants.
Oded Leshem suggests that the most interesting of these four quadrants, is when our wishes for hope are high, but our expectations for hope are low. He provides examples of such situations.
One who is severely ill fighting for their life against the odds.
A marginalized community struggling for social mobility.
Feuding societies with years of conflict and violence yearning for peace.
He labels this quadrant of high wish for hope and low expectation for hope, as: “optimal hope”.[vii]
When it comes to optimal hope, let me suggest that Jewish tradition is an exceptional teacher. Judaism knows all about an uncertain, wobbly world. Destruction, exile, antisemitism. And our theology, practical and theoretical, gives us tools to cope in times of adversity.
Tool One. Optimal hope is embedded in our Jewish concept of Tikkun Olam, our striving to repair this broken world we live in. We feed the hungry, in the hope of alleviating hunger. We lobby those with power with the hope of realizing justice. We prioritize food and energy that is sustainable, with the hope that this will save our planet.
As we do this, our hopes are high, and our expectations are low. As Rabbi Tarfon opines in Pirke Avot: “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither can you neglect it.” [viii]
Ecologist David Orr puts it this way: “Hope is a verb with sleeves rolled up.”
Our fears are somewhat quelled, as we strive to do something about that which concerns us. When we meld our hope with action, we might still be crossing a quaky bridge, but we feel like we are taking steps to somewhere. Each step leads to another, and our distress is somewhat satiated.
The second tool from Judaism requires what Soren Kierkegaard termed a “teleological leap” or in lay terms – a leap of faith. For some of us this Jewish teaching is harder when we struggle with notions of the Divine.
There is a tale of a mountain village situated between two cliffs, joined by a precarious rope bridge. The villagers were apprehensive about crossing it.
One day, a traveler arrived, intending to traverse the bridge. He noticed the evident anxiety among the locals. So, the traveler approached a young boy and inquired whether anyone had crossed safely?
The boy responded, “My father constructed this bridge and carries me across every day.” With hopes high, and expectations low, the traveler chooses to cross the bridge. Based only on the boy’s faith in his father.[ix]
Can we have faith in the Ultimate Father? Just as “biblical hope is never abstract optimism; it is a lifeline anchored in the reliability of God,”[x] In other words, it is very Jewish to trust in Adonai.
Those of you who came to our “Lunch and Learn” course, “Six Questions You Will Be Asked in Heaven” will be familiar with the passage from Shabbat 31a, where Rava shares the question, the imagines will be asked at heaven’s door. One of those queries is: “Did you await salvation?”
This question echoes in the week-day prayers in our Siddur: “We hope all day for God’s deliverance.”[xi]
We sing at this season of repentance, Psalm 27. The last line of the psalm contains the word “Kaveh,” from the same root as Tikvah. It says: Kaveh el Adonai Chazak – “Hope in God, be strong and of good courage. Hope in God!”[xii]
Our Tikvah is high for God’s redemption of us, this world, the universe – and yet, our expectations are low that we will see it in our times, so we add the oft used very Jewish words of optimal hope – “Speedily, in our own day.”
Some of us wrestle with our belief in God. So, Judaism offers yet another tool. It teaches us by picturing time as a trajectory – from the moment of Creation through to an ultimate salvation of humanity.
As Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote: “The Exodus lasted a moment, a moment enduring forever. What happened once upon a time, happens all the time.”[xiii] The timeline of existence is peppered with miniature salvations that leads to an ultimate time when there shall be peace and harmony and all shall be as One.
The popular idiom coins it another way – “Two steps forward, and one step back,” indicating a slow progression towards the ideal for which we hope. As Martin Luther King Jr, Rabbi Jacob Kohn, Barack Obama and many others have worded it: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”[xiv]
In an article on how to engineer a rope bridge by Fari John, I read: “… rope bridges represent a shared human drive: to connect, to explore, and to overcome obstacles. They span more than just physical divides—they cross cultural and temporal ones as well. In every creaking step and swaying motion, rope bridges remind us that even the most fragile-looking creations can be strong enough …”[xv]
There is a story set in a dense jungle, where a narrow rope bridge spanned a river.
All the animals, including the lithe tiger and the nimble monkey, were too afraid to cross it. When a young elephant approached, the others warned him he was too heavy, but he replied, “If I don’t try, I’ll never know.”
Step by step, he crossed with determination and made it safely. The elephant told them, “Courage is not about being light or strong, it is about taking the first step despite the fear.”[xvi]
Nachshon ben Amanidav, was amongst the slaves who followed Moses out of Egypt. When they found themselves caught at the Red Sea, water in front of them, scorpions and snakes surrounding them on each side, and Pharoah’s army in pursuit, all the Israelites were afraid.
Nachshon took one small step into the water, towards a hope of redemption.
Nachshon acted.
Nachshon trusted in God.
Nachshon embraced the trajectory of history.
He used the trifecta of Jewish tools gifted to us in the Tikvah, the cord our ancestors bequeathed to us.
And the sea parted.
I feel a little shaky. Do you feel unsteady too?
We live in a time filled with so many difficulties and challenges.
Reb Nachman of Bratslav used to teach “Understand: that when a person must cross a very, very narrow bridge, the most important and essential thing is that they do not have any fear at all.”[xvii]
So let us use our Jewish steps, the lifeline cord of our inheritance, to approach optimal hope towards a brighter future. Step by step, we will cross this narrow rope bridge of our time, with Tikvah, together.
[i] Based on translation https://www.zemirotdatabase.org/view_song.php?id=220
[ii] https://www.story-nomad.com/p/crossing-a-wobbly-rope-bridge/
[iii] ibid
[iv] https://biblehub.com/hebrew/8615.htm
[v] ibid
[vi] Simon Jacobson, 60 days: A Spiritual Guide of the High Holidays, NY, Kiyyum Press, 2nd revised edition 2008, p.96
[vii] “Introducing the Bideimensional Model of Hope and its conceptual and methodological utilities”, by Oded Adomi Leshem and Eran Halperin, in Frontiers in Psychology, Open Access article, 2024 pp.5-6
[viii] Pirke Avot 2:16
[ix] The Bridge of Ropes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4UyIl0vNa0
[x] https://biblehub.com/hebrew/8615.htm
[xi] Et Tzemach David in the Amidah
[xii] Psalm 27:14 (my translation). Kaveh is sometimes translated as Look.
[xiii] Abraham Joshua Heschel quoted in ed. Elyse D. Frishman Mishkan T’filah: A Reform Siddur, CCAR, NY 2007 p. 45 [163]
[xiv] https://quoteinvestigator.com/2012/11/15/arc-of-universe/
[xv] https://theinscribermag.com/crossing-the-divide-the-history-engineering-and-adventure-of-rope-bridges-around-the-world/
[xvi] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9dySATjgsM
[xvii] Based on translation https://www.zemirotdatabase.org/view_song.php?id=220
YOM KIPPUR MORNING 5786: TURNING
This is the story of Rashi. Not the commentator Rashi! My previous dog Rashi. Rashi was an adorable and smart Shih tzu-Silky- -Pekinese- Maltese mix – in other words, a cute, small, mutt.
Our first home was situated close to the sea and nearby there was a canal accompanied by biking and walking paths. This is where I taught Rashi to walk on a leash. Like most dogs, he loved to walk. That is – until we came to a bridge.
Now this suburb with its picturesque waterway featured lots of bridges. Rashi and I would stroll up to a bridge and Rashi would halt. He would sit. Or lie down. Refuse to move. I would cajole, bribe, praise. I could never get him to cross.
We needed to travel on a bridge to go anywhere from our house. So, I created work rounds. I carried him. Sometimes I tried unsuccessfully to trick him by pretending it was a fun-run. Sometimes – please don’t call the animal cruelty people on me – I would drag his reluctant puppy-self over the bridge, on his stomach or behind!
In the sixteen years we journeyed though life together, I was unable to change Rashi’s “I will not cross a bridge” mentality. All I could do was modify my strategy, to get to the other side.
Have you ever tried to turn someone else’s behavior? How did that work out for you? Probably not as you expected.
You know the folk wisdom: you cannot change others; you can only change yourself. If that adage is true, the irony of the High Holiday season of change should not be lost on us.
We are bombarded with teachings, prayers, and sermons, coaxing us that we need to change. We’ve sinned; we’ve transgressed. We need to transcend our misdeeds, misbehaviors and habits, form new patterns! How likely are you to listen to such cajoling?
**
African Bishop Desmund Tutu’s father used to teach him: “Don’t raise your voice, improve your argument.”[i] This parental wisdom suggests that to persuade others to change, we resort to two strategies – raising one’s voice -, or strengthening reasoning.
We might yell:
“Get out of bed and exercise!”
Or: “Can’t you put the toilet seat down?”
Or: “How many times have I told you not to put your shoes on the sofa?”
Shouting might temporarily relieve frustrations, but the data shows it doesn’t create lasting change in others. Rather it increases tension in relationships. Scientific studies show that when we feel criticized, the amygdala, the fight-or-flight part of our brain, switches to the off switch. We shut down to protect ourselves from incoming stress. [ii]
So perhaps, as Bishop Desmund Tutu’s father suggests, reasoning works better?
“Darling, I love you. Please get off the couch and attend to the dishes. When you leave the dirty dishes in the sink, the crud might set and be difficult to wash off. We might be encouraging vermin like mice and ants. And by ignoring the dishes, it feels like you have an expectation that I pick up after you, which feels burdensome to me.”
Affectionate, right?
Then why, when you employ such a strategy, does it often lead to resistance? Once again science explains! Psychiatrist Alok Kanojia describes that the animal part of our brain is motivated by immediate pleasure, rather than what is painful and hard. Consider: it sucks to get up off the cozy couch to wash the dishes! So even when the argument is cogently made by our loved one on why we need to wash up, we forgo compliance, for our pleasure on the couch cushions.
Psychology also suggests that yelling and reasoning are ineffective tools in convincing others to modify their behavior. Mel Robbins, NY Times bestselling author of “The Let Them Theory,” explains that shouting or logic removes a person’s agency to change themselves. So even if the advice or ask we offer might be excellent, they are more likely to resist.[iii] We come across as controlling when we noodge, when we pester, and we create a situation filled with confrontation and tension.
So, what does author Mel Robbins suggest we do instead of nagging? She begins with the advice that weaves through her book which is summarized by two phrases – “Let them…” accompanied by “Let me…”.
Let other people make their own choices about their behavior without you managing. Let them be adults. Then we need to take ownership of our own actions, thoughts, and emotional responses. Ask yourself, what can I do? “Let me…. do this in this situation.” This cedes control back to self, ultimately resulting in less stress in our relationships and, ultimately, more peace.[iv]
Rabbi Edwin Friedman, of blessed memory, also a psychologist, illustrates the “Let them” and “Let me” dynamic in a powerful story:
One day, while crossing a bridge, a man meets a stranger who unexpectedly hands him a rope to hold, and then… the stranger jumps off the side of the bridge, leaving the man holding on to the rope for dear life. The stranger insists that the man must keep clinging onto the rope because now his life is hanging on that thread.
Here’s the tricky part: the man tries to help, suggesting the stranger could help save himself; but the stranger refuses, and keeps demanding the man just keep holding on.
The man is stuck—should he give up his journey and stay on that bridge forever? Or let the stranger go, and move on? In the end, he realizes he can’t carry someone else’s burden at the cost of his own journey, so he lets go, and continues his way.[v]
You are probably mortified that he let the man jump.
But was it really a better choice to be forced to hold onto a rope forever?
“Let them” teaches our NY Times bestselling author Mel Robbins. Let the other person jump. Let them lie in their own bed and forgo exercise, let them scuff up the sofa with their shoes. They are adults, aware of the better choices, and currently they are choosing not to do it. Your nagging diminishes their autonomy and gets you nowhere.
“Let me” teaches Mel Robbins. Claim the power you do have. You can choose your reactions. Dishes left dirty. Do the dishes; or leave the dishes till the other person is ready to get off the couch; or you can decide to invest in paper plates for future meals. The “Let me” attitude, empowers you to behave differently and diffuse tension.
On this day, our Machzor is, at first glance, a liturgy that tells us how to change. It is bossy. It does not Let us. It tells us how to behave. We feel berated for our wrongs. Listen to a section of Rabbi Rachel Barenblat’s “A Personal Confession” found on page 301.
…Source of all being, for the sin I have sinned before You:
by allowing my body to be an afterthought too often and too easily;
by not walking, running, leaping, climbing, or dancing although I am able;
by eating at my car and at my desk, mindlessly and without blessing;
by not embracing those who needed it, and not allowing myself to be embraced…[vi]
Like most confessionals, the implication is – Oy. Oy. Oy. I am a screw up! Our animal brains hear our failures. Our amygdala turns off. And we yearn for our cozy, comfortable sofas at home.
I think about this every year I am on the Bima. Can adults listen to teachings, prayers, and sermons about their wrongdoings, Teshuvah, repentance, and truly hear what they need do, without feeling berated? Is there a way we can approach this day with a “Let me” attitude?
I think there is. But it depends on the time frame.
Rabbis before me, Moshe Chayim Luzzatto, Saadia Gaon, Maimonides have provided frameworks for our Teshuvah/Turning process. Many of these processes include a self-examination of how we behave, a realization of remorse, a quest for forgiveness, an active desire not to repeat the sin, prayer, and restitution. Such processes are not an instant one-day Yom Kippur turn-around. They are not even achieved in Ten Days of Repentance. These “Let me” self-empowerment processes for change, take time.
The traditional repentance season in Judaism begins at Tisha B’Av and ends at Shemini Atzeret, which is 70-days. With such a time frame in place, Jewish tradition provides a period for processing to occur, to reflect and pursue our best selves. The span makes our ability to change more realistic.
If we have been working on ourselves and our behavior over the summer, then this day of Yom Kippur, is not the first time we have meditated on the changes we need to make. We are well into modification of our conduct.
Yom Kippur, as the 60th day of this 70-day process, provides for us a checklist on the behaviors we have been working on.
Now we can hear the sections of Rabbi Rachel Barenblat’s “A Personal Confession” with different nuance.
“… I have missed the mark more than I want to admit…
by indulging in intellectual argument without humility or consideration;
by reading words of vitriol, cultivating hot indignation;
by eschewing intellectual discomfort that might prod me into growing…[vii]
If we have been working on ourselves over the last two months, we hear these words as something that asks us: How am I doing at working on improving my feelings of intellectual superiority? No longer are the words, oy vey! what have I done, but rather, how am I improving this part of myself? We are saying “Let me…”
Suddenly the prayers in the Machzor, the teachings this day, even the rabbi’s sermon, are not bossy, they are a checklist. How are you transforming on this day of Yom Kippur? Where have you been, and where are you now? What extra personal accounting do you need to do between now, and Shemini Atzeret?
And for those of you who are now despairing, because you left it to this 60th day of Yom Kippur to begin your process – I have good news! It is never too late for Teshuvah/Turning. Judaism does not limit us to repenting just between Tisha B’Av and Shemini Atzeret. Our daily Amidah prayer has this insertion:
Forgive us for we have sinned, pardon us for we have transgressed, for You pardon and forgive. Blessed are You, Adonai, abounding in forgiveness.[viii]
We are always empowered with a “Let me…” Let me improve myself so I warrant the Holy One’s abounding forgiveness.
Let me finish with a story.
Two brothers once lived on adjoining farms and had a falling out after 40 years of working together. Their small dispute turned into months-long silence. The older brother wanted nothing to do with his younger brother, so he hires a carpenter to build a fence between their properties. Instead of a fence, the carpenter decides he is going to build a bridge. The younger brother is the first to see the bridge and crosses it with a smile, full of apologies to his older brother. The brothers reconcile. They are so happy with their changed circumstances that they decide to offer the carpenter more work. The carpenter declines, saying he has “many more bridges to build.”[ix]
Builder of Bridges, we know we are not perfect. We are all perfecting ourselves. Help us step-by-step, to cross the bridges before us, into the beyond – finding our better selves.
[i] https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/132841-my-father-always-used-to-say-don-t-raise-your-voice
[ii] Robbins, Mel; Robbins, Sawyer. The Let Them Theory: A Life-Changing Tool That Millions of People Can’t Stop Talking About (p. 202). Hay House. Kindle Edition, Chapter 14. Pp. 97-98
[iv] Ibid, Chapter 14.
[v] Edwin H. Friedman “Friedman’s Fables” NY & London, The Guilford Press, 1990, pp. 9-13
[vi] Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe – Yom Kippur, NY: CCAR Press, 2015, p.301
[vii] ibid
[viii] Mishkan Tefilah, A Reform Siddur – Weekdays and Festivals, NY: CCAR 2007 p. 84
Rabbi Linda Joseph 