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Rosh Hashanah Morning

In 2007, when I was living in Canada, I served as the Vice-President of the Toronto Board of Rabbis. That is how I got to meet the Dalai Lama. You see, the Dalai Lama had come to Toronto and invited representatives of all of the faith communities to join him in an Afternoon Service in honor of the International Day of Peace. I was the Jew.

We met at the Convention Center. All of the faith leaders were ushered into a small room, with some comfortable chairs and glasses of tea, and there, in the center of the room, was the Dalai Lama. If I ever had any doubt that the Dalai Lama was a human vessel of holiness, my doubts were extinguished in that moment, because the Dalai Lama gives off a powerful spiritual energy, simply by his presence. Quiet and diminutive in stature, his presence fills the room and you simply understand that you are in the company of a holy man.

He asked each of us about our faith communities, and about our hopes and fears for the world. And he shared his own hopes and fears with us, over tea, in that little room. And then, as is his custom, he gave to each of us a linen scarf, placing it on our shoulders. I gave him a tallit, which he insisted that I put around his shoulders. I still remember his smile of delight. And I guess it was my reward, because there was a mix-up in the seating on the stage for the service, and the solution was to seat me next to His Holiness.

Now for the Dalai Lama joke…the Dalai Lama looked hungry, and since we were at the convention Center, I asked him if I could get him a hot dog from the concession booth. He replied, “Make me one with everything!” And when I brought him his hot dog, he said, “OK, now where is my change?” to which I replied, “Your Holiness, change comes from within.”

This is Rosh Hashanah, and it is a time for turning.

The leaves are beginning to turn from green to red and orange.

The birds are beginning to turn and are heading once more towards the South.

The animals are beginning to turn to storing their food for the winter.

For leaves, birds and animals, turning comes instinctively,

But for us turning does not come so simply.

“Turning”, which in Hebrew is called “teshuvah” and also means repentance, requires of us that we make a change, not only in what we do but in who we are and, indeed, “change comes from within”.

The great Hasidic Master, Dov Baer of Mezritch, teaches the following:

No thing can change from its birth form to a different one. Like when an egg wishes to become a chicken, first it is necessary for it to completely nullify its “eggness” that is, its birth form, and only after that it is able to give birth to a new form. Indeed, in all matters like this, one must enter into the realm of “ayin” (which is an unfathomably deep nothingness, a nullification of all that one has been), and only after that, one is able to become something different.

So how, exactly, are we to do that? How are we to enter into this realm of “ayin”, where the aspects of the “who that we are” that we wish to change can be nullified, that moment in time created where the aspect that we wish to change is completely expunged from our being, and then the change will be possible.

Our High Holy Day liturgy gives us a prescription: Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah—these most powerful religious exercises of Repentance, Prayer and Righteous Giving. Indeed, our communal gathering, over these next ten days, assures that we will engage in the first two. For many, it is the most prayer-intensive period in the whole year, and our prayers are filled with the acknowledgement of wrongdoing, expressions of remorse, declaration of our humility, and pleas for forgiveness that represent the formula for a successful penitential quest. Opportunities for acts of tzedakah are also presented to us as we gather on these High Holy Days—from food, clothing and school supply donations in support of the needy in our Bay Area community to the Annual Appeal in support of our cherished congregation. And though these sacred actions, Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah, are inwardly motivated, they are, for the most part, outward expressions of our participation in the activities of a sacred community engaged in the process of renewal and return.

But change, as both Dov Baer of Mezritch and the Dalai Lama would agree, must come from within, and require an encounter with “ayin” or “nullification”, so we need to consider a different kind of prescription that can bring us to that moment in time when we empty ourselves completely of that which needs to change, so that the change can happen.

During our Elul study, I shared a teaching of Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner of Izbica. Known as “The Izhbitzer”, Reb Mordechai Yosef lived in Poland in the first half of the 19^th Century. In his commentary on Parashat Shoftim, he offers a unique interpretation of Deuteronomy 16, verse 18:

“You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that Adonai your God is giving you…”

                                                                             Deut 16:18

He writes:

“Gates: we are to establish magistrates for each and every detail of life, in every state and in every city. This applies, as well, in our individual lives. These “gates” are the seven sense-gates by which we receive God’s goodness: two eyes, two ears, two nostrils (and we do derive good through the nose: we smell that which is connected to us) and our mouth. We have to exercise great care over each of these gates by which we derive good.”

The Izhbitzer is presenting an ethical lesson for us that may well inform our ability to bring about change from within. He suggests that each one of us must guard these seven gates—sight, hearing and speech, and the anger that emerges from the flaming nostrils. Over these gates, he tells us, we must set for ourselves “magistrates and officials” so that we will judge ourselves at all times, making sure that they will not commit any sin. If these places are kept whole, according to Reb Mordechai Yosef, then it is possible to remain always holy and pure.

The “magistrates and officials” that we appoint over our sense-gates serve to keep us mindful of the power that these gates possess. Our eyes—how we see other people and judge them, how we measure differences in size and shape, differences of color, gender or race, differences in ethnic and cultural behavior and garb. Our ears—whether we “listen” or just “hear” or don’t hear at all, whether we hear the anguish and pain of others or are deaf to their cry, whether we really listen to the stories of our children and our aging parents, whether we hear a higher call to action in the face of injustice or in defense of our planet. Our nostrils—in the Biblical mindset, the seat of our anger. Are we too quick to anger? Is our anger too hot? Do we hold on to it too long? Can we control, or at least manage our anger, and can we redirect it for good? And our mouth—perhaps the most powerful potentially destructive tool that we possess. The Talmud teaches us in regard to truthful speech, “No one should talk one way with his lips and think another way in her heart.” (Baba Metzia 49) And then there is the matter of hurtful speech and malicious gossip, which the rabbis call “lashon ha-ra” (evil speech). “Three people are injured by ‘lashon ha-ra’,” say the rabbis, “the one who speaks, the one who listens, and the one about whom they are speaking.” And so we are charged with the responsibility of being constantly aware of our words, as we learn in Tractate Berachot, “Let your ears hear what your mouth speaks” (Y Berachot 2.4)

In the end, it is all about awareness; awareness of our thoughts, words and deeds, awareness of the impact we have upon others and upon our world, awareness of the presence of God.

Consider this parable, from Me’or Einayim, the work of Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl:

A human king will dress himself in various outfits and costumes to be able to walk about among his soldiers, to disguise himself. That way they won’t recognize him, and he will be able to hear and see what they’re saying. But, there are those who are wise to the ways of the king, and who fear that perhaps the king is doing his thing in disguise among them in some garb, and who are therefore careful in what they say.

And so it is in infinitely different ways with the exalted Blessed Holy One on high, Who dresses and hides in different garbs: what God wears in the morning God does not wear in the evening. God moves among God’s hosts and hears and sees everything, as it says, ‘I will surely hide My face” (Deut 31:18)—in various garbs and means of hiding. Therefore, we must remember that the King is always present before us, as it says, “Shiviti Adonai L’negdi Tamid—God is always by my side” (Psalms 16:8). Even when we are doing business for our own needs, to our own ends, the Holy one, the King, King of Kings, is hidden, garbed in all we do.

Indeed, this is the path to change—awareness of God’s presence in all that we do, in all of the mundane actions and activities that make up our days, in our interactions with our families, in our encounters with other people, in our work and in our play; awareness of God’s presence in our speech and our hearing, in our anger and in our laughter. The Chasidic Masters, the Dalai Lama, and your most humble and unworthy rabbi all agree on this one teaching—that when you reach a stage of awareness of the immediacy of God’s presence, “God is always by my side”, you are on the path to “ayin”, that place of unfathomable nullification, where change begins.

Today is the day that the journey begins…

Erev Rosh Hashanah

And then all that has divided us will merge
And then compassion will be wedded to power
And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind

And then both men and women will be gentle
And then both women and men will be strong
And then no person will be subject to another’s will

And then all will be rich and free and varied
And then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many

And then all will share equally in the Earth’s abundance

And then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old

And then all will nourish the young 
And then all will cherish life’s creatures

And then everywhere will be called Eden once again

     – Judy Chicago

This poem, which has found its way into contemporary Jewish liturgies, appears in the book, The Dinner Party, written by Judy Chicago. Born Judith Sylvia Cohen in 1939, she was descendant, on her father’s side, from a twenty-three generation lineage of rabbis going all the way back to the Vilna Gaon. Her father’s affiliation with the American Communist Party, as well as his liberal views towards women and support of worker’s rights strongly influenced Chicago’s ways of thinking and belief. And one would like to think that the Jewish values transmitted over those generations of rabbis and teachers in her family also had a hand in shaping her vision of the world as we pray that it will one day come to be.

But on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, as we bid farewell to 5776 and welcome the New Year, 5777, we are painfully aware of how far away we are from realizing this vision.

In the secular calendar, every fourth year is a “leap year” (with the noted exception of century years that are divisible by the number four). But when it comes to the Hebrew calendar, every fourth year is a “leap-of-faith-year”, because every fourth year Rosh Hashanah falls just as the Presidential election cycle shifts into high gear.

Now it is not my intention tonight, nor would it be appropriate for me, to try to influence your choice of party or candidate. First of all, I respect the diversity of political views in our community, and the right of every citizen to exercise his or her franchise and vote their conscience. Second, I am an “outsider”, what the Torah calls a “ger toshav—a resident alien”. Not yet an American citizen, I do not yet have the right to vote, but as a “ger toshav” with a “green card” affirming my permanent residency among you, I am deeply concerned about the issues before us, and I do have a stake in the outcome. Third, I am a rabbi, not a political analyst or partisan advocate. As a rabbi, one of my primary responsibilities is to give voice the values, morals and ethics of Jewish teaching, as it has been passed down through Torah and Mesorah, that is the teaching of the Torah and the Rabbis, from Moshe Rabbeynu (Moses, our Teacher) to the rabbis and scholars of our day. As a rabbi, I do this in the hope that we can better fulfill our sacred responsibility to be “or l’goyim—a light unto the nations”, or at least, in this moment, a ‘light unto our nation”.

And so I will offer some thoughts tonight on a number of critical issues that are a part of the current discussion among people of good will across the political spectrum, with a view to seeing these issues through Jewish eyes.

Immigration Reform

“You shall not oppress the stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, having been strangers in the land of Egypt.”

                                 Exodus 23:9

This verse, which we repeat each year as part of the Passover Seder, reminds us that it is all too easy to forget what it feels like to be an oppressed minority when we are not in that minority. It reminds us of the vulnerability and insecurity, the fear and exploitation that is real in the heart and soul of the stranger.

For almost two millenia, we had no problem remembering the feelings of the outsider. We were, after all, outsiders in every land in which we lived. Following the destruction of the Temple and the expulsion of the Jews from the Holy Land by the Romans in 70 CE, we wandered among nations in which we were a minority, and more often than not, an oppressed minority.

In Rome, we were a tolerated minority, but one considered foreign, and not welcome. When we lived in Arab lands from the 7th to 12th Centuries, we were a “protected minority,” with a more or less secure status. There were laws which safeguarded our freedoms, but they came with significant restrictions. In Medieval Europe we were truly an oppressed minority through most of the Middle Ages, with rights significantly curtailed and few protections.

In 21st Century America, however, it’s a different story. We remain a minority, but certainly not an oppressed one. While it is not true that all Jews are well off, on the whole, Jews live as well, or perhaps even better than other Americans. We enjoy greater political influence than our numbers would suggest (I’m not sure of the numbers in the House of Representatives, but at present Jews make up about 10% of the senate, as opposed to the percentage of Jews in America, which is about1.3%). That is to say, we are now an entrenched part of the fabric of the nation, strangers no more.

Given all of this, our Tradition tells us that we need to remember what it feels like to be the outsider, and to use our new-found position, whatever power and influence we have gained, to help the stranger in our midst.

America was founded as a nation of immigrants, seeking religious freedom and freedom from political oppression. Historians believe that Jews fleeing Spain at the time of the Expulsion were among the crewmen of the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria that made their way to the New World. Some even suggest that Christopher Columbus was, himself, a crypto-Jew. And in the spirit of the founding of the nation, Jews were welcome as immigrants and we established the Touro Synagogue on December 2, 1763, in Newport, Rhode Island, the first synagogue in the American colonies.

We remember how hard it was for Jews to assimilate into the United States when we first arrived, and periods of discrimination and restrictions in trade and commerce. And we remember how we felt when immigration quotas limited the number of Jews who could enter the country, especially those who sought refuge from the Nazis in our own day. (And just so you don’t think that this “outsider” is being too hard on the United States, just as the St. Louis was being turned away from these shores and its Jewish refugees being sent back to their fate in Germany, the Canadian Foreign Minister, when asked how many Jewish refugees Canada might absorb, replied “None is too many!”)

The Torah teaches us the value of Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming the stranger. In Genesis Chapter 18, we find God talking to Abraham. When Abraham sees three strangers approaching from afar, he suddenly jumps up to offer them food and drink. Abraham welcomes them into his tent and treats these strangers royally. He serves them the finest foods, and involves his whole family in the mitzvah.

The principle here is “b’tselem Elohim–emulating God.” In describing the mitzvah to walk in God’s ways, the Talmud says: “Just as God is merciful, so you be merciful. Just as God is kind, so you be kind.”

“You shall welcome the stranger.”

“It is permissible to sell a Sefer Torah to redeem a captive.”

“One who saves a life is as if he has saved an entire world.”

Of course, the issue is complicated; securing the border, following the rule of law, dealing with illegal immigrants and their children born here, refugees from Syria and other Moslem nations. Well-meaning people, and not-so-well-meaning people, will offer their solutions. But our Tradition and our historical experience make it clear that we must treat the stranger with compassion, and in a way that makes them welcome among us.

Criminal Justice Reform

We read in the book of Exodus,

And Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, ‘Every son who is born you shall throw into the river, and every daughter you shall let live.’

                                          Exodus 1:22

In his commentary on this verse, Rabbi Yaakov Culi, the 18th century teacher known as the Meam Loez , writes,

Pharaoh’s decrees became harsher and harsher. Soon he decided that throwing the infants into the Nile was not sufficient… If a man did not make his quota of bricks on a given day, he was given a ghastly choice: Either he or his child would have to be placed in the structure to make up for the missing bricks… Many Israelites were mortared into the walls of the structures while still alive. They screamed and begged for mercy, but no one would take pity on them. Many infants were also thrown into the fire. Throughout all this, the Israelites did not know that this was a plan devised against them by Pharaoh. They were led to believe that such ghastly acts were being done by individual Egyptians on their own initiative. Many Israelites even complained to the authorities, and were told that if proper witnesses would be brought, the perpetrators would be punished. Eventually, of course, the Israelites discovered the truth.

In his article, “The Myth of Police Reform,” (The Atlantic, April 20150 Ta-Nehisi Coates observes,

A reform that begins with the officer on the beat is not reform at all. It’s avoidance. It’s a continuance of the American preference for considering the actions of bad individuals, as opposed to the function and intention of systems.

Rabbi Michael Rothbaum offered these three teachings as part of a clergy protest in support of The “Black Friday 14”, a group of Black Lives Matter activists who chained themselves to a BART train on Black Friday 2014 to protest police violence. They were brought up on criminal charges and asked to pay $90,000 in restitution. The good news is that the county agreed to drop the charges against the activists. The bad news is that state violence against people of color continues in our nation, in the form of racial profiling, police use of deadly force, disproportionate arrests, sentencing and incarceration.

From 1980 to 2008, the number of people incarcerated in America quadrupled-from roughly 500,000 to 2.3 million people. Today, the United States represents 5% of the World population, but it has 25% of world prisoners. If we combined the number of people in prison and jail with those under parole or probation supervision, 1 in every 31 adults, or 3.2 percent of the population would be under some form of correctional control.

Even more troubling is the significant racial disparity concerning who gets incarcerated. African Americans now constitute nearly 1 million of the total 2.3 million incarcerated population. African Americans are incarcerated at nearly six times the rate of whites. Together, African American and Hispanics comprised 58% of all prisoners in 2008, even though African Americans and Hispanics make up approximately one quarter of the US population. According to Unlocking America, if African American and Hispanics were incarcerated at the same rates of whites, today’s prison and jail populations would decline by approximately 50%. One in six black men had been incarcerated as of 2001. If current trends continue, one in three black males born today can expect to spend time in prison during his lifetime. 1 in 100 African American women are in prison. Nationwide, African-Americans represent 26% of juvenile arrests, 44% of youth who are detained, 46% of the youth who are judicially waived to criminal court, and 58% of the youth admitted to state prisons.

A lot of this has to do with disparities in sentencing for drug offences. About 14 million Whites and 2.6 million African Americans report using an illicit drug. 5 times as many Whites are using drugs as African Americans, yet African Americans are sent to prison for drug offenses at 10 times the rate of Whites. African Americans represent 12% of the total population of drug users, but 38% of those arrested for drug offenses, and 59% of those in state prison for a drug offense. African Americans serve virtually as much time in prison for a drug offense (58.7 months) as whites do for a violent offense (61.7 months).

Inner city crime prompted by social and economic isolation is a contributing factor, as are “Get tough on crime” and “war on drugs” policies and mandatory minimum sentencing, Zero Tolerance and the “Three Strikes”/habitual offender policies.

And the worst part is that incarceration is repeatedly proven ineffective in crime reduction or rehabilitation. Jail reduces work time of young people over the next decade by 25-30 percent when compared with arrested youth who were not incarcerated, and nearly two-thirds of prisoners will offend again. And the cost is exorbitant. About $70 billion dollars are spent on corrections yearly. Prisons and jails consume a growing portion of the nearly $200 billion we spend annually on public safety.

Education is part of the answer. On Selichot, we showed the film, Crime After Crime, which highlighted the injustices faced by African- American and other minorities in our criminal justice system, to begin a conversation on how to effect change in our own communities. Advocacy is also part of the answer. In September, Deborah Schweizer and I represented BIJ at a gathering of Reform California, the Union for Reform Judaism’s Social Action arm here in California, where we met with Governor Brown and received his support for Proposition 57, which deals with evidence-based rehabilitation for non-violent criminals, and encouraging juveniles to be tried in juvenile courts, rather than as adults.

These Days of Awe are focused on “teshuvah—turning”. Our tradition prefers repentance and rehabilitation over punishment for its own sake. Surely we can bring this essential value into the public discourse.

And there are many more issues: economic justice, racial hatred, affordability and access to health care and higher education, a living wage and equal pay for equal work. Our Tradition has an opinion on all of these issues. Our Torah offers instruction and guidance for your consideration, and I will be happy to point you to the sources.

Our people did not always have a vote. For thousands of years we wandered from state to state, often at the mercy of the civil authorities. We were given no voice and paid no regard. But here in America, we are equal citizens, with equal civic duties and responsibilities. Every vote counts and every vote matters. It is our responsibility, as Americans and as Jews, to exercise our franchise and vote our conscience. Together, may we repair our little corner of the universe, and enjoy the blessings of freedom as we move ever closer to the Garden.

And then both men and women will be gentle

And then both women and men will be strong

And then all will be, so varied, rich and free

And everywhere will be called Eden once again

                                                          Rabbi Margot Stein                                           (based on Judy Chicago)

Ken Yihi Ratzon

From Rabbi Gottlieb, 10/23/2014

Our day today began with a hike in the Hula Valley Nature Reserve, a peaceful walk among the flora and fauna of the Galilee and migrating birds visiting Israel on their way to Africa for the winter. Then the contrast of the Golan Heights, where from a single lookout point we could see the border with Lebanon, the border with Syria, and the kibbutzim and Israeli towns in the valley below and know how close the enemy once stood and how vulnerable our brothers and sisters could be. After a brief interlude making our own chocolate creations at a Golan Heights chocolate factory, we had dinner and spent the evening with the young soldiers who protect The Land and without whom we could not have enjoyed this beautiful day. They were our inspiration on this day.  We pray for their well being, and for peace for Israel and her neighbors. 

From Rabbi Gottlieb, 10/22/2014

Today began at Independence Hall in Tel Aviv, in the room where the State of Israel was declared by David Ben-Gurion, under the photo of Theodore Herzl. It was incredibly moving to be in that famous location, hearing the recorded voice of Ben-Gurion and singing Hatikvah in full voice. 
Then to another era–the Roman and Byzantine Periods–at the archeological excavations at Caesaria; amphitheater, hippodrome and harbor. And finally to the magnificent water-caverns of Rosh Hanikra. 
It is amazing how fluidly one moves from ancient to modern and back again when visiting Israel. Settling into our home for the next few days at Kibbutz Nof Ginnosar on the Sea of Galilee. 

Kol Nidre – Saving Our Souls

On Rosh Hashanah morning, I spoke about spiritual fitness. You may remember, I suggested that the synagogue might serve as a “spiritual fitness club”, and that membership was available to all who would seek it.

That sermon was connected to the one I gave on Erev Rosh Hashanah, about saving the world by saving a single life. I explained then the thinking of our rabbis of old—that every life is precious and that in every life there is the potential to create a whole world. And I suggested then that we ought to begin by doing the things that were necessary to save our own lives.

And so this evening, I offer the third part of the trilogy:

Saving our lives—preserving our physical existence in this world;

Saving our spirits—ensuring our emotional and spiritual well-being;

and now…

Saving our souls—using this life to prepare for life in the world-to-come.

The great Rabbi Baruchiya was having trouble sleeping. Night after night, he was awakened in the middle of his sleep by a deam, in which his life in the world-to-come was revealed to him bit by bit. And the rabbi was troubled, because it was revealed to him that his neighbor in the world-to-come was to be none other than Yankel the tailor. “How can this be?” He asked himself, “How can it be that a simple tailor will sit next to me in the House of Study in the world-to-come? I would have thought that I would have merited at least another rabbi or, perhaps, a scholar. I wonder what it is that I might have done to make God so unhappy with me that I should sit next to Yankel the tailor in the world-to-come. And then Rabbi Baruchiya had another dream. And in this dream he saw Yankel collecting all of the little scraps of cloth that remained after he had made a shirt or a dress, and saving them away. And then, at night, when no one was watching, Yankel returned to his shop to make a beautiful wedding dress for a bride from a poor family. And then he woke up. And Rabbi Baruchiya thought to himself. I wonder what it is that I might have done to make God so happy with me that he would allow me to sit next to Yankel the tailor in the world-to-come.”

The world-to-come.

So much has been written in rabbinic literature about the world-to-come, and despite this there is so little agreement about what it might be like. Just about the only thing that the rabbis agree upon, concerning the world-to-come, is that we cannot know anything about it with certainty. This, by definition, for no one has ever died and come back to tell us about it first-hand.

“During the Rabbinic period virtually all Jews shared an accepted set of doctrines concerning life after death. Jews believed that every person has an eternal soul, which outlives the body. They believed that after death God rewards the good and punishes the bad. They believed that in time to come God would bring all the dead back to life. The good would then be rewarded with eternal bodily life on earth, while the evil would go to eternal destruction.

The primary concern of Jews was to live this earthly life according to the Torah. The rabbis were more interested in defining halakha than in defining the details of the afterlife. A great variety of beliefs existed. The rabbis made an attempt to unify Jewish beliefs in such matters. The Talmud quotes a variety of rabbinic masters concerning their beliefs about the nature of life after death. No attempt is made to judge between the different opinions.

One belief was that after death the souls of the righteous are kept in a box under the throne of God. Another belief is that the righteous sit upon thrones and enjoy the radiance of God’s light. The former view sees the afterlife as a passive existence in which individual character and personality do not persist. The second opinion depicts an afterlife in which the individual has a more self-aware existence in eternity.

A more active view of the afterlife is the belief in the ‘Yeshiva shel malah—the Yeshiva on high’. On earth the Torah scholars sit in the yeshiva and discuss the meaning of the Torah; in heaven the righteous sit in the Yeshiva on High, while the Patriarchs, Moses and the Prophets teach. A righteous Jew could look forward to listening and even participating as the greatest rabbis of all time clarified the fine points of Torah. (It is the permission of this heavenly Yeshiva that we will ask before we chant Kol Nidre in a few moments.) Of course the laws of the Torah did not apply to life in heaven; the heavenly study of Torah was truly ‘Torah lishma—Torah for its own sake.’”                               (Wylen, Settings of Silver, p.90f)

Maimonides suggests that, whatever the world-to-come might be like, it is other than this world, and beyond our understanding:

“There are neither bodies nor bodily forms in the world-to-come,” he writes, “but only the disembodied souls of the righteous who have become like the ministering angels. Since there are no bodies, there is no eating or drinking there, nor is there anything which the human body needs in this world. Nor do there occur there any of the events which occur to the human body in this world such as sitting, standing, sleep, death, distress, laughter and so forth…You may be repelled by this,” he goes on to say, “imagining that the only worthwhile reward for keeping the commandments and for a man (sic) being perfect in the ways of truth is for him to eat and drink well and have beautiful women and wear garments of fine linen and embroidery and live in marble palaces and have vessels of silver and gold…But the sages and intellectuals know that these things are vain, stupid and valueless and only are greatly attractive to us in this world where we do have bodies and bodily form. All these things have to do with the needs of the body,” says Maimonides. “The soul only longs for them because the body needs them if it is to remain healthy and thus perform its function. But all these things cease when the body no longer enjoys existence. There is no way at all for us to comprehend the great goodness, which is the experience of the soul in the world-to-come, for in this world we know only of material pleasures, and these we desire.

That goodness is great beyond measure, and can only be compared to that which we consider to be good in this world by analogy. But in reality there can be no way of comparing the good of the soul in the world-to-come with the physical goods of food and drink in this world. That good is great beyond all our understanding and incomparable beyond all our imagination. The ancient sages have already told us that man is incapable of truly comprehending the good of the world-to-come and that only the Holy One, blessed be God, knows its greatness, beauty and nature. And that all the goods the prophets foretold for Israel refer only to the material pleasures that will be theirs in the days of the Messiah when Israel will once again enjoy sovereignty. But there is nothing to which the life of the world-to-come can be compared, and it is beyond the human imagination.”  (Maimonides, Yad, Teshuvah 8)

So why all this concern with a world-to-come that we can never fully comprehend? Why be concerned at all with the disposition of our souls after our time in this world has come to an end?

Because it has been inconceivable to the Jewish heart and mind that this world is all there is. And it is hard for me, personally, to imagine that God’s purpose in creating this world and the human beings who inhabit it is simply to allow us a few years of existence—threescore years and ten, by virtue of merit—and then to destroy us at whatever moment God chooses for our earthly lives to end. And it should be equally hard for any of us to imagine that this physical life, as focused as it is on materialism and satisfaction, is in itself, worth all of God’s efforts or worthy of God’s talents.

Therefore, the rabbis held out the hope of a life of greater purpose and meaning in the world-to-come, a life of metaphysical pleasures and unity with the Divine—but the richest of its pleasures was to be reserved for those who earned such reward through their acts and deeds in this world.

We are taught in Pirke Avot, that this world is a “vestibule for the world-to-come”. In other words, this life is in preparation for that which is to follow. And if we are to save our souls, what prescription is offered? What is the kind of life that we are meant to live in this world?

Nothing less than a life of mitzvot, a life dedicated to values of Torah, avodah and gemilut chasadim—Torah, worship and deeds of loving kindness.

Raba said,

When man is led in for Judgment he is asked, Did you deal with integrity [in business matters], did you fix times for learning, did you engage in procreation, did you hope for salvation, did you engage in the dialectics of wisdom, did you understand one thing from another. Yet even so, if ‘the fear of God is his treasure,’ it is well: if not, [it is] not [well]. (Shabbat 31a)

According to this passage from the Talmud, the first question that we will be asked in heaven is “Did you deal with integrity in business matters?” Not “did you go to shul?” “Did you honor your parents?” “Did you give tzedakah?” Not even “did you study Torah?” (That is the second question.) Raba is trying to tell us that it is how we deal with the day-to-day aspects of living, and whether or not we are able to bring elements of holiness to the mundane tasks of our lives, that allows the soul to shine through, and to rejoice in the fulfillment of its mission.

It is only after this that we are asked about partnering with God—Torah study to connect us with the Divine Will and procreation to ensure a lasting covenant with the Holy One and a partnership in the unfolding creation of the universe. Hope for the future. Engaging in religious ideas and wisdom. But still the soul is not redeemed.

For in the end, we are told that saving our souls depends on “yirat shamayim—the fear of Heaven”. If this is our treasure, it will be well, and if not, not…

…And so we find ourselves here on this Kol Nidre, trying to summon up the Fear of Heaven, preparing ourselves for the judgment that will come at the end of this Yom Kippur day. We sense that we are still not “ready” for the moment of judgment. We are aware of our need for this final day, these last hours, to lessen the severity of the decree, to purify our souls and renew our lives through our confessions, our declarations, our promises for the future.

With the setting of the sun, our Day of Atonement begins. We look back upon the year that has ended, and forward to the year ahead. Together in this “vestibule of the world-to-come,” we cry out to the Holy One to help us with our teshuvah:

O God, from this Day of Atonement to the next—may we reach it in peace—we make these vows: to turn from wrong, dishonesty and greed, to walk in the path of justice and right. And yet we know our weakness—how prone we are to fail: help us to keep our word; help us to act with humility and integrity. We seek pardon and forgiveness. We seek Your radiance and Your light…As You have been faithful to us ever since Egypt, please forgive our failings now, in keeping with Your boundless love.”

“Hashiveynu adonai eylecha v’nashuvah—Help us to return to You, O God, and we shall return.”

“Hoshiya et amecha—Save us, Your people.”

To You, alone, do we call. Save our bodies, save our spirits, save our souls.

Rosh Hashanah Morning – Saving Our Spirits

Last night, I spoke about saving the world by saving a single life.  I explained the thinking of our rabbis of old—that every life is precious and that in every life there is the potential to create a whole world.  And I gave some examples of how we might save a life in the year ahead, through acts of tzedakah and g’milut chasadim—simple things like feeding the hungry, getting on the bone marrow registry or donating blood.  Bigger things like fostering a child, carrying an organ donor card or finding someone a job.

And I know, because some of you talked with me after the service, that there are some who plan to do some of these things, and that, indeed, we willsave lives in the year ahead.  But what surprised me most was the reaction I got to what I had to say about saving our own lives.  So, here is a reminder of what I said last night: 

“…finally, there is the matter of saving our own lives.  This is the time to commit ourselves to lifestyle changes that will contribute to our own good health and well being.  If you have not already done so, this is the time to stop smoking…this is the time to stop using non-prescription drugs…this is the time to lower your cholesterol….  Regular exercise, less stress, less chemicals in our food and on our lawns.  Whatever it might be that you have been flirting with to live a healthier life, this is the time. To save a life.  To save your own life.”

Now, something about this must have struck a chord, because after the service last night and before the service this morning, people began coming up to me, asking me about my cholesterol level (and my state of health in general) and telling me about the things they were doing to save their own lives, as well as the lives of others.

And so, for the record, (so you don’t need to ask…) my cholesterol level has come down over the past year to reach the target numbers, and I am right where I should be.  My weight is down, too, although there is still some distance to go with that. (Let’s talk again next year…)

During this past year I paid closer attention to my diet and spent many hours exercising and walking with Ricki and with Dinah, our dog, several times each day. And I have this to thank for my relatively good state of physical well being.  But even more, I have this to thank for the relatively good state of well being of my spirit.  For, in addition to the physical exercise we have done together, there have been hours of conversation about things that matter to us a great deal; thoughtful conversations about our society and its values, passionate conversations about politics, quiet conversations about our families, revealing conversations about the things that really matter to us; conversations about our work, about our hopes and our dreams.  Everyone should have such people in their lives, such moments and such conversations.  In the course of saving our bodies, I believe that we have found some ways to save our spirits as well.

You see, for the most part, we live in a society that understands physical fitness, but has very little understanding, or even regard for spiritual fitness.  We mistakenly believe that if we feel good outside, we’ll feel good inside.  We have come to recognize the rush of endorphins that makes us feel good after physical exercise, but we have not yet learned how to get that rush from a good spiritual workout.

I am both amazed and perplexed by the stories of dedication to physical exercise that have been shared with me by people who have talked with me about their physical fitness regime.  They seem willing to spend hours and hours in disciplining their bodies through grueling exercise.  Many of them get up early, so they can be at the gym by 5:30 or 6:00am, so they can do their daily routine, whether it is swimming or jogging or rowing or biking or the treadmill.  And then they go home to get the kids off to school, or to the office for a 9:00am appointment.  Some return to the gym at the end of their day. And the weekends are for hiking.

There are precious few, however, who get up early for study or prayer as a daily routine and return to it at their day’s end, even though this is the fitness routine that Judaism recommends for the spirit.

This is not to say that Judaism devalues the body.  In fact, it is just the opposite.  Shmirat ha-guf—protecting the body and its sanctity—is one of the highest regarded mitzvot.  There are rules against hurting the body in any way, which must be kept not only in life but in death as well, including the rules of kavod ha-met, respect for the body of a dead person.  The psalms say, “The soul is Yours, O God, and the body is your handiwork.”  The body is valued precisely because it is a vessel of our spirituality, evidence of a higher purpose.

There is a midrash in Leviticus Rabbah: 

“One day, the great sage Hillel was accompanying his pupils as they walked home, when he took his leave of them.  ‘Master, where are you going?’ they inquired.  “To perform a religious duty” he answered.  ‘Which one?’ ‘To bathe in the bath house.’  ‘Is that a religiousduty?’ they wondered.  ‘If someone who is appointed to scrape and clean the statues of the king that stand in theatres and circuses, is paid for the work, and even associates with the nobility as a result,’ he answered, ‘how much more so should I, who am created in the image of God, take care of my body.’”

The body, however, is not enough to give our lives meaning.  At the beginning of the morning service we recite the prayer asher yatzarwhich praises God for the intricate workings of our bodies.  But that prayer, on its own, is not enough.  It is immediately followed by elohai neshama, which praises God for the purity of our souls.  At the beginning of this morning’s service, Ricki and I sang these two prayers together in counterpoint.  Body and spirit.  Spirit and body.  To focus on one without the other; to care for one without the other; leaves us only half-alive.

Popular culture and Surgeon General have taught us about physical fitness. Now we need to learn about spiritual fitness.

“I’m not religious but I’m very spiritual” people say to me.  I can’t tell you how many times I hear this.  But, I must confess, I just don’t get it.  To me, religion seems to be the container that we put our spirituality into. 

Rabbi Jonathan Omer-Man, a respected contemporary spokesman for modern Jewish mysticism once described those who want spirituality without religion as wanting “the cream without the milk.”  Spirituality, he suggests, is service to a goal bigger than yourself, a community dedicated to changing the world together, a daily regimen of exercises that take us closer to self-reflection and the action required to change a person’s bad habits and sagging spirits.  Omer-Man speaks of “systems of spirituality” and says, “If it makes you work, there’s a chance it might be a good one.  If not, it’s just another commodity for consumers.  It’s a gimmick.”

My friend and colleague who will be with us in January for our Scholar-in-Residence Shabbat, Rabbi Elyse Goldstein, tells a story about a weekend she spent some years ago at Kripalu, an ashram in Massachusetts.  There she met a number of Jews who had chosen eastern spirituality.  Kripalu was their new home, and Mark had become Vishna and Ellen was Shona and they were chanting Sanskrit all through the weekend.  (Does any of this sound familiar?)  On Saturday evening, after a candle ceremony that reminded her of havdallah, Rabbi Goldstein asked these Jews, now dressed in white with turbans on their heads, why they had left Judaism.  “This is such a spiritual way to live,” they said.  “We have a special diet, special clothes, special rules about sex, daily special chanting in a special language…”

Well, have I got news for you…Judaism has all these things, too.  And they are a part of the Jewish system of spirituality, part of Judaism’s spiritual fitness program.  Only, you have to take it seriously, just like a physical fitness program, or it has no chance to succeed.  So, here is the program:

First, you have to join a Jewish spiritual fitness club (sometimes known as a synagogue).  You have to be a member.  You have to make a commitment.  You have to get to know the place and feel a sense of ownership.  You have to get to know the people you are working out with and feel a sense of community. 

Now it just so happens that we have one of the finest spiritual fitness clubs in the city right here. So for those of you who are not members—this is a “one-time offer” to join us.  Sorry, no mountain bike give-aways, although we do have some membership incentives, and a gift to share that came to us from a mountain. 

Second, you have to come out to the spiritual fitness club on a regular basis.  If I told you that I was planning to improve my physical fitness, and that my plan was to go to the health club twice at the beginning of September, and then twice more ten days later, and then not go back until the next September, you might think that I was not serious.  You might suggest that my plan was flawed, and that it would not work.  Well, it won’t work for spiritual fitness, either.  So if that is your plan, I’d have to suggest that you are not serious.  You cannot achieve spiritual fitness in that way.

I am always amazed that people are willing to ride a stationary bike or walk for half an hour on a treadmill that takes them nowhere every time, but they are not willing to study a text or participate in communal worship unless it takes them somewhere every time.

Those who come to the synagogue regularly, and make a place for the Jewish religion in their home and family life, find that it is possible to engage in a spiritual workout on a regular basis.  And just like the physical workout, sometimes you feel great afterwards, sometimes you feel tired, sometimes you feel nothing.  But your progress is measured in small steps, and you get better at it as you go, and your spirit, like your body, becomes stronger and healthier with each day, and you begin to miss the workout if you don’t make it to shul on schedule.

Third, you have to vary your exercises…in order to maintain your vitality, and in order to stretch different parts of your spiritual being, strengthen different parts of your spirit.  And again, like physical fitness, you need a regular routine to combine with different supplementary exercises.  And again, we have them here.

Communal prayer is the regular routine.  On Shabbat and Festivals, we gather here in this place.  If you want a daily routine, morning and evening prayers can be read at home.

Here are some supplementary exercises for you to consider:

1. Personal prayer. What might it mean to begin and end your day with a personal prayer?  What might it mean to get up in the morning and say “modeh ani lefanecha”—I am so grateful this morning to be alive and to have a new start, a new opportunity on this new day?  What might it mean to end each day with a quiet inventory of the day and a moment or two of self-reflection?  Did I act today with integrity?  Where did I fail?  How can tomorrow be better?  Followed by “Shema Yisrael”—I acknowledge my connection to the Jewish People and the unity and oneness of God and the universe as I drift off to sleep.

2. Torah study. There is a tale of a man who brings his son to the rabbi to study.  “Why do you want him to learn Torah?” the rabbi asks.  “So that he can teach his son Torah” was the reply.  “Better you should come to study Torah so that when your son sees you study, he will want to study also.”  So many Jews think that Jewish learning is for children.  If you have studied anything as an adult, you know how profoundly serious and deep Judaism is; it is not pediatric, although we have forced it to be “fun di kinder.”  Rabbi Eric Yoffie, the Past President of the Union for Reform Judaism, liked to compare it to an oxygen mask in an airplane: if you need oxygen, you are always instructed to place your own mask on first, and then place one on your children.  Torah is an adult Jew’s oxygen mask.  You need to put it on yourself first, and then you can put it on your children.  Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was once asked why all the pages of the tractates of Talmud start with page 2? (There are no page 1’s in the Talmud.)  He replied, “However much you study, you should always remember you haven’t even gotten to the first page yet.”

3. Tzedakah. A lovely way to practice gratefulness each day.  Set aside a can or a jar as a “pushke”, and at the end of the day throw our pennies or loose change into it.  And as you do, think about the fact that there may be someone somewhere who needs that change even more than you do.  At the end of each month or two, take the money and decide what you want to do with it–perhaps thematically.  At Sukkot, festival of the harvest, you might use it to buy food for a food bank, or donate to Mazon or other food-related charities.  At Pesach, festival of freedom, you might contribute to the Religious Action Center, or other organizations working toward freedom or civil rights; or to Ma’ot Chittin, which provides kosher-for-Pesach food to people who cannot afford to buy it.  At Shavuot, festival of learning, you might choose to support schools or organizations dedicated to teaching and study.

4. G’milut Chasadim – Acts of kindness toward others. Mishnah Peah, which we read in the morning service, reminds us of some of these: visiting the sick, comforting the bereaved, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked.  For many years in Toronto I was involved, together with a number of members of my congregation, in volunteering for StreetHelp—a mobile response to homelessness, in which we provided food and essential goods (blankets, sleeping bags and clothing) to homeless people. And those who shared in the experience could tell you that, in addition to saving the lives of others, it was for us an exercise of the spirit.  Indeed, our souls were touched and none of us are now who we were before.  Volunteering at the food bank, walking to raise money for the homeless, blowing the shofar at a seniors’ residence, visiting someone in hospital or at home, are examples of G’milut Chasadim that I have done here in San Francisco with, and on behalf of members of BIJ.  These, too, are exercises of the spirit.  We need to choose some of them and do them.

5. How and what we eat. Perhaps the most difficult discipline to control is what, when and how we eat.  Judaism elevates the very banal and somewhat animal act of eating by offering a regime that includes a special diet and the offering of blessings of gratefulness both before and after eating.  Distinguishing between permitted and prohibited foods and which ones may or may not be eaten together, is a simple ritual that reminds us that not everything is available to gratify our desires, and that we have choices to make in all matters of daily living.  Having to figure out whether the foods we are eating grow from the earth, on vines or fruit trees, in order to make the right blessing, helps us to remember that the grocery store is not the ultimate source of our nourishment.  Remembering to thank God for the bounty of nature’s goodness and for our sustenance and good fortune is crucial to our spirituality. We are, after all, reflections of God’s grace and lovingkindness.

6. Celebrating Shabbat. Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sasov said, “A human being who does not have a single hour for his or her own every day is not much of a human being.”  We instinctively know this already.  We are so exhausted by the end of the week.  Can you imagine 24 hours without the phone ringing? Without e-mail? Without your iPad or your smart phone? Just peace and quiet?  Shabbat forces us to take a moment, an hour, a day for ourselves—for refreshment and renewal.  If we are more than our bodies, then certainly we are more than our jobs and our daily routine.  So on Thursday we should prepare: set the menu, make plans to be with friends or family on Shabbat afternoon.  On Friday we should clean—ourselves andthe house; Friday night, no more eating fast food in the den, or leftovers in front of the open fridge.  With candlelight and wine we can feel like mentshcen again.  The body gets to rest, and the spirit gets to breathe. Our spirit gets to rejoice.

This is the program, and these are the exercises.  They are the offering of this Jewish spiritual fitness club, and they can make a difference in your life, if only you will “get with the program.”  Oh, and did I mention… membership here is for life! 

May yours be filled with all that is good, from this Rosh Hashanah until the next, may we reach it in peace…

Erev Rosh Hashanah – Saving Our Lives

There is an amazing midrash that I want to share with you tonight.  A midrash is a story that the rabbis write about an incident in the Torah.  The midrash, itself, is not in the Torah, but the rabbis write it for the purpose of teaching a new lesson or revealing a new truth about the verses that they find in the Torah. 

The midrash that I want to share with you is about the time when the Pharoah’s daughter came to bathe in the river Nile, and discovered Moses floating in his basket among the bull rushes by the river’s edge.  We all know the story.  Pharaoh’s daughter rescues Moses and arranges for a nursemaid, so that she can raise him as her own. The nursemaid turns out to be Moses’ mother, Yocheved.  Moses comes to live in the Pharaoh’s palace, only later to emerge as the leader of the Israelite people.

Now, according to the Midrash, found in Pirke d’Rabi Eliezer (47b), one of the handmaidens accompanying Pharaoh’s daughter, seeing that Moses was a Hebrew child, asks her why she is saving this little baby.  And here is the amazing part—Pharaoh’s daughter answers by quoting the Talmud—saying, “it is because we have been taught that one who saves a single life is regarded as one who saves the world.”

Now, you might not find this to be out of the ordinary.  And generations of rabbis and their disciples who studied this midrash might not have thought it unusual.  But anytime an ancient Egyptian princess quotes the Talmud, it gets my attention.  For even though it would not be written for another 2000 years, the rabbis put the words of Sanhedrin 37a into the mouth of Pharaoh’s daughter, and we must ask ourselves why?

The passage that she quotes is from the warnings presented to prospective jurors in cases involving capital crimes, to ensure that they treat their responsibilities seriously, because they would understand that Judaism places the highest value upon human life.  And because even Pharaoh’s daughter knew this, and quoted it correctly—and because she acted upon it, according to our midrash, she was given a place in Olam Ha-ba—The World to Come—which is our tradition’s highest reward.

Through this midrash, the rabbis are reminding us of the importance of this teaching: “One who saves a single life is regarded as though they had saved the world.” 

Maimonides, in his Mishneh Torah concurs: “Regarding Cain it is written,” he says, “The bloodsof your brother cry out to me.” (Gen 4:10); the word “bloods” is in the plural.  “The bloodsof your brother cry out to me.”  That is, his blood and the blood of his potential descendants.  For this reason, Adam was created alone, to show that should anyone destroy a single life he shall be called to account as though he had destroyed a complete world; and should anyone preserve a single life, he is credited as though he had preserved a complete world.”

So what did they mean by this?  That we should go around looking for people whose life was in immediate danger, and save them at all cost?  Yes, I believe that this is indeed what they were telling us.  For in their day one might have had the opportunity to redeem a captive from kidnapping or forced labor, or one might have stumbled across two people in a violent struggle and taken the opportunity to intervene before one of them was killed.  But I also believe they were telling us more.

I believe that the rabbis were telling us that, in addition to literally saving lives, there was so much we could do to save a single life—and therefore save the world—in a figurative sense.

We learn thisfrom another passage of Talmud—Nedarim 7b—that “poverty is like death.”  The rabbis understood that “poverty is immobilizing, in the restrictions that it imposes on the health, time, and choices available to poor people.  Poverty devours the body and spirit; it brings tears of stress and sorrow to loving relationships; it devours the present and obliterates the future.  It buries the poor in a coffin of invisibility, removing them from our sight and consciousness—except, perhaps, when the ghosts of poverty make their criminal appearance on our very doorstep.”       (Jews, Money and Social Responsibility, p.113f)

The rabbis knew…and they taught us.  Poverty is like death.

“It breeds despair in the hearts of its victims, as well as in the hearts of the rest of us who, seemingly lacking the means to ‘do something’ about homelessness, hunger, AIDS, crime and other poverty-related problems, resort instead to shunning the poor, counting our blessings and building walls and moats around our good fortune.” (ibid. p.114)

In tractate Avodah Zarah, the Talmud lists a poor person as one of “four kinds of people who are regarded as if they were dead.”  Poverty is like death.

But in Bava Batra 10a we find the prescription.  Rabbi Yehudah says, “But tzedakah saves from death…”  So it is possible for us to save a life and save the world through acts of tzedakah—no immediate physical peril, and so no special prowess or heroics necessary here.  Just a little righteous giving.  Give tzedakah and save a life.  Save a life and save the world.

By extension of the rabbis thinking about tzedakah, we can imagine that there are, in fact, numerous ways in which we can “save a life”, so many ways in which we can act to save the world.  We are taught that “one who teaches a neighbor’s child is regarded as though he had given life to that child.  We can give life—we can save a life—by teaching a neighbor’s child. 

We can save a life by providing employment for someone we know who is out of work, or by assisting them in finding employment.  This is, after all, the highest rung on Maimonides’ tzedakah ladder:  “The person who helps another support himself by a gift or a loan or by finding employment for that person, thus helping that person to become self-supporting.”

And if this is true, then we can save a life in many other ways as well.

Feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, providing shelter for the homeless.  Each of these acts of lovingkindness—g’milut chasadim in Hebrew—has the potential to be life changing, and therefore life-saving.  Visiting the sick and comforting the mourner.  

Fostering or adopting a child who is without parents, or without a stable home in which to live, may well determine that child’s fate. Providing the stable environment in which a child can heal and grow and thrive can save a life. Advocating for children who are being exploited in the workplace or traded as commodities in the sex and porn industries or sold into slavery in this country and around the world, may save them from a life of physical abuse, and ultimately from death.

This is what I believe our ancient rabbis wanted us to know and to do.  And the challenge is before us to give form to their words, through acts of tzedakah and tikkun olam.  But in our day, there is also the opportunity to save lives in the literal sense.  A true story will illustrate my point.

A few years back, when I lived in Toronto, I was contacted by the Canadian Red Cross and informed that I was a potential match for a person, unknown to me, who was awaiting a bone marrow transplant.  (Several years before this, I had been screened at a bone marrow clinic at a neighborhood synagogue.)  I remember the feeling of apprehension and anxiety that I felt, because actually being a bone marrow donor requires time and the procedure leaves the donor with some discomfort for a period following the removal of the bone marrow.  But I also remember the feeling of exhilaration.  I remember walking into the Red Cross building with my head held high, feeling like I was some kind of celebrity, and somewhat surprised that the mayor had not come by to personally welcome me.

I know now that it was because I realized that I had the potential to save someone’s life.  I had no idea who that person was, nor did they know me (Maimonides’ 7^thlevel of giving).  All I knew was that I might become the instrument of someone else’s survival.  In some ways it reminded me of the feelings I had when my children were born.  And I remember how disappointed I was when, within a short span of time, I learned that the follow-up testing had shown that I was not a match for this peson after all, and I would have to keep my bone marrow to myself for the time being.  Giving a life—saving a life—is awesome and powerful.

I am surprised whenever I meet people who are not yet on the Bone Marrow Registry, through which potential matches are found for thousands of people who lie in hospital beds, with hopes fading for this last chance to be restored to health.  After all, the screening is not difficult.  A few drops of blood, fill out some forms, and in some cases pay a nominal fee to cover the lab costs for the test itself.  The ideal candidate is 18-40 years of age and in good health, but you can register even if you are older. All you need to do is go on line at BeTheMatch.com.  Similarly, we can give a gift of life at local blood donor clinics.  I am amazed that more people do not make blood donation a regular part of their schedule.

A third way that we can give a gift of life to someone else is by completing and carrying an organ transplant card with us.  I wrote about this in my Bulletin article in the spring, but it is so important as a way to save lives that I will speak about it for a few moments this evening. 

I am often approached by people who believe that Judaism is opposed to organ transplantation, because of the traditional belief in bodily resurrection in the time of the Messiah, and the requirement that of all parts of a dead body must be buried together.  In a modern Reform responsa, Rabbi Walter Jacob cites the recognized Orthodox scholar, Moshe Feinstein.  Feinstein rules that saving a life is the highest priority, and therefore such transplants are certainly permitted, but that in addition, any body part that is transplanted into another person, such as bone or eyes, even if not life saving, becomes a part of a living body, and is therefore no longer connected to the dead body in any way, and does not require burial with the dead body. The State of California gives us the right to identify specific organs for transplant if we wish, or to leave that to the medical practitioners whose skills can make use of our organs to give new life to a dying person. So with these reservations set aside, there seems to me no reason why we should not all carry consent forms, and leave explicit directions in our living wills for our organs to be made available for transplantation—to save a life.

And finally, there is the matter of saving our own lives.  This is the time to commit ourselves to lifestyle changes that will contribute to our own good health and well being.  If you are one of the increasingly small number of folks who have not already done so, this is the time to stop smoking.  If you have not already done so, this is the time to stop using non-prescription drugs.  If you have not already done so, this is the time to lower your cholesterol.  I know, because I have been working to lower mine.  Regular exercise, less stress, less chemicals in our food and on our lawns.  Whatever it might be that you have been flirting with to live a healthier life, this is the time. To save a life.  To save your own life.

A journalist assigned to the Jerusalem bureau takes an apartment in the Old City, overlooking the Western Wall.  Every day when she looks out, she sees an old man praying vigourously.  So the journalist goes down to the wall and introduces herself to the old man.

“You come every day to the wall,” she says.  “How long have you done that, and what are you praying for?”

The old man replies, “I have come here to pray every day for 25 years.  In the morning, I pray for world peace and for the brotherhood of man.  Then I go home, have a cup of tea, and after that I come back and pray for the eradication of illness and disease from the earth.”

The journalist is amazed.  “How does it make you feel to come here every day for 25 years and pray for these things?” she asks.

And the old man replies, calmly… “Like I’m talking to a wall.”

Each year we come here on Rosh Hashanah, and we pray for good things to happen in the year ahead.  Each year we come searching for a way to make our world a little better, searching for a way to make a difference.  But if each year we only pray, then go home to have a cup of tea, as it were, and then return only to pray again, sooner or later we will get the feeling that we are talking to a wall.

So this year, I am asking that each one of you add actions to your prayers.  Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give shelter to the homeless, a home to a child who needs it, employment for someone who is out of work.  Put yourself on the bone marrow registry, donate blood regularly, fill out your organ donation form, live healthier lives.

You don’t have to do them all.  But if each of us did just one of these things.  If, in the words of Kol Nidre, “between this 2024 and the next, may we reach it in peace,” each of us saves just one life—together we can save the world.