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Rabbi Bach, Rosh Hashanah Morning

Larry Bach — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 13:46:32 +0000

The blasts of the shofar, which we’ll hear in just a few minutes, are a key element of the Rosh Hashanah service. To hear the sound of the shofar – lishmo’a kol shofar– is the central commandment of this holiday.It’s worthwhile to reflect for a moment about just why we listen to the shofar blasts. One way of answering the question, “Why,” is with that time-honored response, “because God says so.” The Torah’s account of the festival calendar calls the first day of the month of Tishrei a yom teruah, a “day for blowing the horn.” If the Torah tells us so, perhaps that ought to be enough. it was certainly enough for a certain Rabbi Isaac whose words are remembered in the pages of the Talmud (BT RH 16a): “Why do we blow? God said, ‘Blow!’”

Or maybe it’s not enough. Some of you will remember that just shy of three weeks ago, Rabbi Bellush’s mentor and friend, Rabbi Sissy Coran, was our guest and teacher at Rabbi Bellush’s service of installation. In her remarks, she told how lucky were were to be getting in Rabbi Bellush a teacher who would not offer mere “because it says so” answers to our questions, but who would help us to explore the deeper meanings of why we do what we do. Rabbi Coran was right, both about the inadequacy of “because I said so” as an answer for today’s Jews, and about Rabbi Bellush’s gifts as a teacher. I thought about her observation as I prepared for this service, as I found myself learning from words written centuries ago by another Rabbi who wasn’t entirely content with “because it says so” as a reason for performing this particular commandment.

That Rabbi was Moshe ben Maimon, better known as Maimonides, the great twelfth-century sage who seems to make an appearance in my divrei torah each holiday season. The passage is found in his “Laws of Repentance.” There (Hil. Teshuvah 3:4), he writes: “It’s true that we blow the shofar because the Torah tells us to do so. But the fact that ‘it says so’ is no reason to stop searching for deeper meanings, for the remez, the allusions present within the act.” He then goes on to describe the sound of the shofar as a wake-up call, and a call to conscience. His words have become a part of our prayerbook, and they’re right before you on page 139. Let’s read the passage aloud together (even though they’re not italicized!):

Awake, you sleepers, from your sleep! Rouse yourselves, you slumberers, out of your slumber! Examine your deeds, and turn to God in repentance. Remember your Creator, you who are caught up in the daily round, losing sight of eternal truth; you who are wasting your years in vain pursuits that neither profit nor save. Look closely at yourselves; improve your ways and deeds. Abandon your evil ways, your unworthy schemes, every one of you.

We call these days Y’mei Teshuvah, the “Days of Repentance,” and there’s no doubt that repenting is a big part of what they’re about. Rabbi Bellush taught us beautifully last night about teshuvah, which is essentially the creation of new pathways in our own hearts and minds as we shed our old stories and embrace new possibilities. What I’d like to do this morning is to build upon her words in light of a teaching from the contemporary Israeli rabbi, Haim Sabato. (I must say, parenthetically, that the process of crafting this sermon in dialogue with Rabbi Bellush has been sheer delight, as she and I have sharpened our respective messages by sharing their development with one another. Thank you, chaverah!).Sabato points out that there are other kinds of shofar blasts mentioned in the Torah, which don’t seem to have anything to do with calling people to account for their actions. As an example, he cites this verse, from the prophet Isaiah: “It will come to pass on that day that a great shofar will be sounded. The lost souls of Assyrian captivity will come home, and the exiles from Egypt too. They will all bow low to God at God’s holy mountain in Jerusalem (Is 27:13). This sort of blast is not first and foremost about teshuvah, but rather about ge’ulah…that is, it’s not about Repentance, but about Redemption. Sabato also reminds us that when the Rabbis composed the weekday prayers, they placed the prayer for “repentance” and the one for “redemption” in sequence. Three times a day, six days a week, many Jews pray first for repentance, and then immediately for redemption. And so Sabato asks a reasonable question: what is the connection between these two important ideas, teshuvah and ge’ulah?

Here is his answer. He writes (and I paraphrase)…

Both “repentance” and “redemption” imply a return to a former state of being. With regard to repentance, consider for example the verse from Lamentations (5:21): “Cause us to repent, O God, and we shall repent; restore our days as of old.” In other words, make us pure and whole once again.

And in the case of redemption, consider the Torah’s procedure for “redeeming” homes, fields, or slaves. In each case, the definition of “redemption” is: “restoring affairs to their prior state.” Homes and fields return to their original owners after the redemption of the Jubilee year; the slave becomes free, as is natural, and returns to his family. Even the “blood redemption” contemplated by the Torah, in which a family is obligated to extract the ultimate price from one who kills their kin, is grounded in the deep and strong desire to make things as they were (though this is, of course, not possible). There is the Redemption of the Jewish People, which really means the return of the exiled people to their land, and their former status. And there is the Redemption of the Land: the Land of Israel’s restoration as a place which flowers and feeds. Finally, there is the redemption of the world, which means, essentially, that everything will return to a pure, pristine state of being, uncorrupted by all of the mistakes we’ve made over all the generations…

Teshuvah, too, like Redemption, is the restoration of our natural state, a state of purity and love of God. Teshuvah restores us, renews us, revives us. It makes us as we once were, innocent and whole.

And so it is that the blast of the shofar, whether it be a blast of teshuvah or a blast of ge’ulah, is a call to renewal and return. This is why we use a simple ram’s horn, an instrument unadorned with mouthpieces, valves, and the like. The sound must be natural, simple, primal. The medium is the message.

Thus far, Sabato is interested in what unites teshuvah and ge’ulah. Both of them are ultimately about return and renewal to that which once was, but is at least temporarily no more. Reading him, I am reminded of the very helpful definition of “redemption” offered by Rabbi Larry Kushner (The Book of Words): “the process of exchanging something for what it is really worth.” Kushner illustrates this by reminding his readers of the “S&H Green Stamp ‘Redemption’ Center,” of his own childhood, where stickers were redeemed for toasters. Today’s children live in a world without S&H, but the lesson lives on at the iTunes Store. My Afikomen gifts at recent congregational seders have been in the form of iTunes gift codes for songs. And as much as I love giving our Afikomen finders good Passover music, I think I love even more that those kids get to take a series of letters and numbers, type them into a box, and then click a button that says, simply, “Redeem.” And the code becomes what it really was all along: a song. Back to Sabato, who now explores the essential difference between repentance and redemption. Again, I’ll paraphrase his words:

Where Repentance is about changing oneself, Redemption is effected by others. Relatives redeem the slave. A person redeems a field, or a home. God redeems the Jewish People. A person need not play any role in his own redemption, other than to wait expectantly for it. This is not the case with regard to repentance, which is essentially self-initiated. It is up to the penitent to effect the change, mend his ways, change her way of thinking. Therefore, the sort of redemption that flows from our teshuvah is of a higher order than the sort that comes about through good fortune or divine favor.

As Sabato has it, teshuvah is a superior starting point for redemptive work, since it gets the self involved. The sort of redemption he has in mind is not miraculous, sea-splitting, bear-you-on-eagle’s-wings stuff; it’s the long, hard work of transforming that which is into that which can and should be. It starts with a good look at oneself, a moment of teshuvah; it finds its fulfillment in the outward reach, in caring for others.

The famed Rabbi Israel Salanter, founder of the Mussar Movement in Judaism, was known to say, “Spiritual life is superior to physical life. But the physical life of another is an obligation of my spiritual life.” Elsewhere, he said it slightly differently, and more memorably: “A good Jew doesn’t worry about his neighbor’s soul and his own stomach; he worries about his own soul and his neighbor’s stomach.”

To get this deep connection between teshuvah and ge’ulah is to know that one’s own spiritual work is inextricably bound up with the collective obligation to establish justice. Teshuvah precedes ge’ulah. Repairing the self is a prerequisite for repairing the world. I believe that this is so because, at the very deepest level, “self” and “other,” “me” and “everything,” is quite simply a false distinction. It’s a useful falsehood, no doubt. Without it, we’d have no way of navigating in the world, distinguishing friend from foe, safety from danger, family from stranger. But those distinctions, useful as they are, ultimately melt away in the presence of God, the One who is both the Point of our Return and the Power that Makes for Redemption.

UC San Diego neuroscientist VS Ramachandran describes a particular type of brain activity carried out by what are called “mirror neurons.” These neurons fire not when we do something…but when we see someone else do something. In a fascinating TED talk he explores the fact these neurons are the key to our ability to experience empathy the other, to experience the world through their eyes. He asks a provocative question: Why, then, do we not actually feel the physical pain of another when we see their bodies hurting? The answer has to do with the pain receptors that reside in our skin, which have veto power over the neurons in our brains, allowing us to empathize without actually feeling the pain. But take away those receptors — as is the case, for example, if someone has lost a limb to an accident, or even in experimental conditions with a local anesthetic — and a person does in fact feel actual, physical pain when they see someone else hurting in the same place on the body! The skin is no longer able to describe for the mind a distinction between “me” and “other,” and so the pain of the other is quite literally felt by me!

Ramachandran jokes with his audience that he calls these neurons “Ghandi Neurons.” He goes on, and is worthy quoting at some length:

All that’s separating you from him, from the other person, is your skin. Remove the skin, you experience that person’s touch in your mind. You’ve dissolved the barrier between you and other human beings…there is no real independent self, aloof from other human beings, inspecting the world, inspecting other people. You are in fact, connected not just via Facebook, and Internet, you’re actually quite literally connected by your neurons. And there is a whole chains of neurons around this room, talking to each other. And there is no real distinctiveness of your consciousness from somebody else’s consciousness.

The Persian poet Sa’adi was not a neuroscientist, but he hit upon the very same truth. At roughly the same time that Maimonides was writing the Laws of Repentance in Cairo, he was in Shiraz, giving the world this insight:

Human beings are members of a whole,

In creation of one essence and one soul.

If one member is afflicted with pain,

Other members uneasy will remain.

If you’ve no sympathy for human pain,

The name of human you cannot retain!

To work on our own teshuvah in isolation from our neighbors’ ge’ulah is not only wrong, it’s absurd, impossible. A Jew ought to know that the worldy needs of the other — a neighbor, a stranger, and in the most expansive way, even an enemy — are rightly his or her spiritual concern. Our journey Home goes through our neighbor’s stomach, as it were…a thought that I’ll leave for Rabbi Bellush to expand upon next Saturday. It goes through many, many uncomfortable places. Our journey home takes us through soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and orphanages. Our journey home takes us through nursing homes, hospital rooms, and houses of mourning. Our journey home takes us, if not in fact then at least in thought and prayer, to prisons, to battlefields and to refugee camps. To the extent that we wish to be redeemed of our own broken pasts and made new and whole, we need to show up for those around us who are hurting. “Redemption is effected by others.” Who will redeem the other, if not you?

With all my heart, I hope that you’re not here this morning just because someone said so. I hope you are here to discover new meaning, to walk new paths, I hope you’re here with open hearts, open wide to the possibilities of teshuvah and geulah, repentance and redemption.

Rabbi Bellush, Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon

Larry Bach — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 13:33:00 +0000

A quote often attributed to Albert Einstein is that “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but, expecting different results.” Yet, here we all are again: Another Rosh Hashanah, using the same book, praying the same prayers, maybe even sitting in the same seat. Well, I guess one thing is different; me being here. Still, we’re all here to do the same thing: each year at this time we attempt to acknowledge our faults, repair relationships and return, once again, to God. Teshuvah would be easy if it weren’t for the fact that it requires us to change and most of us, just don’t like change.

We like our routines. Every morning I drive to Temple the exact same way. When I get here, I park in the same spot every day. The parking lot could be totally empty, yet, I park in the exact same spot.

Change is hard enough when it only involves ourselves, but changing how we treat others is even more difficult. We’re set in our ways and the difficult people in our lives know exactly which buttons to push to set us off, and we react just as we have in the past.

It doesn’t have to be that way. Change is possible, especially if we think of it as small steps, rather than as one huge leap. If we think of our Teshuvah as taking a small step in the direction of being the person we know God wants us to be, we’ll get there. Each year we’ll be a little bit closer. That’s all that God asks. That we keep trying.

The poet Portia Nelson, writes about changing our behavior in a piece titled There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk: An Autobiography in Five Short Chapters.

Chapter One
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.Chapter Two
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

Chapter Three
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in…it’s a habit…but my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter Four
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter Five
I walk down another street.

It feels good when a story has a happy ending. This particular story is about someone who is able to choose another path. Someone who, over time, becomes more aware; aware of the world around them, and more self-aware. Both are necessary for teshuvah. Whether its repairing a relationship with a friend or loved one, or returning to our relationship with God, teshuvah is about not making the same mistakes, not falling into the same hole over and over again. Easy? No. Doable? Yes.

In Chapter One the poet is walking along, going through life oblivious to her surroundings. It’s the spiritual equivalent of going through life always listening to an iPod. She is so absorbed in whatever she’s thinking about, she doesn’t know the hole exists, doesn’t even see the hole before she falls in. Unable to recognize the hole for what it is, she can’t even begin to negotiate the process of extracting herself from it. In addition, there is no acknowledgement that she has any responsibility for getting herself into the hole in the first place.

We all know people that go through life this way. The alcoholic or drug abuser who never admits to having a problem, so he’s never able to seek help or right the wrongs he’s inflicted on loved ones. We all know people who live their life constantly in the center of turmoil. Yet, as far as they’re concerned, their problems are always the result of someone else’s misdeed. Someone that can’t hold down a job, because the boss is always ‘out to get them.’ Or someone who’s totally ineffective on committees because no one else’s ideas are ever worth listening to. In a family setting it’s the person who only sees their own needs, without even a clue that others might have needs as well.

In Chapter Two our poet makes very little progress, but she does sharpen the skill of denial. She sees the hole, but pretends it’s not there. She could be someone who always spends beyond her means, yet doesn’t understand why in the middle of each month she no longer has money for food and goes further and further into debt to feed her family. The perpetrator of domestic violence recognizes the physical battering he inflicts, but justifies his actions. He convinces himself his victim brought it upon herself. In his mind, he isn’t the one with the problem.

Chapter Three represents one of life’s true turning points, because the poet acknowledges her shortcomings, and accepts responsibility for her actions. She finally sees the hole, she acknowledges her problem, but she still falls in. The real difference in chapter three is that now she gets out of the hole immediately. It’s a major change. She recognizes that she’s been living her life a certain way for a long time and acknowledges that she has a problem. Her actions have become habit, but now she has a different perspective, so she is able to quickly find a way out. The alcoholic goes to AA. The drug abuser enters rehab. The couple who has been constantly fighting recognizes that true communication is about honestly expressing desires and disappointments.

I’m using some very dramatic examples to illustrate the point, but maybe our sins this year are about being too judgmental, or always blaming others when things go wrong. Maybe we haven’t been present enough for loved ones and friends. For these sins Teshuvah is still a process, and in that process is a turning point when we know we have to do things differently.

One of my turning points came when I started learning about Jewish ethics and values. I had come home from a shopping and saw on a receipt that instead of being charged $42.00 for a necklace I bought, the sales clerk had only charged $4.20 on my credit card. My first reaction was (smile!!) “Oh. Look at that.” And then I realized that the right thing to do was go back to the store the next day, and correct the mistake. So I did. It was my turning point. We can’t just talk about our Jewish values. We have to live them.

Chapter Four in the poem presents real progress. It is straightforward, but there’s more than one interpretation:

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

We have to applaud a very positive step in the process of teshuvah. The poet recognizes behavior that leads to negative consequences. For the alcoholic it could be walking into a bar, or for the addict, going to a party where drug use is likely. It is about avoiding situations that will get likely cause us to revert to the same poor choices we’ve made in the past.

A husband and wife who are always arguing about money, perhaps their turning point is the recognition that when they talk about money after a long and stressed-filled day at work the discussion always deteriorates into an argument. Walking around the hole might mean waiting until the weekend to have that same discussion.

Another example is someone who’s taking care of an elderly parent and is constantly short-tempered or gets angry and verbally abusive on a regular basis. Their turning point might mean recognizing the need to hire an outside caregiver. In this case ‘walking around the hole’ means recognizing it is better to improve the quality of time together, even if it means shortening the amount of time spent together.

At this point in our teshuvah, we recognize the hole for what it is: the trap that gets us to repeat destructive patterns of behavior. If we can see the hole before we fall in, then we might be able to find a way around it. This is a major step in the process of repentance.

Now, a second interpretation of chapter four is that it is a metaphor for dealing with a difficult relationship in our life. Walking around the hole is a means of avoidance.

We might say to ourselves, ‘I can’t get along with him, so I just won’t talk to him. He upsets me. She gets me angry. I don’t care if they happen to be my father or my sister or my cousin; I just won’t deal with them.’ When avoidance becomes estrangement, it is a step back, not a step forward. Sometimes that step back is necessary. We might need some time to process and come to terms with the inherent limitations of a relationship. We might need time to let painful wounds heal. But avoidance, even when necessary, is only a temporary measure. The problem still requires a solution. Which brings us to chapter five.

A one-line stanza. The poet writes “I walk down another street.” She’s learned to take a different path. No longer a creature of habit, no longer fighting against past behaviors, she’s able to make different choices. Although not detailed in the poem, at this point, true teshuvah requires apologies and the righting of wrongs committed. Two life-long friends no longer speak to each other because when their business partnership dissolved they argued over the final disposition of assets. An apology which includes a financial settlement would be a huge step in repairing the relationship.

It would be great if we were able to live our lives in an ever increasing pattern of self-awareness and growth. The reality is that we grow in ways that more likely resemble two steps forward and one step back. We know that when our partner or parent greets us with “you’re late again.” We know the best response is probably “I’m sorry.” Yet, sometimes, that’s just not what comes out. We’re not perfect. We can’t always do and say the right thing at the right time. But if we try, we might succeed more often than not. Believing in ourselves, believing we can change is at the heart of teshuvah.

Whether it’s righting a wrong committed against another person or repenting over a sin against God, teshuvah is a process. Prof. Louis Newman, an expert on Jewish ethics writes that teshuvah is “a return to the person we most deeply, truly are and were created to be. It is a turning away from transgression and brokenness and toward the ones we have harmed. At the same time it is turning inward in self-examination and turning toward God, who loves us even in our waywardness and calls us to truthfulness and wholeness.”#

Teshuvah is a process in which we recognize our shortcomings and then feel remorse. Only by first seeing where we missed the mark, can we address the damage which results, and only then can we resolve not to commit the offense again.

Rabbi Bunam of Pzsyha once asked his disciples “How can you tell when a sin you have committed has been pardoned?” His disciples gave various answers but none of them pleased the rabbi. “We can tell,” he said to them, “by the fact that we no longer commit that same sin [when presented with the same circumstances.]

We never know what life will bring. We often find ourselves on streets which are not of our own choosing. Maybe we don’t have control over how we get there, but we can control what we do once in the situation.

If it were up to me, our poem would have an additional chapter.

Chapter Six
I walk down another street.
I see a hole.
Different from any hole that’s come before.
I ask for God’s help.
I see a plank of wood.
I lay it across the hole, and make my way across.

Our teshuvah doesn’t have to be the same, year-in and year-out. We can get better at it. As we begin Yamim Hanoraim, the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, may we ask for God’s help to see the holes in our sidewalks, and this year, with God’s help, may we not fall in.Shana Tova!

Holocaust Survivor David Kaplan, 8/28 at the Holocaust Museum

Larry Bach — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 12:40:11 +0000

An important and powerful program from our friends at the El Paso Holocaust Museum and Study Center

The EPHM Book Club will continue its quarterly discussions with the book “I Forgive Them” by Holocaust Survivor David Kaplan. The discussion will be at 11 a.m. Sunday, Aug. 28 at the Museum, 715 N. Oregon. That date also marks Mr. Kaplan’s 83rd birthday.

Darren Hunt, KVIA reporter and host of ABC-7’s “Xtra” will moderate the discussion and will interview Mr. Kaplan about the book and his life as a young victim of the Holocaust. He was only 12 years old when he was first moved to a ghetto with his family in Lithuania and, for the next several years, would experience grueling hardships in several concentration camps throughout Europe. Mr. Kaplan’s strength is evident, not only in his will to survive, but in his ability to forgive, which is detailed in his book.

In 2011, the EPHM Book Club chose to feature books that highlight the lives of Holocaust survivors who made El Paso their home. Already this year, books by Sara Hauptman (“The Lioness of Judah”) and the late Itzhak Kotkowski (“The Wiles of Destiny”) have been featured. In November, the Museum will feature the book “From Darkness to Sunshine” by the late Mark Kupfer.
Please join us as we examine the life of another survivor who made El Paso his home. The book “I Forgive Them” is available at the Museum Bookstore for $15.

Details

What: EPHM Book Club presents the book “I Forgive Them” by Holocaust Survivor David Kaplan. KVIA’s Darren Hunt will moderate the discussion and interview Mr. Kaplan.
When: 11 a.m. Sunday, Aug. 28, 2011
Where: El Paso Holocaust Museum and Study Center, 715 N. Oregon
Books: Available for purchase at the Museum Bookstore for $15
Information: 351-0048 ext. 24