Drashot

Yogi Berra is supposed to have said, “You had better go to your friends’ funerals… or they won’t come to yours.” Most of us want to be remembered for the good we did in our lives and for the loving relationships we nurtured over time. Even when we hurt someone or did harm, did we try to make it right? Did we change and grow and become better people? 

This week’s Torah portion is Chayei Sarah, The Life of Sarah, and it begins with Sarah’s death, with these words, “Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty-seven years.” (Genesis 23:1) The Hebrew reads differently than the English translation, however, “Sarah’s lifespan was one hundred years, and twenty years, and seven years. These were the years of Sarah’s life.” Our sages believed that every word in the Torah is intentional so they wondered, why was the word year repeated after each grouping of years and what might it mean? Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev (one of the great Chassidic masters of the 18th Century) wrote in his Torah Commentary, Kidushat Levi, “When the Torah refers to her “life” as being 127 years ‎long, this means nothing less than that she had spent all these ‎years accumulating merits for the good deeds she performed. ‎Expressed somewhat differently, the Torah states that it was ‎Sarah, who with her good deeds gave “life” to her years.‎”

In other words, the repetition of the word years teaches us that Sarah, through her consistent striving to be a good and caring person, made each year equally important and equally valuable. Thus she endowed her lifetime with goodness and sanctity. As we remember during the Days of Awe, each day of life is a gift and our capacity for change is always present. We choose how to live our lives and the choices we make are how we will be remembered. Just as Sarah shows us in this week’s Torah portion.

I once saw a sign in front of a church that said, “Your life is God’s gift to you. How you use it is your gift to God.” This Shabbat’s Torah portion begins with a command, “Adonai said to Abram, “Go forth (lech l’cha)from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1) Lech l’cha is an interesting Hebrew construction. It seems to mean, literally, go to yourself. Robert Alter (21st C. California) in his translation of Genesis translates it as “Go forth,” Rashi (12th C. Germany) in his Torah commentary says it means, “go for your own benefit.” Ibn Ezra (14th C. Spain) in his Torah commentary says it means, “take yourself out” of your father’s house. There is, in all these translations, a sense of call and response: God challenges Abraham to begin a great adventure, the outcome of which will be good but is unknown. God is asking Abraham to leave all he knows, all that is familiar and comfortable and take himself to a new place, so he can fulfill his destiny. With this challenge the Jewish story begins. So it is with us also. Like Abraham, God gives us the gift of life, but how things will turn out is unknown. This week’s Torah portion teaches us that if we accept the challenge of life, to live it fully, in all its twists and turns, its joys and its sorrows, we, like Abraham, may become a blessing to those around us. May we have the courage to accept God’s challenge.

Most of us are aware of the Yizkor service on Yom Kippur afternoon where we remember family members and those we have loved throughout our lives and are no longer with us. But there are two other traditions of memorial particular to the High Holy Days that have deep meaning and value. The first is Kever Avot, literally the graves of our ancestors. This is the practice of visiting the graves of our parents (or those who raised us) prior to the start of the High Holy Days. It is an opportunity to reconnect and remember the values they taught us and the examples they set in their lives. 

The second is lighting a yahrzeit candle on Yom Kippur before leaving for the synagogue or lighting candles on Kol Nidre evening. The candles burn for 25 hours and, as with Kever Avot, evoke the memories of our loved ones who are no longer with us. Yahrzeit candles can be purchased at the TBH gift shop and at many larger grocery stores.

We will also continue to remember our Israeli brothers and sisters who were murdered on October 7, those who were taken captive and killed, those captives who still remain alive and the soldiers who have died defending our people.

Shabbat Shuvah is the first Shabbat of the New Year and always falls on the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It gets its name from the Prophetic selection that is read on Shabbat morning, Hosea 14:2-10, that begins, “Return, O Israel, to  the ETERNAL your God, For you have fallen because of your sin.” (Hosea 14:2) and, a few verses later, makes the promise, “Generously will I take them back in love; For My anger has turned away from them.” (Hosea 14:5) Shuva means return and is related to teshuvah, our work during these holy days, which is often mistranslated as repentance, rather than return. 

There is a prayer that many Jews recite every morning, “My God, the soul you have given me is pure, You formed it. You shaped it. You breathed it into me. You keep it safe within me.” 

This idea, that our essence is pure, that it is holy, that it is a gift, It is what the High Holy Days are about. Our work is to return to our true selves, to that pure soul that God planted within us. Understanding that we have done wrong, accepting it, feeling regret, and making atonement, these are part of teshuva. But the goal is to return to our pure essence. The person God created us to be.

May we be inscribed for a good New Year.

This is the final Shabbat of the year 5784 and on Saturday night, motzei Shabbat, we have our Selichot service. In the Ashkenazi tradition, from Selichot through the end of Yom Kippur we recite special penitential prayers, asking for Divine forgiveness and guidance in our process of teshuvah, turning away from our bad habits and toward our best selves. 

The High Holy Days, or Days of Awe, as they are called in Hebrew, are a strange way to celebrate a New Year, not through merriment but through deep self-reflection and the commitment to change and grow. But perhaps this should not be so surprising as, according to our tradition, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and the days in between are when we reach the greatest intimacy with God. It is as if the entire Jewish people stands together on these days as we once did at Sinai.

This week’s Torah portion, Nitzavim-Vayeilech, reinforces this idea as it begins, “You stand this day, all of you, before your God—your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, every householder in Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer—to enter into the covenant of your God יהוה, which your God יהוה is concluding with you this day, with its sanctions; in order to establish you this day as God’s people and in order to be your God, as promised you and as sworn to your fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before our God יהוה and with those who are not with us here this day.” (Deuteronomy 29:9-14) 

Commenting on the final verse, Rashi (11th C. Germany) wrote, “That all of Israel, from the generation that physically stood at Sinai and all future generations were present when the Torah was given at Sinai. The process of revelation that began thousands of years ago was not a one time event, but an ongoing process of which we are a part. Whenever we engage in the hard work of changing and becoming our better selves, or turning away from selfishness toward service we are present at Sinai and helping to bring Torah into the world. Shannah tova u’metukah. May we all merit a sweet and good New Year.

The primary messages of Judaism echo back and forth, reinforcing each other throughout the year. This Shabbat will mark ten days before the beginning of the New Year, the first day of Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah. The meanings of the High Holy Days are many, among them that change and growth are always possible, if we wish to; that God waits for us to turn toward the Divine and cultivate our relationship with God; that forgiveness and reconciliation remain possible as long as we are alive; and that life itself is a gift from God. 

Just about six months ago we celebrated Pesach, our annual commemoration of God’s gift of human freedom and the beginning of the beginning of the history of the Jewish people as a people, rather than just a family. We are the inheritors of that freedom and that history.

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, links the High Holy Days and Pesach, for at the start of the portion we read, the formula that Israelites recited when they brought the first yields of their harvest (bikkurim) to the Priest, “My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to Adonai, the God of our ancestors, and Adonai heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. Adonai freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents, bringing us to this place and giving us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, Adonai, have given me.” You shall leave it before your God and bow low before your God.” 

We recite these same words every year at our Pesach seder; it is the essence of the Exodus story in just a few words. It encapsulates the Jewish people’s relationship with God, God’s role in history, and God’s commitment to freedom. For without freedom, the possibilities of the High Holy Days are not possible. God wants us to be free, so that we can exercise our conscious choice to be the best people we can. Pesach is about freedom and collective redemption. The High Holy Days are about choice, change, and individual redemption. Who do you want to become in this New Year?

What is our responsibility to others, particularly when we exercise power over them and to what extent are we limited in our ability to do whatever we want. This is a fundamental ethical question that lies at the heart of Jewish moral thought. John Stuart Mill, who helped lay the foundation for liberal, democratic societies suggested, to paraphrase, that the freedom to swing one’s arms ended at the other person’s nose. This is a neat summary of the American view of individual freedom and collective responsibility. 

This fundamental ethical question lies at the heart of Jewish moral thought and the Jewish view is different from the Enlightenment one and can be seen in this week’s Torah portion, which  is packed with mitzvot: 72 out of the 613. They include, how to treat female prisoners, taken in war, lost domestic animals, rebellious children, treatment of a mother bird, loans, security and repayment. What they all have in common is the imperative that we are responsible for others and must take active responsibility for their well being. The commandment for building a railing around one’s roof is a good example: “When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring bloodguilt on your house if anyone should fall from it.” (Deuteronomy 22:8) In other words, we are obligated to build a railing around the roof of our house to prevent anyone from falling off and dying. Commenting on this verse, Rashi (11th C. Germany) wrote, “his death should not be occasioned by your agency, for meritorious things are brought about through the agency of good men and bad things only through the agency of evil men”

According to Rashi and Jewish moral thought, a good person takes care to make sure they cause no harm. They don’t just find ways to avoid harming others, they seek to prevent danger and harm to others. This is fundamental positive morality. Societies are strengthened by people’s care for others. It is a rejection of individualism and an embrace of collective responsibility as the foundation of a just society.

This coming Tuesday, September 3, marks Rosh Hodesh Elul, the final month before Rosh Hashanah. The month of Elul is traditionally a time for serious introspection when we begin to prepare for the High Holy Days by reflecting on our actions during the past year and make choices about behaviors we wish to change or leave behind and behaviors we wish to reinforce and carry with us into the New Year.

In this week’s Torah portion, Re’eh, Moses says to the Israelites, “You shall not act at all as we now act here, each of us as we please, because you have not yet come to the allotted haven that your God יהוה is giving you.” (Deuteronomy 12:8-9) The Israelites stand at a crossroads, poised on the eastern bank of the Jordan River, about to enter the Land of Israel. Behind them lies slavery, the Exodus, and wandering in the desert. Before them lies the Promised Land, the Land of Israel, and the opportunity to create a society based on God’s Torah, a more just and moral social order. Part of that responsibility is to subsume the individual desire to do whatever one pleases, to obey God’s moral code to build a just society, where one cannot do whatever one pleases but must take the needs of others into account. This is one of the fundamental tensions of Judaism, balancing the needs of the individual with the needs of the community. It is in the balance of the two that true happiness and fulfillment is found.

At the beginning of the month of Elul, with four weeks until Rosh Hashanah, we stand at our own personal crossroads. Will we continue to do whatever we please, or will we heed Moses’ call to follow God’s Torah and balance our own willfulness with a commitment to others to create better families, communities and society as a whole?

At its core Judaism is a religion of, it celebrates life and helps live a good life. We see this repeated throughout our sacred texts, like here, “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life,” (Deuteronomy 30:19) or here, “You shall keep My laws and My rules, by the pursuit of which human beings shall live: I am Adonai.” (Leviticus 18:5) This last verse is made even more explicit in the Talmud, “Rav Yehuda said that Shmuel said: …  ‘You shall keep My statutes and My ordinances, which a person shall do and live by them” (Leviticus 18:5), and not that he should die by them.’” 

But the Jewish vision of what it means to live is very specific, life only has meaning with purpose. The entire system of Jewish law is designed to help us live lives of meaning and value. We all know the phrase, “man does not live by bread alone.” It comes from this week’s Torah portion. The entire verse is, “[God] subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat, which neither you nor your ancestors had ever known, in order to teach you that a human being does not live on bread alone, but that one may live on anything that Adonai decrees.” (Deuteronomy 8:3) With this verse Moses is reminding the Jewish people that God has sustained them in their wanderings in the desert with physical sustenance (manna) and spiritual sustenance (Torah). 

If we just focus on our physical needs we are materialists and spiritually stunted; our lives are limited. If we just focus on our spiritual needs we cannot survive in the world. A well balanced person must pay attention to both, as it says in Pirkei Avot 3:17) “Where there is no bread, there is no Torah; where there is no Torah, there is no bread.” Or, as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel put it, “A body without a soul is a corpse. A soul without a body is a ghost.” As we begin the countdown to the High Holy Days perhaps we can pay attention to our physical and our spiritual selves.

This Shabbat is called Shabbat Nechamu after the first words of the Haftarah, Isaiah 40:1-26, “Comfort, oh comfort my people, says your God.” (Isaiah 1:1) Shabbat Nechamu is one of seven shabbats of consolation that link Tisha b’Av to Rosh Hashanah. The prophetic readings for each of these shabbats reminds us of God’s promise of redemption, even during the darkest moments in our individual and collective lives.

Tisha b’Av, when we remember the destruction of the First and Second Temples, is the lowest day of the Jewish calendar. It reminds us that life is fraught with uncertainty and danger. We can lose everything we hold dear. Rosh HaShanah on the other hand, comes each year to remind us to never lose hope: change, growth and reconciliation are always possible for us. Nothing is ever set in stone.

This is the overall optimistic message of Judaism. Whether you believe in God or not, God represents the promise of redemption and the triumph of good over evil. It is always present in the world, if we are willing to work for it. Like Shabbat Nechamu this is a promise of comfort; something to hope for and strive for.