Yom Kippur Sermon 5770 (2009): The Virtues of Generosity

For an audio recording, please click here.

There’s an old Jewish story that goes something like this: A rabbi was distressed at the lack of generosity among his congregants. So he prayed that the rich should give more charity to the poor.

“And has your prayer been answered?” asked his wife.

“Half of it was,” replied the rabbi. “The poor are willing to accept.”

As funny as the joke is, we know it wouldn’t be funny if it weren’t at least a little bit true.

There has not been a time in human history when generosity matched the need for it. The Torah reminds us of this in the book of Deuteronomy:

“For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land,” says Moses. Despite our best attempts, human beings will always be in need.

And so, says Moses, “I command you: open your hand to the poor and the needy kinsman in your land” (Deut. 15:11)

Patoach tiftach et yadcha – “Open, open your hand.” The Torah’s response to need is openness. It is generosity: The generosity of responsibility; the generosity of sacrifice; the generosity of Yom Kippur.

I would like to share with you today three stories about these themes–openness, generosity, responsibility, and sacrifice.

 

Lessons from Hillel on Teshuva

The Talmud presents three stories about Hillel the Elder (Hillel Hazaken) and his counterpart, Shammai, and their interactions with converts. In each of the stories, Hillel is generous and welcoming, where Shammai shoos them away.

In the first of these stories, the would-be convert comes to Shammai and asks him “How many Torahs do you have?” Shammai tells him there are two: the Written Torah and the Oral Torah. The convert tells Shammai he will convert to Judaism if he only needs to accept the Written Torah. Shammai “became furious with him and ejected him with a rebuke.” He then went to Hillel, who accepted him under the same conditions. Hillel began to teach him the Hebrew alphabet–aleph, bet, gimel, dalet, etc. The next day Hillel reversed the order, teaching the convert that dalet was first, gimel second, etc. The convert said to Hillel, “But yesterday you taught me the opposite!” Hillel responded: “Evidently you put your trust in me to teach you the alphabet. So trust me about the Oral Law as well.” (Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 31a)

We studied this story in our weekly staff Torah learning this morning. What stuck us as we read it was that Hillel is willing to establish a relationship, to build trust–faith–with the convert, and then to up the ante once trust is established. He is presented here as the consummate educator, the teacher who meets his student where the student is, and on the basis of a trusting relationship brings the student to greater knowledge and commitment.

Another story we studied this morning demonstrates a second aspect of trust: “One day Hillel the Elder was returning from a journey. As he approached his neighborhood he heard cries. He said, ‘I am confident that the cries do not come from my house.’ This is an illustration of the verse (Psalms 112:7), ‘He is not afraid of evil tidings, his heart is firm, he trusts in the Lord.’” (Avot d’Rebbe Natan 15:3)

Here Hillel is presented as someone with ultimate trust, or faith, in God. This can easily be mis-read as a kind of naive faith. I don’t think that’s what the text is trying to say. Hillel’s attitude towards life is calm and resilient; his first instinct is not to worry, but rather to firmly trust in the strength of his heart and the support of God.

Trust and faith thus figure prominently in both of these stories, as they do generally in the stories of Hillel. What makes Hillel such a compelling figure is his emunah, his faith. Not, as I stated earlier, a naive or blind faith, but rather a faith that leads him to act generously and graciously, to never lose his temper, to focus on the possibilities of human encounters rather than on their risks.

As we enter Shabbat Shuva and Yom Kippur, Hillel reminds us of the kind of person we aspire to be–patient, giving, and secure in his faith.

Shabbat shalom – Gemar chatima tova.

 

Three Things to Improve Your Life: Yom Kippur 5766

 

בראש השנה יכתבון, וביום צום כיפור יחתמון

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: Who will live and who will die, who by fire and who by water, who in his time and who too early… 

The most famous lines in the High Holiday liturgy, and the most haunting: On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed. On these days we stand in judgment before the Almighty, on trial for our lives. We look around us and we wonder, who will be here a year from now? In a year’s time, who will look back on a year of success, a year of growth, a year of good deeds? Will my neighbor? Will that woman across the aisle? Will I?

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed. Our fates are sealed on this day! This is it! What are we to do?

ותשובה ותפילה וצדקה מעבירין את רע הגזרה

Three things, the Machzor tells us. Three things will take away the harshness of the decree: Teshuva, repentance; Tefilla, prayer; and Tzedakah, charity. If we do these three things, we may not annul the decree, but we will take away its pain. We will make it more bearable. We will redeem ourselves in some small measure.

At this point I imagine that someone out there is thinking, “That’s a really sweet idea, rabbi. But I have no idea what it means.” Or maybe you’re thinking, “What’s with all the hocus pocus? If I pray really hard and I give money and I confess my sins, I get to live this year? We all know that’s not how it works.” 

 

So I’ll tell you: you’re right, it’s not hocus-pocus. Confessing your sins today will not bring you the health you want. Praying really hard today will not deliver you the success you strive for. And giving 10 percent of your income to charity will not buy you the love you desire. That stuff is hocus-pocus, and the machzor is far too sophisticated for that. We are not about hocus-pocus.

So let me tell you what I think this is really all about. 

ותשובה ותפילה וצדקה מעבירין את רע הגזרה

We have to look at each word of that sentence to really unpack it. 

So first, teshuva. Yes, teshuva means repentance. But more literally it means, “Return.” What kind of return? Returning to who we are capable of being, who we want to be, who we were meant to be. Returning to our צלם אלקים, the image of God within us. 

Doing teshuva means letting go of the things that we mistake for being important and grabbing hold of the things which really are important in our lives. Doing teshuva means being honest with ourselves about who we are and who we aspire to be. It means confessing, but confessing in a way that we really mean it—not a rote recitation of sins, but simply and profoundly realizing what we have done or failed to do in the last year, and taking responsibility for it. And it means resolving not to repeat our mistakes. In short, doing teshuva means returning to our best self. It means being the person we want to be. 

If we do that, then in whatever time we have remaining, we can know that we have been doing the things most important to us, that we have been living a life we can be proud of, a life after which we can meet our maker and say, “Thank you for that wonderful, blessed experience.”  When we realize that, the bitterness of the decree—רע הגזירה—is eased.

Tefilla. Tefilla is prayer. Big help. What is prayer? Prayer is many things, but on its most basic level prayer is about embracing the existence of others in the universe. It is about recognizing that we are not alone, as lonely as we may sometimes feel. No matter how tormented we may be, no matter how far away the rest of the world may seem, when we pray we step into a world in which God hears us. Indeed, God is so close that God can hear the whispers of our lips and the murmurings of our hearts. To pray, then, is to realize that God is with us.

As Jews, we go even one step further: We pray with a community, and we phrase our prayers in the plural—אלקינו ואלקי אבותינו ואמותינו, “Our God and God of our ancestors.” So for we Jews, prayer is also about inhabiting the world with other human beings. 

Prayer for us is an act of remembering that, while the world does not revolve around us, we have a unique role to play in it. When we really pray, we well up with a feeling of fullness. We feel the presence of God and we feel the souls of our fellow travelers here on earth, and in the words of the Amidah prayer, “וכל החיים יודוך,” all living creatures join in giving thanks for this life.  Prayer, like teshuva, is not about reciting a rote text. That text, like the text of the confessional, is a suggestion. True prayer transcends those words, and reaches a point where we realize that we share this world with others. And in that moment, the pain of our loneliness, the bitterness of the decree—רע הגזירה—is eased. 

Tzedakah. Tzedakah is charity. But it is much more than charity. Tzedakah of course comes from the root Tzedek, which means justice. Tzedakah is about righting the wrongs of society, about making the world a more just and equitable place. 

Why is tzedakah on our list? I have tried to show how engaging in teshuva and engaging in tefillah, returning to the selves we want to be and recognizing that we are not alone, can make our remaining days of life ones we will cherish. What about tzedakah?

Whatever the reason, we live in a world that is far from perfect. Perhaps it was Adam and Eve, perhaps it was God’s mistake, perhaps it was even God’s design: But the bottom line is that we live in a world in desperate need of repair. The Kabbalists tell us that when we perform mitzvoth, when we repair the world, we mend the sacred vessels that were shattered at the moment of Creation. On the other end of the spectrum, Maimonides, the arch-rationalist, tells us that when we do an act of tzedakah, we are able to see the divine presence in the world.

What both of them are saying, I believe, is that when we right the wrongs of the world, the image of God within us is acting. And when we right the wrongs of the world, when we comfort the fallen and heal the sick and free the oppressed, we not only see God in ourselves, but we allow the godliness of the other to be seen as well. And in that moment, the divine presence is palpable. We feel great, the other feels great, and the bitterness of the decree—רע הגזירה—is eased.

ותשובה ותפילה וצדקה מעבירין את רע הגזרה

So let’s talk tachlis, as we say in Yiddish. Let’s get down to business. Rabbi, what do you want me to do? I’ll tell you: three things.

Teshuva. Teshuva is not something just for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It’s for all the time. So on a regular basis—the first of the month, maybe, or some other regular time—take an hour and go through your priorities. Make a list. And evaluate your life against that list. Are you really spending your time the way you want to? Are you really being your best self?

Tefillah. Every day take at least five minutes to clear your head. It can be a walk by Lake Michigan, it can be sitting on the floor in your bedroom. Doesn’t matter to me where. But just take five minutes to slow down enough to be able to hear your heart beat, to experience your body, to listen to the people and things around you, and to be grateful. 

Tzedakah. Find a cause you care about and spend fifteen minutes a day (an hour and a half a week) working on it. There are tons of possibilities, but if you’re having trouble thinking of one, I’ll make a suggestion. As I hope you know, an entire people is being persecuted and nearly wiped out in Darfur, Sudan. According to recent reports by the World Food Program, the United Nations and the Coalition for International Justice, 3.5 million people are now hungry, 2.5 million have been displaced due to violence, and 400,000 people have died in Darfur thus far. Here’s something  you can do in less than five minutes a day: Call the White House. Every day. 202-456-1414. Demand that President Bush take action. You have been given a suggested script. The White House gets a thousand phone calls a day. That’s it. If every person hearing this sermon called the White House every day for the next month, it would send the President an unmistakable message that the public cares about this issue, and it would take just 2.5 hours of your time over the course of a month. 

בראש השנה יכתבון, וביום צום כיפור יחתמון

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed. What kind of life will we lead this year? What kind of world will we build this year? How will we do better this year? 

Today, my friends, is a day to let go of the things that don’t matter and to focus on the things that do. None of us knows how much time we have left, and so, in the words of Rabbi Eliezer in the Talmud, we should live each day as though it were our last. What will you do in the next three minutes, in the next three hours, in the next three days, three weeks, three months, and three years, to make your life into something to be proud of? That is your question, that is all our question, this Yom Kippur.

Gemar chatima tovah, May we all find the inspiration to live our best life today.

 

 

What’s Your Story? Yom Kippur 5767 (2007)

There’s a great old Woody Allen routine from his standup days in the 1960s. He tells a story about going down south and getting picked up by a bunch of guys in white sheets. At first he thinks they’re on their way to a costume party. When they say, “We need to go pick up the grand dragon,” it hits him: down south, white sheets, the Grand Dragon, I put two and two together. I figure there’s a guy going to the party dressed as a dragon. 

After a while they realize he’s Jewish, and they’re getting ready to hang him. And at this point Woody says, “Suddenly my whole life passed before my eyes. I saw myself as a kid again, in Kansas, going to school, swimming at the swimming hole, and fishing, frying up a mess-o-catfish, going down to the general store, getting a piece of gingham for Emmy-Lou. And I realize it’s not my life. They’re gonna hang me in two minutes, and the wrong life is passing before my eyes! And I spoke to them, and I was really eloquent, I said “Fellas, this country can’t survive, unless we love one another regardless of race, creed or colour”. And they were so moved by my words, not only did they cut me down and let me go, but that night, I sold them two thousand dollars worth of Israel Bonds. 

Now, don’t worry, friends: This is not the Israel Bonds appeal, though we will be happy to accept donations for Northwestern Hillel. My message today is not about Israel Bonds. My message is about your life passing before your eyes. Because tonight, on Yom Kippur, the story of your life should be passing before your eyes. And God forbid you’re seeing the story of the life of a kid getting a piece of gingham for Emmy-Lou, when you should be seeing your own story—the story of the life you have lived, and the life you have yet to live. 

Yom Kippur is a time to focus on my favorite question: What’s your story? What do you want to remember about your life, and what do you want to be remembered for by others? On Yom Kippur we confront our mortality, and we ask ourselves, What will be our legacy? The liturgy and the imagery of Yom Kippur prompts us to think about death so that we will think about what is most important and significant in life. 

Now this is a heavy way to spend your first weekend at college, I’ll grant you that. If you were planning on going to some big parties your first Friday night on campus, you came to the wrong place. But you know what? This is actually an incredible gift. Because if this is your first Friday night on campus—and please, raise your hand if it is. Thank you, and welcome. If this is your first Friday night on campus, this is an incredible gift. Because here you are, with hundreds of other people, reflecting on what’s most important in your life. Here you are, at the start of a new chapter—one of the most exciting, and probably the most expensive, chapters in your life story—and you have a space to reflect, a space to ponder what your story has been and what your story can be. 

As the Torah tells us in the book of Leviticus, in ancient times the Yom Kippur service looked a little different than it does today. The service was performed by the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, who wore simple white garments—hence my simple white garments (different than the white garments of the guys in the Woody Allen story). The ritual centered on three acts of confession and sacrifice he performed. The Kohen Gadol first confessed and sought forgiveness for his own sins and those of his family, then for those of his tribe, and finally for those of all of Am Yisrael, the entire Jewish people. In other words, he moved outward in concentric circles. He first focused on himself and those closest to him, next on his community, and finally on the nation.

The model of reflection laid out by the Kohen Gadol is a good one for us to adopt. The ancient rabbis realized this, and constructed our Yom Kippur prayer around it. 

So tonight, as we reflect on our stories—both our stories of the past year and those of the coming year—let’s use the model that’s right in front of us, and consider ourselves and our families, our community, and our larger people and nation. 

I. What’s your story with your family? Who are the most important people in your life? How have you treated them in the past year? How have they treated you? How would you have wanted to treat them? 

There’s an old song by Mike and the Mechanics that you still hear in the grocery store every now and then, called ‘The Living Years.’ You know it. It can be a little cheesy. The refrain goes, “Say it loud, say it clear: You can listen as well as you hear. It’s too late when we die to admit we don’t see eye to eye.” But at the heart of the song is the message that we only have whatever time we have, and, in the words of the song, It’s too late when we die. We only have our time here and now to tell the people who matter to us the words that matter to us, and to them. 

So how will your story be better this year with regard to yourself and your family? What do you wish you could say to a parent or a child or a close friend that you haven’t said? It’s Yom Kippur, the day when we can start anew. So what will your story be? 

II. Next: What’s your story with your community? For many of you here, you have just entered a new community. What will your story be here? Who will your friends be? What causes will you devote yourself to? What organizations and groups will you join? What subjects will you study? How important will classes be to you, and what things would you be willing to skip class to do? 

Beyond campus, we are also part of a larger community here in Evanston and Chicago. What will your story be regarding them? Will you see yourself as an Evanstonian? Will you register to vote here? Will you volunteer in the community? Will you learn about its history, its own story? 

And here’s one other community: The Jewish community. What will your story be with the Yiddin, the Jews? Now, I want to be very clear about this: I’m not giving you guilt. Really, I’m not. Because if I have to appeal to guilt, then I have cheapened what the community of Jewish life has to offer. 

Tonight we are asking, What’s your story? That’s not a Jewish question. That’s a human question. All human beings ask that question. But what we’re doing tonight is exploring it through the community of Jewish life. That’s a literal community, in the form of the living, breathing people in this room. It’s also a community of texts and values and ideas and stories, a community of readers and writers who go backwards in time to Maimonides and King David and Moses and all the Jews in between. And it goes forward in time to include all the thoughts and insights and discussions of people around the world, both those who are on the planet right now, and those yet to be born. It includes you and me. We are all linked, we are all connected, by the rich and thick tradition of Jewish thought and language. 

That is an amazing gift. Think about it for a second. It’s a stupendously amazing gift. So many people in our society don’t have this—a thick culture, a community that helps us find ourselves and make sense of our stories, a community that transcends the limits of time and space and creates sacred moments for us to connect with one another and reflect on our stories. 

So what will your story be with Jewish life this year? How will you deepen your Jewish story? How will you thicken your Jewish story? Maybe you’ll learn more, and take a Jewish studies class here at Northwestern. Maybe you’ll go on a birthright Israel trip (www.freeisraeltrip.org) and discover what your story is in the land of the Jewish people. Maybe you’ll host Shabbat dinner for your friends once a month and create a space for them and yourself to learn and reflect. 

What will your story be with the many communities you are part of? And what will your story be with the Jews? 

And finally, what will your story be with regard to our nation and our world? As we all know, these are times of immense challenges. From Iraq to Darfur, from global climate change to Israel’s relationship with her neighbors and the prospect of a nuclear-armed Iran, these are challenging times. On this Yom Kippur we wonder, what will the story of the world be? What will be the story of Darfur? What will be the story of Iraq? What will be the story of Israel? What will be the story of the planet? These are open questions. And these are your questions, our questions. What will we do to write the world’s story? 

Sometimes our urge is to check out, to say, the story of the world isn’t my story. It’s too big. What can I do? But my friends, as our texts and our liturgy remind us, and as the prophet Jonah about whom we read on Yom Kippur learned, you can’t hide from the challenges of the world. You can’t hide from what God and God’s creation demand of us. We have no choice but to be engaged. And we can write the story, we can write a different ending. Indeed we must. 

So what will your story be this year? What will be your story about the world? What will your story be about the Jewish community, about Chicago, about Evanston, about Northwestern? What will your story be with your family? What will your story be with yourself? It’s Yom Kippur. On every day, but on this day especially, our stories are being written. We are writing them. Our friends and family are writing them. Our communities are writing them. Our world is writing them. What will your story be? 

I want to bless you all, as I hope you will bless me, with a year of growth, a year of good problems. I want to bless you, as I hope you will bless me, with a year of health and peace. And I want to bless you, as I hope you will bless me, with a year of discovery, a year of authenticity, a year of being yourself, a year of living the story you want to live, the story you are meant to live. Shana tova.