Sacred Word
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5768
Rabbi Joseph R. Black
Congregation Albert -
Albuquerque, NM
My Dear Friends,
A story is told about rabbi who, while walking in a unfamiliar village late at night, met another man who was also walking alone. They were both going in the same direction so they traveled together, in the dark, not saying anything to each other. Finally, in an attempt to break the silence, the rabbi turned to the man next to him and asked, "So, who do you work for?"
"I work for the village," the man answered. "I'm the night watchman."
They walked in silence again. Finally the night watchman asked the rabbi, "And who do you work for?"
The rabbi thought for a while and said, "I'm not always sure. But this I will tell you. Name your present salary and I will double it. All you have to do is to ask me every morning when I get out of bed: 'Rabbi, who do you work for?'"
I've always loved that story, but not only because I have a lot of bosses. I believe that the essence of this story is to teach us that, from a Jewish perspective, all of us, ultimately, are working together on the same task - for the same boss - but sometimes we forget that fact. In a real sense, that's why we're all here tonight, isn't it?
I'm working right now - but so are you. If you think about it, coming to High Holiday services is kind of like going to work. We have to wear fancy clothes. We need to be on our best behavior. Sometimes High Holiday services feel like a very long business meeting - we follow a structured agenda that is written in the prayerbook. We're on our best behavior .All that's missing is a PowerPoint presentation…… Truth be told, the liturgy of the High Holy Days sounds a lot like an annual performance review or a final exam: we stand in front of God and watch as the work we have done during the past year is paraded before us. We recount our deeds, our thoughts, our frailties, our successes and failures.
Tradition teaches that these Days of Awe determine "…..Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die….." Heavy Stuff. We pray that we might emerge from this sacred and scary time unscathed - renewed - with a new contract, as it were - written for a blessing in the Sefer Ha-Chayim - the Book of Life.
Now most of us don't take the concept of standing before God literally, and yet, the idea that our actions count; that what we do is important enough to merit God's attention is something that should give us pause.
In many congregations there is a phrase that is written above the Ark. It reads:
"Da Lifnei Mi Atah Omeyd
Know Before Whom you are Standing."
A colleague of mine recently suggested that, perhaps we should change the word "Omeyd" - which means 'standing', to "Oveyd"- which means working. Then, the text would read:
"Da Lifnei Mi Atah Oveyd
Know Before Whom you are Working."
Last year, on Erev Rosh Ha Shanah, I introduced the concept of a yearly congregational theme based on the Rabbinic Dictum:
Al shelosha d'varim ha olam omeyd - al ha torah, v'al ha avodah, v'al g'millut chasadim.
The world stands on three pillars:
Our theme last year was G'millut Chasadim. During the course of the year we tried to link much of our programming to acts of loving-kindness. This concept reached its apex with our participation in the Interfaith Hospitality Network. It is with great pride that I state that, in the three opportunities we have been given to host homeless families as our guests, over 107 members of our community have given of their time and energy to accomplish this act of G'millut Chasadim - loving-kindness. Under the leadership of the chairs of the Interfaith Hospitality Network Committee, Linda Lefton and Dr. Joyce Phillips, we have made a huge impact on our community. I'm thrilled with the response that this program has generated. 107 volunteers is an impressive number, but it is still less than 10% of our membership. I'd love to see 20 or 30% of our members become active - think of all the good we could do with that many volunteers! As you leave here tonight, there will be sign-up sheets in the rotunda for any member of the congregation who wants to participate - or just find out more information about this special program. If you have not already done so - I urge you to sign up - you will be glad you did.
Next year, our theme will be Torah - as we implement the new vision for learning and education that our Council for Life-Long Learning will be creating during the course of this year. I will be speaking more about this tomorrow morning.
But this year's theme is going to be Avodah - which, in Modern Hebrew, means work. But, like so many Hebrew words, it really means much, much more.
For the Rabbis, the word "Avodah" also meant "Worship." More than 2000 years ago Avodah referred to the sacrifices offered in the Temple in Jerusalem. When the Temple was destroyed and the Synagogue took its place as the central focus of Jewish life, the Rabbis transformed the concept of Avodah as sacrifice into Ha-avodah she-balev - literally, "the sacrifice of the heart" or "heart-work". Daily prayer replaced sacrifice in the lives of the Jewish People. These prayers enabled a shattered people to regroup and reshape itself in the aftermath of the tragedy of the Temple's destruction. In a very real sense, the introduction of set times and texts for daily prayer served the vital function of providing the community with clearly defined expectations and opportunities for honoring God. Most important, this new concept of Ha Avodah Shebalev - the sacrifice of the heart - meant that everyonene could relate to God - not only the Priests who were in control of the Temple. Organized prayer, in a very real sense, became a democratizing force in the development of Jewish history. The very fact that everyone said the same prayers at the same time, in the same place - from the most important to the most impoverished members of the community - meant that the gates of prayer were open to every creature created in the image of God, regardless of their place in society. In this light, the Rabbis who introduced organized prayer were true revolutionaries.
As you can see, in ancient times Avodah meant much more than simply punching a cosmic time-clock. Avodah also meant prayer, sacrifice and sacred communal obligation. Prayer services were times when the community could come together and reinforce its relationship to both God and one another.
That was prayer back then. But what does organized prayer mean for us today?
A story is told of two well-known rabbis - let's call them Rabbi Schwartz and Rabbi Cohen - who were flying together on an airplane as they returned from a Rabbinical conference. During the course of the flight, the two began to talk shop - as Rabbis are wont to do.
"So how many people come to services on Friday night at your synagogue?" asked Rabbi Schwartz.
"Oh, about 450 people every Friday night," said Rabbi Cohen.
"Not Bad, Not Bad at all," said Rabbi Schwartz. "I usually get about 500 people in the pews."
As they got off the plane and left each other, Rabbi Cohen happened to bump into a friend of his who was a member of Rabbi Schwartz's congregation.
"Tell me," he asked, "how many people really come to services on Friday night at your synagogue?"
"Oh, I don't know, about 80-90," he replied.
"Wow!" said Rabbi Cohen. "Schwartz wasn't lying!"
This is a story that Rabbi Alexander Schindler z”l the former president of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (now the Union for Reform Judaism) used to love to tell when he visited congregations around the country.
That's an old story - but it does ring with an uncomfortable truth. Too often, unless there is a special program or simcha, too many seats in our sanctuary are empty on Friday nights and Shabbat morning - and we have become accustomed to this. For the vast majority of us, Organized Prayer is not a central part of our lives. We are busy people. To fit coming to services on a regular basis into our busy schedules is difficult. We all have to juggle multiple obligations and opportunities for involvement. The world does not revolve around a Jewish schedule. Increasingly, Jewish religious life is losing out to competition from our secular world. Our time is precious, and coming to Shul is not always on the top of the list of ways that we want to invest it. To me, that's sad - but it's true.
But even though a lot of we don't come to services on a regular basis - we still need to pray......
There are times in our lives when prayers flow freely; when they are as inevitable and essential as breathing. Standing under a chuppah with a loving couple; naming a child; sharing in the simcha of a bar or bat mitzvah, special anniversary or milestone; when we escape injury or survive a crisis - all of these are times when we find ourselves looking for words to express thanks to God for allowing us to experience the fullness of life in all its beauty and joy.
The urge to pray also flows freely when we are in pain: when we face challenges; when we confront our own mortality - whether at the bedside of a loved one or in the midst of a crisis - many of us naturally turn to prayer as a way to cope. At such times, prayers not only provide comfort - but they also give us a structure and a format through which we can express our deepest feelings. But the problem is, if we are not used to praying, sometimes we feel that we can't pray - we don't have the words - we don't know how. There are many times when I have stood with families in the face of tragedy and someone will turn to me and ask: "Rabbi, please, won't you say a prayer for us? We don't know what to say….." Maybe one of the strongest cases I can make for regular attendance at services is that it helps us to be ready for those times when we feel compelled to pray - but we are afraid that we won't know what to do or say.
We know that, for many of us, the urge to pray comes at the highest and lowest points of our lives. But most of us do not spend the majority of our lives in the peaks and valleys. Most of the time, we go about our daily lives pretty much on level ground. In this light, we need to ask ourselves what function prayer serves when we are not either in crisis or celebrating.
Abraham Joshua Heschel writes:
"Religion is not made for extraordinary occasions, such as birth, marriage, and death. Religion is trying to teach us that no act is trite; every moment is an extraordinary occasion. The highest peak of spiritual living is not necessarily reached in rare moments of ecstasy; the highest peak lies wherever we are and may be ascended in a common deed. There can be as sublime a holiness in performing friendship, in observing dietary laws day by day, as in uttering a prayer on the Day of Atonement."
Heschel, A. J. God In Search of Man p. 384
In other words, as Jews, part of our Avodah - our sacred work - can be found in the ordinariness of prayer - in the repetition, the familiarity and the daily observance that our tradition provides. This familiarity also prepares us for when we have a need to express our hopes, fears and joys into spontaneous words of prayer.
The other day, I was speaking to a member of the congregation who said to me: "Rabbi, I want to come to services, but I'm embarrassed. I never learned Hebrew. I don't know the melodies. When I come to the synagogue I feel out of place." It can be very intimidating to walk into a service where the language is different than what you are used to, or the melodies are not the same. We understand this - and we want to find ways to help you feel more comfortable in the Synagogue. But the truth is, the best way to feel at home in services is to show up - to allow yourself the luxury of learning. You aren't alone - there are many people who are just like you - who are learning - who are loving the process of learning - it won't take long - soon you will feel at home. I guarantee it.
If there every was a good time to start coming to services, it is now. In a few months we will be introducing our movement's new prayer book, Mishkan Tefillah. This has been very long in coming. The religious practices committee and our Board of Trustees have been planning this for several years. The Central Conference of American Rabbis, the publisher of the book, has faced many obstacles in getting it out to the public. Recently, there was an article about Mishkan Tefillah in the NY Times that talked about how this new siddur was going to be quite controversial. I'm not sure I agree. Yes, it will take some getting used to the format and language. We like what is familiar to us - and the new prayerbook will take some getting used to. But I firmly believe that the success or failure of Mishkan Tefillah - or any prayerbook for that matter - goes beyond the beauty of the poetry within its pages or the length of the services.
The 20th Century Jewish humorist, Harry Golden once asked his father, "If you don't believe in God, why do you go to synagogue so regularly?" His father answered, "Jews go to synagogue for all sorts of reasons. My friend Garfinkle goes to talk to God. I go to talk to Garfinkle." I know I've shared that story from this Bema before - but I love what it teaches.
Golden's father was telling a profound truth. The most important ingredient in a meaningful prayer services is not the text, not the beauty of the cantor's voice, the choir's harmonies, or the architecture, or the cookies served at the oneg, or even the length of the Rabbi's sermon. What matters MOST in communal worship is the commitment that the community has to Avodah - the sacred work of building a community.
There is a reason that tradition teaches that we need a minyan - a group of 10 or more Jewish adults to say certain prayers. As Jews, we are not supposed to pray alone. Joel Grishaver, a well-known publisher of Jewish textbooks and a consultant to your Religious School, recently taught a group of our teachers that the most important sound that we make as a congregation when we pray together is: NU…. NU - as in Eloheynu, Avinu, Malkeynu, Kidshanu…. And on and on. "NU" is a suffix that means "US," or "OUR" or "WE." When we pray: "Avinu Malkeynu" we are saying "OUR parent, OUR sovereign" - not "MY parent, MY sovereign" . Jews pray in the plural. We pray with each other and FOR each other. Ultimately, if we do not connect with each other, we end up not praying at all.
Theologically, Judaism is a faith that is predicated on connecting with God - and with God connecting with US. In Genesis we read that God created us in the Divine image. The first question that God asks a human being in the Torah is "Ayekah?" Where are you? God establishes a Covenant with us because God wants us to have a relationship with the Divine - and with one another.
Why come to pray? Because no one should ever feel alone at Congregation Albert. Let me say that again: no one should ever feel alone at Congregation Albert.
Think about that for a second. How many of you have ever come to a Synagogue where you didn't know anybody? How many of you have stood in the back of the room - at an Oneg Shabbat, at a service, and felt completely alone - in the midst of the place where you came to find - not only God, not only meaning and purpose - but community?
At the beginning of this service, I asked you to look around and introduce yourself to someone you didn't know so we "shouldn't pray together as strangers." I did not choose those words lightly. We are not - we CANNOT be strangers to one another. And we need to come together - not only on these holiest of days - but on Shabbat, on Holidays, at social functions and congregational meetings - to affirm the fact that we are a community.
So if you come to services for no other reason than there are people who need you to be there - to share with them as they look to connect with God and with their community - that's a good enough reason to come! In fact, it may be the most important reason of them all. If you're not here to welcome others - who will welcome you?
A Prayerbook does not create community. Neither does a greeting by a member of the board of Trustees (although that is very important). In addition to our "formal greeters" we need to commit ourselves to the fact that each of us is responsible for making every person in this space feel welcome and welcomed. Sacred Community is created when we agree that we are here for a sacred purpose: to help each other feel that we are part of something bigger than ourselves - to connect us to other holy beings and to remind us of our history as a people.
This my friends, is the meaning of our Avodah- our sacred work. This is why we are here tonight - and, I pray, we will continue to come to worship, to celebrate, to study, laugh, cry, celebrate and share the radical, ordinary and essential rhythms of Jewish life.
There are two sounds that are endemic to Rosh Ha Shanah. The first is the sounding of the Shofar. The second is the sounds of the hugs and kisses and the greetings of Gut Yontif and L'shanah Tovah! that we give one another at the end of the service. The first reminds us of our relationship to God. The second reminds us of our relationships to one another - as we create this sacred community. Both are essential.
So, on this day or reflection when we welcome in a New Year, I ask you one last time? Who do you work for?
And the answer is: Everyone.
L'Shanah Tovah.