SERMON

ROSH HASHANAH MORNING

04 OCTOBER 2005

TRANSFORMATION, PART II

 

Last night I spoke about the potential of doing what it is that we do in this room, the possibility of being transformed (or of transforming ourselves) by the impact of the words of the prayers, by the uplifting power of the music, and by the companionship of those who join us in these endeavors.  

Of course we don't need to be here in the sanctuary, or even in the building to do this; we can be similarly affected by any of a number of stimuli in any of a number of situations. But this experience is ready-made and is, in fact, intended for this purpose.  

It has become clearer to me recently that times have changed much more than I had ever realized. What motivates people to do things for the good of the community has changed dramatically -- or so it seems -- since I was a youngster. It seems to me that when I was growing up, people had a much more developed sense of the need to contribute to the common good, a much more conscious sense of the interconnectedness and interdependence of one another than we seem to have today. Relationships seemed less conditional, less relative, if you will, and more committed. As I reflected back on it, I seem to remember more of the Three Musketeers' "all for one and one for all" mentality. We were all in it together, so we had to stick up for one another, not only to be willing to help one another, but also to think ahead to what we might need to do to look out for each other in the long run. It seems to me that those kinds of values are very similar indeed to bedrock Jewish values, values like tikkun olam (repair of the world), bikkur cholim (caring for the sick), hachnasat orchim, (welcoming the stranger), and l'vayat ha-met (dealing with issues of death and loss).  

By contrast, today seems like a completely different world. Those who have managed to survive into these times have often done so not so much because of the good will of others, but in many cases, despite the bad will of others. People who have survived have had to do so more as survivalists than as survivors. It has become "every person for himself or herself," and "the devil take the hindmost." Compassion has become a term of derision and mockery, a concept more honored by memory than by current practice. People live in fear not only for their safety against the ravages of terrorism, but also from the well-founded belief that the economic barons in this country and their friends in the government have dropped all pretense about their winner-take-all attitude of economic survival. If you've made money or got money, then you're much more likely to have an easy time making more. But if you don't have much in the way of disposable income, then unless you accidentally win the lottery, you're just as likely to remain where you are, if not find yourself losing ground.  

Why am I painting this miserable picture on the morning of the New Year? Why talk about the self-serving, narrow-minded, selfish, cold-hearted bad guys who are out there seeming to be trying to get us? Why play on the paranoia of the middle class, the fears of the powerless? I'm talking about this for the very reason that this IS the Jewish New Year! For the very reason that this is the very time when we can be in a safe space, with other travelers on the same road, figuring out what the right way is to navigate the treacherous paths or waters upon which we find ourselves.  

Times like these seem to call for a constant reassessment of where we are, of where we want to go, and of what might be the best way to get there. It is a time for thinking about strategy, even for thinking about self-interest. But since we are not in this process alone, despite our recent propensities for survivalist individualism, it makes sense that we do this assessment in a setting and in a way that helps make sense out of the seeming chaos of our lives.  

If you followed the chanting of the Torah this morning, keeping an eye on the story line, you will recall that we are told of Ishmael's and Hagar's expulsion from the safety and security of Abraham's family circle. They are cast out into the wilderness, fearing for their lives and safety, unsure of whether or how they will survive. Yet that part of the story ends with the reassurance that not only will they survive, but that they will grow and thrive to the extent that their descendants will be as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the shore. Ishmael is thought to be the first of the line of what will become Arabs, just as his half-brother Isaac, whose story of near-death we will recount tomorrow, becomes the progenitor of the Hebrews.  

There is a connection between my sermon last night and my sermon this morning. The connection is that while we are urged at the New Year to re-commit to living the lives that Jewish values teach and encourage, we are also reminded that one reason we need to re-commit may be that we have probably failed to reach the goals we have set for ourselves, often by setting goals that were too high or too difficult, leading us to understand that we need to try again, rather than simply give up and give in to the depressive paralysis that comes from feeling overwhelmed by our lives and their challenges.

I got into an intellectual argument some time ago with my wonderful group leader from Weight Watchers over the concept of trying; yes, trying. He had said that either we succeeded or we didn't, and that simply trying was a road to excuses for not doing what we needed to do to succeed. I couldn't agree with him that the whole spiritual and emotional underpinning of the Jewish approach to successful relationships was faulty, as I believed that was what he was saying implied. We eventually came to an understanding that he was approaching things from the point of view of goals, and I was approaching things from the point of view of process. In the end it didn't matter which approach we took. I knew full well, and so did he, that if I didn't make the effort, if I didn't try, I would never reach my goal. Even Weight Watchers acknowledges that doing what we have to do to lose weight requires a serious and consequential change. We need to somehow transform ourselves from the creatures of habit that we are into the creatures of healthier habits that we want to be. Somehow we have to come to believe that if we apply ourselves and if we set reasonable, achievable goals, we can succeed.  

And we also would benefit from understanding that goals can be approached one step at a time; in fact we are more likely to reach them if we do what we need to do in steps that don't cause us to trip, stumble or fall. And another thing: many of our choices have implications that go beyond the choices themselves. Let's say that I want to lose weight, and that my first reason is that I don't like the way I look. So I choose to join a program whose stated purpose is to help me achieve my goal. One of the implications of my choice and goal is that if I succeed, I will not only like the way I look better than I do now, but I will also reduce the likelihood of cardiac disease, high blood pressure, complications of diabetes, and so on. As is the case with so many things, one decision can have far-reaching consequences.  

I believe that many of us have a tendency to take on more than we can handle in our lives, to make our lives more complex than we are able to sustain. We become overwhelmed, especially when the things we plan and believe we can achieve are complicated by events, circumstances, and people who intervene or interrupt us and are beyond our control. Even the world's best computers can handle only so much input without crashing. Little wonder, then, that we have so much trouble trying to juggle so many things at once.  

It may seem counterintuitive to suggest that we simplify our lives. Or it may seem unrealistic or even silly to suggest that we eliminate some of the unnecessary stress from our lives. But can any of you honestly say that your lives are better because of the additional stress in them? Have you ever heard of anyone saying that their lives were worse when they were less stressful? It may be hard to imagine, but from time immemorial in Judaism, we have built into our system a specific way in which to program stress reduction into our lives. It's called Shabbat, and the only reason that it sometimes doesn't work is that we choose to ignore it.

 Try to imagine a world in which the quality of your life was such that you had time to spend with your parents or children, partners, spouses, loved ones or friends in ways that were truly enjoyable. Try to imagine that you actually had time to work on, to deepen, the relationships you have with those you care about. Try to imagine that not only the quantity of time might be increased or improved, but the quality as well. Try to imagine what that might be like, and then try to imagine what you would have to do to make it happen. Chances are that in order to make those changes, you might have to reassess your life, to transform it into something different from what it is as the moment. But then you'd have to take time from some other things so that you could figure out how to find the time you need. And of course you can't find the time to do that right now.

 Truth is that this is one of the benefits towards which Rosh Hashanah points. Even the imagery of the Book of Life and the Book of Death points to the idea that some sort of change is probably necessary if we are to achieve our goals or hopes, to fulfill our dreams or desires,  and get to a place in our lives where we experience fulfillment, joy, contentment, love, and peace.

None of these things is impossible, but each of them requires more than a simple desire to achieve. In a world as complex as ours, we actually need to formulate genuine strategies to achieve almost anything. We need to do serious planning if we are to succeed in our efforts. And, more often than not, we need to be prepared to change course, to modify our strategic plan to accommodate changing circumstances. In other words, we need to be flexible enough and willing enough to be transformed so that we can do what's necessary to make our lives and the world we live in worth the effort. And remember, this is not for you alone, neither you as individuals nor you as a group. Jewish tradition really does teach that by making the world better for everyone, we obviously make it better for ourselves. We call it "enlightened self interest." It's true that the process begins with the individual, with you in the singular. But if we do our part (and by doing our part I mean also setting an example or being a role model for others), then we set ourselves and the entire world on a better course.  

What better time, then, to do this than at the beginning of a New Year, when we are gathered as a group of individuals in community, sharing the same words from the same prayerbook, sharing the same feelings in many cases, as well as the same hopes and fears. And while it's true that we could actually do this at any time throughout the year, the force and impact of this is far greater now simply because there are more of us doing it together.  

As you know only too well, I can't make any promises to you that are any better or likely to be fulfilled than the ones you make yourselves. But I can certainly join with you in making commitments that I believe will benefit our local, broader, and global community in ways that we simply could not achieve alone or as individuals. That is why I am asking each of you on this Rosh Hashanah morning, to stop, listen, think, assess, strategize, and commit to being an active part of your own transformation in the coming year, so that you, we, and all of us can emerge from this process not only better persons, but better partners with God in the ultimate transformation of the world into the world of our dreams.  

When this service is over, we will leave this place and walk over to the lagoon for the ritual of tashlich, a symbolic ritual of getting rid of our sins by casting them on the water. It's actually rather fun, this tashlich. But its symbolism is both simple and powerful. We can move from the theoretical stuff that we read in the prayerbook to the concrete acts which begin the process of getting rid of the personal chametz, the stuff that weighs us down, that lessens our lives, that keeps us from being transformed from creatures of bad habit to a better place.  

No one other than you has to know what promises you make to yourself, to the community, and to God. And no one other than you will understand the depth of the commitment you make. All we are doing here at your Temple is providing you with a setting in which it is not only permissible to commit to changing for the better, but where it is encouraged and where methods of doing what needs to be done are described in elegant detail. In a word, we make it as easy as we can, as positive an experience as possible, and we provide the maximum moral and social support along the way.