Eating Breakfast and Creating Legacy

Below is my Kol Nidre sermon from 5778. I hope you find it moving and relevant.

Eating Breakfast and Creating Legacy

I recently came across a charming new documentary narrated by and starring 95 year old comedian, Carl Reiner. It’s an uplifting film focusing on life beyond 90 years old with a wonderful array of senior comedians and artists, many of whom are Jewish, reflecting on the sources of their vitality, and revealing how they are still creating and adding to the world.

In the opening scene, Carl Reiner describes his daily routine. We see Mr. Reiner pick up the newspaper and bring it inside. As he opens the paper at the breakfast table, you hear him say, “Every morning, I pick up my newspaper, get the obituaries section, and see if I’m listed. If I’m not, I have my breakfast.”1 … a very Carl Reiner thing to say, in fact, it serves as the title of the film: “If You’re Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast.”  

As we learn this intimate detail of his life, though, the film then shows him shaking the newspaper, in shock. the camera pans to show us what he is seeing …and there in the paper is his face. He puts his hands up to his head in horror, before giving a little chuckle as he says, “There was a picture of me . . . alongside Polly Bergen who had passed away … I had not … I don’t think.”  He then calmly assesses the scene by mentioning, “they obviously didn’t have a good picture of her alone. But I wish they had not picked a picture that scared the <expletive removed> out of me.”2  

It’s a funny opening, the kind of absurdity that we might expect from the comedic genius who once interviewed the 2000 year old man, played by his comedy partner, Mel Brooks (who also appears in the documentary). The two have created a legacy of bringing laughter to us, even while portraying situations that involve difficult social commentary. And here they are at 90+, still making us laugh and think at the same time. Let’s examine this gag for a second, in earnest, though: Can you imagine? Opening the obit section and seeing a picture of yourself? The shock and the existential crisis of being confronted so directly with your end... What kind of questions come to mind? ... What would we see if we read on? How would it feel, imagining yourself as being here no more?

Well, this is a part of what we do today, on Yom Kippur - we are supposed to be shocked into looking at the end. Part of our process of purification and preparation for this new year involves measuring our days, and seeing if they measure up.

Our liturgy attempts to create such confrontation - “Who shall live and who shall die.” I mean, this is bold language! And whether or not we believe in the mystical significance of this day to determine our fates for the year, if we are going to say these words with intention, they must raise the question in our hearts, what if this is my year? My only year? … What do I want to make of it? What will I be leaving to the world? What is my legacy?

I know, I know, it’s a morbid and uncomfortable topic. But remember, we’re not fasting for comfort, either. Yom Kippur is not intended to be a comfortable day. For some of us, we have barely spent a moment allowing ourselves to consider such an idea, while some of us have experienced moments that have forced us to face such thoughts, recently. Either way, this day is supposed to be a confrontation. Just pay attention to our Haftarah tomorrow, as the words of Isaiah lash out at us with challenge. Today is our last chance before jumping head-first into this New Year to think about interrupting the patterns that have held us, especially those that have held us back.

As we wrestle with such big questions on this day - what is my legacy? - It can be hard to know just where to begin. We find in the Talmud, Shabbat 31a, that one of the six questions to ponder when thinking about our mortality is to consider, above all else, whether or not we have lived with an awe of God.  The rabbinic commentary mentions that our experience of this relationship with God should help us to understand that there is much to appreciate about the world around us and its wonders. That, just as we do not control the number of days we have on this earth, we also were gifted the chance to be here, to be part of a world, a society, a community that is filled with wonders. Do we live with awe in our hearts? Such self-reflection is about the extent to which we take for granted the world in which we live. Do we see it as mundane and just there, filled with obstacles, injustices, hardships, coldness? Or do we actually appreciate in spite of life’s flaws, the amazing miracles that do surround us each moment of every day? How are we adding to this wonder? Do we not only see, but live with the potential of our world in our hearts, and do we strive to lift one another towards that vision?

Appreciation is a much stronger force than we sometimes give it credit. And in the context of this evening, if we were to truly imagine our end and see our time as limited, how much more likely would we be to appreciate the small details around us.

This perspective on yirat Shamayim - awe of God - It is very similar to what prolific American playwright Thornton Wilder mentions as the goal of his 1938 play, Our Town. In the preface to the 1957 edition, Mr. Wilder writes, “The play is an attempt to find a value above all price for the smallest events in our daily life.”3

Rabbi Lawrence Kushner echoes Wilder’s remarks, identifying the same searching as one of our goals on this day. In his book, I’m God, You’re Not, Rabbi Kushner mentions that “We come together as a community to be aware of the great mystery of life and to remind ourselves about what is truly important in our lives— before we die.”4  

He refers to the last act of Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town to illustrate this. Spolier alert - if you have been dying to read the play that has only been out for just under 80 years, you may need to cover your ears for a bit <pause> Right before the play’s conclusion, a young woman, Emily Webb, dies from complications during childbirth. Upon joining the other souls in the cemetery, she feels as though it is still possible to go back to the world of the living. The others there affirm for her that it can happen, but they warn her not to go. The stage manager informs her that if she was to go back, “You not only live it, but you watch yourself living it. . . And as you watch it, you see the thing that they— down there— never know. You see the future. You know what’s going to happen afterwards.”5

Despite the warnings, Emily chooses to go back, and she picks the day of her 12th birthday to re-live. And boom, she is there on her twelfth birthday, February 11th 1899, surrounded by her family, seeing her mother for the first time in decades. As her family goes about its business, she only wants to experience them again, but she is let down by how much they are taking these moments for granted. With the awareness of the future in her heart, surrounded by so many who were no longer living, she tries to intervene and change what is happening around her. She tries to yell at her mother:

Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I’m dead. You’re a grandmother, Mama. I married George Gibbs, Mama. Wally’s dead, too. Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway. We felt just terrible about it— don’t you remember? But, just for a moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment we’re happy. Let’s look at one another.6

But, her mama doesn’t look at her. She cannot change a thing. She can’t shake them into appreciating that moment, to fully taking note of one another and expressing the love that they feel for one another. Eventually, it becomes too much for her, and she begs to go back to the grave. Commenting on life, she says, “It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another. . . I didn’t realize... all that was going on and we never noticed...Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”7

Emily Webb could not change those moments, because she was no more. But we can. We can still use the time we have this year to appreciate what we have. To show appreciation to those around us, to express our love and our gratitude, our hopes and our dreams, and not hold such important sentiment inside for some undetermined and unguaranteed moment in the future. And when we appreciate the world and the people around us, this is the starting point from which we can find the strength to bring healing and repair to our world.

In preparing for this sermon, when I came across this scene, I thought about my own children, my own family. Do I make them feel this way? I went home that day, and I sat there around bed time, just watching them, looking at them, noticing them. I think I over-noticed them, as one of them said to me, “what are you doing?” I didn’t care, I was determined I was not going to let them have an Emily Webb moment. In my own hubris, I thought to myself that my own legacy to them will be that of a father who cares, who notices, who makes sure they feel loved and special and important. . .  

Now, I recognize that we cannot live with eternity in our thoughts at all moments. It’s a fallacy to say that we should live every moment like it’s our last. We could not function this way. For one, no one would ever do dishes. . .

And sure enough just a couple days later, I found that I was already leaving this thought behind. I was at the dinner table, having come home for a few minutes between afternoon and evening meetings. And lo and behold, was I there with them? Noticing them? Appreciating them? No, I was staring at my phone, thinking about the various things I was about to encounter in my meeting. And as I looked up and saw Rachel looking at me looking at my phone, I could hear the Emily Webb narrative in my ear. Notice me. Pay attention to everything going on around you. Be a part of it while you’re here. Appreciate where you are. Be here.

Yom Kippur is here to remind us that it is never too late to change our script into stories of appreciation, of presence, of legacy - until it does become too late. This certainly is a part of what comes blazing forth in the movie about Carl Reiner and other nonagenarians. It is absolutely a part of our Yom Kippur liturgy, an essential piece of what the final shofar blast tomorrow evening represents.

As we ponder our legacy, our reflections should push us to consider others in our lives, and the impact that we have on their stories, their journeys, their spirals, as we talked about erev Rosh Hashanah.

Are we finding time TO live with appreciation and wonder? TO appreciate those around us? TO make sure they know how much we love them? TO notice the people we do not yet know, but who need us just as much? And that is why we say, “Al chet … for the times I have failed to notice and affirm life.” We awaken our hearts to the changes we can make in order to build the legacy we wish to create.

This is our time to find the resolve within ourselves to choose the legacy we want to leave on this earth. To allow the wonder of our core values, of our tradition, of God, to frame for us the ways we hope to leave this earth and those around us better for our being here. To contemplate our legacies - the legacy of morality, the legacy of hope, the legacy of justice, the legacy of equality, the legacy of truth, the legacy of community, the legacy of thinking of more than just the next five minutes, the legacy of conversation, the legacy of laughter, the legacy of curiosity, the legacy of respect, the legacy of caring, the legacy of wonder, the legacy of love, the legacy of appreciation, the legacy of peace.

Our fates are not yet written in stone. Rather, let us see that this is our year. This is our year to choose the legacy we create, whether or not we end up in an obit. I pray that each of us has many breakfasts before us well into the future. And I pray that we all channel the calories from those meals into creating meaningful acts that add to the chain of our tradition, bringing forward the blessings we ask for in our Amidah - l’dor vador nagid godlecha - from generation to generation, let us declare Your goodness. May we help those who know us to appreciate the wonder in life, and may we inspire them through our actions, through our love, through our appreciation, to see the world as a place worth building up together. Then, we need not worry about our legacy, but we can eat breakfast in peace, knowing in our heart of hearts that we have added to the awe of our universe, lifting those around us by giving them something to appreciate. Leaving something l’dor va-dor - from us to the next generation.

1 Gold, Danny. Mayhew, Michael. “If You’re Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast.” HBO Documentary, 2017

2 ibid

3 Wilder, Thornton (2014-03-18). Our Town: A Play in Three Acts (Perennial Classics) (Kindle Location 3739). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

4 Kushner, Rabbi Lawrence (2010-09-15). I'm God; You're Not: Observations on Organized Religion & Other Disguises of the Ego (Kindle Locations 3256-3260). Turner Publishing Company. Kindle Edition.

5 Wilder, Thornton (2014-03-18). Our Town: A Play in Three Acts (Perennial Classics) (Kindle Locations 2460-2461). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

6 Wilder, Thornton (2014-03-18). Our Town: A Play in Three Acts (Perennial Classics) (Kindle Locations 2652-2656). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

7 Wilder, Thornton (2014-03-18). Our Town: A Play in Three Acts (Perennial Classics) (Kindle Locations 2677-2678,2682, 2685). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.