The Magic Word ... Please

I have always felt that Rosh Hashanah had a magical element to it. As a child, I remember seeing the rabbi and cantor of my youth sashaying into the worship space in their wizard gowns, preparing to lead us in incantations that would somehow bring about a good year.  As I’ve grown, a little bit of that anticipation and hope has stuck with me - not rationally, mind you, just kind of a feeling I get when I hear those high holiday notes and tunes. And lo and behold, now I am the one wearing said robe . . .

I assure you, I am no wizard. (Though, just saying, in the two years since Rachel and I and our girls came to town, the Cubs made the playoffs and then won the World Series .... Just saying...) And though I do not honestly take credit for such things, with all that is going on around us in the world, I certainly wish I had a magic formula that I could say that would just make things better, helping our world to have a good new year. Especially now, as we have experienced a year that has pushed so many of us to question the direction our society is heading, a year in which the use of nuclear weapons is being mentioned flippantly and with insults, a year in which we have seen an increase in Anti-Semitism, recent weeks in which we have seen devastating storms in Texas, Florida and throughout the Caribbean, and even yesterday terrible earthquake and another major hurricane. There is SO much happening in our world for us to discuss - and believe me, we will over the course of our time together during these holidays. But for this moment, I just wish there could be some way to find some magic within our holiday. <Pause>

Well, maybe there IS a magic word that can help. THE magic word, actually - the word that we were prompted with as children when asking for what we wanted. [inflected like prompting of a parent to a child] “What’s the magic wo-o-rd?”  “Please.”

Sure, “please” adds a layer of kindness and politeness to our discourse, which is not to be taken lightly. It has the potential to be the difference between getting our way and not, especially when it is said by an adorable little toddling person with huge eyes that are staring at you with hope and anticipation and excitement. (Not that that ever happens in my house). . . But this is not the “please” that puts the magic into the next 10 days of awe.  

No, I’m talking about the gutteral, rooted “please” that comes from the deepest yearnings of our souls, the “please” that is a plea and a prayer. The, “Please” that is the focus of the first prayer recorded in our Torah … It is not until the book of Numbers, the fourth book of our Torah, that we encounter the first words that our rabbis identify as words of prayer. The words come from the mouth of Moses. In the middle of leading the Israelites in their wandering in the desert, Moses discovered that his sister was ill, stricken with leprosy. So he stopped and prayed … his prayer had no Baruch Atahs, no responsive readings. What was the prayer? Simply the five words, “El Na, Refah na, lah.”  “Please, God, please heal her.” It was his soul’s expression of what he needed to say most - his deepest hopes and his fears mixed together into an emotive statement that was 40%, “please.”

So, did Moses’ prayer work? Did his “please” heal his sister? Or was it that his plea of “please” informed what Moses did next. He led the entire camp of Israelites to pause there. For seven days, they encamped - our rabbinic commentary mentions that the fire and smoke of God that had been leading the way kept moving forward, but Moses stopped. He made a choice and he kept the people together in one place, enough time for Miriam to have the rest and care to heal up.

Perhaps, our Torah is showing us that her healing did not come purely from the utterance of “please,” but more importantly, from the actions that came following the magic words. By identifying and even saying out loud his “please,” Moses found clarity in what he needed to do next.  

This is the invitation that our High Holy Days offer us, to feel, to emote, to pour out our hearts about that which is truly most important to each of us.

To find the “please” that expresses our vision for what the world could be.

To find the “please” that is our soul’s yearning for justice, our heart’s plea for compassion, our moral compass that can help us to live with meaning and purpose and offer us the strength to a source of light and hope even in dark times for those who need us - even to ourselves, if we are the ones who need ourselves most.

And if we have been too ensconced in the busy-ness of life, then this is our time to re-discover what is so important to us that we would be willing to stop and re-align our priorities, if needed.  To get involved differently in the world around us, and to play a role in shaping that world... This is the essence of prayer, and this is the heart of our High Holy Day season.

Unfortunately, that’s the magic trick that I cannot do, our wonderful choir and amazing cantorial presence in Laurie - we cannot do this for you. It is in each of our hands, in each of our hearts, to reach inside and drag forth the “please” that is tugging at us, urging us to change course and make this year different than the last.

But that is only the first step of prayer, once we have expressed what we need and want and believe, then we have to bring our “pleases” with us. To let them direct our focus, our actions, our time and our attention, and most importantly, help us create a path of hope for this next year.

Such a “please” is seen in the rabbinic story that used to explain why the great Temple in Jerusalem was built in on what we now call the Temple Mount, on Mount Moriah.

Story

In ancient days, there lived two brothers on either side of a mountain. They shared a field filled with produce, and got along incredibly well. One of the brothers got married and soon had a whole brood of children at home to feed. The other brother, he lived happily and quietly with his spouse, and they did not choose to bring new lives into their home. One year, while their crops were doing okay, the brother who had no children found his thoughts turning  one night to his sibling with all the mouths to feed. He thought, “Wow, it must be so hard for them right now - “please,” I wish there was some way to make things better for them.” And so, he designed a plan - he’d take some of his flour and grains, sneak across the mountain and deliver it on his brother’s doorstep in the middle of the night, as if it was a magical gift from God.

But wouldn’t you know it, that same night, the brother with all of the kids in his family thought of his sibling. He said to himself, “Wow, it must be so hard for my brother to make flour and bread and product from all that we harvest with no children to help him. We are so blessed with such great helpers, please, God, please help him?”  So, he devised a plan, similar to his brother’s, since, well, these things run in the family, and sure enough, he too snuck out in the middle of the night to deliver some flour and cakes and bread to his brother. The next morning, each brother awoke to this incredible blessing of food and supplies. Each was astonished, to find an incredible gift from God. And each thought, “Great! Wow, this will help my brother even more! - and so they shipped the extra bags over to the other’s home.  But in the middle of that night . . . the moon was out, and they left at just the right times - they met on top of the mountain in the light of the moon. They realized what had happened, they embraced there on top of the mountain, filling one another with way more than their food supplies could - with love and hope. And that spot where they embraced is what our tradition teaches is where the Temple in Jerusalem was built.

These two brothers discovered how to say “please” and mean it … to go beyond politeness and let it inform action. The brothers stopped, they turned from their ordinary path to do something good and kind - and in doing so, they brought additional hope and peace to this world.  This story reminds us that we do not pray just to pray, but in order to use our prayers to act.

This is the rabbinic formula of t’shuvah, of return - awakening our hearts to our brothers and sisters, to the plight of others, to our connections to the world around us, and being moved to examine our own stories and what we want them to become. This is our not-so-magical process that can make this year better than the last. We must first figure out the magical “please” that lies within us, but to also know that words alone will not make miracles or move mountains. It is what WE do with our “pleases” that will shape our experience of this next year.

And so I invite you, during these High Holy Days - not to sit and read responsively, but find a way to say PLEASE from the innermost place in our souls. To lay our hearts bare and make ourselves vulnerable. . . but then to take our prayers with us, and let our “pleases” become the forefront of our vision, the hope for a better year, the why behind the what of what we choose to do and become in this next year. It may not always turn out like we planned, just as the brothers discovered, but going on that journey might even lead us somewhere higher.  <Pause>

We have all seen the images on our TV screens of the hurricanes that have devastated our world of late. It is upon us to make sure that we pause to say, “Please, God, please heal them” . . .  And then go do something about it, don’t just shrug and move on. It’s why we have places for donations to relief funds through the local Jewish United Fund, it’s why our movement, the Union for Reform Judaism, has set up funds to support those on the ground, making an impact for those who need to be lifted up.

When we see stories of white supremacists marching, it is upon us to say, “Please, God, Please heal us.” . . . And then to go and do something about it. Be moved and go move. Donate to groups that are educating and fighting bigotry, volunteer in a school, stand up against a bigoted word or phrase in an otherwise seemingly casual conversation, no matter the source … it’s not magic that our world needs. It’s us. Our caring hearts, our engagement in the world, not our removal from it.  

In a time where some of us may feel hope is thin, it is up to each of us to be that hope. And if we do not see enough hopeful examples around us, then let us stand up, together, to be our own sources of hope. I know from the many conversations I’ve had in recent months, that if you feel this way, then you are not alone. And that is also why we are here, together, to know that we are all here seeking and creating the hope for our next year.  

So, together, let us heed the call of our shofar - whether it is the music or the readings and words of our prayers, the wordless blast of the shofar, let us use this contemplative space to allow us to tap-in to what we care about most, this is our time to feel. To move ourselves so that we can go forth and move and heal the world around us, shaping the year that we hope to see.

Please, God, Please heal us. PLEASE from the bottom of my heart, PLEASE make this a good year... And now, let's do something about it. Let’s take this please and move one another towards bringing a year of justice, a year of love, a year of hope and honor and legacy and good fate. Know that I am here and your community is here to help join with you in moving our “pleases” into action. Together, we can bring healing to our world, at least more healing than there would be without us. L’shanah Tovah.

(Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5778 by Rabbi Ari Margolis, delivered at Congregation Or Shalom - please email rabbimargolis@gmail.com if you wish to cite material)

Happy New Year 5773!!

Happy New Year to all!!  I'm hoping this year will bring sweetness, joy, and peace to us all.  In case you have not heard enough High Holy Day sermons yet, here's another to get you into the mode of these Days of Awe.

FOR WHOM THE SHOFAR TOLLS

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.[1]  

         As we gather together to celebrate the New Year and prepare ourselves for the awe-filled day of Yom Kippur, we reflect on our personal journeys for this past year.  We may not use a bell, but our shofar blast reminds us to use these next ten days to ask forgiveness from those we have wronged, to take stock of the ways we have missed the mark, and to plot a new path forward – we continue the important struggle to improve upon the vessel of humanity that we each one of us calls “me.”

However, leaving our reflection at this personal, individual level renders us incomplete for the year to come.  As John Donne’s 17^th century poem reminds us, no person is an island, unless of course you’re Paul Simon.  And while the work on the self is very important, failing to simultaneously place ourselves in the greater context of our society can lead us to being just as impenetrable and obtuse as a rock. We are moved by our cultural milieu, the events and happenings of our world shape our lives and often demand a response from us. 

It is incredible how much has happened in our world since the last time we gathered together to celebrate a new year. So, I invite you to journey with me a bit – I’ve put together a quick scan of 5772 – on the local, national, and international levels to help us to link our personal reflections to our society, as a whole. 

        

Not long after our High Holy Days last year, in October, we learned of the improbable return of Gilad Shalit, Israeli hostage, to his parents after more than 5 years of uncertainty as to whether or not he was still alive.  The Israeli government released over 1,000 Palestinian prisoners who were captured for a wide range of offenses, including terrorist activity that killed Israeli citizens. Due to the perseverance of international advocacy, hope, and the Jewish value of pikuach nefesh, preserving life; conditions arose that allowed Mr. Shalit to come home be sent on a new assignment – one that brought him to Miami this past winter to observe and report on the NBA Finals for an Israeli newspaper. 

In November we witnessed the tragic crumbling of the legacy of Joe Paterno, now infamous former football coach of the Penn State Nittany Lions, whose loyalty to a football program prompted him and others in positions of power to stand idly by, enabling numerous youths to be victimized.  

Then came December.  After 8 ½ years, there was war no more in Iraq. 

Meanwhile, locally, the Town of Cary worked with members of the Jewish community – some of whom are here with us today – to host a community Chanukah festival.  The gathering of thousands gave each of us in attendance a renewed sense of acceptance here in our area and pride in our local Jewish community.

If we fast-forward to February, news broke of the row that was caused when the Susan G. Komen foundation for breast cancer research announced it would cut funds for the Planned Parenthood organization.  This news sparked such an outrage by many supporters of the philanthropy that the foundation reversed its course.

Also, we learned that members of the Mormon Church had posthumously baptized prominent Jewish figures, such as Anne Frank and Jewish journalist Daniel Pearl. The church responded to outrage with a declaration that it would eliminate “unauthorized” baptisms.

Then in March we heard of the tragic shooting at a Jewish school in Toulouse, France, which left four people dead, including the school’s rabbi and his two children.  This incident as well as a rash of shootings in Toulouse in the days prior all targeted minorities, occurring in the midst of a flare up of nationalistic political rhetoric in the midst of a campaign season in France. [2]  Unfortunately, later in the summer we saw a similar prejudicial shooting closer to home as a gunman opened fire in a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin.

Fortunately, April gave us another reason to join together and strengthen the bonds of our community in an incredible gala, celebrating 100 years of Temple Beth Or.  We honored our Jewish vaule of l’dor va-dor – from generation to generation.  What an uplifting evening!

May followed, bringing a key statewide election in which Amendment One was approved, narrowly defining marriage between one man and one woman as the only legal domestic union recognized by the state.  We’ll revisit this a little later.

Then, this past July, we could not help being lifted up by Jewish gymnast, Aly Rasiman, earning a gold medal for her gymnastics floor routine performed to the song, Hava Nagilah.  While Aly twirled with grace, we proudly witnessed international crowds raucously clapping to OUR melody, the one we embrace in most of our own cultural celebrations.  Her victorious display of pride in her heritage was rendered that much sweeter in the backdrop of the International Olympic Committee’s decision not to publicly honor the Israeli victims of a terrorist attack at the Olympics 40 years prior.

Overall, we know that our economy is not as strong as we’d like it to be and the political rhetoric a bit too strong.  We’ve seen an upswing in liberty across much of the Middle East, but it has come with a cost of violence.  Whether or not freedom truly will ring remains a chapter yet to be written.

I’m sure that I left out a few events here and there – I don’t want to keep us here until Yom Kippur.  But it has been quite a year.  We look at these stories – reasons to celebrate, juxtaposed with those events that have invoked moral outrage.  These are our stories – the legacy of the time in which we are living. 

         As we reflect on these stories, an interesting trend emerges.  In a number of these chronicled events, we have seen the impact of individuals coming together to take a stand.  Whether collective action took as long as the captivity of Gilad Shalit or the couple of days that it took for the Susan G. Komen Foundation to reassess their decisions, people all across our society, just like you and me, stood up for their values and shaped the threads of our societal stories. Rather than passively allowing the status quo to mold us into an acceptance of a new reality – one that in some cases may have run counter to our own values – some refused to malleably contort and instead pushed back, creating a new outcome. 

When we look at the ways that these events in our world have unfolded, we cannot help but see that we have a responsibility to our world. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that, we each have to make a decision: We cannot remain in a vacuum – unless we proactively shine the light of our values onto the world, it is invaded by darkness.  Our tradition constantly urges us to look after those who are most vulnerable in our society – the orphan, the widow, the poor.  Look around - there are too many who are vulnerable all around us – those whose ability to fully participate in our society are threatened, because of economics, because of sexual orientation, because of gender or race or religion. Though Rabbi Heschel was a leading figure in the ‘60s, during the civil rights movement in our country, make no mistake – the need to stand up for human rights is just as real today in order to protect the rights we have – the rights of women, the rights of the poor and disadvantaged, the rights of religious minorities everywhere including those of Jews.  Rabbi Heschel’s words still ring true for us today: “This is no time for neutrality. [As Jews, we] cannot remain aloof or indifferent.”[3]  We have to care.

We must become moved movers.  We must allow our visceral reactions to the opportunities and injustices we see around us to bubble inside and stir our kishkes, just as the prophet Jeremiah did.  Even when he tried not to share his prophetic words on how society should change, they burned like fire in his belly until he let them out for all to hear.  Of all times of the year, this is the time to let our passions ignite. Elie Wiesel has taught – “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of beauty is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.[4] To create a society of beauty and love, we cannot throw our hands in the air in defeat at the paralyzingly large stories that come at us in the news every day.  We have a responsibility to care, to act.

Here at TBO, our social action committee is dedicated to continuing to shape the world around us in 5773.  Starting now, we can do our part to curb hunger around us, locally, by filling the bags at your seats with food and returning them by Yom Kippur.  During Sukkot (the first week of October), we will be working with the Raleigh Tribe to build a Sukkah at Moore Square.  We will even have a Jewish Fall Festival Shabbat service downtown in our Sukkah – October 5th.  And all that week, we need your help in going downtown to feed those in need, upholding the one of the ideals of the holiday – distributing our bounty to the hungry. 

At the end of October, we will be ramping up our annual Mitzvah Day with ways for folks of all ages to pray with our feet for the day, addressing some of the needs that surround us.  We hope that everyone in our congregation will come and help shape our local community.  By the end of the High Holy Days, a signup sheet with all the various projects will be available on the TBO website. Our hope is that these projects will just be the start of a year of shaping the world around us, as our social action committee is committed to responding from our Jewish values on other important social issues from human trafficking to immigration to healthy eating to a social action trip to Guatemala.

I know that yesterday, Rabbi Dinner spoke of the importance of Shabbat, of resting.  Now, here I am, saying, “Take action.”  It’s confusing.  But as Rabbi Dinner said last night in the name of Rabbi Heschel, Shabbat is not for the rest of the week, but rather the rest of the week is for Shabbat.  When Shabbat is merely a respite, a chance to escape the rigors of our world that we wish to not think about, Shabbat becomes a tool for the rest of the week.  The true restorative power of Shabbat rest does not come from a George Costanzan “SERENITY NOW!”   Instead, when we use our week to reach beyond ourselves, to impact our society and our community, then our week serves Shabbat.  The peace we earn is one of wholeness, pride in the participation of creation – this kind of rest is saturated with meaning and contentment, allowing us to more easily find that which is tov, which is good in our world, despite all its flaws.

It is important to keep in mind that not all of our efforts will fully shape the world as we hope it to be.  This past year, our community stepped forward to fight intolerance and injustice, as Temple Beth Or took a stand opposing the Amendment One that constitutionally limited the rights of a minority group based on the vote of a majority. Could we have done more?  Always.  Did we win the day?  Unfortunately, we did not.  But this is what it means to walk our values, or as Rabbi Heschel would say, to pray with our feet.  We lifted our prayers of caring for those who are vulnerable in our society, and put them into action.  At this time of reflection and renewal, we can look back not with regret, but rather with the peace that comes from knowing that we stood true to our Reform Jewish values.  We must balance our vigor to shape our world with the perspective and patience that Rabbi Tarfon teaches in the Talmud, Lo Alecha Hamlacha Ligmor - It is not our job to complete the task, nor is it our job to desist from it.[5]  Let us not get bogged down in the struggle and what was lost – rather, let us recapture the momentum of our passion from this past year and refocus it where we can continue to make a difference.

Therefore, let us use these High Holy Days to revisit the various events of this past year – to allow ourselves to be moved by what has happened around us.  Some moments may have been uplifting times of connection that brought us meaning, that we may wish to recapture in the year to come.  Others may have aroused in us a moral indignation that we cannot easily hold inside.  On Yom Kippur, we will stand side-by-side with our family and friends, our community, declaring – ASHAMNU, BAGADNU – WE have sinned, We have transgressed – not I, WE.  Our prayers demand that we tie our fate to one another and that we work to pull ourselves and one another out of the pitfalls of our year. 

As we strive to learn from the year that has passed and make this next year even better, may we each remember that the work we do on the self is only complete when it allows us to become shapers of our world.  By taking action in our world, we too are moved.  This cycle will allow us to create the space for rest, for Shabbat, and an appreciation for what will be tov within 5773.  Returning to my opening poem, with apologies to John Donne and any poetic structuralists who may be here today, a modified version might offer guidance in how to make 5773 a Shanah Tovah:

Remember – no person is an island,

Complete in oneself.

Each is a piece of our society,

A part of the main.

When one of us is swept under the sea of injustice,

We are all less.

Just as if an entire race or gender were dehumanized.

As well as if the house I own

Or that of my friend’s were lost to the perils of our economy.

Each person’s needless suffering diminishes me.

For I am involved in humankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the shofar calls.

It calls for thee.

Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5773 by Rabbi Ari Margolis, delivered at Temple Beth Or - please email rabbimargolis@gmail.com if you wish to cite material

---

[1] John Donne, 17^th Century English Poet. “Meditation XVII,” from Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, 1623

[2] http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/mar/19/toulouse-shootings-race-religion-murder-france

[3] Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, “No Time for Neutrality” in Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity: Essays. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996. p. 75

[4] Interview with Elie Wiesel, published in US News & World Report (27 October 1986)

[5] Pirkei Avot 2:21