Cheating on My Blog

Posted at 2:00 PM, Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Okay, I'll readily confess. I'm attempting to kill two birds with one stone by posting my Rosh Hashanah sermons to the Internet. What follows is the message I'll be delivering tonight at our synagogue. The longer sermon for Rosh Hashanah morning will be posted over the weekend. On top of these words for grownups, I have lately been trying my hand at writing for children. I've writing a very short book about Rosh Hashanah for children ages 2-5. Yonatan provided the expert illustrations. If you'd like a copy of the pdf files, send an e-mail to rabbisbk@hotmail.com, and I'll e-mail it off.

To all you Jewish readers, and friends of Jewish readers, I wish you a sweet and joyous new year!

Early in the first year at my last congregation, I gave a Friday evening sermon about the preciousness of time. I discussed the importance of Shabbat—a 25-hour period set aside for those things in life that normally get short-shrift in our fast-paced society. It's a time to eat with the whole family, to spend time together, to be with friends, even to take a nap. All indulgences that we rarely take advantage of in our regular lives.

I have always been one of those people who are very conscious of time, and I was determined that the service on that night would last no more than an hour. But I had a lot to say and great wisdom to impart. So I started to speak faster. And faster. Soon, words were rushing out of my mouth as I instructed my bemused congregants to slow down in their lives. Enormously pleased with myself, I ran through all of my notes and instructional gems and concluded the service precisely on time. It was left to Bobby to inform me that I had certainly made a point with my sermon, but it wasn't the point I had originally intended.

More than ten years and two children later, I can only hope that my attitude towards time has become somewhat more flexible. But I know that, like many of you here, I am often reluctant to give myself the gift of time. Even the terms we use to describe how we take advantage of time are pregnant with meaning: that takes a lot of time, as if to say that we're stealing it away from a more worthwhile use. Even worse is the idea of wasting time—a finite resource which much be used to the best possible advantage and never abused. There is a vast industry of professionals happy to assist us with managing our time, and literally thousands of books are available to teach us how to squeeze every bit of potential out of each second of the day.

In this context, there are aspects to Jewish practice that some may see as a poor use of time. As I mentioned before, Shabbat is a tradition which seems increasingly out-of-step with our rushed lives. Many families set aside Friday evening to come to services and enjoy a leisurely meal with loved ones and friends. But how many are prepared to continue their Shabbat observances throughout the next day and make Saturday a day set apart from the rest of the week? I strive to make this day different—one where I feel released from the responsibilities that follow me the rest of the week, and where I can allow my family to come first. It has become very important for us to celebrate havdalah on Saturday night. In this way, we bracket the day that has past and see it as set aside from the other six days of the week.

Jews traditionally are required to set aside a full seven days following the burial of a loved one to sit at home with their grief—to sit shiva, literally seven. A colleague of mine sardonically referred to the mourning period following a death as “shlosha”--meaning three. He was referring to the fact that many Americans consider seven days of mourning to be an unjustifiable use of time and have shortened the mourning period they allow themselves to three days. Many people do not even take that three days, but go back to work the day after the funeral and hope to steal a moment here and there to deal with their intense grief. Counselors who specialise in grief therapy will point out just what a dangerous trend it is for mourners to delay or deny themselves opportunities to grieve. Unresolved grief can become a poisonous force in life, affecting our daily functioning and relationships. A minimum of three days away from work seems like a small price to pay in exchange for the possibility of long-term healing.

I suspect many people sigh deeply as they see the High Holy Days approaching on the calendar. They dread hours spent in synagogue enduring services that may hold little meaning for them. It is even more of a challenge when Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, or both fall midweek, requiring days away from work and school. More than a few people may take the days off but then stop to wonder why they've done it. What benefit are these hours to us? How can we see this is time well spent rather than time wasted?

The answer, I believe, is to understand that these High Holy Days are the ultimate gift of time we give to ourselves. Yes, it's true that there are lots of words in our prayerbook to be got through, and at times the service may seem overly long. But honestly, the words themselves are not the reason why we are here. We are here to be with ourselves and to be with God. Our main task in these ten days ahead is to figure out how best to do that. Our prayerbook is something of a roadmap for this journey, but it may not be a map that leads you to where you need to go. If that is the case, then you need to create your own map and make careful use of it in the days to come. Figure out what is your particular goal for these ten days: do you wish to spend time reflecting on the miracle of the world we have, or do you want to resolve to make it a better place? Are there people in your life whom you've hurt and to whom you need to make amends? How will you accomplish this? Do you wish to spend some time sitting with yourself and reflecting on where you are in your life? Would keeping a spiritual journal or sketching in a sketchpad help this process along?

As you find time to do your own spiritual work, I certainly hope that you will find a way to make use of the time we spend together here in synagogue. I love these Days of Awe because I feel Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur carry with them their own sense of wonder and mystery. The white robes, our special Torah covers and ark curtain, the melodies of the season, the change in prayerbooks—all serve to remind us that this season is set apart. I invite you to see if you can sense some of that mystery for yourself. Let the words and music wash over you. If you hit upon a phrase or an idea that you find jarring, let it go and wait for the next prayer that lifts you up and hugs you. These days are only as holy as you make them.

At this season, we pray that we and our loved ones may be written and sealed for a year of life. But I would take this prayer just a bit further. I pray that we will be inscribed not for a routine, empty life, but for a life that is full of living—packed with transforming experiences, ecstatic encounters with one another and with the holy, and full of opportunities for joyful growth. Keyn y'hi ratzon—May it be God's will.