TO LIFE! YOM KIPPUR MORNING 2017/5778

“Life has a way of confusing us.

Blessing and bruising us.

Drink, l'chaim, to life!”

Remember that one? From Fiddler on the Roof?

Tevye, a loveable everyman, has just concluded a traditional marriage agreement, arranging for Lazar Wolf, the wealthiest Jew in the little village of Anetevka, to marry his daughter, Tzetiel. Both men are joyful. Lazar Wolf is joyful because   Tzeitel is a pretty, modest, capable young girl; and Tevye is joyful because he loves his daughter and believes the marriage to be her best available opportunity for security and happiness. To seal the deal, the two men crack-open a bottle of schnapps and prepare to drink: L’chaim!, they shout -- To life! And, oh, how they celebrate, with the singing and the dancing and the drinking.    “God would like us to be joyful,” they sing

“even when our hearts lie panting on the floor.

How much more should we be joyful

When there’s really something to be joyful for?”  

It’s wonderful!  But we, the audience, watch it with only half smiles, and maybe even a bit of a sick feeling in the pits of our stomachs. Because we know what Tevye doesn’t know: That Tzeitel, a teenager whom he has just promised to an unattractive middle-aged man whom she barely knows, is in love with a sweet and kind – but impoverished and timid – young tailor named Motel. Her marriage to Lazar Wolf – if it happens – will destroy Tzeitel’s happiness, forever!

 [comic interlude]                                                                                   

Okay now, some of you may be thinking:  Forever, rabbi, really?  You can’t say forever, maybe Lazar Wolf isn’t so bad, and maybe Tzeitel could find a way to make the best of it and, anyway, she’s a fictional character, so you really –.  Well, let me tell you something! I’m an expert on Tzeitel: In 1977, when Wayne Thomas Elementary School put on a production of Fiddler on the Roof, what fifth grader do you think was chosen to play Tzeitel? Me, that’s right. And do you know who played Lazar Wolfe? Todd Horowitz! And I promise you, if I had been forced to marry Todd Horowitz, even just on stage, I would have been miserable forever! Now. Let’s get back to l’chaim.

We’re talking about l’chaim today for two reasons. First, because it is the final note of the triad in our new tagline:  To learn. To love. To life! On Rosh Hashanah, I spoke about how Divine love is the life force of our Jewish way of life. Then, last night, I spoke about how we Jews believe in Torah learning that leads to constructive, moral action. And this morning I am going to talk about “To life!” and how these two words reflect a worldview which, though shaped by centuries of suffering, is profoundly optimistic and bold.

When we first unveiled our logo, one of the most common reactions among people who were seeing it for the first time, was to start humming, or even breaking into song: [singing] “To life! To life! L’chaim.” Everyone seems to know that song – even some of our younger members who don’t realize that it comes from a musical adaptation of classic tales by the great Yiddish writer, Sholom Aleichem.

Conversely, some folks seem to think the expression actually derives from the song, which was written in 1964 by Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick. Most folks know “L’chaim” simply as “the way Jews make a toast before drinking.” The British say “Cheers!,” the Italians say “Salute” and we say “L’chaim.” And that’s true enough.

But why? The meaning of “Cheers” is obvious; and “salute” means “good health” and nearly all of the most popular toasts in all other European languages are along the same lines. It is very unusual to toast life itself.

It turns out, l’chaim has a historical context that makes it even more unusual.

If you’ve ever joined us for a kiddush on Shabbat morning, you’ve heard l’chaim used as part of one our ancient rituals. Always, before we say Kiddush, our prayer over wine or grape juice, the leader (usually me) will say 'savri meranan,' or 'savri haverei,’ which basically means, “Your attention please teachers, friends!”  To which everyone in the room is expected to reply “L’chaim!"  And if they don’t say it with enough gusto and unanimity, you had better believe I will ask them to say it again.  L’CHAIM!  And then we drink. And eat.

It is a merry, heimish tradition. But a tradition with a soberingly serious history – and I use the word “sobering” in the most literal way, as you will see momentarily – that makes it an entirely appropriate subject for Yom Kippur, the most serious day on our Jewish calendar.

The Midrash Tanhuma, a collection of rabbinic legends thought to be about 1500 years old, says that in ancient times, when someone was to be tried for a crime under penalty of death, a judges were convened. After studying the evidence, the Chief Justice would  call out: Savri meranan - “Your attention - what is your verdict?”

If the accused was to be executed, all the judges would shout, le-mitah!  “To death!”

But if the accused was to be acquitted, they would shout, l’chaim!  "To life!"

And so, the midrash concludes, whenever a gathering of people prepares to drink wine, a leader should first cry out: Savri! Your attention; and all should respond, l’chaim – ‘to life!’ After which, they may drink.

So how’s that for an unexpected source? According to midrash, our merry l’chaim – meant to affirm our gratitude for life, our love of life, our joy in accepting the challenges that all life-affirming people must accept – is derived from an ancient death penalty ritual. But this macabre etymology is entirely in keeping with the spirit of this day, Yom Kippur, when we symbolically rehearse our own deaths by abstaining from food and observing other practices associated with mourning – all to helps us to resume living more meaningfully.

According to another ancient midrash, in the Garden of Eden the forbidden Tree of Knowledge was actually a grapevine, so Adam and Eve’s imbibing of grapes (or perhaps wine) brought death into the world.

And there’s more.  In the Torah, you’ll recall, after surviving the Great Flood, Noah planted a vineyard, discovered wine, got drunk, and wound up disowning one of his sons. Then came Lot – he got drunk and did something much worse with his daughters. Consequently, says one 19^th century rabbinical sage, we say l’chaim before as a warning to ourselves and those with whom we drink: “Be careful and not foolish!,” he writes, “And may this drink be l’chaim and not l’mavet  - for life and not for death.”

So you see, l’chaim is far more serious than many of us realize – it’s a kind of life-affirming incantation that Jews have been saying for many, many centuries.

We inhabit a beautiful world – but also, a dark world, cruel, frightening, and dangerous. The collective memory of the Jewish people contains within it a chamber of horrors – slavery, exile, poverty, oppression, pogroms, anti-Semitism, Holocaust.   Consequently, our antennae are pretty much always up – sensitive to hateful rhetoric and actions around us because we know all too well, in our DNA, in our kishkes, how quickly a menacing threat can lead to violence and death.  

This is doubtless one reason that so many Jews are passionate about social improvement, and are drawn to professions and volunteerism involved in education, healing and justice.  We empathize with the suffering, and when we say “Never Again,” we mean for others as well as ourselves. The dark side of human nature has bared its teeth at us far too often for us to have any illusions about what people are capable of doing to one another.

But it also accounts for a portion of the underlying anxiety present in Jewish lives, both individually and collectively. “A Jew’s Joy is not without fright,” says an old Yiddish proverb. We see this reflected in one of our most charming wedding traditions. Though we are required to celebrate a wedding as exuberantly as we can, we also break a glass, in part to remind ourselves that we live in a broken world. Similarly, we sit in our beautiful synagogue here today, preparing to set out on a new year with a clean slate. We are expected to do so with courage and joy – but also with a splash of fear and trembling, with the Mussaf U'netane Tokef prayer still reverberating in our hearts and minds: This year, and every year, is uncertain; none can know who shall live or who shall die.

Life is uncertainty, all is uncertainty –  one certainty expressed in the Talmud, is probably just that. Consider this: The Talmud recounts a rabbinical debate that lasted for 2 ½ years over whether or not it would have been better if humanity had not to be created at all. And in the end, the rabbis decided that, given the way we human beings conduct ourselves, the world probably would have been better off…without us. And yet, the same rabbis created liturgy and rituals that speaks to the wonder and beauty of life and love. Jew are to say each morning: "Praised are You, God!  You create the world fresh and new every day, you do so with mercy and love."

If you listen closely to a Jew when he or she says, l’chaim, you may well sense at least a tremor of the uncertainty, anxiety and ambivalence ever-present in the Jewish world view. You certainly hear it in Fiddler On the Roof. You’ll recall that as Tevye and his friends sing “To Life” and celebrate the marriage contract, they are interrupted by a gang of Russian Cossacks, and suddenly every Jew in the room is struck with fear. For while the Cossacks appear inclined to join the celebration, everyone knows that, if he chooses, a Cossack can, and will, beat or rape or murder a Jew with no fear of retribution. But still, Tevye – with the fortification that comes from a drink or two too many – shouts l’chaim and continues the celebration.  

For we Jews have learned to cry l’chaim defiantly in the face of danger, struggle and loss.  In times of happiness and triumph, we say it with just a drop of two of tears, knowing that progress is rarely linear in our own lives, or in the history of humanity; a great step forward is often followed by a step or two in the other direction.

We say l’chaim to give ourselves courage. But not the kind of false courage that comes from phony optimism. We know what life is – “one season following another, laden with happiness and tears” – and we go forward and embrace it and work to bring it as close to our ideals as we can. We do this for ourselves and for our children and the generations who will come after us. That is what l’chaim means.

I’ve been thinking about this a great deal, lately. I thought of it when I had the privilege of presiding over a bris for a beautiful baby named Natan Avraham – what a joyful occasion it was, naming the child after great grandparents still mourned by his loving family. But then we said our kiddish –l’chaim! And sat down to eat.

I thought of it again when right after that bris I drove back here and had the honor of presiding over the funeral of Harold Cowan – such a loss for our community and his family. But just as a joyous occasion like a bris will be infused with sadness, the sad occasion of Harold’s funeral was joyous in its reminiscences. His sons and grandchildren all spoke of how Harold’s deeply profound engagement in and passion for love and life influenced them – and will for generations to come as they carry his influence and love forward.  And we sat shiva and ate.

And I thought of l’chaim last month, when I flew to my childhood home in Highland Park, Illinois -- where I made my theatrical debut back in fifth grade -- to celebrate my parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary.  It has been a challenging year for them, as my father has faced mounting health issues and hovered close to death back in December – though he is doing much better now. But they gathered together a substantial minion of family and friends and were determined to be joyful. At one point during our celebration, we flipped through their wedding album, and it became distressingly clear that nearly all people who had been at the wedding were . . . well, dead.

It was a sad passage in our celebration. But it didn’t last long. My aunt Judy and I surprised my parents by organizing a re-enactment the wedding. I wish you could have seen my parents’ faces as they watched 7-year-old Leo breaking the glass.   And of course, in this midst of this tsimmes of joy and melancholy, we all shouted l’chaim!  To life!

And I thought of l’chaim in August after white nationalists and neo-Nazis marched in Charlottesville, VA, where their assault on all we hold dear in this country and included a young black man being severely beaten and a crowd of peaceful protesters being run over, killing Heather Heyer and injuring many.  I know some of you read the account written by the President of Congregation Beth Israel, Alan Zimmerman – he described how they hid their Torah scrolls in someone’s basement, and were surrounded with armed neo-Nazis during their Shabbat services.  

Their rabbis wrote the following in a follow-up message:  “Security is one part of our response. The other part is our choice to continue celebrating, learning, and worshiping within this building, and within this community that gives us our support and strength.”

Those of us who are fearful of the rise in anti-Semitism, racism, homophobia and xenophobia – especially as its sanctioned or ignored by certain government leaders - take heart in this message.  We keep on living, and loving, and celebrating, and supporting each other.

And we will continue to shout l’chaim. Whatever darkness and uncertainty we face in this life – and we can expect to have plenty in these times – let us continue to say l’chaim.  Let us set forth with energy and enthusiasm as we stand up for our Jewish values – love, justice, liberty and inclusiveness. 

Let us celebrate weddings and births and anniversaries and birthdays.  Let us meet the challenges of illness or loss or fear with courage and determination. Let all of us who are here today – and so blessed to be alive in this moment, right here – commit to take a deep breath and refocus on so sacred and necessary for living:  courage, love, and hope.

I won't be so audacious as to wish you all "happy" new year.  We have far too many serious challenges to expect a blessing of that sort.  But I will wish you Shana Tova - a good new year.  And let us say, with Tevye – and with Tzeitel, who, in the end, was allowed to marry her true love – and with all Jewish people around the world, celebrating this new year:

                                    To us and our good fortune!

                                    Be happy! Be healthy!  Long life!

                                    And if our good fortune never comes . . .

                                    Here's to whatever comes

                                    Drink, l'chaim, to life.”