THE SONG OF THE SELF, THE SONG OF THE NATION First Day of Rosh Hashanah, 5777/2016

Shannah tovah, good morning.  It’s wonderful to look out this morning at all of you in this full sanctuary on this holiest of days. And such a full sanctuary reminds me of a story I heard not long ago.

It seems a Jewish woman was lying in bed on a Saturday morning. Her husband gave her a shake and said, “Come on, now, honey, it’s time to get up!  We’ve got to go to synagogue.”

“UGH!,” she replied, “I don’t want to go to synagogue. I don’t like synagogue”

“You don’t like synagogue? What don’t you like about it?”

“Where to start? I don’t like the services. And I really don’t like the sermons. And besides,” she sniffed, “that congregation – nobody likes me. No matter how hard I try to be friendly, they just don’t like me. So I’m not going. Why should I? Give me one good reason why I should?”

Well, her husband crossed his arms over his chest and looked sternly down at her.

“I’ll give you three good reasons,” he said. “First, God expects and requires a Jew to go to synagogue. Second, I’m going, and I’m taking the kid, and a decent Jewish family goes to synagogue together. And third –in case you’ve forgotten –

YOU ARE THE RABBI!”

I don’t know the identity of this unfortunate family – it’s just a bit of gossip, the sort one hears in rabbinical circles. But it does make me grateful for the congregation we’ve got, because the honest truth is – seriously, now – I always want to come to my synagogue. 

            Because I always want to get together with you.  I look forward to studying together; praying together; working together for social justice; sharing meals, supporting each other, celebrating together, and all the other things that we do together.  Because, as Alan and Sandy have said better than I could, our community has a unique warmth and spiritual connection – and I never come here without feeling it.

Always, when these High Holy Days arrive, I feel proud and excited as we prepare to embark on this journey of reflection, teshuvah and celebration.

            But I’ve got to tell you:  It came just in time this year. The last 12 months have been what we call, in Yiddish, a tzimmes. And not one of those sweet, yummy tzimmeses your grandmother used to make for the holidays, with the carrots and the sweet potatoes and the raisins, all mixed together with honey and lemon.

            I’m talking about a real-life tzimmis – a jumble, a muddle, a cacophony of bad news. And the bad news always seems to come wrapped in hatred, vitriol, bile and, alas, too frequently, violence.

We’ve had an epidemic of violence -- criminal violence, terrorist violence, state violence, domestic violence, racial violence.  Violence that breaks our hearts, every day. We’ve also had an epidemic of sheer nastiness, in our public discourse.

            But above all, what’s troubled me over the last year, has been the epidemic of othering.

             Do you know what I mean by other-ing? “Beware the “other” – the other race, the other religion, the other nationality. Beware the unfamiliar person, the one who makes you feel a little uncomfortable or – dare I say it? – a little guilty.

Beware the immigrant man – he’s coming to take your job! 

Beware the transgender woman – she wants to invade the bathroom stall next to yours, God forbid!  

Beware the Muslim four year-old in your child’s class – she may be an operative for ISIS. 

And, while you’re at it, beware the Jewish kid in your college student government – he may be an operative for the International Zionist Conspiracy.

Beware the other!

            You don’t have to be a genius to see what’s at the bottom of this:  Fear. Stress. Ignorance.

            But here – at last! – is some good news. Judaism is uniquely well-suited to confront, and to do battle against, fear, stress and ignorance. You might even go so far as to say that controlling this three-headed goblin has been one of the main purposes of Judaism for the past 2,000 years.

            And so, on this day of new beginnings, I want to share with you what I regard as one of Judaism’s most inspiring calls to the sort of spiritual life that can help us lay this goblin to rest. It is called the Shir M’ruba or Four Fold Song and, hopefully, you will find an orange copy of it on your chair – there should be enough to share with the person next to you. If not, raise your hand and someone will give you one. 

            The Four Fold Song is the work of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, of blessed memory. Now, if you are unfamiliar with Rav Kook and his work…how can I describe him to you, this great man?

            I can tell you that he was born in present day Latvia in 1865, and, even as a child, he was recognized by the sages of his time as an illui, or genius of the Torah. I can tell you that in 1904, he arrived in the Holy Land, and was later named Chief Ashkenazi Rabbi of British Mandated Palestine.

I can tell you that Rav Kook was many things – scholar, educator, activist, politician, poet and author, and above all, mystic. Yet the essence of Rav Kook’s holiness, I think, is most evident in his ability to unite diverse groups of people. He was rabbi not only to the Old Yishuv Jews in their black hats and black coats, but also to the secular-minded kibbutzniks, in their overalls and farm caps – and just about everyone in between. He spoke to everyone, and how he got through to so many will, I think, be apparent in just a moment. 

            For Rav Kook’s response to the pestilences of fear, stress and ignorance, and all the curses and tsorris they bring, can be summed-up in a single word:  Relationships. And, as always in Judaism, we begin with the relationship with the self.

There is a person who sings the song of the Self. Shirat Nafsho. He finds everything, his complete spiritual satisfaction, within himself.

            The Song of the Self.  For Judaism teaches that each of us has the right to sustenance and love, from ourselves as much as from others. Our sages insist upon it, and so do our Jewish mothers. We are commanded not only to eat, but to en-choy!

             But this song of the self is a far cry from a song of selfishness. Because the song of the self, though a beautiful melody, and a necessary one, is merely a starting point. Our great sage, Hillel, famously said, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” But he didn’t stop there, did he? He went on: “If I am only for myself, what am I?” And to this question, the Four Fold Song also continues:

And there is a person who sings the song of the Nation. Shirat Ha-umah. She steps forward from her private self, which she finds narrow and insufficiently developed. She yearns for the heights. She clings with a sensitive love to the entirety of the Jewish nation and sings with it its song. She shares in its pains, is joyful in its hopes, speaks with exalted and pure thoughts regarding its past and its future, investigates its inner spiritual nature with love and a wise heart.

            It is the Song of the Nation that brings us together on this holy day. We come to this place to feel a sense of belonging and connection. We come to talk to God – however we may understand God – in a spirit of mutual respect. We come to stand together against hatred and injustice, and to find sanctuary from the chaos and craziness of our world.

We are free to be as private as we like without ever having to feel alone, because we pray as a people, even when we pray silently as individuals. And how much more as a people, when we raise our voices together in the words of our ancestors, to magnify and sanctify the forces of light, through which we seek to mend and repair ourselves and this broken world. 

I sing the Song of the Nation when I’m in Israel, walking the paths of my ancestors, breathing in the air that somehow feels more spiritually nourishing than anywhere else I have ever been.   I also sing the Song of the Nation when Israel is under attack and I come to her defense; and when I pray for the wellbeing of her people – my people. And, too, we sing this song when we passionately disagree with each other about Israeli politics and policies.  For the Song of our Nation has always been one of innumerable voices.

            It is a powerful, powerful gift, this song of the nation, and we owe it to ourselves, and each other, to make use of it as much as we can.

            One of our members, whose family has belonged to this synagogue for generations, recently shared a story about something that happened one night, about half-a-century ago. “I was twenty-four, lying on my bed feeding my 6 month old son. My two year-old daughter [lay] sound asleep. It was ten p.m. when the phone rang and my husband answered it. From the sound of his voice, I knew my beloved mother had died. The next evening there was a minyan at my home and Saul Axelrod was the first to arrive. I had never met him. But he gave me a warm comforting hug. And at that moment, I knew that I would be okay.”

            Now, how can this be? How can a hug from a total stranger have such power? Because, in that moment, that young mother in mourning knew two things:  One, that Saul Axelrod is a mensch, and when you’re in mourning, it is good to have a hug from a mensch; but, also, she knew that Saul’s hug symbolized the love and support of an entire community, a community bound by thousands of years of common history, values and commitment. That’s a powerful hug. And that is what is meant by the Song of the Nation.

            Another member of our community recently shared that when her daughter fell ill, she sent a message to our Sisterhood’s Bikkur Cholim asking for prayers for healing. By the time she saw me coming in to the hospital to check on her, she knew it wasn’t just me joining her at all – it was as if our entire community was walking in to the hospital behind me. That’s when she knew that TBA was her community.

            And yet another mother shared this Jewish teaching with me as she wrote of feeling supported by community when her daughter went through surgery – "Separately, we are as fragile as reeds and as easily broken…But together, we are as strong as reeds tied in a bundle". It was as if her family were right in the middle of that bundle of strong reeds.           

These are just a few examples of so many, of how we sing the Song of the Nation here at Temple B’nai Abraham. But I also want to mention something else: The importance of teaching this song to our children. Let’s all have a kvell together over a little poem by one of our kids that Lauren Goldman, one of our teachers, shared with me. See if you can hear the song of the nation in this magnificent lyric verse by Arianna Bocchino:

                                    Halloween is coming!

                                    So is Rosh Hashannah!

                                    I might dress as a ghost

                                    Or, maybe ,a funny llama!

                                    It’s nice to keep a smile on your face

                                    Even when you’re sad

                                    Because there are things to look forward to

                                    Like Rosh Hashanah with mom and dad!

We do indeed have much to look forward to in the coming year. Last year, we adopted, repaired and dedicated our Czech Memorial Torah Scroll, honoring the martyred Jewish community of Brno. Every one of our b’nai mitzvah students now reads from its holy words, and when they do, the light of the Jews of Brno, and all who were murdered in the Shoah, sparkles for all to see. That, too is the Song of the Nation.

But this year I would like to announce a challenge that can be, in its way, no less exhilarating:  To get to know each other better.

Yes, I am serious. We need to get to know one another, so that we can sing this Song of the Nation as loudly and harmoniously as we dare, so that we can strengthen our community and each other.

I’m asking you to talk to one another – not just about the Red Sox, but about the things that keep you up at night and the things that get you up in the morning. This is something we need as individuals and as a community. This is the harmony of the Song of the Self and the Song of the Nation. 

So don’t be surprised, or put off, if you get a phone call inviting you to a house gathering of some sort by one of the people leading this effort (Jerry Schwartz, Eve Noss, Ken Hartman, Arnie Cowan, Linda Goodspeed, Eileen Edelstein, Tom Cheatham – and a few others yet to be confirmed).  All mentschen. Really.  Having coffee or a drink with any one of them alone is time well-spent, as many here already know.  

The call will be an invitation to schmooze with old and new friends and exchange ideas about what we really care about. No one will ask you for money or try to get you to volunteer for anything. We’ll be calling because we want to know you better. Why? Because our sages teach us that relationships are the key to beating back the demons of fear, stress and overwhelm.

There’s a story told about sage of ancient times, Honi ha-M’agel, or Honi the Circle Maker, who lived 2,000 years ago. According to this story, Honi ha-M’agel fell asleep for seventy years and, when he awoke, found himself unable to form meaningful friendships with people of an unfamiliar generation. ..

His desperate prayer became a Jewish proverb that has resounded across the millennia:  “Companionship! Either companionship or death - Hevrutah oh metutah!”  (Taanit 23a)

חברותא או מיתותא

On Yom Kippur, I’ll have much more to say about the second half of the Four Fold Song. For now, I invite you to follow along with me, as the circles of relationships grow wider and deeper, and we bring this holy quartet to its conclusion.

            There is a person whose soul is so broad that it expands beyond the border of Israel.  It sings the song of humanity.  This soul constantly grows broader with the exalted totality of humanity and its glorious image.  He yearns for humanity’s general enlightenment.  He looks forward to its supernal perfection.  From this source of life, he draws all of his thoughts and insights, his ideals and visions.
        And there is a person who rises even higher until she unites with all existence, with all creatures, and with all worlds.  And with all of them, she sings.  This is the person who, engaged in the Chapter of Song every day, is assured that she is a child of the World-to-Come.
        And there is a person who rises with all these songs together in one ensemble so that they all give forth their voices, they all sing their songs sweetly, each supplies its fellow with fullness and life: the voice of happiness and joy, the voice of rejoicing and tunefulness, the voice of merriment and the voice of holiness.
        The song of the soul, the song of the nation, the song of humanity, the song of the world—they all mix together with this person at every moment and at all times.
        And this simplicity in its fullness rises to become a song of holiness, the song of God, the song that is simple, doubled, tripled, quadrupled, the Song of Songs of Solomon – Shlomo —of the king who is characterized by completeness and peace, Shalom.

            And let us say:  Amen