I Like You Just the Way You Are Kol Nidre Sermon 2018

Good evening, gut yontif. I want to tell you something… just between us, you and me.  Ready?

I like you just the way you are!

Really.  I do.

I like you just the way you are!

It may surprise you a bit to hear me talking like Mr. Rogers on Yom Kippur.

And it may surprise you to hear me say how much I like you as you are.  

After all, Yom Kippur is NOT a time to be satisfied with who we are. It’s a time to take a hard look at who we are and ask ourselves how we might become better. It’s a time to take stock of our souls and our relationships and do what we must to fix what needs fixing. Many of us practice the tradition of knocking on our hearts as we recite the litany of things that we, as a community, have done wrong, like we will be doing a little later this evening.  “Ashamnu bagadnu – We abuse, we betray, we destroy, we gossip, we . . . spend too much time on Facebook.”

And yet, in the midst of all of this soul-searching and chest-beating, here I come -- Rabbi Mr. Rogers --  saying “I like you just the way you are.”

Why would I say such a thing?

Well, first of all because it’s true. I like you. Even those of you who are new in our community this year, who I barely know -- I like you just the way you are. And do you know why? Because -- again, in the words of Mr. Rogers --there’s no one in the world exactly like you.

And, secondly -- listen, now, this is important: Because, while the sound of the shofar and the idea of teshuvah, or return to righteousness, and nearly everything else about this holy day cries out for us to change ourselves. . . we need not, should not, stop liking or even loving ourselves.

Indeed, self-examination, repentance, teshuvah -- all of these are acts of self-care and, therefore, of self-love.

This Yom Kippur, I want to encourage us to do all of the things we normally do -- pray and work on repentance and forgiveness - do teshuvah.  We all need to do that. And we need to do it standing together, as a community, responsible for each other, supporting each other in our teshuvah.  Remember, teshuvah is not only repentance -- Teshuvah means turning and returning; turning inward in reflection, turning towards God and turning to each other in humility and in forgiveness.  Returning to our truest selves.

It’s hard. It’s hard to be honest with ourselves, especially when we don’t live up to our own ideals. But this year, I’m going to make it even harder for you:  I want you to do all of that and make sure you keep liking yourself -- just the way you are. You’re not perfect -- that’s one of the reasons you’re here tonight, and that’s part of what the word “human” means, imperfect.  But imperfect as you are, you’re nonetheless lovable. Because you are unique and precious and there’s never been anyone like you before - and there never will be anyone like you again.

It’s Judaism, with a touch of Mr. Rogers.

If you were here on Rosh Hashanah -- and you were paying attention -- you heard me speak about the recently released Mr. Rogers documentary, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor.” I said that I cried my way through its 94 minutes, as did almost everyone else in the Cabot Theater.  I spoke about how much Mr. Rogers valued each and every child, and I pointed out that this is also a deeply Jewish view: Our Talmud teaches that each child brings their unique blessing into the world, and that as individuals, as a community and as a society, we have to do better for all of our children.

Well, tonight I want to talk about the message with which Mr. Rogers ended every show. And I want to tell you why that message is just as important for adults as it is for children.  And, how that message is entirely consistent with our religious and philosophical traditions.

Now, do you remember how Mr. Rogers used to end his show? The piano would start to play in that happy, tinkly way, and he would change from his sneakers to his loafers, and he’d take off his sweater and he’d put on his jacket, and as he made his way to the door, he would say:  “You’ve made this day a special day, by just your being you. There’s no person in the whole world like you, and I like you just the way you are.”

Now, I’d like you to think about this simple, beautiful sentiment and ask yourself: Where does it exist in Judaism? The answer is: Almost everywhere.

For instance, when I officiate at rituals welcoming a child into the covenant of the Jewish people - as this precious newborn is cradled and everyone is crying because of the beauty and miracle of this little life - I almost always ask someone to read these words of Martin Buber, one of the greatest theologians of the 20^th century.     

“Every person born into this world represents something new, something that never existed before, something original and unique. It is the duty of every person to know that there has never been anyone like them before. . . .Every single person is a new thing in the world and is called upon to fulfill their particularity [in] the world.”

Do you see the similarity?  If Mr. Rogers believes unique individuals make each day unique and wonderful, Mr. Buber goes still further, arguing that, each of us, by being ourselves, fulfills the creative will of God.  

We can grasp this spiritual message gazing into the beautiful face of a newborn baby - but can we also grasp it when we look at each other, and when we look at ourselves in the mirror?  That’s much harder.

That’s what Mister Rogers was teaching, and that is what our tradition teaches us as well - and this message is not only for children.

Literally every day, Judaism emphasizes the unique value of each and every human soul.  Our tradition is to begin each day by saying, Elohai Neshamah shenatatah bi tehora hi, “My God, the soul you have given me is pure.”  Our souls are pure. True, as we go through life they accumulate all kinds of shmutz – that’s the theological term, shmutz -- because we make choices, or have experiences, that separate us from our essence.

But we always have the chance to return, to do teshuvah. Especially on Yom Kippur. And part of doing teshuvah is remembering to love ourselves.

Is this self-indulgent? Not at all.  First, because, as Mr. Rogers once said, “hard as it may be to realize, feeling good about ourselves is [crucial] to our being able to love others.” And second, because, as Mr. Buber wrote, “Every individual is a new entity in the world and must strive to perfect their individual nature.” And Buber adds that to do this with ourselves is ultimately in service of creating a better world.   

To perfect our own, unique individual nature -- that, our sages say, is our job. Not to hate ourselves, or beat ourselves up; but to be true to our own essence, the pure soul God gave us.   

There’s a story about the great eighteenth century Hasidic master, Reb Zusya -- who was known for his cheerful nature. But one day, around the year 1799, as he lay dying, surrounded by his friends, and disciples, he started to weep. Now, bear in mind, the impoverished Zusya had once said that he’d never had a bad day in his life. That’s how cheerful he was. So everyone was aghast to see him crying. “Master,” they asked, “what’s wrong?”

“I have come to realize,” said this great, good man, through his tears, “that in the world to come, I will not be asked, ‘Why weren’t you more of a Moses?’ Instead, I will be asked, ‘Why weren’t you more of a Zusya?’”

This notion comes up again and again in Hasidic lore. The Maggid of Zlotchov -- a contemporary of Zusya’s -- was once asked how one could live a life as virtuous as the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. And the Maggid’s answer was, perhaps, counterintuitive. To be like the patriarchs, he said, we must NOT try to imitate them.

No, on the contrary; to be like them, we must serve God and one another according to our own unique individual nature. “[For each of] of the patriarchs provided a new service,” the Maggid of Zlotchov explained, “each one according to his individual nature: one with love, another with power, the third with splendor. In the same way, every one of us, each in our own fashion, should create something that is new in light of Jewish teaching and service.  Let us not do what has been done already; rather let us do what is yet to be done.”

“Let us do what is yet to be done” -- for we alone are the ones who can do it in our own unique way. Could there be a more invigorating message for Yom Kippur -- or any other day, for that matter?

Now, let us contemplate, for a moment, what all of this says about God. What sort of a God is inferred by these beliefs? Well, let’s ask Mr. Rogers -- the Rebbe of Public Television, if you will.

Fred Rogers was actually an ordained Presbyterian minister and, while he never mentioned God on his television show, his message was nonetheless deeply religious and spiritual. He wrote that he believed in a God he called “the Great Appreciator, [a] God [who] looks for whatever is best in all of us.”

He cautioned against preachers who “insist on trying to make other people feel bad about themselves.” Because, he wrote, “the more I look around me and within me, the more I notice that those who feel best about themselves have the greatest capacity to feel good about others.”

I might say that it’s not just certain kinds of preachers who make us feel bad about ourselves – there are lots of people and messages in our society that seek to do this, which drives hate not love, and divides us and creates a darker world. 

Mr. Rogers also adds this: “Deep within [each of] us is a spark of the Divine, just waiting to light up a dark place.”

Does that notion sound familiar? It should. Because it is a perfect one-sentence summation of a profound Jewish mystical tradition that teaches that each and every one of us contains a spark of the Divine; that is what it means to be created in the Divine Image, b’tzelem Elohim; divinity is everywhere, and through our actions we bring more of the Divine Presence into a broken world.  

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidic Judaism, taught that there is really only one single love in the world -- the love of God for all God’s creatures. That love flows through all existence and penetrates every creature. It is the hiyyut or life-force within each of us. And the exhilaration we experience when we feel the love of God makes us long for the opportunity to love others.

Like the Baal Shem Tov, Mr. Rogers believed that God is not just present in, between, and beside us; God is also present in and throughout all of creation.  He wrote, “I believe at the center of the universe there dwells a loving spirit who knows the great potential of each planet as well as each person,” he wrote, “and little by little will love us into being more than we ever dreamed possible.”

The love of God is not just within us and for us; it is within and for all of creation. Holy ground is everywhere.

Including right here, right now, as we make our teshuvah. Let us examine ourselves and our actions honestly and love ourselves into being, and also love others into being.  

And let us do so in the spirit of Mr. Rogers and Mr. Buber -- that is, with the goal of striving to protect our unique individual natures – which our tradition teaches is part of healing the entire world. 

Indeed, wrote Buber, drawing on thousands of years of Jewish teachings, it is said that “the coming of the Messiah has been delayed because this ideal has not yet been realized. The universality of God is manifest in the infinite variety of the ways that lead to God . . . .Every person has access to God, but for each person the way is different. It is precisely in the diversity of human beings and in the diversity of their natures and their individual inclinations that we find the great potential for the human species.”

We all have ways we have missed the mark for which to atone, to seek forgiveness, to change. But we also have the power to turn, we are never simply a creature of habit. We choose how we act moment by moment.

Teshuvah is not meant for us to berate ourselves or, God forbid, to hate ourselves.  It is meant to encourage change through love, by understanding that our most essential selves, our souls, are unique and precious.   

The great mystic, Rav Avraham Isaac Kook wrote, “The primary role of teshuvah is to return to oneself, to the root of one’s soul. Then one will at once return to God, the Soul of all Souls.”

And so, as we begin to journey through this holy day together, I’d like to do so in the spirit of the Baal Shem Tov, Reb Zusya, the Maggid of Zlotchov, Rav Kook and . . . Mr. Rogers.  I’d like to begin it by singing a favorite of Mr. Rogers’ songs, one that I remember fondly from my own childhood. If you know it, please join in…

It's you I like,

It's not the things you wear,

It's not the way you do your hair

But it's you I like

The way you are right now,

The way down deep inside you

Not the things that hide you,

Not your toys

They're just beside you.

But it's you I like

Every part of you.

Your skin, your eyes, your feelings

Whether old or new.

I hope that you'll remember

Even when you're feeling blue

That it's you I like,

It's you yourself

It's you.

It's you - I - like.

May this day be one of contemplation and renewal.  Gemar hatimah tovah, may you be inscribed in the Book of Life in this new year - a year in which liking ourselves even as we strive to do better leads us to live more fully and meaningfully.