I have a confession. I’ve always thought of myself as a cat
person. . When I was a kid I had a cat named Fluffy. She was pretty darned
affectionate -- for a cat. Anyway, the
point is, I never thought much of dogs, partly because I was bitten by one as a
little girl but also because dogs are so un-cat like: They come galumphing up
to you, either with irrational affection, circling you excitedly and
sniffing you somewhere you don’t wish to be sniffed; or barking like a lunatic.
On top of that, they smell and they drool. Why on earth would anyone invite a
creature like that into their home?
Well . . . Yom Kippur is a time for confessing past sins. So may I
be forgiven by all dog people . I
was right about cats; but I was wrong about dogs.
It all started two years ago, when our son Leo, started asking for
a dog. By the time he was eight, he was begging for a dog. My husband, Chuck, was, to say the least, no
help. He loved dogs. I began to see myself as the obstacle to my family’s
happiness, so I gave in. And, as many of you know because she also appeared in
my Rosh Hashana sermon, 6 months ago, a mixed breed puppy named Cypress came
into our lives, courtesy of Sweet Paws Rescue.
Cypress has changed everything. She has been wonderful not only
for our emotional health, but our physical health, too -- for Cypress must be walked
– a lot. As a result, we’ve gotten to know our neighbors better. But best of
all, there’s nothing like what we call the full-body wag and hyper-affectionate
kisses she gives us when we wake-up in the morning or come home at the end of a
long day.
Nothing interrupts a depressing thought more forcefully than a
puppy. Puppies are -- and this is true -- often recommended by mental
health professionals as a defense against depression. Try it, if you don’t
believe me. World got you down?
Get a puppy. Aging parents or
rebellious teenagers fraying your nerves? Get a puppy. Worried about climate
change, nuclear war, or the mushroom cloud of anger and hatred that’s rising
over our nation? Get a puppy.
Of course, puppies don’t solve our problems;, but
they can make it easier for us to live with our problems, and even
more able to do what we can.
Cypress keeps us grounded -- I think that’s the best word
I’ve heard to explain what an animal companion does. In order to walk
through this life, this crazy world, we need to find something that can connect
us to the wonder of being alive. Sometimes that thing might be a puppy,
or a kitten, or a child, or boating, or exercise. And sometimes it might be an
ancient, tried-and-true spiritual practice -- one that grounded our ancestors
and can ground us too, if we let it.
For Yom Kippur is a day set apart for reflection,
forgiveness and soul searching -- to reconnect to our essence, and to the Holy
Eternal One, and to emerge into the new year with a fresh awareness of who we
are, and what path to take in this life.
Yom Kippur is a starting point, not an end in itself. We want to
keep this sense of meaning and wonder alive as we walk out of this sanctuary
and begin the new year. How do we do this?
Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about walking, lately, as some of
you may know. I am talking about walking both literally and spiritually,
and I’ve got a few suggestions.
Have you ever been around a child who is just learning to
walk? Chuck and I have a video of Leo taking some of his first steps when
he was just 11 months old. We watch it at least a couple of times a year
and it never gets old: The look of
delight in his eyes as he waddles along on his chubby little legs from one side
of the room to the other, his arms outstretched ready to be embraced, saying
dah dah dah dah! while we his parents watch with awe, and delight, and
wonder.
Learning to walk is a miracle. Human beings are just about the
only mammals in this world that manage to habitually walk around upright on two
legs. Just think about the complex mechanics that make this possible, the
balance and physiological intricacies it requires, the millions of years of
evolution that enabled this feat. The great paleoanthropologist Richard
Leakey said that it is this habitual bipedalism that most distinguishes homo
sapiens from other species. It allowed our hominid ancestors to use their hands
in new ways -- to fashion tools and to grasp them, to carry supplies from one
place to another, to see over the tops of tall vegetation, before their
enemies, or their prey, could see them.
In this manner, our ancestors walked through millenia, through the
valley of the shadow of death and into the Promised Land. And still we walk on,
each of us on a path all our own, a path that has led each of us to this
sanctuary on this holy night of Yom Kippur.
On Rosh Hashanah, we explored how we walk the path of life Jewishly.
Halakhah – usually translated as Jewish Law – literally means “the path.”
I spoke about walking together as a community, and how our sages teach that
walking after God means doing godly things, like caring for the
vulnerable, performing acts of kindness, and seeking justice. Tonight, let’s
take a deeper look at what our Torah means by walking with God.
Genesis tells us that Noah walked with God. But Noah lived in a
time of abundant evil and is said to have been righteous in his time -
which may well have meant that he was righteous relative to the
horrible people who surrounded him. It is troubling, for instance, that
when God tells Noah that the earth will soon be flooded and an entire
generation of humanity swept away, all Noah wants to know is: How big do you
want me to build the ark?
Compare this to Abraham ten generations later. God
announces that two evil cities -- Sodom
and Gemmorah, are to be destroyed. Abraham pleads and bargains with God, challenging,
“Shall not the judge of all the earth deal justly?” While Noah walked with God,
the Torah tells us that Abraham walked before God.
The sages have noted this difference, and have struggled to
explain it for at least 2,000 years.
There is a midrash, for instance, a rabbinic story, that suggests
Noah may be likened to the friend of a king who got stuck in the mud. The king
saw him and said: You’re stuck in the mud! Come along and walk with me.
So too Noah walked with God. Abraham, on
the other hand, may be likened to the friend of a king who looked out the
window of his house, and saw the king wandering in the dark streets. Quickly
the friend lit a candle for the benefit of his king and hung it outside the
window.. The king saw him and said, “Since you are lighting the way, come
and walk before me”.
What a radical idea! God was in need of Abraham’s light;
which surely means that in these dark times, God needs our light. It is
we who must light God’s path, with the fire of our courage and resilience and
intelligence and kindness.
As B’nai Abraham, literally children of Abraham, Judaism’s
challenge to us is not easy to live up to. But our tradition teaches that God,
though often hidden, is within us and all creation. When we act
righteously, we can bring God’s divine light more brightly into the world; we
can repair the brokenness of creation -- or make it worse. It is up to us to choose how we walk through
our lives.
Most often, I think, we resemble the friend stuck in the muck,
trying to move forward, hoping that God is walking along with us. Indeed, our
tradition teaches, God is with us in our suffering as we strive to overcome
even the most terrible challenges.
South African Bishop Desmond Tutu, winner of the Nobel Peace
Prize, tells a story about a Jew in a concentration camp who was ordered to
clean the latrines. A Nazi guard stood over him as he worked, laughing at him.
“Where is your God now, Jew?” he sneered. “Actually,” the Jew replied softly,
“God is right here with me, in the muck.”
This awareness -- that God is present at all times in all things
-- does not come easy when we are mired in the muck. But Judaism teaches us to
seek out the divine presence, cherish it and be nourished in turn.
Rabbi Naomi Levy, in her
wonderful book, Einstein and the Rabbi, tells of a letter that Albert
Einstein wrote to a grieving father. “A human being,” wrote Einstein, “is part
of the whole, called by us ‘the Universe,’ a part limited to time and
space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something
separate from the rest, a kind of optical illusion of his consciousness. The striving to free oneself from this
delusion is the one issue of true religion. Not to nourish the delusion,
but to try to overcome it is the way to reach the attainable measure of peace
of mind.”
Now, here is Einstein -- perhaps
the greatest rational thinker of our age -- sounding very much like a Jewish
mystic. The Sfat Emet and other Hassidic masters and mystics teach that God’s
goodness fills all the world. And if the whole world is full of God’s goodness,
then every place we go can become a place of holy encounter.
We can find God everywhere our
paths take us. Every place we go — to work, to the grocery store, the gym,
karate class, the dentist -- I mention that because we have some superb dentists in this congregation -- you name it, can become a place
of holy encounter. When we let ourselves experience the world this way, it
changes our lives. Suddenly the mundane glimmers with a bit of the miraculous;
our workplaces and our homes become settings for holiness.
How do we bring this about?
One way to begin is by saying
blessings over the everyday miracles we might otherwise ignore. Judaism has
blessings for eating, for seeing a wonder of nature, even for going to
the bathroom. And the purpose of all of them is to awaken a sense of awe and
gratitude for the miracle of the moment.
In the stream of daily morning blessings we have one that is a
particular favorite of mine:
Blessed are You, Eternal One, Sovereign of the universe, who
sets the earth upon the waters.
For what greater miracle is there
than rising up in the morning and finding the good solid earth beneath our feet
to catch us and hold us? When we feel the appropriate measure of gratitude for
this wonder, we feel within us the miracle of existence itself. And we realize,
again, that if we could walk on water, it would be a scant miracle in
comparison walking on the earth, to revel in its beauty and in the holiness
that surrounds us always.
Now, let’s consider another
blessing:
Blessed are You, Eternal One,
Sovereign of the Universe, who guides human steps.
Mind you, this is not to say that
God controls us like marionettes as we walk along. But this may well be a
blessing for the friend of the King, stuck in the mud and needing companionship
and a sense of purpose in order to keep walking forward. A blessing awakens
us so that we can feel that sense of purpose; and it also calls on us to
remember that we have other resources and companions to help us -- friends,
family, community.
So I ask each and every one of
you: What is the blessing you would like to say before you step onto your daily
path?
Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that “our goal should be to live
life in radical amazement…[We must] get up in the morning and look at the world
in a way that takes nothing for granted. [Because] everything is phenomenal; everything
is incredible. Never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”
So in this New Year, let’s all consider slowing down, taking
notice, being amazed. Experience the familiar as something new. When we rush to
do an errand, or go to work out, let’s try to remember to be grateful for the
ground beneath us. Let’s try to grasp a fraction of the delight that toddlers
feel when they begin to walk -- the rhythm of our feet, the swing of our arms,
this complex and beautiful dance that we’ve come to take for granted. Let’s
notice the world around us as we move, the sounds, the smells. And for goodness
sake, let’s shut off our phones for a few minutes! Let’s lift our heads and experience
the world around us.
Now, there are some of us in this community who can’t walk -- not literally. But it’s always possible to notice
the miraculousness of our world isn’t it? All we need to do is regard our hands
[hold up hand,] these masterpieces of evolution that can do so many spectacular
things. Or how we smell, see, taste, hear, feel.
There are also those among us tonight who may have experienced great
loss, who may be struggling with depression, or addiction, or some struggle for
which we have no name. Let me assure you of something: You are not alone. You
are here tonight, in the sanctuary of your Jewish community. Sometimes it’s
when we’re in pain, that we might see the miraculous most clearly -- and when
we need it the most.
May we find time each day then to cultivate that sense of wonder
at the things we do daily. I call it:
finding the puppy, or whatever it is that helps us find the balance we
need to keep from going crazy -- and, if we’re lucky, walk on with a sense of
awe, and a renewed ability to face the world.
As the poet Mary Oliver wrote,
Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy
and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles...
...believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.
I beg of you,
do not walk by
without pausing...It could mean something.
It could mean everything...
On this holiest of days, this Yom
Kippur, let us listen to the longings of our souls. Let’s turn off our
electronic gizmos and go for a walk, or sit outside. Come to meditation
tomorrow afternoon with Jerry. Join me for time in the Sukkah next week, or a
walk at times on the green flyers, or other times. Cultivate a sense of awe
that is your precious, unique life. Find balance to the brokenness, in order to
face what we need to with more courage and compassion. And in all of this, know
that you are not alone.
God is indeed in need of your glorious presence.
Gemar hatima tova, may you be sealed for a good year.
Amen.
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