Shanna tova. Note that we Jews wish for a good (tova) new year - not a happy one. It’s not that we’re opposed to “happy.” It’s just that goodness is the essence of what we all hope for, whether we’re happy or not. Please, may it be good. May goodness flow through us all, our community, our country, Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Ukraine… all the world.
On this holy day that begins a new year, when we pray for goodness, one thing is certain: Life is dramatically different from last Rosh Hashanah.
For starters [comedic beat]: The old wooden pews in this sanctuary have been replaced by comfy new purple chairs - which I hope you and your backs and backsides appreciate. So that’s different, in a good way. Better yet, we have many new people in our community - welcome to all, and shana tova.
Sadly, this year, like all years, was one of loss – we lost some deeply beloved members, friends and family. It was, in fact, a year of tremendous pain and stress. The catastrophe of October 7 and its aftermath has changed everything. For Israel, for Gaza and Lebanon, for the region, for Jews around the world - and for this country overall. As American Jews we hold vastly different views and emotions connected to Israel. And, at such a time, it is vital – vital – that we embrace our diversity and still care for one another.
October 7 changed each and every one of us. It changed our relationships with friends, neighbors, coworkers, and others on social media. It changed how we interact with community leaders. We are all feeling sad, angry, anxious, mystified; things are different. There is so much we could talk about regarding Israel, war, antisemitism it could make our hearts and brains explode. But that is for another time.
Because on this first day as we gather, and begin this journey through the holiday season, I want to talk about this community’s strength and commitments as we enter this year, 5785 together.
The truth is, even in the midst of such heartache, our Temple B’nai Abraham community is stronger than ever. We are growing. Ten new families have kids in our school, and we have an active young adult group and a baby/toddler play group. We have people seeking conversion and empty nesters diving right into getting involved.
So many people are searching for a community - a place where we feel safe, secure, seen and heard. A place with friends who understand us. A place to find comfort, a place to laugh like crazy because sometimes, in the face of the absurdity of life and the bleakness in the world, laughter is all we’ve got.
Which reminds me of a joke…
Once there was a rabbi whose dream it was to have his very own horse. He saved up his money for many years and sure enough, the day came when he was able to purchase a very fine one. So grateful to God was the rabbi for this horse, that he decided instead of commanding it to “giddy-up” when he wanted it to go, he would say “thank God!” And, instead of saying “whoa!” when he wanted it to stop, he would shout “Amen!”
It took a few days to train the horse to obey these commands, but once the horse figured it out, the rabbi was ecstatic. He arose the next morning climbed on his horse, shouted, “Thank God!” and off they went. So happy was the rabbi, he journeyed on and on, shouting “Thank God!” when he wanted the horse to go, and “Amen” when he wanted it to stop. The horse was a spirited one and trotted along enthusiastically and the rabbi began letting him go as he pleased, picking up speed as he went along. Suddenly, to the rabbi’s astonishment, he realized that the horse was cantoring toward the edge of a cliff. The rabbi panicked – “Whoa! Whooooooaaa!” he screamed, but, of course, the horse had forgotten what “whoa” meant and broke into a run. Finally the terrified rabbi remembered – he shut his eyes, pulled back on the reins and shouted “A-MEN!” at the top of his lungs. The horse stopped on a dime and when the rabbi opened his eyes he saw that they were standing at the very edge of the cliff. One more inch and they would have gone over. “Phew,” the rabbi said out loud, “Thank God!”
That’s the sort of thing you get when you google “amen jokes.”
Why was I googling “amen” jokes? Because the title of this sermon is “And Let Us Say: AMEN!”
This sermon is at least 15 years in the making. Fresh out of rabbinical school, I became the assistant rabbi at a large reform congregation in Connecticut. Like many reform synagogues founded after world war ii, it featured a lot of the trappings of christian churches, including a choir loft. Most of the time, it wasn’t used, but on the High Holy Days, the synagogue would rent a professional choir. At certain dramatic moments in the high holiday services, the choir would let loose with a highly operatic shout that sounded like this: “Ahhh–MEN!” Just like that: “Ahhh-MEN!” And it would happen when you’d least expect it [pause, wait a second]: “Ahhh-MEN!”
It was, I think, meant to inspire piety in exactly the same way that a television laugh-track is supposed to inspire laughter.
Two good things came out of it though: First, it’s become an inside joke between my husband and I – when we’re talking and come to the point where we feel a subject has been beaten to death and we really need to stop talking about it, we catch each other’s eye and shout “Ah – MEN!” And the conversation is over.
And second, it got me thinking about the word “Amen”, especially in its high holiday context, and especially this year. I’m ready to share those thoughts.
What does amen even mean? It is Hebrew, aleph, mem, nun. It is connected to the word emunah, which means “faith”. Saying amen is like saying “yes! I agree! I believe!” Or, if you like, “DARN RIGHT! You go, girl! What HE said!”
But saying amen to someone else's blessing is more than just a Jewish “thumbs-up”; it’s considered the same as actually saying the blessing yourself. Our sages teach that saying amen to an oath taken by another person binds one to that oath.
In the torah the use of amen reaches its apotheosis in the book of Deuteronomy. You’ll recall that the Israelites wander in the desert for over 40 years to get to the Promised Land. Moses tells them that when they enter, they must divide themselves up, and some shall stand on one mountain, and others on another mountain, and the leaders will pronounce a series of blessings and curses. After each one, all the people are to respond, amen!
It must have been quite a dramatic experience for our ancestors. Let’s reenact just a bit of it now – I’ll read some of those curses and when I get to the end of each one in English, you join me with a shout of Amen. Not “ah-MEN”; amen. Here we go…
אָר֕וּר מַקְלֶ֥ה אָבִ֖יו וְאִמּ֑וֹ וְאָמַ֥ר כׇּל־הָעָ֖ם אָמֵֽן׃ {ס}
Cursed be the one who insults father or mother.—And all the people shall say, Amen.
אָר֕וּר מַשְׁגֶּ֥ה עִוֵּ֖ר בַּדָּ֑רֶךְ וְאָמַ֥ר כׇּל־הָעָ֖ם אָמֵֽן׃ {ס}
Cursed be the one who misdirects a blind person ….—And all the people shall say, Amen.
אָר֗וּר מַטֶּ֛ה מִשְׁפַּ֥ט גֵּר־יָת֖וֹם וְאַלְמָנָ֑ה וְאָמַ֥ר כׇּל־הָעָ֖ם אָמֵֽן׃
Cursed be the one who subverts the rights of the stranger, the orphan, and the widow.—And all the people shall say, Amen.
Thankfully there are blessings too:
בָּר֧וּךְ פְּרִֽי־בִטְנְךָ֛ וּפְרִ֥י אַדְמָתְךָ֖ וּפְרִ֣י בְהֶמְתֶּ֑ךָ שְׁגַ֥ר אֲלָפֶ֖יךָ וְעַשְׁתְּר֥וֹת צֹאנֶֽךָ׃
Blessed shall be your issue from the womb, your produce from the soil, and the offspring of your cattle, the calving of your herd and the lambing of your flock.
בָּר֥וּךְ טַנְאֲךָ֖ וּמִשְׁאַרְתֶּֽךָ׃
Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowl.
בָּר֥וּךְ אַתָּ֖ה בְּבֹאֶ֑ךָ וּבָר֥וּךְ אַתָּ֖ה בְּצֵאתֶֽךָ׃
Blessed shall you be in your comings and blessed shall you be in your goings.
So what did we do there? We reenacted a bit of an original Jewish service. The leaders made these public declarations about how to act, and how not to act, and our ancestors shouted: Yes! We signed up for that! We will do better! We will be better. Blessings will come upon us.
Amen.
Can you feel their spirit as we are here together on this new year? I believe I can. We may not be standing on mountains, but we are here together in this sanctuary with our ancient liturgy and ritual.
For many of us, the experience of staring at a prayer book written in an unfamiliar language may be daunting. But don’t worry; remember, you are among your family, you’re among your friends and neighbors.
Amen enables all of us, regardless of facility with Hebrew, to speak in one voice as a gathered community.
Let’s invite one another to say amen to beginning this ten-day journey together, from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur. This is our journey of teshuvah, which means turning and returning. It’s about forgiveness and uncovering the layers of emotion, traumas and habits that keep us from returning to our essence. Teshuvah is about coming home.
All we need to make this journey together is a desire to do better and a willingness to say "Amen” as our ancestors have always done.
When we say amen at this time of year, we are also saying that we accept upon ourselves the blessings and burdens of our Jewish identity, and that we have expressed the prayer that this will be a good year.
Now, you might say to me that saying a simple word like amen is just not enough. I get that. In the face of so much anxiety and instability we may feel like we need to do more. Or, we may feel so depleted emotionally, spiritually and physically that we can’t even commit to anything.
Remember, amen connects to the word emunah, faith.
You might say, faith in what, rabbi?
What if it is something I don’t believe?
Why should I “amen” it?
Martin Buber, the Austrian born Jewish philosopher who lived from the end of the 19th to the middle of the 20th century, wrote that emunah means knowing God. And knowing God means knowing each other since we are each also the Divine image.
Emunah is having faith in each other.
This is what we do, after all, as a community. Amen means, I am here for you, I see you, we want essentially the same things for all of us.
Each amen can be about showing up for each other and strengthening our community.
We say amen at funerals and shivas and at weddings and b-mitzvah celebrations. We say amen to welcoming a child and to enjoying a meal. We say amen to bringing food to someone who is sick, cooking a meal for those in need, showing up at a rally for affordable housing or for peace. We say amen to lighting candles and sitting in a sukkah. We say amen to rituals and memories and to hopes and dreams.
Amen is commitment to how we live in the face of catastrophe. And live we must!
In this time of rising antisemitism, absurd false narrative, divisiveness and violence we say amen to life, to morality, to goodness.
In the Talmud are vast commentaries on the importance of saying amen to a prayer or blessing. Reish Lakish, a great sage who, by the way, was a bandit and gladiator in his early life, taught: “One who answers amen with all his strength, opens the gates of the Garden of Eden.”
And so, let us say amen. Because we need to open those gates and walk right through.
May all who are seeking find connection and community here. Amen.
May we show up for each other. Amen.
May mourners find comfort. Amen.
May the injured and sick be healed. Amen.
May this community be strengthened by us all. Amen
May our people know peace. Amen.
May the innocents suffering on all sides of these wars know peace. Amen.
May we have faith in each other. Amen.
May we be written in the book of Life, for goodness and wellbeing. Amen.
Eloheynu v’elohey avoteinu v’imoteinu, she’tichadesh aleynu shanah tovah u’metukah Source of all, and of our ancestors, renew for us a year of goodness. I hope you’ll join me in saying, “Amen.”
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