| Rosh
Hashanah 2005 First Day
Even Little Changes Count
Parents go through various stages of life with their children.
From diapers and crib to the first day of pre-K or Kindergarten
is over in a flash. Then come the school years, accompanied by
dance and piano lessons, little league and meet the teachers nights
which lead directly into high school with graphing calculators,
sports teams, academic competitions and the dreaded SATs. College
selection, a two way process filled with anxiety, is quickly followed
by graduation and the new found freedom, for both parents and children,
of college life. Hauling refrigerators, clothes and various, personal
essentials up flights of stairs for freshman year soon leads to
selecting a major at the end of sophomore year, an appropriate
internship or other summer experience after junior year and finally
preparations to haul back the refrigerator, clothes and various,
personal essentials for the new graduate.
For many, this is the end of a long and arduous academic and financial
journey that feels like a maze. This is a real milestone for both
parents and children and society recognizes its importance with
the graduation ceremony. Toby and I have been fortunate to be at
a few of these, including two this past spring: one for Tamar at
the University of Hartford and one for Adam at Harvard University.
As I am sitting on a narrow folding chair in a sea of smiling
and proud faces in West Hartford, Connecticut this past May, waiting
for commencement exercises to begin, I note that the invocation
will be delivered by a rabbi, Dr. Harold S. Silver, the rabbi Emeritus
of Congregation Beth Israel in West Hartford. Since this is the
third and last child of ours receiving a bachelors degree, I think
it is most thoughtful of the university to have asked a rabbi.
I am so impressed
by what Rabbi Silver has to say, I make several phone calls to
various offices at the University to see if I can
get a copy of the invocation. After several, "just hold on while
I transfer you" I eventually receive in the mail a lovely hand
written note from Rabbi Silver, who is obviously pleased that at
least one person out of the thousands was actually listening, along
with a copy of the invocation.
In essence, Rabbi Silver brought a quotation from Andre Gide,
a 19th and 20th century French writer, humanist and moralist. The
passage appeared in a book, The Fruits of the Earth, and Rabbi
Silver presented it as a challenge to each graduate and to each
of us.
Gide wrote: "Let your happiness in the years ahead be to increase
that of others. Work and strive and accept no evil that you might
change. Keep saying to yourself: it lies with me. One cannot resign
oneself to the evils that come from men and women without baseness.
Cease believing, if you ever believed it, that wisdom consists
of resignation; or else cease laying claim to wisdom. Never cease
to be convinced that life might be better your own and others.
Not a future life that might console us for the present one and
help us to accept its misery but this blessed one of ours. As
soon as you begin to understand that it is not God but men and
women who are responsible for nearly all the ills of life from
that moment on you will no longer resign yours to bearing them.
Let us all leave this world one day in the far future infinitely
better than we found it whether by a good heart or a rescued
soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed
to express it; who always looked for the wondrous best in others
and who always gave the majestic best we have within ourselves."
As soon as
I heard this, I knew I had to share it with you because both
the setting and the words are really a Rosh Hashanah message.
We were in Hartford for a college graduation and the dictionary
defines "graduate" as "someone who has completed a set course of
study and received a diploma." So this event was about the past.
And yet, we were there at commencement, and the dictionary defines
that as "the act of beginning; the time of beginning;
a ceremony
in some universities at which diplomas and degrees are conferred." It
is one of those special moments in life a few hours that mark
both an ending and a beginning a time for change. And every Rosh
Hashanah is the same, isn't it? Two days out of the year that mark
the end of the old year and the beginning of the new year.
If we are fortunate,
each year we learn real lessons about life, including about our
own life, and we recognize and accept responsibility
for the mistakes we have made. Starting with the Hebrew month of
Elul, one month before Rosh Hashanah, we contemplate our weaknesses,
limitations and faults and resolve to do better to make a positive
change. Every high school and college experience doubtless includes
courses that we just slid through; presumably minor classes that
we considered unimportant to our long term goals. But sometimes,
even courses in our major field present a challenge that is difficult
to meet. I remember a history symposium in my last year at Columbia.
We had to read a book a week and class time consisted of discussing
that book. I was taking at least seven courses at the time, between
Columbia and the Seminary, and knew that I was going to rabbinical
school. It was a little tough to read the entire book each week,
so sometimes, I only skimmed through a book. I knew it was a shortcut;
I knew it was wrong, but at the moment, I felt it was the best
I could do. The same happens at most stages of life. We think we
are too busy to do what needs to be done; to do what we are responsible
for in the best way we are capable and so we take a shortcut we
skim along the surface of life's more serious requirements. The
irony is that we are the losers.
Rosh Hashanah
is our annual graduation ceremony a time to make
a change for the better. If we are alive, we have received our
degree of life, our decree of life, for another year. We look back,
express in our own minds regrets about the past, about the books
not read and the deeds not done, about the short cuts that left
us and perhaps others diminished and do teshuvah, we repent and
affirm that the next course in life, the coming year, we will do
our assignments with renewed vigor.
And so, Rosh Hashanah is also a commencement, the beginning of
a year when we will make changes for the better. What changes?
That is for each of us to decide for ourselves. But I think Andre
Gide, via Rabbi Silver, gave us all some areas to think about.
In fact, he gave us so many directions, that I want to focus on
only a couple of them, although you are certainly free to choose
others.
One of Gide's points was: "Never cease to be convinced that life
might be better your own and others." There are times when many
of us might find that difficult to believe. In terms of our own
lives, aside from foolish and painful decisions and actions that
are within our control, there are random accidents and inexplicable
diseases, physical, emotional and psychological, both chronic and
terminal, that leave us diminished or with shortened lives. We
wonder about the meaning of life and the purpose of our own existence,
and I will return to these themes on Yom Kippur. But if we give
up hope that life "might be better" "might" not a guarantee does
that not lead to hopelessness and depression? Rosh Hashanah is
an affirmation that each year is a commencement a new beginning
when we might enjoy a better life.
For some people,
it will be most difficult to look at the future with optimism.
For those persecuted in the Sudan; for those afflicted
with AIDS in Africa; for those who have suffered the raging waters
of the tsunami or of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, we pray that
there lives will be better, but we know intellectually, that at
best, their lives only "might be better."
There is a
greater chance that their lives will be better if we heed another
one of Andre Gide's statements: "As soon as you begin
to understand that it is not God but men and women who are responsible
for nearly all the ills of life from that moment on you will
no longer resign yours [your life] to bearing them."
Very few individuals in any generation impact the global scene.
But every one of us is capable of improving life for someone. A
phone call to a shut-in; driving someone to an appointment or shopping;
bringing a can or box of food to Kol Nidre; wishing someone a great
day; welcoming someone into your home for a Shabbat or festival
meal; writing a letter to the editor on behalf of the poor or weak;
reconciling with an acquaintance, friend or relative; a hospital
visit; a tzedakah donation; holding the door open for someone;
praying for someone who is sick; visiting someone in a nursing
home; helping a child to learn; rebuilding a relationship; giving
items we no longer value to those who have no items to value. These
are mitzvot. These are the times when God and we meet in an act
that makes life a little better for a relative, friend or stranger.
They are not dramatic changes, but nonetheless changes that make
an impact.
Rabbi H. Rafael
Goldstein tells the following story. "A few years
ago, I finally decided I was too scared to drive on the tires that
I thought seemed close to bald for a few thousand miles, so I got
new tires on my car. That was a big deal for me, because I really
wanted to see how long the original tires on my car would last.
It was 58,000 miles, and the car was starting to slide around on
dry streets
.
So the safe
side of me overcame the cheap side, and I got new tires. As long
as I was at it, I figured the car needed some other
work. Once the work was done, the mechanic showed me the alignment
report, which indicated in cryptic numbers that there had been
something to be adjusted. I just stared and marveled at this piece
of paper. They moved the tires in the rear of the car by .01 of
a centimeter. Other tires they moved by a little more: .10 of a
centimeter. This is an incredibly tiny amount of movement, which
I said to the mechanic. He said, 'Yeah it is a tiny amount of movement,
but it makes a huge difference in the wear of tires and the suspension
of the car.' That's an amazing thing to me, that such a tiny change
can make such a big difference."
Tiny changes can make a big difference in our lives and in the
lives of others if we accept the possibility and act on it.
John Lithgow,
the Emmy Award winning actor and author, is probably best known
as Dr. Dick Solomon, the alien leader on the television
show, 3rd Rock from the Sun. Probably not so well known is that
John Lithgow is a graduate of Harvard University and as such, he
was their commencement speaker this past June. The essence of his
message is easy to summarize: "be creative; be useful; be practical;
be generous; and have a big finish." This, too, is a pretty good
message for Rosh Hashanah.
When we look
at the world's problems or community problems or
our individual problems, we need to be creative, we need to think "out
of the box." The Brith Sholom Endowment Fund has created a restricted
fund at Jewish Family Service for the benefit of members of Brith
Sholom in need. This may be a small change, but it is a most significant
one. We also continue to explore new ways to address the housing
needs of our most senior members and those who are threatened by
a financial crisis. Be useful that's a very brief summary of
what our President, Steve Wiener, wrote in the October Bulletin.
Brith Sholom, the larger Jewish community and the whole community
have many areas of need for volunteers, both for "Indians and Chiefs." You've
done it all before? Well, if you still have decent health and can
move around, please consider doing it all again. Be practical no
one can do it all. Even the entire community may not be able to
undertake successfully certain projects. We cannot prevent every
personal bankruptcy, we cannot provide permanent housing for every
poor Jew, we cannot offer unlimited resources to those who have
none, BUT we can offer some and, if you be generous, we can offer
more to those who have less.
Generosity has become a matter of real debate and concern in the
Jewish community. A huge generational transfer of wealth is taking
place and the younger Jews may be as interested in supporting an
orchestra or theater or hospital or university, local or distant,
as any Jewish cause or institution. Within this past year, we have
all been asked, rightfully so, to give generously to the victims
of the tsunami last December and to the victims of Hurricanes Katrina
and Rita. As Jews, we are asked to support Israel in general, those
who have been removed from the settlements in the Gaza in particular,
as well as the Falash-Mura who have arrived in Israel from Ethiopia
and the third largest Jewish community in the world, which resides
still in the former Soviet Union. All of this comes on top of local
Jewish agencies in serious financial need not to mention individual
Jewish people and families in dire straits. Being generous is a
real challenge.
For a "big finish," I want to share another quote from John Lithgow,
not from his Harvard presentation, but I found it while doing research
on him. It is another pertinent Rosh Hashanah message. "Time sneaks
up on you like a windshield on a bug." A new year has begun, let's
not waste it.
I congratulate
all of you who have graduated from last year into this year and
as we conclude these commencement exercises, I pray
that
you will make the changes necessary, no matter how large
or small, to make your lives and the lives of others better in
the year ahead.
AMEN
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