Yom Kippur 2005 Day   The Meaning of Life Rabbi Jory Lang of Florida shares the following true story about one of his congregants. "Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated." "Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice." I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. People may not remember exactly what 'you did, or what you said, - but – they will always remember how you made them feel." For many people, sickness and dying makes them feel that life has no meaning and had no meaning. For some people, even good or decent health with a daily routine that is "boring," makes them feel that life has no meaning. Sometimes, a long and productive life reaches a point of limited mental and physical prowess and people begin to wonder if their life has, or had, any meaning. Doubtless there are many who contemplate the destruction and deaths of thousands this past year from: tsunami, hurricanes, earthquakes, mudslides, and fires, let alone from war and disease, and question if life has any meaning. Ultimately, no one can prove whether or not life has meaning, any more than anyone can prove whether or not God exists. But sometimes we hear about events, like the cab driver's story, or hear about individuals, like Morrie Schwartz, who at least give us an indication that life has meaning for them, because of a moment or many moments, and perhaps we can learn from their example. This summer, I reread tuesdays with Morrie, a book that proclaims on its cover: "an old man, a young man, and life's greatest lesson." The old man is Morrie Schwartz, a retired sociology professor from Brandeis University. The young man is Mitch Albom, a sports reporter from Detroit and one of Morrie's former and most favorite students. The setting for their Tuesday meetings is Morrie's home, which he can no longer leave because he is in the last months of suffering from ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease, a debilitating illness which slowly, but surely, leads to death. The old man and young man had not been in contact since graduation in 1979 when Mitch Albom was casually flipping TV channels one Friday night in the spring of 1995. Unexpectedly, he heard Ted Koppel mention Morrie Schwartz's name as the featured guest on ABC-TV's "Nightline." By then, (18) "Morrie was [already] in a wheelchair full-time Yet he refused to be depressed. Instead, Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas. He jotted down his thoughts on yellow pads, envelopes, folders, scrap paper. He wrote bite-sized philosophies about living with death's shadow: 'Accept what you are able to do and what you are not able to do'; 'Accept the past as past, without denying it or discarding it'; 'Learn to forgive yourself and to forgive others'; 'Don't assume that it's too late to get involved.'" Morrie's aphorism's led to an article in the Boston Globe; the article caught the eye of a "Nightline" producer who showed it to Ted Koppel who soon was interviewing Morrie Schwartz for what became the first of three "Nightline" programs. I have purchased those programs and will show them here on Sunday, November 20 for anyone who is interested in seeing them. Mitch Albom's fortuitous channel surfing led to his visiting his old professor and that led to a series of meetings on Tuesdays. I want to share with you, and I am sure for many of you who have read the book, share again, some of what Morrie Schwartz had to say at the end of his life. On this day, when we pray not only to be written, but also sealed into the Book of Life, Morrie offers us some critical insights into what may add to life's meaning. Morrie (pg. 43) "So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning." Morrie (pg. 52) "The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in." Morrie (pg. 81) "Everyone knows they're going to die, but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently." Mitch So we kid ourselves about death? Morrie "Yes. But there's a better approach. To know you're going to die, and be prepared for it at any time. That's better. That way you can actually be more involved in your life while you're living." Mitch How can you ever be prepared to die? Morrie " Every day, have a little bird on your shoulder that asks, 'Is today the day? Am I ready? Am I doing all I need to do? Am I being the person I want to be?'" Morrie (pg. 82) "The truth is Mitch," once you learn how to die, you learn how to live." Why is it so hard to think about dying? Morrie Because, most of us all walk around as if we're sleepwalking. We really don't experience the world fully, because we're half-asleep, doing things we automatically think we have to do." Mitch And facing death changes all that? Morrie "Oh, yes. You strip away all that stuff and you focus on the essentials. When you realize you are going to die, you see everything much differently." Morrie (He sighed.) "Learn how to die, and you learn how to live." Morrie (pg. 120) "Mitch, it is impossible for the old not to envy the young. But the issue is to accept who you are and revel in that. This is your time to be in your thirties. I had my time to be in my thirties, and now is my time to be seventy-eight." "You have to find what's good and true and beautiful in your life as it is now. Looking back makes you competitive. And, age, is not a competitive issue." Morrie (pg. 126) "You have to be honest with yourself. You don't need the latest sports car, you don't need the biggest house." "The truth is, you don't get satisfaction from those things. You know what really gives you satisfaction?" Mitch What? Morrie "Offering others what you have to give." (pg. 128) "Why do you think it's so important for me to hear other people's problems? Don't I have enough pain and suffering of my own?" "Of course I do. But giving to other people is what makes me feel alive. Not my car or my house. Not what I look like in the mirror. When I give my time, when I can make someone smile after they were feeling sad, it's as close to healthy as I ever feel." (pg. 127) "Remember what I said about finding a meaningful life?" Mitch "I wrote it down, but now I can recite it: Devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning." Mitch (pg. 175) What if you had one day perfectly healthy, What would you do? Morrie "Twenty-four hours?" Mitch Twenty four hours. Morrie "Let's see . . . I'd get up in the morning, do my exercises, have a lovely breakfast of sweet rolls and tea, go for a swim, then have my friends come over for a nice lunch. I'd have them come one or two at a time so we could talk about their families, their issues, talk about how much we mean to each other." "Then I'd like to go for a walk, in a garden with some trees, watch their colors, watch the birds, take in the nature that I haven't seen in so long now." "In the evening, we'd all go together to a restaurant with some great pasta, maybe some duck – I love duck – and then we'd dance the rest of the night. And then I'd go home and have a deep, wonderful sleep." Mitch It was so simple. So average. I was actually a little disappointed. How could he find perfection in such an average day? Then I realized this was the whole point. Morrie Schwartz was a cultural Jew and an agnostic. In his last months of life, he shared personal and significant lessons about life, and the meaning of life, with us. They were Jewish in nature, and human in nature, and should resonate with us particularly during this High Holiday period. Love others and allow yourself to feel their love for you. Devote yourself to your community – there is no age limit and no time limit for such devotion. Create something that gives you purpose and meaning and make the time to do meaningful acts, like holding the hand, or hugging, or taking for a ride someone you love, whether they will die soon or not, because no one knows the day of his or her death. " Every day, have a little bird on your shoulder that asks, 'Is today the day? Am I ready? Am I doing all I need to do? Am I being the person I want to be?'" That is certainly the message of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. And if you do not take it seriously today, then when will you ever do so? "Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here, we might as well dance. ... Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God." Let us do our best not to squander it, but to appreciate what we have at every stage of life and find meaning in it all. AMEN     << Back to Rabbi Juda's Sermons