Words

Words carry enough weight to cause a war. 

Can you imagine that?  What a single person says could send men hurtling to their deaths and reduce nations to rubble.

Long ago, a man sent his servant to invite Kamza to attend a special, elite party.  The messenger delivered the invitation to Bar Kamza by mistake, a man despised by the party-giver.  Bar Kamza was excited to be included and arrived with great anticipation.  When the host saw Bar Kamza he shouted at him and shamed him, demanding that the offensive Bar Kamza leave immediately.  He was ejected in front of the community.  Bar Kamza got revenge by bringing in the Roman legions with lies about the aristocracy and, in the end, brought about the Fall of Jerusalem and the Destruction and terrible exile that followed.

Words can lay waste to an intact family.  In the aftermath of a few ill-chosen words a loving family can become a battleground. 

Think of Joseph who, by carelessly speaking to his brothers, ultimately caused his people to endure harsh slavery for generations.  Had Joseph kept his dreams to himself, the brothers would not have hated him, thrown him in a pit, sold him to Egyptians, and later found themselves begging for food at his doorstep.

Think of family celebrations and mark who is absent because of past words spoken too carelessly.  Brothers do not speak.  Children are estranged.  Connections are severed all because of words.

Perhaps that is why many people resort to writing e-mails, sending texts, and communicating innocuously.  A couple of thousand years ago there was a proto-postal service in Rome; it came in the form of a dispatched messenger.  This ancient service was called, “cursus publicus,” probably because it was a poor substitute for understanding the tone and gestures that accompanied the words.

Abraham Lincoln understood words and the power they carry.  When he became angry with someone he would sit at his desk and write a heated letter.  Lincoln would then tuck it into a drawer in the desk.  Later, in the calmness of letting time pass and his heat cool, Lincoln would take out the letter and write on it, “never sent, never signed."

Hear the words of the ancient scholar Avtalyon,  “Be mindful of your words lest you be punished with exile, and you will be exiled to the place of the bad waters, and your students who come after you will drink, and the name of heaven will be profaned.”  -Avot 1:11

            Words have the power to generate and regenerate.  Not only do words affect the listener, they are passed on to others in what may be a never-ending journey of blessing or toxicity.

One of the great benefits of Freud and the great tradition of psychoanalysis has been the ability to stir the unconscious by verbalizing our feelings.  One of the negative consequences of this same proficiency is that it does not always make us more skilled in being thoughtful to others.

Another Sage, Shimon ben Gamliel, said, “Whoever is profuse of words will eventually bring about sin.”  Enough said.

Thinking About Past and Future

As Jews, we have marked time with both the moon and the sun reminding us of the passage of the seasons.  Time is important.  For example, nobody ever knew exactly how grandpa was.  He ran from Czarist Russia and certain death when he was just fourteen.  Unfortunately, many things were left behind in the old country, including his age.  We never learned grandpa’s birthday either.  We tried to figure it out after he died, but it was all guesswork.

Age and dates are important.  That is why we continually look back into time to trace the roots of our present.  The only gauge of time that goes back beyond human record-keeping is the Bible.  Scholars investigating genealogies of matriarchs, patriarchs; of wars and treaties, prophets and saints have read back into time the present age of the world.  They read all the “begots” with a measured eye.  According to their estimate, the world is now five thousand seven hundred seventy odd years old.

The date of the birth of the world this year falls on September 5, 2013.  That date comes to us from all the years of the lives of the ancient ones along with the passage of the marked epochs of time. 

Why are birth dates important?  It celebrates an arrival.  Your birthday is important because you entered the world on this day.  All the gifts that you have brought would not have happened without you.  That is the reason for the cake, candles, and song.  We are wanted and needed.  We are unique and indispensable.

All birthdays are also the occasion of re-assessments of self and being.  We consider who we are, what we have become and where we have veered off the path of further self revelation.  Birthdays are a time of renewal.

September 5th is important as it celebrates both a beginning and renewal.  We wish the world a better future.  We have abused it far too much with deforestation, pollution, lack of concern for life-forms that are dependent upon us, an absence of love.  We have uprooted without planting.  We have disemboweled the earth without replenishing it.  We have savaged all but the heartiest of animals and plants. 

At the same time, this yearly Rosh Hashanna is a call for renewal for inter-personal changes.  It does little good to treat the dog well, while we abuse people.  Remember: all people are as unique and as gifted as you.  Every person carries a blessing that they alone can give.  For the Jewish tradition it is said that any person can be the emissary of God, the Mashiah.  The pauper on the street, a child’s face, your girlfriend, your father, or spouse may be the chosen.  Since we do not know who the hidden emissary may be we must treat everyone as if they are the One.

From the entire Jewish community, may this New Year be a time of renewal of hope and determined love.  May you be blessed.  May you be the blessing, in 5774.

Death Date

When I give tours of the Synagogue to our non-Jewish neighbors and curiosity seekers, I point out that the boards at the back of the sanctuary list names of the deceased and their death dates- which we know as yahrzeit. 

Yahrzeit is an amalgam of two words- “yahr” meaning “year” and “zeit” which is “time.”  I go on to explain to our guests that in Judaism we commemorate a death date and place great emphasis on it.  “People come to say special prayers on the yahrzeit of their loved one.  These prayers are so old that they predate Christianity.”

“See those tiny bulbs on the brass plaques?” I ask.  “Well, if the light is glowing that means their death date is this week.”  They grow still as they wonder about this.

What I do not explain to the visitors is the meaning of the tradition of yahrzeit and kaddish. 

Generations come and go.  Despite the epochs, we recall those who have traveled this road before us.  Gazing at scrapbooks and faded pictures we remember zayde and bubbie (grandpa and grandma).  Memories float to the surface.  Eagerly, we point them out to our families, carefully explaining who each person was along with a tale of how their lives are still interconnected with ours.  Their legacy is us.  We are the possessors of their story, their lives.  When we recall them, name our children after them, they gain definition, even in death.

On the Holy Days we sing a prayer, zochraynu l’hayyim, “Remember us for life,” we plead with God.  At the same time, we also want, or need, to be remembered by the living after we have passed.  As age brings us closer to our ultimate destination a jarring question leaps to mind: “Who will remember me?”  Will anyone name their child after me?  Will anyone say kaddish when I am dead?  Perhaps it is a kind of double death to die and be forgotten.

We believe that when a person dies their body returns to the earth but their soul, being a gift of God, survives.  If this is true, perhaps then their soul still “knows” us.  What a gift to their spirit to be remembered, still cherished!  That they have not been forgotten may be the greatest balm to their spirit. 

Believe it or not we know Moses’ yahrzeit.  We know the date of Rabbi Akiva’s death.  And we read the names of the members of our congregation each Shabbat when their yahrzeits fall that week.  The list is long.  Many names are now familiar to me.  As I read the list, I smile at some of the memories and am saddened by others.

I imagine on those Shabbatot or during the week when we have evening services and someone stands to recite kaddish, a soul is nourished.  Somewhere is the vast cosmos a soul reflects, “See? I have not been forgotten.”  And that soul rises a bit higher on the letters of the kaddish as they are enunciated by the living.

The words are the same as previous generations pronounced, yitgadal, v’yitkadash… as they praise the Eternal One.  Perhaps that too is part of the gift.  “See Lord, I left a good legacy.  They not only remember me but through me they remember You.”

A Holy Story

I cannot speak or write about the things I experience with community or congregational members because it crosses the borders of confidentiality.  Every now and then there is an exception:

It was a small dark colored car.  Four door.  Kind of old and battered.

It is hard to see inside the windows of a car, even from a short distance.  I knew that someone must be sitting in the car because of its position outside the main sanctuary.  I waved, not knowing whether the people inside saw or acknowledged me.

Opening the door to the sanctuary I motioned to the blank window and yelled,”Do you want to come in?”  The door cracked open and three people climbed out, two from the front and one from the back.

They introduced themselves to me as newcomers to town from Texas.  Then the man pointed to the younger man and told me that this was his son who is in training at Ft Jackson, the military base.

The three of them davenned with the congregation in the chapel that Friday evening.  The father knew his prayers well and sang them loudly, so loudly that he forced me to change one of my tunes so that I would be in sync with him.

Services ended with Yigdal and after a few hand-shakes and embraces I made my way over to the trio and asked how long the young man was going to be here in Columbia at the Ft Jackson.  “He’s leaving tomorrow,” said the father. 

“To Afghanistan,” added his wife.

I nodded. 

“Come with me,” I pulled the three of them over to the Aron HaKodesh, the Holy Ark, after the last member had exited.  “Stand here.” 

I opened the Ark, held the young soldier’s hand and prayed: “Avinu Shebashamayim, Lord of Heaven, I am here with Your child who is off to a distant land tomorrow.  Look after him. Guard his steps.  Be with his officers to protect them and protect one another.

“Let him serve his duty with dignity and grace and bring him back home to his family whole.”

Tears trickled down this soldier’s cheeks. Everyone is human.

The father placed his hands on his son’s head and bensched him with the Priestly Blessing.

Tikkun Olam

We are the people who share stories.  The Bible is full of them.  That Talmud too has many tales as does the famed midrash.  I remember once hearing Elie Wiesel tell how even the Master of the Universe not only like to tell stories but He also delights in hearing them!  Stories entertain and enlighten.  The best stories have the richest, most meaningful morals.  Here is one:

Ashmodai was the king of demons.  He brought before the great Solomon a man with two heads.  Ashmodai told King Solomon that the man’s father had died and left a large inheritance.  It was up to the wise king to determine whether the man in front of him was one man with one share of the inheritance or if he should be counted as two men and receive a double portion.

King Solomon reflected and then said that servants should prepare a pot of boiling water.  That boiling water would be poured over one of the heads.  If the other head did not complain, it was a sign that they were different people.  On the other hand, if the other head did complain they were really one.

The story entertains, as do all good stories but it also teaches a truth.  We are one.

There are times when family members do not get along.  We argue, insist on having it our way, and say regrettable things.  When rifts happen in a family the depth of the pain is significant.  It hurts.  A lot.

Still, the bonds of a family do not go away when we fight.  We quickly regroup when some outside force assails us or illness strikes.  So it is with our extended family.  We are one.

Elsewhere the midrash asks, “Would a man cut off his arm?  Of course not!  Why then would we ever contemplate hurting one of our own?  They are part of our body too!”

What affects one of us affects us all.  That is why we must stand together.  If any part of our people is abused or destroyed it destroys a part of us.  That is why when one Jew is in peril the response must be immediate.  We learned this lesson during the Holocaust.   While our people vacillated, we were murdered.  Israel’s response to the plight of Ethiopian Jews was sweeping.  In 1984 Operation Moses airlifted more than 8,000 Jews to Israel.  A single trip brought 1,122 Ethiopian Jews on a single plane.  A world record!  Three decades earlier Operation Magic Carpet brought nearly 50,000 Yemeni Jews to the Holy Land.  Waves of Russian Jews – 800,000 of them! - arrived with no questions.

What all this means is that we are our brother’s keeper.  We have a responsibility for one another.

Here is our community no Jew is ever turned away from the Religious School or membership for lack of funds.  In addition, tzedaka is ongoing.  Money is quietly collected and distributed to the needy.   We help transport those who are not mobile to the synagogue (we are always looking for more volunteers) and we visit the ailing and homebound (you can offer to help here too).

The fact is: we are human by birth.  We are Jews by making conscious decision to do our best to improve this word.  We call this Tikkun Olam.

One Erev Shabbat

A tzaddik, one of the truly righteous, desired to become closer to god.  So he sent himself into galut, exile, from his family and home.  He deliberately chose a life of wandering and meager living.  The tzaddik reasoned that if understood the real poverty and suffering of the unfortunates he would draw closer to the Almighty.

One erev Shabbat, the tzaddik in rags came to a small town.  Looking around he found the home of one wealthy Jew.  The tzaddik knocked.  When the door opened the rich man gazed in disdain at the pauper.  Undaunted, the tzaddik asked to spend the holy Shabbos there.  The wealthy man curtly told him there was no room before closing the door.

Many years passed and the tzaddik had given up his wanderings and was now a famous rabbi and preacher.  People flocked to see him, hear his words, touch his cloak.  It so happened that on one Shabbat the tzaddik again found himself in the same town as years before.  This time he arrived in a magnificent carried and the town was abuzz with his arrival.

That wealthy Jew- the same who had spurned him long ago- hurried to greet the famous rabbi.  Begging him to join him for the Shabbos, the tzaddik paused before saying, “I will give you an answer in one hour.”

As soon as the rich man left the rabbi turned to one of his students and said, “Brush the horses, hitch them to the carriage and bring it to the home of the wealthy man.”

As soon as the rich man saw the great carriage coming toward his home drawn by the fine horses, he was overjoyed.  The tzaddik was coming!  He was staying at his home!

When he rushed out to greet the holy rabbi he found the carriage was empty.  How could this be?  Where was the holy tzaddik? The man turned and ran to the center of town where he met the tzaddik earlier and breathlessly asked, “Rabbi, what happened?  Why did you send an empty carriage to my home?  Why did you not come?”

The rabbi answered, “Long ago I came to your home and asked for hospitality for Shabbos.  You turned me away.  This time when I came you embraced me.  I asked, “What has changed since then?”  I realized that the difference is my entourage.  I came in this time riding in a fine carriage with great horses.  Apparently, that is what you really wanted which is why I sent it.”

We have just finished a long process of conversations about the synagogue.  We discovered many wonderful things about Beth Shalom and other things which need attention.  One of the most noticeable items was that universally everyone wants a congregation that supports, welcomes and embraces one another.

Isn’t this what our faith stands for?  Every person is a deliverer in disguise, about to be unveiled.  Every Jew is a messenger with words to be shared.  It can only be done if we welcome on another with a full heart.  No one is special. Everyone is special.  I want to encourage you in joining me in the making of a community.  Come home.  Extend your hand.  Throw out a good word, a smile.