Thinking About the High Holy Days

Back in 1984 in the small community of Eastvale Texas, things went awry.  Big time.  Potholes were so numerous that the police stopped giving tickets for drunken driving (everybody swerved).  Water was in extremely short supply to the extent that the fire department had to “borrow” water.  Even automobiles threw fenders, mufflers and tires randomly, indiscriminately. Car parts littered the streets.  They just fell apart all over the place.  To use biblical terminology, ‘the septic tanks runneth over.’

Leaders from the community got together and decided the best way to get some coveted financial relief from the government was to call themselves ‘blighted’.  Said then Mayor Bert Eubank, “All I need is just a couple of million.”

These modern-day Jobs figured they could attract a lot of attention by drawing the national media to view their open wounds (anticipating sympathy in the form of dollars).

The story reminds me of the beggar in Fiddler on the Roof.  With his hand extended, he begs for money from the usual characters.  Offered one kopec, the beggar complains, “Because you had a bad week I should suffer?”

As life progresses, good and bad come unexpectedly.  How we react to these occurrences defines us.  A large segment of the deepest meaning of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is coming to terms with how we have responded to the ordinary events of life, the day to day stuff.

A prayer we recite on these Holy Days reads that we should be blessed by never having to be dependent upon the charity of others.  At the same time, we pray that God should be charitable to us in judging our lives. In other words, we ought to feel dependent upon God, not upon humanity. 

Who would disagree?  Of course we ought to be independent of people!  Closer to the truth is that we invert the Judaic notion: we form intricate webs of dependency and inter-dependency with people while distancing ourselves from God. 

One of the realizations of the Y2K phenomenon was that we swiftly understood how much we are need of one another for survival.  In the worst case scenario, they told us back in 1998, Y2K would mean that computer lines will not function, the electrical grid of the world will not work; there will be food stoppages too as transportation suffers. 

The runup to Y2K proved to us that we are dependent on people.   They are our employers; we wait for words of encouragement, paychecks and raises.  They are our customers; without them we are out of business.  We are connected to humanity at all levels.  Our lives are spent depending on people.

And yet.  It is not supposed to be this way.

At times of searing personal pain, our attention goes elsewhere.  Wisdom from the battlefield: ‘there are no atheists in a foxhole.’  Our tradition says the same thing using the metaphor of life.  Long ago, Eliezer ben Durdaya was a man who reached the height of personal achievement.  He was rich, successful… and hungry.  Eliezer had an insatiable desire for more and more.  His life slowly became twisted and his contorted by his want and the intolerable emptiness inside.

Nearing the end of his days Eliezer ben Durdaya screamed to the mountains, ”You are great  --Plead for me!” They remained silent.  Eliezer then turned to the sun and moon asking their help and intervention.  They too, remained unmoved.  Finally, Eliezer understood the blanket truth: he had to do the final reckoning.  No one, no thing would come to his defense.

Judaism does not believe in finger-pointing, unless the finger is directed at the self.  Even if events or people have contributed to our present condition only we can make the ultimate difference; change.  The Talmud sums it up this way: When a person dies, nothing accompanies him before the Almighty, except his deeds.  

Don’t Have a Happy New Year

A wandering merchant came to a town square offering to sell the elixir of life.  Of course, large crowds would surround him, each person eager to purchase eternal youth.  When pressed, the merchant would bring out the Book of Psalms and show them the verse: “Who desires life?  Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from guile.”

Rabbi Artson tells that tale as it demonstrates the greatest truth of life: what we do influences how we live.  On one plane, it is widely accepted that healthy eating produces a healthier lifestyle.  Yet, it is equally true that our outward behavior towards others crafts the inner image of our identity.

Show me a kind-hearted person, generous with deed and word, and I will show you a happy person.  The opposite is also true- a foul-mouthed, mean-spirited person will harbor a nasty cauldron of inner bitterness.

We control how we act and how we act controls how we construct our thoughts.

Rumi and so many other inspired poets speak of following your heart while our faith says the opposite, “Your heart will be drawn after your actions.”  In other words humans have the propensity to justify what we do, even when it is bad.  We merge into one being with what we say.  In stead, the Jewish attitude is to do mitzvot and your heart will follow.

We are headed into the season when the measure of our self is taken, both by God and us.  As we approach the end of the summer we see our reflection mirrored in the eyes of those with whom we interact.  When we see their disapproving glance we can fend off the negativity or be brave – as God would have it - and ask, “How did I create this?”  Equally so, watch for the look of love in another’s eyes and you will find joyful validation.

One man seeking wholeness went to see a mystic.  He yearned for healing.  Half starved, the mystic ordered the man to be fed and then had him repeat the viduy (confession), ashammnu, bgadnu, gazalmu etc- “we have sinned, we have betrayed, we have stolen…..”

In the course of repeating the list of sins he fainted.  When he came to the mystic sent him away ordering him to never again forget that some words are important as deeds, some words are actually deeds and some deeds take control of our self.  They and us become one.

Don’t have a happy New Year, make it a good one through your actions.

Only Receipts

Mishna teaches, “All whose actions exceed his wisdom, his wisdom will endure.  All whose wisdom exceeds his deeds, his wisdom will not last.” (Avot 3:5) 

This Mishna could mean that without implementation we forget.  Has it ever happened that no sooner had you learned an interesting fact that you lost it?  If we do not put into practice what we have learned the knowledge leaves us.  Question for contemplation: If this is true how would we change what we read or watch?

The Mishna could also be a philosophical comment.  What is the purpose of listening to the news?  Or reading the latest journal?  Why bother taking advanced courses or going to school at all?

For our faith, the purpose of learning is to inform life, not simply gather information.  In other words, we learn to change.  There is little value to knowledge if it does not lead to growth.  In fact, one of those most powerful statements of this belief is found in the second paragraph of the Aleynu where it reads our objective is, “to perfect the world.”  Knowledge can be used to win an argument, build a more effective way of killing people, or fix that which is broken.  We choose.

I have performed far too many funerals for my liking.  I recall few instances where the bereaved family proudly told me how brilliant the deceased was.  I remember times when their wisdom was lauded in connection with great accomplishments and also remember other times when their knowledge was mentioned in a derogatory, snide way.

Each hour should contain moments when we actualize the meaning of the Aleynu.  At the end of the day we ought to be able to recall times when we lifted grayness from the world and allowed more light to filter in; when the world became less broken and more whole because of something we did or said.

That is why Judaism insists of the path of mitzvot, action.  We have 613 mitzvot, or behaviors, that govern our lives.  It is learning put into action.

Winston Churchill said in 1936 at the brink of the World War, “I am looking for peace.  I am looking for a way to stop war, but you will not stop war by pious statements and appeals.  You will only stop it by making practical arrangements.”

We are -- there for we do.

A wealthy man approached the Gates of Heaven.  He tried to enter but the Ministering Angel blocked his way.  Finally, he took out his checkbook and said, “Everyone has a price.  How much do you want?”

“You don’t understand.  We don not take checks up here.  Only receipts.”