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Rosh Hashanah - September 2002 STRENGTH by Brett Krichiver, Student Rabbi This past year has been one of soul-searching for our nation, our people, and ourselves. The images of September 11th are indelibly seared into our collective memory, and both of our homelands, America and Israel, find themselves in the middle of a war. In the midst of all this, we turn one to another, to begin these ten days of Teshuvah, ten days of return, of repentance. In our own lives, what towers have been torn down? What emotional violence have we wrought upon each other? Those things we once thought were indestructible have been shattered, in our country and our nation. And in how many ways have we built up the same kind of disillusionment in our families, in our homes? As Americans we were caught off guard on September 11th, our entire world was turned upside down. Our High Holy Days come around once a year to catch us off guard. As difficult as it is to compare a national tragedy with these days, on Yom Kippur we do reenact a tragedy. We withhold our most basic needs, some of us even wear the white of a funeral garb. These days are designed to break through our illusions. Only in a state of vulnerability can we do the work that needs to be done in our lives. This is a time when some of us are thinking about and feeling our strength slipping away from us. The world is changing right outside our windows. For fifty years we have celebrated our Jewish state, and now we are shaken by the diversity of our reactions to her every move. And in our own country, a place which had always felt so safe and secure for us, now we feel threatened every day, from without and within, by the very new threats of biological and chemical and nuclear warfare, by an angry world of others who would destroy us. We search for strength, strength to face the coming day, strength to battle the armies of our enemies, strength to be able to tell our children that we made the world a better place for them. And we begin to understand that the strength we thought we had - the strength of the walls we built, of the twin towers, of steel and cement, is merely camouflage for our doubts and fears. We turn to our tradition, and we ask, is there a more permanent strength on which to lean for support? The Torah states that when the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, and they sent spies out to discover what sort of people were occupying the land, those spies were sent with a list of questions from Moses. "What kinds of crops will we find in the promised land? Is it truly flowing with milk and honey? What sort of people are they, with whom we are to do battle?" And the final question in Moses' list: "are their cities fortified, or not?" As you may know, the old city of Jerusalem, founded several generations later, indeed was a fortified city. That is, it had a wall which completely surrounded and enclosed the city. In those ancient days, a wall was what distinguished an actual city from a simple village. While this distinction is not terribly important in our modern world - very few cities are actually surrounded by a wall nowadays - in Moses' time this was the most vital question. After all, he was faced with a novice army, and he was facing an enemy of unknown size and strength. Of course, we are led to believe that God was on our side, but for the fledgling Israelites, their task must have seemed daunting to say the least. Would they be able to succeed in their mission? The Rabbinic commentary, or Midrash, comes along to offer an interesting explanation. Don't be fooled, the rabbis declare, into thinking that Moses was worried about a fortified city being too strong to overcome. History proves that a walled city is only as strong as the water and food supplies that sustain it. Rather, the rabbis suggest, a people who live without walls, out in the open, with free borders, are much stronger than those who live within a physical defense. The rabbis understood that strength assumes many shapes, and many forms. For some there is the illusion of strength, which hides a deep-seeded insecurity and fear. A population which hides behind the walls of a city, may appear strong, but they are only strong as long as their basic needs are cared for. This kind of strength is fleeting, and immaterial. In America today, our leaders would have us believe that our military is strong enough to protect us from our enemies, that if we only have enough vaccines, if we only remove a few world leaders from their offices, if only we build a few more walls, that we can remain strong and protected. But as I recall the images of September 11th in my mind, I remember that feeling of vulnerability, and I remember a different kind of strength, which emerged only in the aftermath of the tragedy. Of course, there was the symbolic strength and power of the two towers themselves. They were a target precisely because they appeared to be so strong. The World Trade Center was one of our most powerful symbols of freedom and security. But another strength emerged out of the ashes of the towers' dust. We have immortalized that strength in the heroes of the days and months that followed 9-11. We all witnessed the tremendous courage and resiliency displayed as we began to clean, and to rebuild. Americans reached out for one another for support. That is the strength we saw in those days, weeks and months. And when we compare this human strength, with the symbolic strength of the towers, we realize that the rabbinic commentary is telling us that appearances are deceiving: our walls are not as strong as our will. Without undermining the tremendous human loss that occurred on September 11th, we realize that our leaders will never be able to give to us the strength upon which our country was founded. That strength comes from our liberty, our freedom to pursue life, and to better ourselves. Real strength comes from within. If you've ever visited Israel, you've tasted their national fruit, which has on many occasions been compared to their people. The Sabra fruit has one of the toughest shells of any food. Like the coconut, it takes cunning and skill to break through its defenses. But once inside its walls, the Sabra has so much syrupy sweetness that it literally drips through your fingers, exposing its tenderness and warmth. I remember this imagery whenever I hear of a terrorist attack in Jerusalem, or Tel Aviv. Of course I see the scenes of insecurity and fragility on television, but I also remember what happens each and every time as soon as the television cameras go away. Life resumes. A cafe which is bombed will rebuild, reopen, and once again fill with people in a matter of days. When a bus is attacked, the next morning Israelis fill the buses. It is as if they are unwilling to let the terrorists drive them into hiding. Israel may struggle with issues of military strength, and security for it's citizens, but when I think of your average Sabra, the Israeli native, I am awed by the strength of character, and the strength of their love for their community, and their home. Although they have developed a powerful and protective shell, their strength comes from the fruit, the seeded meat which sustains life in the harsh conditions of the desert sun. This same spirit emerged in Americans on September 11th. One of the most powerful images from that day is that of victims trapped, a hundred stories above the ground, who were herded by the eager flames to the broken windows. How can we ever begin to comprehend what went through their minds, as they faced the very edge of life and death, and leaped, rather than burning. It was in their greatest moment of despair, that we witnessed their greatest human strength. What I remember most about those brave souls, is that most of them found one another through the smoke and fire. As they faced death, they reached out for each other, and their hands met in the air. At the place of ultimate desperation, with no hope in sight - they found strength in themselves they had not known before. With no knowledge of the evil which was ultimately responsible for their tragedy, victims in the World Trade Center embraced each other with strength and with love. Love that stood in absolute defiance of all that was happening around them. That image, of their hands clasped together, a hundred stories in the air, shows us the unfathomable pain, and the terrible loss that all of America felt at that moment. And one year later, it reminds us also of the immense strength that exists within the human spirit. One year later, we are challenged to live up to the strength we witnessed on that day. One year later, we hold ourselves to task - as Jews we have a responsibility to work towards a better world, by working toward better selves. Real strength is facing our weaknesses and growing from them. Real strength is hearing the truth from those we love. Real strength is saying, "I'm sorry, I was wrong." Real strength is living each day with integrity and pride - letting go of grudges and letting in the love of our family and friends. Real strength is crying with sadness, and weeping with joy. Real strength is accepting the world as it is, and never ceasing to make the world better, one person at a time. It holds true for you, and me, and our nation and our world. Play fair. Remember to admit when you're wrong, and remember to always have gratitude for the blessings in your life. These are the things that make us strong. These are the things that we all know inside, but so rarely do they guide our actions. Real strength is having the conviction to act on our ideals, to always be our best selves. Real strength comes from within. And so we face this monumental task together. Our High Holy Day liturgy states quite clearly: "As God is called gracious, so must you be gracious; as God is compassionate, so must you be; as God is holy, so must you follow the path of holiness." The way we make ourselves more human, is the same way we bring ourselves closer to God. We are challenged to find the strength within ourselves which comes from grace, compassion, and holiness. If we are able to shed a false sense of strength - of personal pride and ethnocentrism - and embrace the truer strength within, then we can make a real difference in our lives, and our world. As the date of September 11th rolls around again, we are facing a period of national soul-searching. At the same time Israel is facing her greatest challenge to date - to find a way to fully realize her potential as a Democracy AND a Jewish state, through more soul-searching. And so it is with each of us. This period of ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur will come and go, and of course we may choose to avoid the real work we need to do. We may choose to hide behind the steel and concrete of our fears, and our familiar patterns. And we may call ourselves "strong." But just as within every armored tank there hides a small, frightened and vulnerable human being, so too do we shelter our insecurities, and our willingness to risk, behind walls and within towers. The message for this High Holy Days is simple: Real strength comes from within. We must be willing to embrace our strength, but only a true and valid strength. Let us look deep within, to begin to recognize the work of tearing down our false pride, and of rebuilding ourselves in the image of God. Kein yehi ratzon, may this be God's will. Amen. |