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THOUGHTS FROM THE HEART Erev Rosh Hashana 5762 by Brett Krichiver Shana Tova. To begin my sermon today, for the first time that many of you will hear me speak, I'd like to take a minute to recognize that it's been a tough week for us all. Tami and I have been watching as much news as possible, and trying to check in with loved ones in New York. The phrase I keep hearing over and over again in the news is that nothing will ever be the same. America's role in the Middle East will perhaps change, America's attitude towards terrorism, and towards it's own safety has changed forever. And we are feeling scared. Getting on a plane and flying to Reno this week was a scary event. Listening to NPR in the mornings, one of my favorite things to do, has become a scary event. Is there a way to move from the pain we are all feeling, into the Days of Awe, the beginning of a New Year? I think we have already begun to do just that. What I would like to do tonight, is speak from my heart. "It could never happen here," people said. "It was a thing of the movies, a bad special effect," cried the reporters, but the reality of terrorism has come straight into our hearts. It is a reality about which we cannot afford to be silent. Our community has become so extremely caught up in the saga playing itself out across the country, that our ceremonies and celebrations for the New Year cannot help but be affected. How can we prepare ourselves to enter a New Year, with so much pain and uncertainty in our hearts? What is this year's message for Rosh Hashanah, and how can it help us deal with the dark side of humanity we have just witnessed? I spent last year studying in the heart of Israel, with an apartment two blocks from the Old City, the oldest part of Jerusalem. It was a painful, yet powerful year to be in Israel. Every day brought fresh reports of violence closer to our neighborhood, and family and friends began to worry for the personal safety of Tami and myself. And I can tell you that we did feel the tension, and we made clear choices to attempt to stay out of harm's way. But what became clear to me that year is the same lesson that rang out around the world last week: when we are dealing with an enemy with no concern for human life, no place is completely safe. We can learn from our Israeli community what it feels like to be attacked. Yehuda Amichai writes in a poem about terrorists that an attack has an effect much like the disruption of a peaceful pond by the casting of a large stone. His poem begins: The circumference of the bomb was thirty centimeters, but the explosion included a much larger area. The lives affected increase the circle many times over, covering the globe. I think about September 11th. How many circles do 30,000 victims create? We are left with an unimaginable horror, and a devastation that hits very close to home. Where do we turn for support? What does our heritage offer us to help us deal with these events? How can we fight, and how do overcome this enemy? Our victory, when terror strikes, lies in our ability to embrace our larger community and to make sure that our values, the values that Torah and Judaism teach us, are spread far and wide. Like the ripples of mourning in Amichai's poem, our values can also spread, affecting life after life. We can turn to our tradition, we can study and learn, and we can strengthen our resolve to become a light to the nations. Our victory comes when we shout our words of Torah from the rooftops, "What is hateful to you, do not do to another," "Justice, justice shall you pursue." Recent scenes from New York show me that many Americans have the same ethical understanding as Jews. Along with the fear and anger captured in its lens, the media has shown us an outpouring of love and support from all corners of the world. Volunteers, brave city workers, firefighters and police officers have come from far and wide to help. Letters, donations, and messages of caring have poured in. This is our victory. Blood donations have overwhelmed blood banks, to the extent where the news began to ask people to wait a few days before attempting to donate. Our clear message to terrorists is that they may have struck a devastating blow, but our spirit grows stronger. As Jews we have a choice to make about how we react to the violence. We can choose to look the other way, to speak only of the American tragedy, and the American response. Or we can come together, create services like this very congregation offered this past Shabbat. We can offer to our neighbors a message of life and of justice that comes from our text. In a uniquely Jewish context, we can bring out of Judaism, ways to cope, ways to repair the world. The Torah portion we read on Rosh Hashanah is of Abraham being asked by God to sacrifice his son, Isaac. This is a familiar story to most of us, the striking image of a father's hand raised with a knife, ready to follow God's command without question. The victims are easy to identify. Isaac is painted as the classic victim, unknowingly led by his father. Abraham is a victim, who dares not defy God's command, who dares not even call it into question. Recent events bring several questions to the forefront. Who is the hero in the story? Where is our model of Jewish ethical behavior? Where is the compassionate cry for justice, for a better world? The important conclusion of the story is that God does not require of us the sacrifice of our children. Isaac is spared, and the ram becomes the true sacrifice. Abraham heads back down the mountain, to a life that can never be the same. I do not relate to Abraham in this story, whose blind obedience leads him to unspeakable horrors. Nor would I choose to portray Isaac in the story, whose silence condemns him. I would choose to be the angel that arrives at the moment of truth, and changes the course of events. Speaking with the authority of God, the angel is the agent of change, who speaks out, and saves a life. The unfolding story of Godıs relationship with humankind is forever altered when Isaac's life is spared. Because of the angel, the story does not end with the slaughter of the innocent. Because of the angel, God's desire is not to see Abraham sacrifice his son, but instead to save his life and his legacy. Perhaps the message on this Rosh Hashanah is that we can strive to be like the angel. We can make our own voice be heard, and change the course of events. The ethical story teaches us an important Jewish value. Above all signs and tests of commitment, we learn the value of a human life. And that is what separates us from terrorists. I cannot answer for you the burning question of, "Why? Why do terrorists send their children to Israel on suicide bombing missions? Why do terrorists feel that it is an acceptable form of warfare to crash a commercial airliner into a building?" All I do know, is that when we send our soldiers to the front of what President Bush is calling, "the first war of the 21st century," they will be fighting for Jewish ideals, as well as American ones. Judaism teaches us to value life, choose life, and to protect the lives of others. "When you have saved a single life, it is as if you had saved the world." The concept of Pikuach Nefesh, the saving of a life, takes precedent over every single other commandment. Our message to those who perpetrated this awful crime is simple, "It was a war you could not win. You think that by destroying the symbols of American freedom, and by the taking of human life, you could shake the foundations of liberty upon which American, and Jewish community are based. But our spirit is not housed in steel, our liberties not shattered like so many broken windows. The soul of our country, and our people, has shone through the wreckage of the Twin Towers. We are now entering our Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, and we are invited to the act of Cheshbon Hanefesh, taking stock of one's soul. During the days ahead we check our moral compass to see how well we measured up in recent days. In a time of national soul-searching and prayer, we ask ourselves these Rosh Hashanah questions: How well did I support those around me in their time of need? How much of myself was I willing to give? Was I able to help my community heal, or was I silent when my soul was crying out? Like the angel in the biblical story, can we find our voice strong enough to cry out in anger? As we search for meaning in our own lives in preparation of Yom Kippur, we can help our neighbors, our friends and families, find solace. This past week has left indelible images on our hearts and souls. May we remember the beauty of humanity we witnessed as the entire world came together in support and prayer. During the High Holy Day Amidah (pg. 32) we pray, "Let them all become a single family, doing Your will with a perfect heart." It has been an incredible week for our community. Our country now speaks of going to war for those values we hold dear. May we find strength in our tradition, which teaches us that every life is precious, and may these High Holy Days offer our families and communities a chance to reflect, and to heal. Leshana tova tikatevu. |