Rosh Hashanah 5774 Day 1 - Keruv Requires Korban
My fellow congregants! Shanah Tovah
– gut yahr! It’s wonderful to see you all here. We are all glad to have Cantor
Kerry Katz with us again this year. Thank you to Barry Glass for leading Pesukei D’Zimrah and Shacharit. Thank
you to Doctor Fersht for his torah reading and haftarah. Regarding each of
these individuals, serving as the shaliach
tzibbur, the agent of the community,
in leading prayer and performing various parts of the service is an awesome
responsibility. Done with appropriate nusach and feeling, it serves both as
prayer on behalf of the community and at the same time, helps turn our hearts
and souls towards God and the spiritual messages of the day. We all know that
there is no one right way to pray to God or to understand the meanings of the
Yamim Noraim – these days of awe. Whichever way we reach out, I pray we reach
our goal. Thank you also to Paul Miller, Jack Howland, and all of their
helpers, thank God there were so many I can' remember who they all were, for
schlepping our machzorim, sifrei torah, ark and other implements of prayer to
the hotel. Finally, a big thank you to Elaine Kleiger for overseeing all of the
arrangements with the hotel, handling tickets and membership, and all the
additional things she does all year to keep us from bouncing around aimlessly.
We’ve had a moving service this morning, and the festivities will continue
after this message from our sponsor.
I have one thing to say to you. What Goes Around Comes Around. That’s
right. Well, we have all heard that phrase before. It is a very common kind of
notion, that we get what we deserve, that if we are good, we will
receive good, and if we are bad, we will suffer bad things, and so
forth. It is also a very traditional Jewish notion, found throughout the Torah
and especially in the book of Deuteronomy – for example, in the second
paragraph of the Sh’ma. If you heed My commandments, says God, you will get the
rain when you need it, and you will have ample harvests of grain, wine and oil.
You will have abundant cattle. Etcetera. If you don’t heed Me, you will get no
rain, no harvest, no cattle, and you will be driven from the land.
Need I add that it is also the apparent theology of the prayer Un’taneh Tokef – that God decides who will live and who will die. Don’t you
wish you knew what God’s algorithm is? Wouldn’t it be sinisterly cool if
there were some way to game the system, so that no matter what you do, God
grants you life? I wonder how much THAT would go for in Silicon
Valley ! Well, I think we know all too well that whatever the
system is, it sure doesn’t work that way!
Somehow, when we talk about God, we can’t accept this notion, that what
goes around comes around from God, particularly because it seems
unfair. I remember a cartoon, from the old Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, in
which Calvin, the mischievous 9-year-old who is always getting himself in
trouble, is grumbling about some misfortune which has befallen him. Because he
is certain of his innocence, or at least certain that “what goes around does
NOT come around,” he remarks, “It’s either random or arbitrary.” Nevertheless,
we intuitively feel it to be so – what goes around comes around. In fact, I
believe that there is something in human nature that wants it to be so,
that needs it to be so – even if it doesn’t come from God. We want a
moral universe that operates under a set of laws in the same way the physical
universe is governed by the laws of physics. We need there to be reward and
punishment, because that seems just. Right – that’s the justice
we want. We teach this as a mantra to our children, with stories and lessons
from our own lives.
Well, our Torah reading today has this very same lesson buried in it today,
but we have to dig a little to find it.
Sarah had a handmaiden, a slave, really, Hagar, an Egyptian, who had borne
a son, Ishmael, fathered by Abraham at Sarah’s insistence. Let’s also not
forget it was Sarah’s idea and Abraham acquiesced.
Hagar was Sarah’s property, as was Ishmael. That was the law in the ancient
Near East. At the same time, Ishmael was for many years Abraham’s sole heir. It
is an incongruous situation, to say the least. It was made worse when Sarah and
Abraham finally had a child of their own – Yitzchak (Isaac). Now, there was a
legitimate, albeit younger heir, through the wife, not the slave.
It says in our reading that Sarah saw Ishmael “playing”. Playing? What’s
wrong with that? Some translations say “making sport” and some early
commentators understand it to mean that Ishmael was shooting arrows at Isaac.
The Hebrew word used, “metzacheik”, can even mean sexually abusing. Whatever it
was, Sarah got upset, and asked, no, she demanded, that Abraham send
Hagar and Ishmael away. Sarah made Abraham a party to her crime, for in a very
real sense it is a crime, by asking him to cast away other human beings. On top
of that, Abraham did not object very strongly to this request, and God told him
not to be very concerned about the matter. The problem is, Abraham didn’t
concern himself with it at all.
Look at how Sarah refers to these people that are to be exiled – “that
slave woman and her son”, not as “Hagar and Ishmael”. Totally objectified,
nameless, completely dehumanized, they are sent into the desert to be out of
sight, out of mind, to die of thirst. But an angel of God saves them, and
Ishmael grows up to be the founder of a great nation, the Ishmaelites.
Now, as to our lesson, “what goes around, comes around”, here is where the
digging begins. First, Hagar, when written in Hebrew without vowel sounds,
which is the way it is written in the Torah, could also be pronounced HaGer,
which means “the stranger.” She is the ultimate “stranger within your
gates”. Not only is she a slave, Hagar is also an Egyptian. She is a foreigner and
a piece of property. We know, from reading the Torah later in Genesis and
Exodus, as well as from the Pesach Seder, that the Israelite descendants of
Abraham spent centuries in Egypt
The Midrash, the compendium of rabbinic interpretive texts, suggests that
to be exactly the case. Our ancestors were indeed punished for what
earlier generations had done. This seems unjust, does it not? The Torah itself
tells us that children are not to be punished for the sins of their parents,
with the exception of idol worship.
And yet, we also know that later generations often pay the price for the
sins of earlier generations. Here are some examples that come to mind, small
and large. We see that children born to drug abusers and alcoholics are often
born with numerous physical or mental abnormalities. And our communities
generally end up paying the medical and social bills, as well. On a grander
scale are environmental disasters, like the Chernobyl nuclear meltdown, or the
Exxon Valdez and Deepwater Horizon oil spills; the number of birth defects
associated with children born to those exposed to Chernobyl’s radiation is
quite higher than average. The waters, beaches and wildlife of Alaska and Louisiana Germany
But can some good come from the punishment? Well, one good thing that did
come out of this business in the Torah, the hundreds of years of exile and
slavery in Egypt , I believe,
is the mitzvah, the oft-repeated commandment, to care for the stranger in our
midst, because, as the Torah reminds us, “you were slaves in Egypt Egypt
But instead of shaking our heads in pity, or even worse, of ignoring the
plight of the stranger, we have this beautiful mitzvah of caring for the other.
It comes in a straight line from the most basic mitzvah of all – v’ahavta l’rayekha k’mokha – you shall
love your neighbor as yourself.
We can care for the strangers in our midst in many ways. For one thing,
consider that a stranger is not necessarily someone unknown to you – it might
be someone who is estranged – who is distant from the community, perhaps
through their own choice, perhaps through actions of the community, most
typically because they are “victims of circumstances”.
It may well be that all that is necessary is to reach out and bring them
back – it’s called keruv, drawing close. It’s from the same root as korban
– a sacrifice. Al tifros min hatzibbur – do not distance yourself from
the community, Hillel teaches us. It is equally an instruction to us to not let
the community distance itself from individual members. A phone call, a note, a
kind word, a pat on the shoulder, a shoulder to cry on – these and other small
kindnesses may be all that are necessary to turn a stranger in our midst into
friend – and into a member of our community.
The more frequent way to care for strangers in our midst, the usual korban,
or sacrifice, is the giving of tzedakah, charity, or the performance of gemilut
chasadim, deeds of loving-kindness. The roots of these words are indeed
interesting. We all know what a chasid is – a pious person, one
who wears baggy black suits and is very strictly observant of Jewish ritual,
right? Not quite. A streimel doesn’t cut it! A true chasid is one
who is kind to others. That’s real piety, that’s real chasidut,
demonstrated as an act of love between two people, not a ritual act for the
benefit of God – or the self. Gemilut chasadim can be acts as I already
described, or donations of time, money or materiel that will probably never be
repaid – at least not back into the wallet!
And tzedakah? It comes from the same root as tzaddik, a
righteous person, and tzedek, which means justice. Giving tzedakah
is not simply charity – it is a righteous act of justice, carried out in the
face of a world which seems unjust – which to our way of thinking, is
unjust!
We may think of tzedakah and gemilut chasadim as forms
of sacrifice – korbanot - giving up
something of value – but perhaps we should think of them as other forms of keruv
– drawing those who are estranged from us closer, and drawing ourselves
closer to a life of holiness and meaning.
This is
what God wants from us! Pounding your chest doesn’t get the job done! Even
confession of trespasses doesn’t get it done, unless it leads to constructive
action! Every one of us has the potential to be a chasid, to be a tzaddik,
to establish justice in the world by engaging in a type of korban, of
sacrifice, and of keruv, by drawing the other, the stranger, the
estranged one, closer to us – and thereby drawing ourselves closer to God.
In her book Rambam’s Ladder, Julie Salomon describes the various
levels of charity, and how Rambam ranked them. What needs to be crystal clear
is that these ranks, the rungs of the ladder, are absolutely meaningless if we
do not first set the ladder against the walls that separate us and use that
ladder to climb over the barrier ourselves. The ladder can equally serve to
help the other, the ger, the stranger, to climb the wall themselves. We
may need even to go down the ladder and bring the ger up with us – that
kind of descent down the ladder, from a higher level to a lower one, is
sometimes necessary. It’s exactly what the early chasidic rabbis taught.
But first, we have to erect the ladder.
In the days and weeks to come, between the High Holy Days and Chanukah, and
for that matter, every day for the rest of our lives, each of us is going to be
constantly confronted with opportunities both large and small to make a
difference in the life of another human being. Why does it matter? Because what
goes around, comes around – somehow, someday. Acts of gemilut chasadim
and tzedakah, kindness and charity, are not for our own benefit – they
may not come around to us as individuals. I may never receive a reward for the
good things I do. So what? This system isn’t about me – it’s about me in
relation to everyone else, and to the world around me.
You can actually start right now, this very minute. Turn to someone here in
this sanctuary, someone you don’t know as well as you should, someone you may
not know at all, especially someone from whom you might be estranged in
some way, and wish them a Shanah Tovah – a happy new year…..
When you leave here today, take with you the firm commitment to help the
stranger and the estranged – with money, time, food, a job, emotional support,
whatever it takes – and understand also that that person could be you. Next
week, pledge to the synagogue to support its charitable and educational
activities. We can’t pray together, we can’t learn Torah together, we can’t
come together as a community to carry out God’s and our work in the world, if
there is no place to actually do those things. The next time and every
time you come to Beth Meier, bring a can or package of food for Sova. Or,
volunteer your time at the synagogue or some other worthy organization that
serves the community and the stranger. Money – materiel – time. Even if this
doesn’t improve your life directly and immediately, and it probably won’t - even
if you really have no control over what the coming year will bring for you, and
let’s face it – you don’t - you actually can have an effect on the lives
of those around you. Do not ignore the suffering of your fellow human being
because – what goes around, comes around.
Let us not continue the sins of our ancestors, of rejecting the stranger in
our midst. Not simply because of the potential consequences if we don’t, and
not because of the potential personal reward if we do, but because we are
commanded by God and our tradition to do it, and because it is the right thing
to do. THAT is how we create a moral universe. Be a chasid.
Be a tzaddik. Remember who saved Ishmael and Hagar? You could even be an
angel! That is justice. That is the lesson of today’s reading. It was George
Santayana who said, “Those who do not learn the lessons of history are doomed
to repeat them.” Let us pledge this Rosh Hashanah morning to end the cycle of
mistreating the other.
I wish you all a year of sweetness and happiness and all that is good, a
year of Torah and mitzvot, of chasidut and tzedakah, a year of
love and caring, for ourselves and for the other.
L’shanah tovah u’metukah tikateivu v’tichateimu – May we inscribe ourselves and our
community for a good and sweet new year! Shanah tovah!
