Rabbi Daniel H. Liben
Rosh HaShannah 5760

I am always learning from my colleagues. Just the other day, my friend, Rabbi Greene, E-mailed me a text on the Jewish origins of Hi-Tech. And so I share with you:

So much for Y2K humor. I am no computer maven. But, like many of you, I am concerned about doing what I need to do in the next few months to become Y2K compliant. I don’t want to lose the years of files and records, sermons, letters, and notes, that exist only in an electronic form, inside that metal box that sits next to my desk. And, so, I will back-up my WordPerfect files, and maybe even invest in the upgraded hardware and software that my more computer literate friends recommend.

And, like many of you, I am concerned about some of the things that may happen with the coming of the year 2000 that I can’t control. By now, we all know what the term "Y2K Bug" means. Computers unable to differentiate between the year 2000 and 1900 may crash when the clock turns midnight on December 31st.

How serious a problem this will be is exasperatingly unclear, even to the experts. Because even if your particular power company, or phone company, or bank, etc., has painstakingly rewritten all their computer code to be Y2K compliant, they, and by extension all of us, are dependent on a vast interconnected network of systems that is beyond one single component to control. As Margaret Wheatley puts it, writing in Tikkun Magazine, we have created a planet "who interdependencies extend far beyond our imagination...Pagers went down across the United States because a computer chip failed in one satellite. Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city, had no electricity for more than a month because of a failure in one small part of its grid." And, closer to home, remember the ice storm that paralyzed the American and Canadian Northeast a couple of winters ago? It took weeks to bring the electrical grid back up because of problems in one small generating plant. We have created systems, Wheatley reminds us, "of brittle fragility. The chain is only as strong as its weak link systems".

And, so, when 2000 rolls in, we can probably expect some inconvenience, some temporary cessation of certain services, ranging from communications, to power, to distribution of goods. They may be minor, or they may be serious, but we really have no way of predicting exactly who will be impacted, and how. It is that lack of certainty about Y2K that is so unsettling.

The irony is that, in an industry intent on increasing our electronic memories, Y2K is a result of our cultural tendency to undervalue memory. In a mind-set of built-in obsolescence, the computer designers and programmers of twenty-five years ago never dreamed that their systems and products would still be in use by the year 2000. And so they designed systems that could only recognize dates by the last two digits, because it was convenient.

Tzvi Freedman, a computer programmer and writer on Jewish subjects, puts it this way:

"We saw our job as rendering everybody else’s work obsolete, and we accepted the fact that in a few years time, whatever we had done would be obsolete as well...If you had tried to tell us that the future would inherit the mess we were making, we’d have given you a condescending smile. Or maybe we’d have just called you stupid. "There’s just no way our (computer) code will be around by the year 2000," we’d say. As late as 1990, some of us were still chanting that mantra."

In a sense, Y2K is emblematic of a significant difference between contemporary American culture, and Jewish culture. The one is a mindset, where, in Freeman’s words, "the past undergoes a perpetual burial in the backwash of a runaway future, there is no legacy, no permanence, no responsibility for the future."

Judaism, on the other hand, continually reminds us that the past is part of a precious continuum that anchors us, even as we move forward. Today is Rosh HaShannah. But our motto is not "ring out the old, and ring in the new," as if only the new is of importance. On the contrary, we call our New Year, "Yom HaZikaron," a Day of Remembrance.

We also call our New Year "Yom HaDin," The Day of Judgment. And there certainly has been a lot of Judgment Day talk heading towards Y2K. Some of the more sensational Y2K doomsday scenarios of atomic meltdowns and technological Apocalypse seem to be the secular flip side of a religiously inspired Millenium Fever. Just the other day, I saw another paid advertisement in the local paper, heralding "8 Compelling Reasons Why the Lord is Coming Very Soon! How to be Prepared for History’s Greatest Event."

For many Christians, the coming of the year Y2K raises Messianic hopes; visions of a cataclysmic end to time as we currently experience it, and the beginning of a new age. Some fundamentalists speak of the presence of the AntiChrist, a figure who will fill the world with great evil, prior to the second coming of Jesus. In the Great Judgment that will follow, only the faithful will be spared.

As Jews, we shouldn’t ignore these fundamentalists’ yearnings because, like it or not, we figure prominently in their plan. No less a figure than the Reverend Jerry Falwell, caught up in the millenial mindset, has remarked that the AntiChrist is probably alive today, and "must be male and Jewish." Add to this millenial stew that the predicted showdown will take place in Jerusalem, a city whose religious sensitivities are already prickly, and there is some cause for concern.

Israel has had to budget 11 million dollars to improve security measures on the Temple Mount this year, because Jerusalem has already begun to fill with millenialist faithful, some with violent agendas, who want to be there for the coming Day of Judgment.

As Jews, how different is our conception of a Day of Judgment! Today is Rosh HaShannah, the beginning of a New Year, a day that we approach with joy and a sense of blessing. Gathered around our dinner tables last night, we ushered in the New Year with a Shehecheyanu, thanking God for having reached this season once again. We ate apples and honey, and meditated upon the sweetness that the coming year may hold for us, and we had a festive meal with family and friends, acknowledging the relationships that truly make our lives a blessing.

And it is precisely this day which we also call Yom HaDin – our Day of Judgment. Unlike some other religious traditions, our Judgment Day doesn’t come at the end of time, or even at the end of a millenium. Nor is it an eternal and irrevocable judgment before which we cower like sheep.

It comes as the first day of a new year; every single year, with our lives, and our choices, still ahead of us. And thus, most important of all, it is a Judgment that it within our power to influence.

In our Bible, there are competing voices that describe what the future will look like. On the one hand, there are the deafening voices of the prophets Ezekiel, and Zecharia, who thunderously intone disaster and apocalypse, before the awesome and terrible coming day of the Lord. In contrast, there are the gentler versions of Isaiah, or of Micah, who hope for the time when "every man shall sit under his vine and fig tree…" One describes a Messianic moment in which God will shake the earth to its foundations to make His power known, and Mankind will shudder with awe. The other, simpler and quieter vision, forsees a time when our world will be perfected in peace, because humanity will finally have come to understand what God requires.

Two competing Biblical visions of what the future will be like, and of what our role might be in bringing it about. One relies on God to bring an Apocalypse; the other expects people to do their part in bringing repair to the world. Which one do you think our Rabbis championed as the normative Jewish way?

Earlier this morning, we heard one of the best known prayers of the High Holidays, the Unetaneh Tokef Prayer. The poet who wrote the Unetaneh Tokef drew upon the dramatic imagery of the Apocalyptic view:

"Even the angels are dismayed as in fear and trembling they cry out, "Hinei Yom Hadin—The Day of Judgment has arrived!" We feel helpless before God’s awesome power as we pass before Him for review, like sheep.

And yet, by the end, this Medieval poet does something remarkable. With a few simple words, he takes the awesome dread, the helplessness and resignation of that vision, and snaps us out of it, as if from a bad dream. With the words "Uteshuva, Utefillah, Utzedakah," he turns the whole Dark Day of Judgment on it’s head: But Repentence, Prayer, and Deeds of Lovingkindness can annul the severity of the decree.

We Jews gave the world the notion of Teshuva. The belief that human beings, created in God’s image, can change; that our destinies are not sealed, and that we can be partners with God in perfecting the world, this world, through our deeds.

A Rabbi asked his pupils, what is the difference between East and West? Answered one student, rashly, "A million miles!" Another called out, "a million times a million miles!" And a third, smarter than the rest, shouted out, "Infinity!" "No," the Rabbi answered, "the difference between East and West is a slight step or two in direction."

A slight step. We don’t get caught up in the fatalism, and the Judgment Day jargon of apocalyptic movements, because we believe that God has created us with the ability to do Teshuva, to change, and to effect change.

And so, back to Y2K. What are some of the small steps that we can take that can make a difference? Margaret Whitely reminds us that Y2K can be a great teacher. The first lesson is that we are one world, and that we are responsible for both it and for each other. Isn’t that really one of the lessons of Rosh HaShannah?

And the second major lesson of Y2K is this: our dependence on technology has replaced the human ties that used to bind us into communities, and it is imperative for us to revive and to reestablish those ties. To put it simply, if the lights go out, it would be a lot less frightening if we knew that we had neighbors upon whom we could rely on for help.

To have the safety net of friends and neighbors-it doesn’t really sound like much does it? And yet….let’s try a test. How many of us know the last names of the other families on our block? How about their first names? When was the last time that you were inside their homes, or they in yours? I know, we all have busy lives and overbooked schedules, but I admit that I, for one, could do a lot better on any scale of neighborliness.

My friend Michael lives in northern Maine, and went for weeks without power after that ice storm. The next time, he said, the community will be better prepared. But not because they have back-up generators and wood stoves. Rather, something basic in their community, something you can’t quantify in blankets and canned food, changed. There is a rediscovered appreciation of the people that make a community, a faith in their resourcefulness, and a confidence in their commitment to support one another. That is a dramatic, and lasting change.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we, right here in our Temple Israel community, could achieve that deeper level of appreciation of what it means to be a Kehillah – a true community? And wouldn’t it be great if we could achieve that even without the threat of a Y2K crisis?

Arthur Waskow, the Jewish writer and activist, has been encouraging communities to see Y2K as an opportunity for building and strengthening their human ties. Plan together, he suggests, as if Y2K were a threat. Meet in each others homes to discuss mutual aid, and pooling resources.

I think that one of our goals should be to create a Temple Israel neighborhood buddy system, so that if the power, or the phones, go out on December 31st, each of us can feel confident that we are not alone, that someone will check on us.

And, as Waskow points out, we have lost nothing through our preparations if God willing, January 1st turns out to be just another Shabbas. Indeed, we will have gained a lot, because we will have gotten to know each other, and to appreciate each other, a little more.

Have you seen the wonderful new map of the Temple community in our corridor? Our membership team worked very hard to have that up in time for Yom Tov. Because we wanted every one of you to see where you fit in, physically, in relation to the community as a whole. Find your own pin on the map—it’s there. You may be surprised to find Temple members living only a block or two away from you whom you did not know about.

In two weeks, we will celebrate the festival of Sukkot. The Sukkah is a fragile structure, easily buffeted by wind and rain. And yet, standing within it, we feel safe and secure. Why? Because, like many of our rituals, it reminds us of God’s presence, that we are not alone, even when we feel naked to the wind and rain. And, further, the Sukkah connects us to each other, to a community of Sukkah dwellers, who have the confidence to live with and to accept the flimsiness and lack of certainty that is life’s lot, because we have one another.

I am asking you to do something. Outside our sanctuary doors, you will find a Sukkah Connection display. If you have ever built a Sukkah before, or even if you are building one for the first time this year, put your name in the box that says, "Yes, I will host guests in my Sukkah." And, if you will not have a Sukkah of your own, then put your name in the box that says, "yes, I want to visit a Sukkah." We will match you with a Sukkah family in your neighborhood. Because this year, in particular, is the year in which to get to know your neighbors better.

There are two other things that I think we should do as we enter 5760, and as we approach Y2K. The first is to think about what we can do to help create closer ties in the larger communities in which we live. I wrote a letter to one of our Natick Selectmen, inquiring whether there was a town Y2K contingency plan, and if so, how could Temple Israel, as an institution, contribute to that? Do we want to be an emergency shelter location, should that be needed, or a distribution center? How can our Temple become relevant to a community-wide effort?

The other thing has to do with the night of December 31st itself. Ironically, a night that generally is host to excessive partying, and that this year, has come to symbolize the dangers of our over-reliance on technology, falls on Shabbas.

Over the months, there has been a lot of talk in the Jewish community regarding how we should celebrate this particular New Year’s Eve. Some have lobbied for special services, huge Temple dinners, or champagne kiddushes. But I have a different notion. I have this vision of the entire Temple Israel community gathered together for Shabbat dinner, not here, but in each other’s homes. You know, there is something Messianic about that. The Rabbi’s teach that if all of Israel were to observe Shabbat on two consecutive Shabbases, then certainly, the Messiah will arrive.

I say let’s start here, in Natick. On New Year’s Eve. I even know what my menu will be, as I am sure, do many of you. And if the lights go out that night, so be it-we will dine by the light of Shabbat candles. And even if the food becomes cold, we shall be warmed by our precious companionship.

My friends, as we enter 5760, and as we enter a new millenium, may we together declare: Adonai uri v’yishi: The Lord is my strength and my light, of whom shall I be afraid?

L’Shannah Tovah Tikateivu, V’Tichateimu.

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