L'Shannah Tova. Let me tell you about Maria Mayo. Maria and her children came to Israel from Brazil, and lives in Nahariyah. She is 67 years old, and helping to raise two grandchildren with special needs. She has cancer, and is being treated with chemotherapy. Two katyushas hit the front of her house last month, and she can hardly cope with the bureaucracy involved in filing claims. She has accumulated debts, and any help at all would make a difference.
Tamar Nitzo is a housewife taking care of her four children, ages 3, 4, 5, and 7, two of which are hearing impaired. Tamar and her husband got a divorce about a year ago, and the father moved to Jerusalem. When the father came to visit them in Zefat for the first time in several months, he was killed by a katyusha missile - on the first day of the war. His children didn't get to see him before he was killed, and the mother had a very difficult time telling them what had happened, and needed professional help to deal with what happened.
The Abayo Family, who are Ethiopian Jews, lives in the poorest area of the town of Ramla. When their son Moshe was killed in Lebanon, they were devastated. Helping them move to a neighborhood where Moshe's little brothers can be raised properly would be a mitzvah, and any help towards this goal will make the difference.
I am telling you about these individuals this morning because our Adopt A Family Committee has identified them as people we would like to meet, to give financial aid and to comfort. Please: Join us on our Adopt a Family Walk A thon on October 22, which will follow a major presentation of our Social Action Committee.
It is appropriate to mention this this morning because today, the world is born: Hayom Harat Olam. Today, we affirm our belief that our world was created and is sustained for a purpose; that it is imbued by the Living God with transcendent values, and that by what we choose to do with our lives, we can be partners with God in creating the world anew.
Frankly the Rosh Hashannah message could not have come at a better time. We are still reeling from the month of war on Israel's northern border this summer, and the sense of helplessness that we felt. For five weeks, Hizbollah lobbed 4,000 rockets across the Lebanese border, terrorizing towns and cities from Kiryat Shemona to Haifa. During the first week of the war, the rockets were falling at a rate of an average of 100 a day. During the second two weeks, that increased to two hundred. The very notion of secure borders now seems elusive, for what good to Israel is even a ten mile security zone when any terrorist with a katyusha slung over his shoulder can shoot at you from fifteen?
Over a million citizens were forced to either flee the north, or to find refuge in bomb shelters. Haifa, the third largest city in Israel, became like a ghost town overnight.
And so I need the Holidays this year to regain a sense of equilibrium, to qualm my existential fears. And my guess is that many of you share those fears. Five years after 9\11 we sense that the war on terror is morphing into a clash of civilizations, and that our advances in science and technology have been hijacked and used against us. A tube of toothpaste or a bottle of water on a domestic air flight triggers fear of an unseen but very real, threat.
We used to believe that through technology and progress, the planet would blossom into a global village. But we sense that our world grown smaller has not brought us peace and security; it has only brought the barbarians to our gates. So it felt in Israel for 35 harrowing days this summer.
So let me reiterate the message of this day: Today, we affirm our belief that our world was created and is sustained for a purpose; that it is imbued by a Living God with transcendent values, and that by what we choose to do with our lives, we can be partners with God in creating the world anew. This is what we affirm today, in spite of everything.
In their great wisdom, the Rabbis reinforced these themes through their choice of Biblical texts for the New Year. They did not opt for the obvious, which would have been to read chapter one of Genesis, the story of the Creation of the world. Rather, the Rabbis settled upon the trials of Abraham and Sarah, stories of testing, and of faith.
A Rabbinic Midrash asks, of all the people in the world, why did God reveal himself to Abraham? "Abraham may be compared to a man travelling from place to place who saw a tower in flames. Said he, 'Is there no one in charge of this?' Whereupon the owner looked out and declared, 'I am the owner.' In the same way, continues the Midrash, when Abraham wondered, 'Can this world be without a guide?' the Holy One, Blessed be He, looked out upon him and declared, 'I am the Guide, the Sovereign of the universe.'"
I used to understood Abraham's question to be a philosophical one. If there is a tower, doesn't there have to be an architect somewhere? If the world is a purposeful and meaningful place, then doesn't there have to be a caring God who creates and sustains it? It's a classic philosophical argument for the existence of God. And so God spoke to Abraham.
But I have come to see Abraham's question as a moral one, as well. A crying out, actually. To Abraham, the world was like a tower on fire, its beauty, integrity, and holiness was threatened. "Is there really no one in charge here?," Abraham cries out. "Don't we have to do something to put out the raging fire?" And so God chose Abraham because God needs people who care as passionately about the world as God does.
So those are two lessons that we learn from Abraham. First, to have faith that there is meaning to this world, even when it is on fire. And second, that God can't quench the flames of hatred, of despair, of pain, without our help. God needs us to care, and to act, too.
God promised Abraham that He would bless him and his seed. Abraham would be a blessing in the world, and the father of a great nation through whom other nations would be blessed. Yet, the years had passed without Sarah conceiving a child. That bring us to the text we read this morning, the birth of Isaac.
Every birth is a miracle. Every birth, like Isaac's, is a testimony to the human partnership with God in the process of Creation. And Isaac's birth, all the more so! Coming so late in life, after all hope had dissipated, it illustrates the wondrous, unpredictable way in which the Divine plan unfolds. Our dreams may appear to be beyond any realistic hope. Yet our laughter, like Sara's, comes from a faith that the world, created anew each day, is a place of infinite possibility. And so we affirm today that we are partners with God in the world's unfolding, that God's goodness can be made manifest, and life made sweet, if we have patience and trust.
The Torah reading for the second day of Rosh Hashannah, the Binding of Isaac, takes us to a darker place. God tells Abraham to prove his loyalty by sacrificing his son. It is an impossible situation for him. Should Abraham have refused God? By not refusing, did Abraham actually fail the test? And Isaac, did he allow himself to be bound to the altar willingly, emulating his father's faith, or was he a victim, forever traumatized by his father's religious zeal?
As different as the moods of these two stories are, the Birth of Isaac, and the Binding of Isaac, they are both about the same thing: faith and trust, even when the world doesn't make a lot of sense. And when you think of it, none of what God promised to Abraham made any sense. Telling an old man that he will be the father of a great nation, when his aged wife has never conceived, doesn't make any sense. And clearly, telling him to sacrifice the child who finally fulfills the Divine promise is neither moral nor logical.
But Abraham has faith that God will act like God, in the way that Abraham has come to understand Him. That is why, I think, he obeys the command. He plays along, taking Isaac up that mountain, knowing, trusting, that if God is true to His nature, then He will have to stop the sacrifice. Because in a world that doesn't make sense, in a world where sometimes even the word of God doesn't make sense, Abraham still believes that God's universe is a moral one. You might say that when God sends the angel to stop Abraham, God lives up to Abraham's faith in Him. On that mountain, each of them passed a test.
The story also teaches us that God unequivocally rejects death as a religious act. The God of life does not demand that we kill, or die, in order to show our love or our loyalty. On this New Year, we glorify neither the religious zealots nor faith-filled martyrs. We glorify the God of life, who sent an angel to stay Abraham's hand.
I could not help but think of the Akeda, and what it tells us about God, and what it tells us about our Jewish faith, when I read a news item translated from an Egyptian paper last week. It said that Hizbullah has recruited over 2,000 innocent children aged 10-15 to form armed militias. And the children are selected on one criteria only: They must be willing to become martyrs. A Hizbullah deputy was quoted as saying: "A nation with child martyrs will be victorious no matter what difficulties lie in its path. Israel cannot conquer us or violate our territories, because we have martyr sons who will purge the land of Zionist filth…This will be done through the blood of the martyrs, until we eventually achieve our goals."
Perhaps the martyr, who seeks to kill and who welcomes death, pictures Isaac bound on the altar, smiling upwards towards his father, and at the gleaming knife in Abraham's hand. Oh, how Abraham in heaven must now regret ever having even contemplated the deed. And oh, how God must cry at the sight of his children who have so grossly misread and misunderstood the message of the tale.
And we, who have lost too many reluctant martyrs, young lives tragically cut short in defense of Israel, we gasp at the zeal with which these purported sons of Abraham offer their children up on fiery, idolatrous alters.
157 Israelis, citizens and soldiers, died in this summer's war. In the Jewish tradition, we honor the memory of someone who has died by saying Kaddish, by lighting a candle on his or her Yartzeit and on Yizkor days, and by offering Tzedakah in their memory. In the era of instant mass communication, an additional custom has emerged: to tell the person's story. The following is a forwarded translation of a Hebrew e-mail I received, sent at the request of friends of the late Major Roi Klein:
On Major Roi Klein (zichrono livracha))
The little that we can do for somebody who sacrificed his life in such a heroic way is to tell his story. It is not clear why the media ignored this story. Maybe his altruistic behaviour is unpopular or maybe it does not fit with the image of the suffering, sensitive and fearful soldier that some Israeli media are trying to nurture.
Last week, Major Roi Klein (z l), lieutenant commander of Regiment 51 in the Golani Brigade, was the highest-ranking officer among his troops at the time in the Lebanese town of Bint AlJubeil. In the midst of a battle he noticed that Hizballah terrorists had lobbed a grenade that landed close to his soldiers. Since the detonation of the grenade was imminent, he leaped and blocked most of the fragmentation from the grenade with his body, thereby saving his troops. His soldiers said that he cried Shma Israel when he jumped to block the grenade.
Roi Klein was buried on the day of his 31st birthday.
He was a gifted Saxophone player and a brilliant academic who completed his engineering studies with high honours. He traveled with friends in Africa and had a rolling laughter. All of his friends describe him as a gentle and relaxed soul. His widow's wish is that his children would resemble their father when they grow up.
May his memory be blessed.
Instead of lighting a memorial candle please forward his story onwards. He deserves much more.
I could recount today many more such stories. I could tell you about Benjy Hillman, age 27 of Ranana, who was married just twenty one days before he died. The same people who were at his wedding assembled together for his funeral.
Or I could tell you about Yehudit Itzkowitz, age 73, and her 4 year old grandson Omar Pesachov, who were both killed by a Katusha missile, while sitting at their Shabbat table in Meron.
However, although Rosh Hashannah is called Yom Hazikaron, a Day of Remembrance, it is not a Yizkor day, a day of memorial for the dead. Rather we are meant to remember today our deeds, to face the truth about our lives; to remember where we come from, and the commitments have we have made, and what we can do.
I was in Jerusalem this summer, during the third week of the war. I expected to experience what I had seen before during difficult times in Israel: Empty streets devoid of tourists. Instead, I found cafes and stores overflowing with both Israelis and visitors. Yes, there was a sadness in the background of it all, for every Jerusalemite knew someone who was either fighting or who had been hurt. Everyone had friends who had been forced to evacuate from their homes.
But there was also a tremendous sense of solidarity and a deep sense, a faith, that things would be ok, a faith that was reinforced by the myriad ways in which everyday people were helping out. Restaurants offered free meals to refugees from the north, and hotels made rooms available to families who needed a place to stay. On the news each night, the strip running across the bottom of the TV screen gave the names, addresses and phone numbers of people all over central and southern Israel who were opening their homes to families from the north, so that they would not have to stay in bomb shelters. All over the country, people opened their doors and took in strangers.
It made me feel so proud, and it reminded me of a story that my Mother had once told me. She lived in Tel Aviv as a young girl during the late 1930's, when Israel was still under the British mandate. In those days, Palestine was closed to Jewish immigration, and boats filled with Jews escaping Nazi Europe, would have to unload their passengers under the secrecy of night, in shallow waters off the shore. On those nights, word would spread in Tel Aviv to keep your doors unlocked, because a boat was due, and there would be refugees seeking haven.
How far we have come in a generation. Even as Katyusha rockets fell in the north, new immigrants from Ethiopia were arriving by plane to Tel Aviv. Families were opening their doors to other families in need, but no longer in secrecy. As an independent nation, we are fulfilling God's promise to Abraham to be a blessing and to bring blessing to others.
And the American Jewish tourists, who had come before the shelling started this summer: Against expectations, they did not run on the first plane back. They shifted their itineraries farther south, and stayed in Israel. Not one of the major Jewish Youth Groups curtailed their stay, not USY, or NIFTY, or Young Judea. And almost no American family pulled their kid home early.
I began to believe this summer that in the midst of yet another setback in our quest for peace, we had actually, collectively, turned a corner. Rather than run home or cancel trips, we came in waves of solidarity missions. We said no to fear, and said yes to an inchoate faith, improvable yet firm, that our place is with the Jewish people and that things will be alright. We will not cower, we will not live truncated lives of fear, not in America, and not in Israel. We will walk the land of the Bible in the footsteps of Abraham. We will study there, we will rediscover our Jewish roots there, we will enjoy its many pleasures, its history, its people.
Every year, Temple Israel sends young people on teen trips to Israel. In the past three years, we have organized two successful Temple family trips to Israel. And it seems that every month another family or individual goes on a private trip, as well.
Our member Steve Doppelt is one person I know who will get on a plane to Israel at the drop of a hat. He just loves being there. And what's more, whenever he is there, he uses his business expertise to help local enterprises. Steve is organizing a six week trip this winter, with CJP's help, to volunteer in and around Haifa. If you no longer work full time, and have the luxury to spend those weeks in Israel, why not think about joining him. Whether you have never been there, or whether you have visited many times, it will be a trip unlike any other, and one that you will never forget.
This year, for the first time, three of our recent High School graduates are going to study or work in Israel for a year before beginning college. Jacob Karas is training right now with Magen David Adom to be a first responder on an ambulance. Jonah Liben will be living in an Absorption center in the north, and volunteering with disabled Israeli children at a Sports Center. Keren Gordon is living with an immigrant community in Bat Yam, teaching English to kids.
Now admittedly, three teenagers may not be a statistically significant number, but I can't help thinking that a particular piece of data is relevant. Two of the kids are children of Temple officers, and the third is the Rabbi's son. Mine. What does it tell us that three kids who choose to spend a year in a post-High School Israel program come from families that devote such energy to the Synagogue? I think it says that a sense of trust and faith in the world, as well as a desire to contribute to it, is nurtured by a Kehillah, a Jewish community. This is where as Jews, we find a sense of transcendence. We come to see ourselves as connected to something much larger than ourselves. That's what it means to travel in Abraham's footsteps.
I will also be in Israel later this year, spending most of my 12 week Sabbatical in Jerusalem. My plan is to study at the Conservative Yeshiva, and to spend time with my parents, who live there. Whenever I return to the Holy City, I feel as if Jerusalem has been waiting for me, expecting me. And in a sense it has, as it waits for each of you. The ancient stones, the modern centers, the crisp mountain air fill you with an energy level as no other place in this world can. Join me on its streets this year, share its holiness, its challenges and its many wonders.
I began this morning by sharing the stories of people whom our Adopt A Family Committee wants to help. Let me share with you one more story, about the Abu Hamed family, to whom our Committee has extended friendship and aid for several years. They are not Jewish; they are Druze, members of a little know religion that broke from Islam several centuries ago. We got involved with them after their 12 year old daughter was killed by a suicide bomber, on her way home from school. We have given them financial support which has helped them to send their younger children, twins, to a Kibbutz school close to home.
When I visited them in February, they sent me away with gifts of freshly pressed olive oil, home cured olives, and spicey ground zatar. Israel Michaeli is our committee's liason to the Abu Hameds. Recently, he received a letter from them, in which they returned a check for $1,000.00 that we had sent to them. These are truly poor people, but they returned the check. Give it, they said, to others who now need it more. I have translated their note:
Shalom Rav, greeting of health and richness to the whole wonderful community that has aided and stood by us during difficult times. Your aid has helped our children a lot, and has given us a feeling that we are not alone, and that there are many good people in the world. And we want and desire to stay connected with you. And we pray that God will give us the strength that will enable us to help others as well. Please visit with us whenever you come to Israel.
B'Kavod, Yours, Yusef, Johaar,, Amir and Abir.
Today, we affirm our belief that our world was created and is sustained for a purpose; that it is imbued by a Living God with transcendent values, and that by what we choose to do with our lives, we can be partners with God in repairing the world, and creating it anew.
There are those who believe that if you are not Muslim, then you do not have a right to live in a free an independent country in the Middle East. There are those who believe that if the Pope delivers an academic speech in which he challenges an aspect of your faith, you should respond by murdering nuns and vandalizing churches. In the Middle East, such people, unfortunately, are our neighbors. But we are not like them.
My friends, although sometimes I am filled with frustration and despair, I never the less have faith that we can be like Abraham. We can live a life of blessing, even when our own blessings are delayed. We can be a blessing to others, in the way we choose to live each day. And I believe that through us other nations will one day be blessed, even in the Middle East.
Shannah Tovah Tikateivu