Back to Rabbi Daniel Liben
My friends, I couldn't decide if I should begin my remarks today with a serious story, or a light one, and so I will share with you both. First, a Hasidic parable:
ONCE, A KING'S SON LEFT HIS HOUSE. NOW, AS LONG AS HE WAS NEAR HOME, PEOPLE KNEW THAT HE WAS A KING'S SON, AND BEFRIENDED HIM, AND GAVE HIM FOOD AND DRINK. BUT, AS THE DAYS PASSED, AND HE WANDERED FURTHER INTO HIS FATHER'S REALM, NO ONE KNEW HIM, AND HE HAD NOTHING TO EAT. HE BEGAN TO SELL HIS CLOTHING TO BUY FOOD. WHEN HE HAD NOTHING LEFT TO SELL, HE HIRED HIMSELF OUT AS A SHEPHERD. AFTER HE HAD HIRED OUT AS A SHEPHERD, HE WAS NO LONGER IN NEED, BECAUSE HE NEEDED NOTHING. HE WOULD SIT ON THE HILLS, TENDING HIS FLOCKS, AND SINGING LIKE THE OTHER SHEPHERDS, AND HE FORGOT THAT HE WAS A KING'S SON, AND ALL THE PLEASURES THAT HE HAD BEEN USED TO.
NOW, IT IS THE CUSTOM OF THE SHEPHERDS TO MAKE THEMSELVES SMALL ROOFS OF STRAW TO KEEP OUT THE RAIN. THE KING'S SON WANTED TO MAKE SUCH A ROOF TOO, BUT HE COULD NOT AFFORD ONE, SO HE WAS DEEPLY GRIEVED.
ONCE THE KING HAPPENED TO BE PASSING THROUGH THAT PROVINCE. NOW IT WAS A COMMON PRACTICE IN THAT KINGDOM FOR THOSE WHO HAD PETITIONS TO THE KING TO WRITE OUT THEIR PETITIONS AND THROW THEM INTO THE KING'S CHARIOT. THE KING'S SON CAME WITH THE OTHER PETITIONERS, AND THREW HIS NOTE, IN WHICH HE ASKED FOR A SMALL STRAW ROOF SUCH AS SHEPHERDS HAVE. THE KING RECOGNIZED HIS SON'S HANDWRITING, AND WAS SADDENED TO THINK HOW LOW HIS SON HAD FALLEN THAT HE HAD FORGOTTEN THAT HE WAS A KING'S SON, AND ASPIRED TO NOTHING MORE THAN A STRAW ROOF.
A HASIDIC REBBE TELLING THIS STORY CONCLUDED, "THUS IT IS WITH OUR PEOPLE: THEY HAVE ALREADY FORGOTTEN THAT THEY ARE EACH OF THEM KINGS' SONS, AND WHAT THEY REALLY LACK. ONE CRIES THAT HE IS IN WANT OF A LIVING, AND ANOTHER CRIES FOR SOMETHING ELSE. BUT THE TRUTH, THAT WE HAVE WANDERED FAR FROM THE CASTLE OF OUR BIRTH AND ARE ESTRANGED FROM OUR FATHER, THE KING--THAT IS SOMETHING THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN TO PRAY FOR!"
And now, a different beginning: This story has become so universally Jewish, that a parallel Hebrew version has made the rounds in Israel for years: A spiritual seeker travelled weeks to reach the highest mountain in Nepal, in order to have an audience with the great swami. She travelled by plane, then train, by rickshaw and by pack mule, and finally completed the ascent to the monastery. Out of breath, she says to the monks, "please, I need to speak with the great swami." "Oh, that's impossible. The swami sees no one. He is in a deep state of meditation." She implores,"I have come so far, I must have an audience with the great swami." Finally, the monks allow her to enter the swami's sanctum, but on the condition that she limits her discourse to three words. Standing in front of the great swami, she holds out her hand, and says, "Sheldon, come home!"
Yom Kippur, my friends, is about coming home. Whether we have searched for meaning in foreign wells, or, like the king's son in the parable, we have simply wandered off, Yom Kippur is about returning to our roots, and returning to God. We look around the room and we smile to see the faces of friends we haven't seen since last year. And there is no need for embarrassment, no need for apologies because you are here. Today, at least, you have found your way home.
And I understand that for some of you it was not an easy trip. You may not have traveled many miles to get here, but there are other kinds of obstacles, distances on an interior landscape, that can be the most difficult to cross. Perhaps you relate to Lee Meyerhof Hendler's description of the way her annual Yomtov visits to the synagogue used to feel, in her book, "The Year Mom Got Religion:" She writes:
"...It gave me a stomachache. The moment I walked into the sanctuary my stomach would start to churn. Every few minutes, I would check my watch and calculate how much longer we would have to stay. Nelson {my husband), would announce he'd like to remain for the entire service. This was the equivalent of being told as a teenager that I'd been grounded for a week: stuck with absolutely no chance of a reprieve."
Now the stomachache that you feel, my friends, could be a symptom of many things. We all bring a lot of baggage with us. Perhaps you, who are so educated and capable in your professional lives, resent the feeling of incompetence that overtakes you here, because the language and liturgy of Judaism are things you've never really learned. Perhaps you feel that the values, that you assume organized religious institutions represent, don't match with your own. Or perhaps its just that its Yom Kippur and you are fasting. I don't know. But at least you overcame it and are sitting here now.
But what of all the Sheldons in the world who are not here, who have all but given up on Judaism, even on Yom Kippur? Jews who have not given up on spiritual meaning, but who have decided to find that meaning elsewhere? You've heard the term, "BuJew," haven't you? It refers precisely to the large numbers of Sheldons, Jews who have adopted Eastern meditative techniques and religions. In Wade Clark Roof's study, "A Generation of Seekers: The Spiritual Journeys of the Baby Boom Generation," he characterizes 42% - nearly half of his sample as "dropouts," individuals who have chosen not to support or affiliate with the types of congregations they were part of as children. However, despite their aversion to traditional churches and synagogues, these dropouts devote a lot of time and energy to spiritual matters. They are the generation most influenced by the cultural trends of the sixties. They have likely dabbled in some form of meditation, have explored self-help groups of various kinds, or have engaged in psychotherapy in order to better understand themselves. A great many of these dropouts are in fact spiritual seekers.
Why they cannot connect spirituality with organized religion, is a question that we have to consider. I believe that synagogues offer a myriad of opportunities for spiritual growth and personal meaning. But many of people don't agree. Rabbi Sidney Schwarz, in a new book called, "Finding a Spiritual Home: How a New Generation of Jews Can Transform the American Synagogue," analyzes this disconnect between what Jews are seeking, and what they think they will find in a typical synagogue.
Based on extensive interviews, he describes what he calls a New American Jew, whose likes and dislikes can be defined by certain recognizable themes. The extent to which the synagogue can resonate with those themes will determine its ability to recapture their loyalty.
The first theme is a sense of having been turned-off by the synagogue of their youth. They experienced it as shallow and superficial, a place where their parents dropped them off for Hebrew School but did not enter to learn themselves. They recall their own coming of age ceremonies as more focused on the "Bar" then on the "Mitzvah." And they are looking for something more honest and meaningful for themselves.
Further, they value inclusion and diversity. Jews who are single, Jews who are divorced, Jews who are gay, and elderly Jews, these are significant parts of who we are as a whole, and yet typical synagogue programs have never done enough to recognize and to speak to them.
These New American Jews seeks meaning in political and social action. They are ready to grasp a vision of Tikkun Olam, to ground their social action in Judaism.
Further, this New Jew is searching for a sense of personal belonging and communal support. All of us must cope with the increased sense of isolation endemic to suburban life. We live in neighborhoods in which no one ever sees a neighbor; in developments that often don't even bother with the pretense of sidewalks, since there is no one home during the day to use them. Synagogues can, and must, play a crucial role in filling this need for community, if we are willing to create small, intimate groups within the larger institution.
Finally, writes Schwarz, a theme that typifies the new American Jew is empowerment. He or she is not inclined to defer to hierarchies, and the Rabbi from his youth, who wore black robes and preached unchallenged from on high, doesn't speak to his needs. This generation expects its own questions, and opinions, to be heard and eagerly seeks to grapple with the tradition on its own terms. Nor do they want to sit passively and be prayed at. The way we study, and the way we worship, needs to reflect that desire for empowerment.
The point of Schwarz's critique is that synagogues can change, they can evolve from what he calls synagogue-centers into synagogue communities: synagogues that offer serious Judaism, and emphasize participation, informality and spontaneity. The synagogue- community that he describes fosters inclusivity, spirituality, social justice, and a sense of belonging.
This is the season of Heshbon Hanefesh- of taking a good hard look at where we are, as individuals and as a community. If we hold up our Temple Israel to the light of some of the issues that Schwarz raises, how would we look? What are the values that we stand for and that we model? Are we inclusive, do we foster individuals' Jewish empowerment and growth? Are we staid, or spontaneous in our worship? Do we foster a community of caring?
If we expect people to make a life-long commitment to the synagogue, and not simply pass through until the last child finishes Hebrew school, than we have to ask ourselves these questions.
Entering our sanctuary on a typical Shabbat, you can sense how much has changed, how much we have been influenced by the trend towards empowerment and individual expression. Just look at our Ark. A few summers ago, over one hundred of you answered the call of the Ark Builders to lend a hand to that wonderful project. Each time those volunteers walk into this sanctuary, they can point up with pride and say, do you see that? I helped to build that!
There is a hands on, roll up your sleeves ethos that characterizes our congregational life, and that I have always loved about Temple Israel. Our Torah reading, for example, is completely lay led. Adults of all ages, and children too, have taken the time to master this skill, in order to build their personal relationship to Torah- every single week. My colleagues across the country don't believe me when I tell them that we do this; it is one of the features of life in Natick that makes us unique.
Parents who come to have a daughter named on our bima do more than take an Aliya: they take a few moments to share with the congregation the family history behind the name, and in the process, we become more deeply connected to that family.
Every summer, we organize a D'var Torah series in which I invite congregants to give the sermons. You wrestle with the text, and weave its story with your own life experience. And in that process, we are all brought closer to Torah, and to each other. This summer, one speaker in the series took the opportunity to criticize a public stand that I had taken, virtually comparing me, from my own pulpit, to Korach! Some of you felt that was an unforgivable breach of respect. I, however, was pleased that she felt empowered to take a committed stand based on her understanding of the Torah's values.
Yes, if you are a regular on Shabbas, then you know what it means to feel a part of this community. And our Shabbas community is cross generational; it is where you can see the young, the old, and every stage inbetween sharing, davening, and learning from one another. But getting to that point, if you feel self conscious, or uncomfortable with the Hebrew, or afraid...can give you a stomachache. What are we doing to help other congregants to feel that sense of community, both within and outside of the sanctuary?
I want to share with you some hard data that may help to answer that. Our Temple Israel Hebrew School parents participated in a long-term study conducted by Boston's Commission on Jewish Continuity. It's purpose was to see how Family Education may change synagogue patterns and attitude over time. Granted, the parent population is only a narrow slice of who we are as a whole, but I think we can all recognize and relate to the issues I'm presenting.
First, let me share with you some good news. 33% of our people responded that they are currently living a more Jewish life than they did three years ago. That's an amazing statement. And 67% of them said that they are currently practicing Judaism less than they would like. Did you here what I said? 67% of our parents surveyed said that they want to do more, that with the right opportunities to learn, and the proper encouragement and peer support, they would bring more Jewish practice into their lives. Those are the kinds of statistics that should inspire and excite us. That's a clear mandate for more adult education, more family education, more opportunities for personal spiritual growth, and for communal celebration. And we will do it. I promise you.
But now for the disturbing news. When asked the simple question, do you feel comfortable and at home in this congregation, only half said, "very much." And when asked, do you feel part of the community formed by this congregation, one third answered, "only a little."
In the words of one respondent," There is a strong subtle message here that only the "right" type of Jew be active. Instead of having a warm accepting atmosphere, it is clear that the Temple only values those families that attend on a regular basis."
I was stung by that. Every member of this community is precious, every one of you has a gift to offer. And to those of you who have been made to feel that you do not count, that you are not good enough, because you do not meet someone else's criteria of observance and involvement, I apologize. As your Rabbi, part of my role is to help you develop your own road map for your Jewish journey, wherever you are starting from. You deserve for it to be a journey of joy, and challenge, and of growth, not of guilt. I hope that we can travel that journey together.
So many of us already have. Some of you have studied Talmud on Shabbat afternoons with us: you have looked at a sacred text for the first time- and have found that your own life experience makes you an equal partner in the conversation on the page. Others among you have found in intimate settings, such as a Healing Service, or a class on Heschel, friends and soulmates with whom to connect.
Others among you visit the sick, or participate in a schedule of daily psalms of healing, without fanfare or thanks, but just for the satisfaction of doing a mitzvah.
There are moments when the latent energy of our community bursts forth in awe inspiring, holy acts. Do you remember what happened last Thanksgiving? We mailed one flier- just one single notice among the many that sometimes get lost, asking you to bring frozen turkeys to the Temple, to be distributed to our neighbors who are less fortunate than ourselves. We were overwhelmed by the spontaneous response to that call- we had no room to put them all.
Earlier this year, a pregnant mother with three small children was order to bed rest weeks before her due date, and Temple friends leapt into action, bringing hot homemade kosher meals to the house daily.
And last week, when a dear friend passed away right before Rosh Hashannah, and it was discovered that the Hevra Kaddisha in Brookline could not provide shemira for the deceased over the two day holiday, our members jumped in, fulfilling the mitzvah of sitting vigil with the deceased, 24 hours a day for two days, straight through Rosh Hashannah. These are things that people do for one another when we feel close as a community. And they happen here all the time. These are mitzvot that, when we do them, help us to feel closer to God.
We have talked a lot over the past year about the theme of Kehilah, of building community. We even asked you, last spring, to contribute to a forum on our Temple web site, to share your own sense of what community at Temple Israel means. Log in at Tiofnatick.org. and add your own thoughts to the mix. Every time I read those entries, I am struck by their diversity, by the different ways we touch individuals, and help them to feel a sense of belonging:
-There is the wife whose husband is not Jewish, who says that the great warmth and love she finds here has made her family a success story.
-There is the teenager whose involvement in USY has given her a community that laughs together, cries together and even prays together.
-Fran, whose decades-long involvement in Sisterhood has given her more than a social outlet, but also a place to learn more about Judaism and how to live more Jewishly.
-Irene, who writes about the small community know simply as minyan, a place where someone reaches out and introduces herself and offers words of comfort, and you find yourself touched by their caring.
-There are the Ark builders- who pray through wood.
-And Harvey, who comes to minyan every Friday morning now, in order to attend Paula's Perek Yomi discussion group.
-David- whose parents moved here in 1957, and who was married, became Bar Mitzvah, and experienced his children's b'nei mitzvah all on this bima.
But my favorite entry is Shira's and I will read it in full:
"I have an image of Temple Israel from the first Saturday morning that I attended Shabbat services. At that time, there wasn't much of a crowd at services. I enjoyed the Rabbis approach to the congregation and his sermon. And I enjoyed the Cantor's leadership style and singing. Then at some point partway through the service, I saw a balloon rise from one of the seats, and float up to the ceiling. No one made a sound in response, but I saw it float up. I remember it made me smile, as I had never seen this happen in a synagogue. As I watched it float up, I thought, how will they ever get the balloon down from the ceiling of the synagogue sanctuary. And somehow, beyond everything else I enjoyed, the gracefulness and playfulness, and maybe the unanswered question, of that balloon told me, yes, I need to stay here in this community. It's a good community that lets one quiet balloon into the sanctuary and lets it float to the ceiling. Sure enough, I have found the community at Temple Israel to be, like the balloon I saw that day: colorful, open to unexpected pleasures, there for its children and adults to enjoy, and each and every week on the Shabbat, oriented towards the highest goals."
We have a threefold mission. We are a Beit Tefilah: A house in which we worship God. We are a Beit Midrash: a study house rich with opportunities for Jewish learning and growth. And we are a Beit Knesset: a house of community celebration and support. And we are here for you. Come home.