The Way Things Are

 

 

The Rev. Ron Sala

The Unitarian Universalist Society in Stamford

September 26, 2004

 

 

You may have seen stories in the news recently about Madonna’s trip to Israel, inspired by her fascination with Kabala, or Jewish mysticism. She’s even changed her name to the biblical “Esther,” since, as Jon Stewart quipped, “Madonna” has to be the world’s least Jewish name.

There are those who have decried Esther/Madonna’s practice of Kabala, since it traditionally has been the province of Jewish men, and she is neither. Others see it as a fulfillment of prophecy. Britney Spears also recently went through a Kabala period, but reportedly has given it up, since her Christian mother doesn’t approve.

It’s indeed a strange world when it seems there’s nothing so esoteric that we won’t read about it in People magazine. But, in the words of Ecclesiastes, which Jews around the world will soon read in observance of Sukkot, “There is nothing new under the sun.” There has, in fact, been a distinctly Christian form of Kabala practiced since the Renaissance. And, Christianity itself, as well as Islam, two religions that together claim about half the people on the planet, are really just variations on Jewish themes.

As so often happens Unitarian Universalist congregations, today’s service is an instance of admiring of another tradition. But, it’s not entirely “other” to us. I’d estimate that about one in ten of our members and friends here at UUSIS have some kind of Jewish connection, whether we were raised in a Jewish household or married a Jewish person. (And, if anyone wants to criticize such marriages, let’s remember that no less august Jewish personages than Moses and Solomon had non-Jewish spouses!) And, I believe all of us can benefit from thoughtfully considering the Jewish High Holy Days.

What are the High Holy Days? you might ask. They’re a number of sacred observances that take up most of the Hebrew month of Tishrei, which moves back and forth against the Western calendar, but always begins in late summer or autumn. They consist of Rosh Hashanah, or New Year; Yom Kippur, or Day of Atonement; Sukkot, or the Feast of Tabernacles; and Simchat [sim-KHAAT] Torah [tow-RAH], or Joy of the Law.

Rosh Hashanah took place earlier this month, ushering in the Hebrew year 5765. Rosh Hashanah commemorates the creation of the world.

Yom Kippur began on Friday evening and ended last evening. In ancient times, the high priest in the Temple in Jerusalem would enter the Holy of Holies to seek God’s forgiveness for the people. Today, religious Jews prepare for this most solemn fast by asking forgiveness of each other and then confess their sins to God. Sukkot begins Wednesday evening and lasts a week. Its purpose is to remember Israel’s wandering in the wilderness before reaching the promised land. Contemporary Jews eat in temporary shelters and some sleep in them as well. And, finally, Simchat Torah [sim-KHAAT tow-RAH] will be from October 6^th thru 8^th. It commemorates the end of one year’s reading of the Torah and the beginning of another’s and features dancing with the Torah scrolls in the synagogue.

I find this last practice a very curious tradition. I consider myself someone with a great deal of respect for books, as I’m sure many of you are. In college, I even picked up the habit of kissing them after they’ve fallen to the ground to remind myself how important they are. But I don’t recall ever dancing with books. What could account for this joy in the written word?

Let’s recall that, throughout the High Holy Days, Jews read the Scriptures and listen to them being read. Many adults take classes to enable them to read the original Hebrew if they didn’t learn it in Hebrew school. It’s through these texts that Jews connect with their traditions and gain insight into everyday living.

One of the texts sometimes read during the High Holy Days is Psalm 1, the beginning of which was our traditional reading this morning. It’s sometimes called a “morality psalm,” which makes it appropriate to Yom Kippur’s themes of forgiveness and atonement.

I like Stephen Mitchell’s fresh translation. Some of you might be familiar with his contemporary translation of the Christian Gospels in his book The Gospel According to Jesus or his rendering of Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching. The translation found in the Jewish Publication Society’s (or JPS) Version of the Hebrew Bible is not much different from the King James Version many Christians are familiar with. It’s full of archaic language, that, while beautiful to many, may leave the contemporary reader a bit lost. Verse 1 is thus rendered, “Happy is the man that hath not walked in the counsel of the wicked, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat in the seat of the scornful.” Today’s reader might ask why the psalm is addressed to “men” and who “the wicked” and “sinners” and “the scornful” are.

Mitchell’s version reads,

 

Blessed are the man and the woman

        who have grown beyond their greed

        and have put an end to their hatred

        and no longer nourish illusions.

 

Greed, hate, and illusion are what take away the best that is in us as men and women.

When I have greed, only what I as an isolated individual wants seems important, and I lose sight of others’ needs.

When I hate, my own pain and fear eclipse other people’s humanity.

When I nourish illusions, I close my mind to what I don’t want to accept, which keeps me from acting with integrity.

Who are “the wicked,” the “sinners,” “the scornful”? I believe an honest assessment will show that it’s all of us, sometimes. None of us are perfect, and we all harm others, and ourselves, knowingly or unknowingly, or generally fall short of who we could be.

Nonetheless, there’s a part of us, in all but the most extreme cases at least partially functioning, that knows when we do wrong. We may rationalize, ignore, or dull the pain, but we know. Doing wrong leaves us anything but “blessed” or “happy.”

But there are also times we rise above. There are times we come to experience the joy of doing good. The JPS Version puts it this way:

 

“HAPPY IS the man that hath not walked in the counsel of the wicked, nor stood in the way of sinners, nor sat in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of HaShem; and in His law doth he meditate day and night.

 

“HaShem” means “the Name” and is the way many Jews refer to the sacred name of God, which is not to be pronounced. Many other versions of the Bible translate the sacred name as “the LORD.”

Stephen Mitchell’s translation is one of the most audacious I’ve ever read of any passage. He translates verse 2 as,

 

But they delight in the way things are

        and keep their hearts open, day and night.

 

Mitchell has the “delight” in there, yes. But changing “the law of the LORD” to “the way things are”—what could possibly justify that?

Well, for one thing, it seems to tacitly acknowledge that not everyone believes in God, at least not in a traditional sense. Even many Jews don’t believe in God. Humanistic Judaism describes itself as “non-theistic,” and Reconstructionist Jews hold a variety of beliefs. Others of Jewish background affiliate with Unitarian Universalism or other liberal groups or consider themselves secular, yet take pride in their heritage.

In addition, Mitchell’s translation opens up the verse to entirely new contemplation. When we read, “the law of the LORD,” we might immediately think of the five books traditionally attributed to Moses, the so-called “Books of the Law.” Then, we might be tempted to skip to the next verse. But the phrase, “the way things are,” is so broad it stops us in our tracks.

“The way things are”—what could that mean?

It reminds me of an anecdote about science fiction writer, Philip K. Dick, who wrote books that became such movies as Blade Runner and Minority Report. Once, a college student once asked Dick for a one-line definition of “reality.” He told her: “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.”

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.” “The way things are.” What “law” is more fundamental than that?

And yet, how can we find “delight,” the word both JPS and Mitchell use, in “the way things are”? Aren’t things sometimes horrible?

I’m reminded of Rabbi Harold Kushner’s wonderful book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. In it, he describes the loss of his young son to a slow, debilitating disease and all the attendant pain he and his wife went through. He acknowledged that when bad things happen, one of our impulses is to ask, “Why?”. Often, we simply can’t find a satisfying answer. But the really important question, says Kushner, is not “Why?” but “What do I do now?”

That’s where our true power lies. We can allow ourselves to live in bitterness … or compassion, to say “No” to life … or “Yes.” Only we can choose.

In a sense, each of us plays a part in “the way things are.” When we choose to act out of our best selves, we have many traditions that can help guide us in paths of wisdom. That’s where, “The law of the LORD” can help. Or, if you prefer, the Eightfold Path, the Golden Rule, the Witches’ Rede, or the Principles and Purposes. There are many signposts.

Mitchell’s translation of the last verse from our reading is fundamentally the same as more traditional renderings:

 

They are like trees planted near flowing rivers,

        which bear fruit when they are ready.

Their leaves will not fall or wither.

        Everything they do will succeed.

 

Sometimes the fruit takes a long time to grow, but it does come when you let it.

To give a personal example, for many years I had driving trouble. What I mean is, that when someone would cut me off in traffic or steal a parking space, I would fly into a RAGE and make OBSCENE GESTURES or silently wish I COULD BASH THEIR HEADS IN! Sometimes I would seethe for months over particularly egregious wrongdoers.

Then, one day, I gained the ability to simply forgive them, right then and there as I drove. They could act in hurtful ways. I realized I didn’t have to. I could be at peace. I could remember that each of them is a precious person, capable of selfishness and error, just like me—and able to be forgiven, just like me. By harboring anger, I was hurting myself and endangering others who shared the highway with me. I found I didn’t need it anymore.

This is a small example. To those who have reached a state of peace over great wrongs, I can only stand in admiration.

One such example took place in Burma in 1995 at the site of the bridge over the Kwai River. Craig Brian Larsen recounts it this way:

 

… During World War II the Japanese army had forced Allied prisoners of war from Britain, Australia, and the Netherlands to build a railroad. The Japanese soldiers committed many atrocities, and some sixteen thousand Allied POWs died building what has been called Death Railway.

        But after the war, a former Japanese army officer named Nagase Takashi went on a personal campaign to urge his government to admit the atrocities committed.

        After many years of effort, the result of his crusade was a brief ceremony … at the infamous bridge. On one side of the bridge were fifty Japanese, including five war veterans, and Mr. Takashi. Eighteen schoolteachers from Japan carried two hundred letters written by children expressing sadness for what had happened during the war.

        At the other side of the bridge were representatives of Allied soldiers: Two old soldiers from Britain who declared the business of fifty years ago finished at last. A young woman from Australia who came to deliver, posthumously, her father’s forgiveness. A son of a POW who came to do the same. And there was 73-year-old Australian David Barett, who said he made the pilgrimage because he felt that to continue hating would destroy him.

        The two groups began to walk the narrow planks of the black iron bridge toward one another. When they met in the center, they shook hands, embraced, shed tears. Yuko Ikebuchi, a schoolteacher, handed the letters from the Japanese children to the veterans, and in tears turned and ran without a word….[1]

 

You or I may not be a war veteran, but each of us has felt wars raging in our hearts. We have known what it is to hold grudges, to have done wrong to others, to have not been able to forgive others, forgive ourselves—or perhaps even forgive God.

There is a Jewish ritual known as tashlich in which participants symbolically release their sins and shortcomings in the form of bread cast upon water. It has become popular in recent years, especially among younger Jews. Usually, it’s done on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, but may be done later in the High Holy Days. Contemplate if you have anything you’d like to release from your life as I read the words of Rachael Stark, courtesy of Unitarian Universalists for Jewish Awareness.

Following the service, I’ll carry our bowl of water and bread to the river. Anyone who wishes to join me may do so.