Here’s a surreal little joke I found in a collection of Jewish humor:
A spaceship lands in the middle of Texas. As the Martians start filing out, a big Texan walks up to the one who looks like the leader. He asks the Martian, "Y'all got them green eyes?" The Martian answers back in a machine-like drone, "Yes, we all have green eyes." The Texan again inquires, "and y'all go those antennay on yo' head?" "Yes we all have antennae on our heads." The Texan is still curious, as he looks as more of the Martians, he again asks the leader, "Y'all got them long black coats?" To which the Martian says, "No, only the Hasidim." 1
I suppose, in some sense, we are aliens to each other, Jews and non-Jews. Depending on our upbringing, we inherit different ways of seeing the world. I was not raised Jewish, but I’m in debt to the Jewish tradition, as is all of Western culture. So, I will preface my remarks today with the admission that they are the views of a sympathetic alien. I cannot speak for Judaism, but I do look on with respect.
Why celebrate the High Holy Days?
A story comes down to us from the Hasidic Jews of Poland. A great spiritual leader of the nineteenth century, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Beritchev was standing near his window one day. A Christian peddler came by shouting, “Shoes to mend! Shoes to mend!” He looked up and saw the holy man and smiled, asking, “Anything to mend?” Did he have anything to mend, the Rabbi asked himself. He thought hard, then exclaimed, “Woe is me! Woe is me! Rosh Hashanah was almost here, and I have been neglecting to mend my soul!”
How easy it is to get caught up with all our activities—good activities like family and community life, and earning a living—and forget to mend our souls, forget the distances that have grown up between ourselves and others, forget to curb the subtle selfishness that builds up in us causing us to forget another’s pain.
These are some of the concerns that find expression during the holidays Jews call the High Holy Days, the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Why celebrate the High Holy Days?
One reason is cultural. Many of us grew up in Jewish homes. Though, for one reason or another, we may no longer feel comfortable in the traditions in which we were raised, thoughtful reflection will reveal much in them that we find good and want to preserve. For those of us who were not raised Jewish, there is a world of tradition waiting to be discovered. The Western tradition owes an unpaid debt to Jewish culture, not the least of which is the influence Judaism has had on Christianity, and by extension our Unitarian and Universalist faiths. More often than not, though, Jews have been a people marginalized at best, exterminated at worst. Anything we can do to increase understanding between Jews and Gentiles is well worth the effort.
Another reason is spiritual. As Rabbi Yitzchak knew, human beings are imperfect creatures. Each of us fails to live up to our higher goals and expectations for ourselves. From time to time, we all need to “mend our souls.” The High Holy Days have traditionally been a time for doing just that.
The Unitarian Universalist Society in Stamford is not a synagogue, nor do we attempt to be. Nevertheless, there is much we can appreciate in the Jewish religion. We seek to draw the best from the world’s many faiths in order to be our individual and communal best, and to bring people together.
“Rosh Hashanah” means literally “Head of the Year.” It is the Jewish New Year, coming at a time of harvest in the Near East. This year Rosh Hashanah began at sunset on September 26th. At that time, the Jewish year 5764 began.
Legend has it that God created the world on Rosh Hashanah. The celebration was not unique to the ancient Israelites. The harvest new year among the Babylonians and Caananites was a time when the Gods joined in judgement of the world. In like manner, the God of the Jews decided on this day the fates of each of his creatures for the coming year, whether for good or ill.
Originally a time asking God to remember the community and the covenant God had with them so that they might be forgiven their sins and allowed to enjoy another year, Rosh Hashanah eventually became more a day for people to remember their own moral and ethical lives. It became a day of taking account of the deeds of the past year and weighing them against one’s conscience. Indeed, the scholars of Jewish law tell us that whenever a person looks into his or her own heart and repents of destructive actions, regardless of the time of year, this is the true Rosh Hashanah.
The most identifiable symbol of Rosh Hashanah is the shofar, the ram’s horn blown as a trumpet. It sounds like this: [play audio]. The origins of this custom are subject to debate. However, Maimonides, the medieval Jewish philosopher, has proposed one of the most popular interpretations. He says that the shofar blast means, “Sleepers, awake! Reflect upon your actions! Remember your Creator and turn back to him in repentance! Do not be among those who, while they grasp at shadows, miss that which is real, and waste their lives in pursuit of empty things that can neither bring them profit nor deliver them...Sleepers awake! Look after your souls! Reflect upon your actions!” “Yom Kippur” means “Day of Atonement.” The Bible calls it Shabbat Shabbaton, the Day of Days. It is the most holy day of the Jewish year. Rosh Hashanah has been celebrated, ten days of reflection have passed, and now comes the 25-hour fast of Yom Kippur. This year, Yom Kippur began last Sunday evening and continued to Monday evening. The Jewish day begins at sunset and ends at sunset the following day, a tradition that Christianity continued in its ecclesiastical day. A good example is Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. They’re one holiday, not two.
I enjoy living on Strawberry Hill Avenue just north of here and seeing Jewish families walking back and forth to Agudath Shalom synagogue. Just as the sun is setting, men in kippot walking alone, mothers pushing strollers, proud fathers walking beside. It’s then that I feel just a little jealous, not being Jewish. It’s as if there’s a hidden network of people living here, attending to their day-to-day routine, and then, at a time not having so much to do with the clock on the wall as the clock of nature, they converge into their own sacred community, living ancient standards in a postmodern world. All under the changing leaves of a New England autumn.
If we were to journey back to the Yom Kippur of biblical times, the high priest would present two goats before the people. One would be sacrificed on the altar. He would then sprinkle its blood in the holy of holies of the Temple. It was the only day of the year in which it was lawful for anyone to enter this inner sanctum, where God himself was believed to be enthroned. A rope was fastened to the high priest’s waist, in case the mighty God of Israel should not find his sacrifice acceptable and strike him dead in the middle of his ministrations!
The second goat was the scapegoat, from which we get our popular metaphor. The confessed sins of the people were symbolically transferred onto it, then it was thrown off a cliff—to great rejoicing. Modern Jews may give a donation to charity in the tradition of this sacrifice. (Not as dramatic as the old way, but certainly more constructive). I believe we may all benefit from the real meaning of Yom Kippur: repenting of our shortcomings and a building up a sincere desire to change. We may believe in God, or not, or perhaps we don’t know. All the same, it is we, and those around us, who benefit from the moral examination we give ourselves. The irony is that though the soul-searching and repentance must be done by each person, no one is alone in it. It’s the entire community that asks forgiveness.
And members of the community ask it of each other. Observant Jews still go to anyone in the community and seek forgiveness for any offence they may have caused. I’ve heard members of congregations I’ve served remember with great fondness members of Jewish communities in which they’ve lived going to each other in the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur to try to heal wounds between themselves and others. The idea of mutual forgiveness is also strong in the Mennonite tradition in which I was raised. After all, I guess Christianity is just an attempt to improve on a Jewish prototype of religion. It’s an attempt that succeeds or doesn’t depending on your point of view.
For instance, I remember powerfully watching a bitter argument between the boss of the radio station I worked for at Eastern Mennonite College and the producer of one of our major shows. Two robust, bearded Mennonites going head to head. Just because they’re pacifists, it doesn’t mean Mennonites don’t have the same capacity for anger, resentment, and emotional damage as other people. And some of the most harmful weapons any of us have is our tongues. Most of us aren’t bank robbers, fraud artists, rapists, or murderers, but we can certainly hurt one another through our harsh words, our jealousy, our resentment, our neglect, our dismissal. To return to those arguing men at the radio station, one stormed off in anger. Before long, though, they came back together and each apologized for his words. I’ve never forgotten that moment.
And, recently, I have felt the need to humbly apologize for words I spoke carelessly against a beloved sister in this congregation, words of mine that were hurtful, that I soon recalled with regret. I am grateful for her forgiveness.
I’m not alone in my family in my admiration for Judaism. My cousin almost converted once just out of her high opinion for the Jewish tradition. I still remember her making a quilt, as so many Mennonite women do, but her quilt featured a six pointed Star of David. After all, we were raised on the same biblical stories: Isaac and Rebecca that taught us about love and a divine plan for our lives; Jeremiah and Isaiah, who proclaimed the divine word of justice in the face of worldly power; Noah’s Ark, which taught us about the importance of every one of earth’s creatures.
There were other stories I was more uncomfortable with, stories in which God was said to have ordered the killing of men, women, and children that were of different nations. Certainly, this strain of thought has infected the three great Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam far too many times. Religious groups have grown self-righteous and arrogant and inflicted hardship and death on one another, each claiming to have the one true faith and being justified by God. One relatively resent example is the Nazi Holocaust, in which millions of Jews and millions of other innocent people were first discriminated against, then segregated, then many finally slaughtered in one of the most complete cases of mass psychopathy in history. But the Nazis could not have succeeded without many centuries of anti-Judaism, perpetuated by Christians. I say anti-Judaism rather than anti-Semitism because Jews are only one of the Semitic peoples. Look up Semite in the Webster’s dictionary and you will find that it refers to “a member of any of a number of peoples of ancient southwestern Asia including the Akkadians, Phoenicians, Hebrews, and Arabs.” It also refers to “a descendant of these peoples” or to “a member of a modern people speaking a Semitic language.” Semitic languages include Amharic, the official language of Ethiopia. So, there are a lot of different kind of Semites who may be under danger of anti-Semitism. And I believe they should all be equal, as all people should be equal, with inalienable rights to the preservation of life, liberty, property, and culture. And, for those religiously inclined, I affirm, as many of us here do, that God has enough love to go around.
The continued killing of people on both sides of the ethno-religious conflicts in the Mideast will only accomplish killing. Hatred begets hatred begets hatred. Revenge begets revenge begets revenge. And, dare I whisper in this holiday period, justice begets justice begets justice. Forgiveness begets forgiveness begets forgiveness. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Palestinians and Jews Americans and Iraqis could pair off, joining their voices and their actions with each other, and say “No more! I will not participate in more human sacrifice.” God/Ha-Shem/Allah does not desire sacrifice but mercy! And, deep down, the human spirit desires the same. What if people on all sides refused to serve idols of hate and served instead Gods of love? What if more Israeli Jews followed the example of many young members of the Israeli Defense Force and refused to take part in invasions of Palestinian territory? What if more Palestinian and Iraqi youth renounced the suicide bomb as a method of resistance? What if more US regular army and reserve troops refused to reenlist in rejection of a fraudulently sold and maintained policy that, I’m convinced, decreases our security rather than increasing it? I am further convinced that the best way the US can help the situation of Jews and Arabs and the rest of us is to leave Israel/Palestine alone. Supporting one side to the tune of billions of dollars a year only diminishes the chances of peace by keeping the balance of power so sharply uneven. It’s time to share the land of Israel. If Christians, Jews, and Moslems really believe that God is their common parent, it is time to care for all God’s children.
Our Ancient Reading this morning, from Ezekiel chapter three, was a hard one to hear. In it, the prophet tells us, in unvarnished language, that to see injustice being practiced and to not cry out against it is to stain our hands in the blood of our brothers and sisters. Each of us must search our own hearts and lives in order to do our part to bring the healing our world so desperately needs.
Our Modern Reading this morning, from a contemporary rabbi, reminds us that we can be united in our commitment to truth and community, though our theological beliefs may differ.
There is an opinion by some Jewish scholars that the Age of the Messiah, bringing with it peace, justice, and harmony, might be ushered in if all Israel truly repented for only a single day. Indeed, the power of repentance and the power of forgiveness is great, no matter what our religion might be.
In the tradition of the Yemenite Jews, at the end of the evening service of Yom Kippur, the members embrace and kiss each other. They also say to each other in Hebrew, “May you receive tidings of forgiveness, pardon and atonement; may your name be inscribed in the Book of Life and of remembrance.” May this be our wish today as well.
Please find a partner and repeat to that person the response to the Litany of Atonement found in your order of service: “I forgive myself, I forgive you, let’s begin again in love.”
