Rosh Hashanah 5785-After October 7

After September 1st, when six Israeli hostages were found having recently been murdered by Hamas, just about every Facebook post and email I saw began with, “There are no words…” Including mine. Then each poster or sender went on for about 200-500 words. It’s like Dr. Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, a major biblical scholar, noted, “Moses tells God he can’t go to Pharaoh because he ‘doesn’t speak readily,’ and by the time we get to the book of Deuteronomy, he doesn’t shut up.

Words can only approximate the feelings we have following October 7, 2023, and each time a hostage is found dead, another barrage of rockets is fired into Israel, another ceasefire deal is sidelined, we see a yet another campus protest or hear of another incident of antisemitism it’s like a gut punch, at least to me.

Writing High Holiday sermons has been nearly impossible, for me and many, if not most, of my rabbinic and cantorial colleagues. I’ve never felt so uninspired. In 11 years of writing these sermons, I’ve never been at a loss for words. Certainly, some years and topics have been harder than others, but this year is surreal. What can I say to offer hope for the future? How can I offer comfort to people who are struggling with the loss of loved ones over the past year? What about our friends and family in Israel, some of whom have been displaced from their homes in the north or south, where five-year olds know exactly what to do if they hear a siren? And what about people living in other parts of the country, like Tel Aviv, who might be living with some guilt that life is going on pretty much as usual for them and not for others? Of course, since I first wrote this, missiles have reached both Tel Aviv and Israel’s West Bank.

We stand and sit here today, offering prayers and reflecting on our lives and the past year. How are we supposed to understand things like the Unetane Tokef, which asks who will live and who will die, and how? Who will know peace and who will know conflict? Who will wallow in despair and who shall have hope? And as the late Leonard Cohen asked, “And who shall I say is calling?”

Several years ago on Yom Kippur, I spoke about Elie Wiesel’s letter to the NY Times forgiving God for the Holocaust. He wrote, “Auschwitz was not something that came down ready-made from heaven. It was conceived by men, implemented by men, staffed by men. And their aim was to destroy not only us but you–God–as well. Ought we not to think of your pain, too? Watching your children suffer at the hands of your other children, haven’t you also suffered?”

We can be asking the same question today. Where is God in all of this? The people on both sides of the situation are God’s children, regardless of how they behave. I’ve spoken before about how another name for Rosh Hashanah is hayom harat olam, the day of the birthing of the world. I’ve also shared how according to our sages, it’s in fact, the day humanity was created. I can only wonder what our Creator must be thinking

The midrash tells us that when God was trying to decide whether or not to create humans, the angels were consulted. “Rabbi Shimon said: When the Holy Blessed One came to create Adam the first man, the ministering angels divided into various factions and groups. Some of them were saying: ‘Let him not be created,’ and some of them were saying: ‘Let him be created.’”

Midrash always brings in a proof-text from somewhere in the Bible, and in this case, Rabbi Shimon quotes Psalms 85:

חֶסֶד־וֶאֱמֶ֥ת נִפְגָּ֑שׁוּ צֶ֖דֶק וְשָׁל֣וֹם נָשָֽׁקוּ׃

אֱ֭מֶת מֵאֶ֣רֶץ תִּצְמָ֑ח וְ֝צֶ֗דֶק מִשָּׁמַ֥יִם נִשְׁקָֽף׃

Faithfulness and truth meet; justice and peace being kiss. Truth springs up from the earth; justice looks down from heaven.

Rabbi Shimon continues: “Kindness said: ‘Let him be created, as he performs acts of kindness.’ Truth said: ‘Let him not be created, as he is all full of lies.’ Righteousness said: ‘Let him be created, as he performs acts of righteousness.’ Peace said: ‘Let him not be created, as he is all full of discord.’ What did the Holy Blessed One do? God took Truth and cast it down to earth.”

D’var acher, another explanation: Rav Huna, the rabbi of Tzippori, said: “While the ministering angels were busy arguing with one another, God created Adam and said to them: ‘Why are you deliberating? The human has already been created.’

And here we are. For better or for worse, people were created, given free will and let loose in the world. As hard as it is to say this, members of Hamas and Hezbollah are God’s children too. The problem is, they don’t behave that way. The people who are committing atrocities against other people have no respect for the value of human life, theirs or anyone else’s.

Following September 11, Dr. William Helmreich, of blessed memory, gave the sermons at our synagogue, as we were without a rabbi that year. In addition to his cantorial skills, we learned what a well-educated, thoughtful and learned person he was, as a professor of sociology at City College and as head of Middle Eastern studies at St. John’s College. As a journalist and writer with a Swiss passport, he interviewed leaders of the PLO, in their homes, and shared perspectives none of us could have imagined.

One thing that has stuck with me was his warning not to think that the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks are like us, because they value martyrdom over life. He shared an interview where he asked his subjects why they cried and mourned when a building was blown up, but were dancing in the streets when a young person died in a suicide attack. I don’t remember the answer, but it flies in the face of this past Shabbat’s Torah reading, which commands us to choose life. In fact, p’kuach nefesh, the preservation of life, takes priority over all mitzvot, with the exception of idolatry, adultery and murder.

In addition to our grief over the loss of life and our anger at those who want to destroy us, we also have to grapple with a State of Israel, and citizens of Israel, that don’t always behave according to the highest Jewish values, with the utmost regard for life. When settlers who claim to be religious Jews attack a Palestinian Arab village, when the IDF shoots a foreign activist, whether by accident or not, It’s like a knife in my heart. I can’t excuse that kind of behavior. I want Israel to behave better, while at the same time, I know that the idea of “turning the other cheek” won’t end well.

Our friend Mark recently spent a couple of weeks visiting friends in Israel, and sent us this text:

“The protests here are totally different from anywhere else in the world. Last night after dinner, my friends and I were outside on their balcony and we heard something going on. We decided, “let’s go down and see, It’s probably a protest.” It was. Both sides were holding up signs, and while my Hebrew is nowhere near good enough to tell you everything that’s written on them, it was very clear that some people were in support of continuing on and getting the job finished. Others were clearly in the camp that “enough is enough.”

“All of sudden a young woman with short, purple dyed hair, arms exposed to the shoulder and tattoos started singing the song, Acheinu אחיינו״”. Across the way a young orthodox woman started singing the song with her. Opposing sides singing together. Next thing you knew everyone was either singing, being very quiet or crying. A very, very tiny old woman went up to the girl with the purple hair. I was less than 5 feet from them. The old woman was a concentration camp survivor, she showed the girl her tattoo. The young woman leaned down to talk to her for a good five minutes. Both were crying and at the end the young woman kissed the old woman’s hands.

“While I was watching this personal drama play out it looked to me that many individuals were pairing off to argue their side. There was no screaming or anything done that you wouldn’t consider respectful. It truthfully was most of the moving things I have ever seen in my life. I was crying. There should be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they are all hurting, that they all have their own opinions as to the best course to take and they certainly are not afraid to express it to one another. But at the same time, it appears they are absolutely united in who they are as a people and certainly don’t “hate” the other side.”

Sitting here today, we are absolutely united by the need to be sitting here today. You might be here because you love sitting through these services, or because you feel that observing these holidays is important to you. You might be afraid the sky might fall in if you don’t come to synagogue. Or, you’re here because, where else would you be? It doesn’t matter. I don’t even care if you have a comic book or a novel inside your machzor. You’re here, and that’s what matters. You showed up.

Yes, today is Rosh Hashanah, also known as Yom haDin, the Day of Judgment, when all of humanity passes before the Holy One like sheep who pass under the shepherd’s staff. Our tradition teaches that on Rosh Hashanah God writes in the book of life, and that on Yom Kippur, that book is sealed. What they forgot to tell us as kids is that we are the ones who write in this book with our deeds. The Unetane Tokef reminds us that we live in a random world where things happen, and we can’t always control them.

However, today is not the day when I’m going to try and explain how the Unetane Tokef can be a paradigm for healing; I’ve done that in the past. As we pray that we be inscribed and sealed for a coming year of life and blessing, it’s okay to question why, and to wrestle with the reality that sometimes, life is full of pain and suffering. I can’t even begin to imagine what the families of the hostages; those who have been released, and those who have died and who are still being held by Hamas, are feeling right now. The people at the Nova Music Festival, who lived at kibbutz Nahal Oz and Kibbutz B’eiri, to name just a couple, who witnessed and survived the terrible atrocities. The trauma they have to live with. I wonder what their prayers feel like today.

As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “It’s better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” That candle is the knowledge that we are one Jewish people, one Israel, and we know that hope, tikva, is our candle. We sing Hatikva, Israel’s national anthem, at many of our gatherings, and rather than sing it today, I want to close by sharing the translation.

As long as within our hearts the Jewish soul sings, as long as forward to the East to Zion looks the eye, our hope is not yet lost, it is 2,000 years old, to be a free people in our land, the land of Zion and Jerusalem.

May we pray to God today for the strength to be resilient, and for the ability to hope in the future, to hope for the future, and to be one with Jews all over the world who are reciting the same prayers as we are, in whatever language they pray, and may we use our prayers today to unite our hearts with one another. Am Yisrael Chai.