Links

Reflection Sermon


Rosh Hashanah 5766 Sermon by Rabbi Julie Schwartz

You have sat, you have listened, you have read, you have sung, you have stood, you have bowed, you walked in and you have walked out. You have been distracted by someone's outfit, someone's child, someone's cologne, someone's whispering, someone's cell phone. You have reached for your loved one's hand and squeezed it. You have given or received a mint, a piece of gum, a life saver. You have watched others and you have talked amongst yourselves. So it has been already this morning for nearly all of us. We have arrived here, dressed up and ready to go. We are here God, we have turned up once again. But have we prayed?

For many years I taught rabbinical students and had the task of helping them to prepare to lead their first High Holy day services. I used to reassure them that they were under no obligation to give the best sermons or lead the most flawless services that their small congregations had ever experiences. Indeed most of these little Jewish communities had long been the recipients, and in many ways the best teachers of rabbinical students and they were long suffering and very tolerant of student’s inexperience. My best direction to these students as they anxiously awaited their inaugural moment as rabbis, my most sage advice was that the major element that contributes to success in doing anything, from leading a service to comforting a mourner – nearly everything begins with just showing up! Being present is the most critical first step.

Thus, we as a congregation too have taken the first action that may earn us at least partial credit as the students amongst us would term it. But, my dear friends, this cannot be enough. This is a long service, this is a time of such power and importance in our tradition. We dare not end this time of prayer without being able to affirmatively respond, that yes, indeed, I prayed, I was truly engaged in the most challenging and most rewarding experience of our tradition. I engaged actively in relationship with God.

I will have failed this morning and even the cantors will have failed this morning, should you leave this sanctuary and comment as you wait for the shuttle bus back to your car, “Well that was nice. Good to see the friends, not too long, not too painful, I sat in the good chairs.” Please, do not end this holy time together and say, “that was nice.”

But what do I want you to say? What do I pray that you will say once our Rosh Hashanah morning service has ended? Let me answer that question by discussing with you something that we did not do this morning.

In our prayer books, our machzorim, we have a choice of two selections that we can read together for the haftarah portion. With apologies to everyone who remembers this information, let first us take a moment for clarification, and ensure that noone here even again believes that haftarah does means “half the torah!” Haftarah, spelled, h-a-f-t-a-r-a-h, means conclusion and it is the selection that we read from the prophets or later writings of the Bible. First we read the Torah portion, the section from the five books of Moses kept in scroll form in our aron hakodesh, holy ark. Then we finish the scripture reading with another selection from the rest of the Bible. It is typically not read from a scroll and chanted with its own particular melody, to distinguish it from the Torah reading. So haftarah does not mean half a Torah.... it means concluding selection. Now I can feel fulfilled as a rabbi!

But back to the reason that I stopped to define that term – we read together this morning a haftarah portion that speaks of the ritual during which the people gathered, heard the Torah read aloud, and then celebrated their heritage. These words from Nehemiah bring us back to the roots of our Rosh Hashanah celebration and are meant to reconnect us with the power of our history and the importance our holy text. Thus it is a most appropriate and worthy selection. But we did not choose the other, more customary reading for this morning, the reading that comes from the Book of Samuel and tells the story of Hannah, the barren wife of Elimelech who painfully, tearfully, prays to God to take away the curse of her infertility and bless her with a child.

Our congregation, like many others, does not read this passage because its contents feel uncaring towards those among us who have struggled with the inability to conceive a child. Its plain, apparent content suggests that being childless is a form of punishment from God and that heartfelt prayer, improved behavior, these will convince God to change the medical condition of infertility. I would never want anyone here to leave this service and feel that their medical conditions were the results of God deciding to visit judgement upon them. And the distress of being unable to choose to have a child when someone wishes to conceive, that distress is certainly unimaginable to those who have not struggled with it. So we do not read that haftarah portion because unpacking its content and ensuring that noone misunderstood or felt misunderstood, that presents us with too signficant of an obstacle. And I agree with this decision.

But I mourn the loss of one segment of the text that accompanies our editorial choice. Hannah speaks words of prayer in this story and her prayer becomes an example for all others seeking to engage in passionate, heartfelt dialogue with God. Here a simple woman, an uneducated woman, someone who has no place in her society – she has not future because she is childless and she has no standing because she is a woman without means of any sort. She is an outsider in her own family and she is unknown to those of importance or power. Hannah bravely enters the small place of worship where her family has gathered to present sacrifices to God. And Hannah silently speaks words of prayer that are recorded for all ages in our Holy text. She knows no official phrases; she has no siddur in her hand; she doesn't know the music. She has only one immeasurable, invaluable ingredient that makes her words become poetry, words of gracefulness and internal music, words that God can hear – she has the desire to speak to God. She has no expectation that she will receive that for which she prays. She has no magical formula with which she will force God's will. She merely, entirely believes that she can speak to God and that God will listen to her.

Beyond that she seems to intuitively know that such a dialogue is, in and of itself, a very good thing. Speaking to and being heard by God is good. And then she does one other thing, she realizes that she needs to contribute to the relationship. She realizes that praying to God is necessary but giving to God is just as necessary. And so she promises God that she will give back to God any child born to her. She will dedicate that child to God's service because she recognizes that the child, like all answers to all prayers, does not belong to her even though it would be an answer to her. She understands that once we engage in dialogue with God then we have become commited to a covenantal relationship --- one that requires an ongoing giving and receiving of energy, love, and action.

This haftarah story is a challenging story. Hannah's prayer is more difficult and for those of us who struggle to pray, it is a model that can teach us how to transform this morning's very long service into prayer.

In fact these High Holy day services are not actually prayer at all. If you have noticed, I have been very intentional about the way that I refer to our morning's proceedings. We call these services – a lot of things done in the proper order, music and words delivered in due course. In fact, last night, this morning, next week, we will share together what is properly termed, worship. That means that we join as a community and participate in ritual observances. We use music and words and motion and pageantry as the elements of worship. The only actual prayer that one may utter as a result of all this worship is, “Thank you God, that was not such a long sermon!” It will be a heartfelt, spontaneous declaration of gratitude to the Creator of All Words and the One who just this once inspired a rabbi to keep it brief. And such brevity is the answer to the prayers of many, many Jews.

This experience of worship is merely the process by which we might be led to prayer. The magnificent music, the poetry, the experience of sharing words and actions, rituals and rites with our family and friends is the medium, the fulcrum even which propels us into a world of dialogue with God. It is hard work to even imagine that such an activity is possible. It is hard work to commit oneself to attempting it alone. So our community is arranged to provide us with regular, simple invitations to prayer – that is the basis for our daily minyans, for our weekly shabbat services. We have a rhythm to our lives and to our days that include opportunities to pray. But then we have the unusual opportunities, the invitations that are engraved, with the formality of a black tie affair. This is the setting for our Holy day worship. We involve every possible means to engage and inspire. For those in the congregation who do find ways to pray regularly then this service is a special, exceptional gathering. It gives extra excitement and and the needed additional energy that invigorates and re-directs the soul's development. For those of us who find prayer to be a regular challenge, who search for the connection, the dialogue, the reassurance that prayer is possible and that prayer is meaningful, then this worship is designed to give us every opportunity to make such moments of holiness be realized.

But what then did Hannah know and the creators of our worship know that made them so commited to the power of prayer that each, one through her individual act and the others through their creative development of the liturgy, why did they think it was so necessary to pray?

Let me be personally honest with you now. I do say a lot of prayers. I pray on many occasions and in many settings. As a military chaplain, I often provided the invocation or the benediction as classes of hospital corpsmen completed their various trainings. I prayed as a new commanding officer arrived or left. I have prayed for ship’s leaving and returning and namings and refittings. I believe that my husband even prayed for a ship’s re-fueling! I never knew that ships needed so many prayers. As a chaplain, I was officially the one who prayed on demand, on call. Now as a congregational rabbi, I pray that those in the hospital will receive healing, I pray that we will not experience bad things, I pray that our congregation will thrive and grow and that we will remain strongly committed to the ideals that make this my home.

Personally, I pray that my family and friends will be safe and happy and healthy. I say a lot of prayers. But I do not say those prayers and feel those prayers expecting that my words will effect God's will. I may say words that ask for direct action by God but I do not believe that God will act because I said them. I do not consider this a lack of faith on my part. I do not believe that I am being hypocritical or speaking empty words. I am speaking from my heart. I do pray that things which feel wrong or bad or frightening are corrected or prevented or changed. I do truly, intensely want these outcomes. My prayers come from my heart and they express the depths of my soul's yearning. I want my feelings to be shared with those around me, with the world, with the energy that makes all things happen.

And there is a result from that prayer experience. First I want these words released from my being because then I am released as well from the power that these fears and concerns can have upon my own will and spirit. I know that simply by naming them, I will be less burdened by them. Secondly I do sense that I am heard. And in being heard, I feel supported. I know from my own experience as a listener that my act of hearing another will give that person power despite the fact that I have not acted upon that person's words.

When a woman shares with me her story of abuse and describes the ways that her trust in her husband has been destroyed by his violence to her, I listen to her. Then she weeps and says I wish he was dead, I wish that God would just take him away. I know that she does not expect me to help that wish come true. I know just as well that if I stay with her and I listen to her and I hold her hand as she cries and rages, I know that she will feel some sense of relief and release because I listened. I did not fix the problem and ultimately, in the case of abuse, there will be things that must be done and ways that our community and our faith tradition must act and react. But her statement that feels very real and even reasonable that it would be better for him to disappear from her life – that statement does not call for action. And even if I wanted to act on that prayer, so acting would not actually be the answer that she truly needs. So I pray because God is the Listener that I need. God is the Presence that will accept my words and my feelings at all times and in all situations. God does not judge my words and feelings as I offer them. God's first response to words spoken from the heart is to be available to the heart.

Finally, I acknowledge that I do not know enough to know that the actions that I pray for are the actions that are necessary. When I am humble enough to recognize all of the ways that I am not in charge, that I am not in control, and that I am not powerful, when I am honest enough to admit that I am not God, then I can also admit that I do not truly know what all of the answers and outcomes should be. I know what I think should happen and I know what I want to happen but I am not the arbiter of right and wrong beyond those actions which I can control – and those are only my own actions. So I struggle to manage my own choices, my own feelings, and my own reactions. I pray so that God will know me and listen to me. I pray because in the process of being known, I can come to know myself and thus become that which I am called to be.

When I pray with an individual at a bedside or with this congregation, I am praying so that I can be in relationship with our tradition, with our glorious experiences, and with the power of our faith. Through that awesome set of relationships, I believe that we all grow and we all find strength, guidance, and power. I do not know what the outcomes will be but I know that I will be more available and creative and ethical and grounded and loving and aware. And that includes more answers to my prayers than anyone person could ever anticipate.

Ultimately, prayer is never selfish and it is never self serving. It never becomes the gift that I need but the gifts that those I do not even know needs. While it begins with my small, hesitant call for help, God hears and transforms it to help for the world. And I will never be certain of the process by which those gifts are given or received. The inward nature of the prayer is all that I may control and all that I may enable. The struggle toward relationship is all that I can hope for and to which I aspire. And those moments of connection are innately precious even when the moment afterwards is stunningly painful or difficult.

So here we are my friends. I have told you that the words I most want you to avoid saying after this morning's worship has ended are “that was nice.” I also hope that you will not say, why didn't she talk about politics or Israel or civil liberties or unions or Darfur. Some of those are topics that you know I care deeply about. Some of those are topics about which I have given sermons over this past year and about which I will give future sermons. In fact, I will most likely ask you to listen to me struggle on some controversial social issue when we gather again for Yom Kippur. It is worthy and critical for us to find answers to the significant issues that face us as Jews in the modern world. I do think that these topics are a good use of our limited Holy Day time together. But this morning, I don't want you to abstain from this one precious opportunity to struggle together to do the one thing that we are obligated, commanded to do as we share this worship together.

We are commanded to find our way to make our worship into prayer. We are commanded to be uncomfortably focused on a process that we cannot truly ever understand or explain. I have given you my fragments of understanding about prayer.

I have told you some of the things that I presently believe about it. I have given you some of the ways that I have learned about prayer from our tradition. And yet I also confess to you that I cannot find my way to prayer easily or automatically. I don't know how or why or when that connectedness will happen for me. I too look at the words, listen to the music, find distraction in the sights and sounds of our congregation. I urge you to join me in this most solitary and difficult struggle. Indeed that is why we pray as a congregation – because the task is so daunting that only our united presence and resources and strength of resolve and faith can give us the support that we need to do this monumental thing. You help me. I am hopeful that there are times that I may indeed be of help to you. That is the reason that Jews have never left the world of community for the world of solitary seeking. While we may have powerful moments of communion on a mountain top or in the woods or as we hold a new baby in our arms – those private opportunities are more likely to privatize the experience of prayer. Judaism teaches that each of us can have this connection with God and that we need not find the perfect place or a magical experience that will lead us individually to the relationship. We need one another to lighten the burden of entering into prayer.

Our community gives us the model, the joined joy and the permission to lean upon each other as we reach toward God. We are always permitted to find the connection on our own but then we are even more obligated to use the knowledge, the excitement, the awareness that comes from that moment to share with others. The personal experience is only validated if it can be given freely to others. Then, should sparks of faith ignite in your soul and we are here in this sanctuary as that miracle occurs, all of us will be changed by it.

I have asked you to not say certain things after this service but believe me that I realize that I have no such power to control your conversations – no sermon or prayer is powerful enough to silence my fellow Jews! However I will share with you something that I would love for you to discuss as you go home for lunch and for dipping apples into honey and even later when we cast our sins into the mighty Chattahoochee. I would ask that you bravely share with one another how you are struggling with prayer. What are the moments in our worship that touched you? What helps you pray? What does prayer feel like and do for you? And then your listening to one another will become even another prayer.

So what is the proper prayer for this day? It is the essence of our celebration of Rosh Hashanah: May we grow and change and be renewed during this year in all of the ways that God so wishes for us. May we use the gift of each day to realize the gifts of our lives. May we use those gifts in the service of others and may we always, always be grateful that we can give of ourselves to others. May next Rosh Hashanah find us changed in the ways that we need and may we feel the presence and the partnership of God in this coming year's journey.