New Beginnings - Rosh Hashana 2010

It’s a strange feeling, to realize that you, specifically, have been “inscribed in the book of life”, in a particular moment, for a reason. It’s a strange feeling, to realize that your life has a specific purpose, and that you have an enormous responsibility to live each day with serious intention towards that purpose.

A little more than a year ago, I was inscribed in the book of life, after a three-day period of deliberation. What was being considered; what aspects of my life were being weighed, as I lay in a coma for three days, I wonder? A train accident that took place while I was living in India hurled me into that limbo state; my life hanging in the balance. I’m lucky, to have lived. I’m lucky, to have been rescued by two no-doubt impoverished shoe shiners who carried me up flights of stairs and back down others, shuttled me to a hospital and forwent their days’ wages…because those acts are what enabled me to hang on.

A few months after my accident, I ran into a prominent Chabad rabbi whom I had met in Bombay just one week before the train incident happened. He was stunned that I now stood before him. When he heard about what had happened to me, he sent emissaries to pray for me at the Kotel in Jerusalem and at the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s grave, in New York. I was honored, and moved. But my tears only began to fall when he said to me, “You have been given a second chance at life. And you have an enormous responsibility in this world.” I tell you this because the Rabbi’s words are with me every day, and I take them seriously. They encourage me whenever I feel cynical and disheartened by the horrific things I see in the world. Living in Bombay, India, specifically, I’ve seen so much pain I can’t even speak of it all. If I told you of the horrors I’ve observed and encountered in that city alone, you’d be paralyzed with despair.

It’s true, that I struggle with the idea of God. And it’s true that I’m skeptical as to whether it was actually the prayers of so many kind people that saved my life. But I have to believe that there is a reason for my continued existence on this planet, after such a freak accident. I read the following words – how true they are - and though it is constantly difficult, I believe them with all of my being:

Every day, think as you wake up
Today, I am fortunate to have woken up.
I am alive.
I have a precious human life.
I am not going to waste it.
I am going to use
all my energies to develop myself,
to expand my heart out to others,
to achieve enlightenment
for the benefit of all beings.
I am going to have
kind thoughts towards others.
I am not going to get angry,
or think badly about others.
I am going to benefit others
as much as I can.

Inscribe these words into your souls; they are as important as the Shema. Breathe in their significance and let your exhale be action. Establish your intention. Reach out to others with compassion and empathy. Work, somehow, to achieve the positive changes you wish to see on our Earth. Whether it be honestly committing yourself to constant interpersonal integrity and kindness, whether it be educating yourself about the plight of a marginalized community and doing something about it, whether it be making regular donations to a cause about which you are passionate, whether it be… talking to the homeless men and women that stand at the highway exit here on 50th – I implore you to look outward. I beg you, think of this day, Rosh Hashanah, as a rebirth – as a SECOND CHANCE! Your fortune to be alive and present today demands that you do so. Otherwise, why are we sitting here today and reciting the Avinu Malkeinu? Why are we asking to be written in the book of life?

We’ve been chanting, “Hear our prayer. We have sinned before thee. Have compassion upon us and upon our children. Help us bring an end to pestilence, war, and famine. Cause all hate and oppression to vanish from the earth. Inscribe us for blessing in the book of life.”

But our chant alone will not achieve this. What do our words mean, if we don’t work towards them?! We must give meaning and significance to our lives, through empathy towards, and action on behalf of, others.

I was living in India, both before and after my accident, participating in American Jewish World Services’ World Partners Fellowship. I worked with an NGO in Bombay that provides treatment, care and support to street-based drug users. Spending time with the clients and staff of Sankalp Rehabilitation Trust – an organization that seeks to humanize what many might consider worthless criminals undeserving of second chances, taught me the fundamental importance of looking outward, and validating the humanity of every individual I encounter.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu talks about “Ubuntu”, an African philosophy of humanity. He says, “[Ubuntu]…speaks of the very essence of being human….You share what you have. It is to say, “My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up in yours.’ We belong in a bundle of life. We say, ‘A person is a person through other persons.’ It is not ‘I think therefore I am.’ It says rather ‘I am human because I belong. I participate, I share.’ A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has proper assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they were less than who they are.”

Friends, Avinu Malkeinu means nothing if we do not incorporate Archbishop Tutu’s words into our lives. I think of Abdul, a client of Sankalp who, after years and years of heroin use, homelessness and the contraction of HIV, lost literally half of his body – his left leg, his left arm and three of his remaining fingers were severed in, ironically, a train accident that occurred while he was high. Abdul survived, became rehabilitated, and now works to teach other drug users with physical disabilities crafts that they can use to transform their lives; to feel empowered. Abdul is not Jewish, and he does not belong to Archbishop Tutu’s Christian faith. But he has infused his life with the spirit of the prayers we are saying today. Abdul has become whole again by working to help others become whole. Abdul's work is an example to me, of how I should treat others; with conscious dignity and with conscious respect.

Join with me in committing to a year of Ubuntu; a year of gratitude for the fortune that is being alive, a year of openness to others despite and because of your differences, and a year of actively working to look beyond our own spheres of existence. The significance of our lives depend on it.