Some say that the purpose of religion is to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable. For those of us who are in pain and are suffering, we need to be able to turn to our faith and heritage for solace and support. And for those of us who have grown numb and disaffected by what is going on around us, we need to be able to count our faith and our heritage to shake us up and remind us of our sacred obligations to the world and to each other.
While I appreciate the wit and wisdom of this approach to the role of religion, it leaves me a bit groundless this year. For I don’t think any of us can call ourselves “comfortable” in the world as we know it today. There is so much distress that we are living through as a community and as a society.
While I certainly do not want to add to the bleakness of our situation today, I feel that it would be irresponsible and even disrespectful to not acknowledge the very real challenges we are facing right now.
COVID-19 continues to literally plague our world, as we each grapple with how much we are willing to tolerate in terms of risks to exposure. As the cases and deaths associated with the virus continue to rise, the numbers become almost meaningless to us, as we tragically find that we have become so accustomed to hearing these horrific figures, we are hardly shocked anymore by the statistics. Shame on us. And I know that some of us in our own congregation have had personal experience with COVID-19. Several of you have shared with me that you had mild cases or were able to recover in due time. For that I am beyond grateful. But others of you have shared with me the pain and sorrow at having to witness a loved one suffer from afar—and too many of us have had to figure out how to bury our dead with funerals that defy normative Jewish tradition and practice.
In addition to this physical virus, we are also dealing with a long-standing systemic sickness: confronting the issues surrounding racial equity. This summer we experienced a watershed moment with the killing of George Floyd, may his memory be for a blessing. Coupled with other recent tragedies, such as the deaths of Brianna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery (may their memories be for blessing); and the shooting of Jacob Blake just down the road in Kenosha, many took to the street to protest. And others took to the street to riot. And it has been heartbreaking on so many levels.
And then we have the climate disasters. Horrifying hurricanes, terrifying tornadoes, and ferocious fires that turn the sky orange, devour neighborhoods, and take so many souls. It is just too much.
And lest I forget, in addition to these medical, societal, and environmental woes, we are also dealing with a major social and political crisis here in our own nation. It has been noted that democracy works only when either party is willing to lose—and friends, the heated rhetoric really frightens me. It seems that there is so much at stake, and that we have become so very bitterly polarized, that we no longer focus on defending and advocating for our own political affiliation, but, indeed, we attack and even demonize the other. When we hear that a neighbor, friend, or even family member votes differently than we do, we make assumptions about their character, their priorities, and their judgment, and it is often difficult to stay in relationship with them.
Yes, there is a lot going on in our world right now. And it feels overwhelming. Indeed, it is overwhelming.
So, what do we do? How do we cope?
As I ponder this conundrum, I am reminded of a story of a little kid who waited all day for their parent to come home from work so that they could play outside as the parent had promised that morning over breakfast. The kid greets the parent at the door and says, “Goody! You’re home. Let’s go outside.” The parent sighs and tells the child, “I’m really looking forward to playing with you, but it has been a very tough day. I need to unwind a bit first. Let me read the paper and then we will go outside.” The parent sits in their comfy chair in the family room and begins to read the newspaper. The child stares at the other side of the paper and keeps track of the time.
“It’s been five minutes. Now are you ready to play with me?”
“Not yet, honey.” Some time goes by.
“It’s been ten minutes. Now can we go outside?”
“Not just yet, kiddo.” Some more time goes by.
“It’s been fifteen minutes already. Please…. Now can we play?”
“Tell you what,” the parent says, removing the weather map page from the newspaper. “I’m going to take this map of the world and tear it up so that it becomes a puzzle. When you put all of the pieces back together, then we will go outside and play.” With that, the parent tore the map into dozens and dozens of pieces and gave them to the child, thinking that it would take at least 20 or 30 minutes for the child to complete this mission. But lo and behold. After just 4 minutes, the child came back with the page held together by strips of clear tape.
“Amazing!” the parent remarked. “How did you figure this out so quickly?”
“It was easy,” the child responded. “I noticed when you were reading that page that there was a big picture of a person’s face on the other side of it. So, all I had to do was focus on that. When I put the person together, the whole world turned out just right.”
Friends, this story represents the core message of Rosh HaShanah and the High Holy Day season. While we are here to mark the anniversary of the creation of the world, our liturgy reminds us that the task at hand is really to re-create ourselves. To examine our ways and improve upon them. To perform a cheshbon nefesh—an accounting of the soul—to assess our deeds, our behaviors, our speech, our habits, our perspectives, our relationships, our intentions—to isolate and investigate each aspect separately, and then to put all of the pieces of ourselves back together, so that we can add to the healing and to the—God willing—renewed strength of our world.
So how will each of us put together the puzzle of our own persons—especially during these extraordinary times? According to our High Holy Day prayers, one method of doing this is to practice T’shuvah (Repentance), T’fillah (Prayer), and Tzedakah (Acts of Righteousness).
T’shuvah: We admit when we were wrong, do our best to make amends, and resolve to do better next time.
T’fillah: We commit ourselves to prayer so that we can remind ourselves of the higher purpose of life and hold ourselves accountable to the loftiest values and ideals of our tradition.
And Tzedakah: While it is important to set our intentions in a deliberate manner, we need to be sure that actually live out our ethics in a tangible way. We need to engage in righteous behavior so that we can directly influence the world through generosity and kindness.
As we mark the beginning of Rosh HaShanah and the Days of Awe this evening, we realize that yes, the world is broken. And yes, we feel broken, as well. After all, who would not feel this way given the context in which we are living right now?
Yet, we do not need to despair. For while we might not be able to repair all of the world’s complex issues that truly need repair, we can certainly begin working on ourselves. But rather than using clear tape to put our own broken pieces together, I’d like to suggest that we borrow from the Japanese art of Kintsugi. (Show Slide)
Kintsugi is a technique in which broken pieces are put together with tree sap lacquer that is dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Once completed, the cracks are not concealed, but instead become the focal points of new-found beauty. For indeed, doing this work of repair the person is not about hiding what is fractured, but rather about acknowledging it—and yes, even embracing it—as we do our best to heal our wounds.
And isn’t it nice to know that we are not alone in doing this work? Indeed, we have each other. For this is what Temple Chai is all about—it is about providing opportunities, experiences, and support for all of our members to engage in this sacred work of creating shalom—which, even though we translate this word as “peace”, really means “wholeness”. It is about coming together through services, educational sessions, social programs, and individual pastoral care—whether in person or on screen or by phone—so that can we can strengthen one another as we make our way through our own life’s journeys. It is about being part of a community that enhances our understanding of life. That enables us to grapple with the challenges, to celebrate the victories, and to engage with sublime.
Yes, on this Rosh HaShanah, we accept the pieces of our personal puzzles and we resolve ourselves to doing our best to put them together in a forgiving, generous, and loving fashion. For who knows, maybe if all of us are able to come together to do this work in this way—as beautifully messy as the final product might be, perhaps the whole world might just turn out right, too. Kein Y’hi Ratzon. May this be God’s will.
