Rabbi Eliot J Baskin, DMin
Turning & Teshuvah: Timeless Texts for Transformation In
Troubling Times Denver,
Colorado Selichot Sept 12, 2020 Elul 5780
On Turning by Rabbi Jack Riemer
Now is the time for turning. The leaves are
beginning to turn from green to red and orange and
gold. The birds are beginning to turn and are heading
once more toward the south. The animals are
beginning to turn to storing their food for the winter.
For
leaves, birds and animals turning
comes
instinctively. But, for us turning does not come so
easily. It takes an act of will for us to make a turn. It
means breaking with
old habits. It means admitting
that we have been wrong, and this is never easy. It
means losing face; it
means starting all over again,
and this is always painful. It means saying: I am
sorry. It means recognizing that we have the ability
to change. Those things
are terribly hard to do. But
unless we turn, we will be trapped
forever in
yesterday's ways.
God, help us to turn - from callousness to sensitivity, from hostility
to love, from pettiness to purpose, from envy to contentment, from carelessness
to discipline, from fear to
faith. Turn us around, O God, and bring us back toward You.
Revive our lives as
at the beginning. And turn us toward each other, God, for in isolation there is no life.
Deeds not Prayers
A
tale is told of one who sat in study before the tzaddik (righteous sage) Rabbi
Mordechai of Nadvorna, of blessed memory, and before Rosh Ha-Shanah came to obtain
permission to be dismissed.
The tzaddik
said to him, “Why are you hurrying?”
Said
he to him, “I am a Reader, and I must look into the festival prayer book, and
put my prayers in order.”
Said
the tzaddik to him,
“The
prayer book is the same as it was last year. But it would be better for you to
look into your deeds, and put yourself in order.”
S.Y.
Agnon (1888-1970)
The Bent Shofar
Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, offered a poignant insight into the season of holy days we are about to observe. A dominant symbol of Rosh HaShana is the Shofar. The law is that a Shofar must be bent. The moral lesson is that we, too, should bow ourselves in penitence and contrition. We come before the Almighty, humbly asking forgiveness for our sins and shortcomings. Indeed, the theme of the period between Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur is repentance.
Rabbi Marc Angel, NY Board of Rabbis newsletter 9/20
The Gift
What an extraordinary gift it is — what a blessing, what a miracle to have been raised by imperfect parents who did their very best; to share our life with a partner no more flawed than we are; to count as a friend one who understands and accepts us most of the time. How brave, how hard it is to be “good enough” in our ties to one another: to give, even when we’re exhausted; to love faithfully; to receive with grace the love imperfectly offered to us.
Can this night set us free from the tyranny of expectations? Can this night release us from fantasies impossible to fulfill? We resolve this night to embrace the practice of forgiveness: to forgive others who fail to be all we hoped they would be; to forgive ourselves when we fall short of what others hoped we would be. We declare this night that we will cherish goodness wherever it is found, and open ourselves to the gifts that are before us.
adapted from Rabbi Lewis Kamrass in Mishkan HaNefesh YK p. 6
The most beautiful thing that one can do is forgive a wrong.
Rokei-ach, an ethical-mystical book by Eleazer ben Judah of Worms
THE THREE WHO ATE - BY DAVID FRISCHMANN
(1859-1922)
מעשה בשלשה שאכלו…...לא באחד הימים הפשוטים מימי שבתות ה ’אכלו את אשר אכלו, כי-אם ביום הכפורים, ביום הכפורים שחל להיות בשבת; לא במקום סתר באין רואה ובאין יודע, כי-אם לעיני כל ישראל, אשר בבית-הכנסת הגדול; ולא אנשים ריקים ופוחזים, לא קלי-דעת היו שלשת האנשים ההם, כי-אם מנשיאי העדה ואציליה הכי-נכבדים, הלא הם רב העיר ושני הדינים אשר עמו. –ובכל זה עיני כל ישראל היו תלויות אליהם ביראה ובכבוד, ויהיו קדושים בעיני כל העם ועל פני כל העדה נכבדו ויקָּדשו
Three people who ate…. they did not
eat on any regular day of the week, but on Yom Kippur. And not just on any Yom
Kippur, but on Yom Kippur that fell on Shabbat. They didn’t eat in secret, but
in front of everyone gathered in the Great Synagogue. They weren’t simple
people or boors. These three were not frivolous. Rather they were the princes
of the community and their most important leaders, none other than the rabbi of
the city and the two Dayanim [rabbinic judges] who stood with him…
It was the afternoon of Yom
Kippur. The rabbi stood bent over on the Bima(pulpit
platform)…Even now my eyes can picture that incredible sight, as I stood there
in the congregation of the synagogue. The rabbi stood on the Bima,
his dark eyes shining out from his pale face and white beard. The Mussaf
(Additional) service was almost over and the congregation stood silently
waiting to hear something from this man of God...
Suddenly my ears heard a sound but I
could not understand exactly what it was. I heard the sounds but my heart could
not comprehend. “With the permission of God and with the permission of the
community, we hereby permit people to eat and to drink today.”
The beadle came forward and the Rabbi
whispered a few things into his ear. Then he spoke with the two Dayanim
who were next to him. They nodded as if to approve of what he had said. As this
was happening the beadle brought a cup of wine and some cake from the
rabbi’s home.
If I am lucky to live for many more
years I will never forget that incredible day and that awesome sight. If I
close my eyes for a moment I can still see them: the three who ate! The three
shepherds of Israel standing on the Bima in the synagogue, eating in front of
everyone, on Yom Kippur.
Once
there was a Chasidic story
When
the great Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the
Jews
it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate.
There
he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would
be
accomplished and the misfortune averted. Later, when his disciple, the
celebrated
Magid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede
with
heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: "Master
of
the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still
able
to say the prayer." And again the miracle would be accomplished. Still
later,
Rabbi Moshe-Leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more,
would
go into the forest and say: "I do not know how to light the fire, I
do
not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient."
It
was sufficient and the miracle was accomplished.
Then
it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in
his
armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: "I am unable to light
the
fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the
forest.
All I can do is to tell the story, and this must be sufficient."
And
it was sufficient.
Elie
Wiesel prologue to Gates of the Forest
As these really strange High Holy Days approach, I keep thinking about that Baal Shem Tov story about going into the forest, finding just the right place, and the right prayer, and lighting the fire, and saving the people from danger. And how every subsequent generation loses a little bit of original ritual but it’s still enough.
Together, we are writing the next chapter of that story, in which, many, many years later, our people once again face incredible danger.
In this new story, it wasn't clear what to do at first. The elders recalled bits and pieces of old stories, but there were many conflicting versions and no concrete direction. The rabbi didn't know what to do and so she had to figure it out as best she could. There was no longer a forest—it had long ago been turned into a suburban development and a sprawling mall. As for the special prayers, those hadn’t been part of the rabbinic school curriculum when she was a student. And she couldn't light a fire, as no one wanted to risk starting another wildfire. So the rabbi wove together the bits of the different stories she had heard, and talked to her wise colleagues who offered ideas and suggestions, and brought together the community.
Because of the great danger, they were spread out in many different places, each person participating in the service remotely through a computer. She told them the story of the past as best she could, and offered up prayers. The community participated with open hearts, and their fervent hopes for a better future reached right from their souls up to the heavens. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't way things had been done in the past. But it was enough.
What we’re doing this year, no matter how different it is from the past, is enough. All the planning you’re doing, all the incredibly hard work you’re doing to make these holidays happen, to keep your community connected, and to take care of them, is enough. Everything you're doing to take care of yourself, and to take care of those you love, is enough.
These High Holy Days are going to be different than ever before. They definitely won't look like the Holy Days of yesterday. But that’s okay. We’re adapting to the present. Despite the strangeness of this experience, you’re still opening up your heart and creating space for others to open theirs. You’re enabling people to gather in creative and virtual ways. You’re helping them speak the yearnings of their souls. Yes, it will be different, but because of your careful work, it will still feel familiar and comforting.
It’s a lot. It’s really a lot. If you’re feeling exhausted and wrung out from all of this, you’re not alone.
Thank you for facing this moment with courage, creativity, and hope.
Thank you for pouring the best of yourself into making these upcoming Holy Days the best they can be under the circumstances…
The forest, the fire, the prayers are all being reinvented this year, and how lucky we are to have your leadership in doing so in such a myriad of ways. And it is indeed enough.
Rabbi Hara Person
Chief Executive, CCAR
