 | What do you make sovereign in your life? What truly rules you? Are you totally satisfied with your answer? If you're human, then probably not – and the Power of Creation imbues us with power to choose, to re-center, to change. After all, we are made "in the divine image," with sacred attributes. If God can create and transform, so can we. We must start here, with our sovereign powers of choice and change. Otherwise, the travails of the heart and travails of our world can seem beyond our power to repair. We can do it. We have 3,500 years of tools for wise living and societal repair, and our ancestors' strength courses through us. We are #StrongerTogether. |
By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5786
Shanah tovah. From my heart to yours, welcome to Jewish year 5786 – may it bring sweet goodness to all of us and our world.
Moments ago, our last words of the old came from Jewish Morocco of the 1200s, describing the new year as a little sister:
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5786
Shanah tovah. From my heart to yours, welcome to Jewish year 5786 – may it bring sweet goodness to all of us and our world.
Moments ago, our last words of the old came from Jewish Morocco of the 1200s, describing the new year as a little sister:
| אָחוֹת קְטַּנָה תְּפִּלוֹתֶיהָ עוֹרְכָה וְעוֹנָה תְּהִלוֹתֶיהָ אֵל נָא רְפָא נָא לְמַחֲלוֹתֶיהָ תִּכְלֶה שָׁנָה וְִקִלְלוֹתֶיהָ. | Little sister, her prayers She prepares and proclaims her praises. God, please heal her and her ailments. End the old year and her travails. |
"End the old year." The old year is over. Starting now, on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, spiritual anniversary of creation, we have a precious chance to write a new history for this new year.
"End the old year and her travails." All years have travails, and all hearts too: each heart knows its own (Proverbs 14:10). We each know in our hearts our hurts and challenges of this moment. We all know society's hurts and challenges in these unprecedented times.
"Unprecedented times." We've been saying so for years. By now we might be weary from them. We yearn for the seemingly good old days. Don't you wish we lived in "precedented" times?
I do. Many of us feel nostalgic for when the world felt safer, we were younger, our health better, our politics sane, our planet's climate balanced. We yearn for better times, hence Garrison Keillor's "News from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking and all the children are above average." The "Diary of Anne Frank" is wistful for easier times and simple pleasures to power hope for better days – and also was utterly clear-eyed about reality.
Anne Frank's times are not our times. But a bit like then, we have no instruction manual for today's threats to values, the lies and outrage flooding the zone every day, with so much so fast, aiming to overwhelm us. Yet if any people, any world wisdom path, was forged in the fire for moments like these, it is our own. We come imprinted with 3,500 years of tools for wise living and societal betterment.
Today we don't have the luxury to live in Lake Wobegon, safe in our nostalgia, driving while looking only in the rearview mirror. It is our duty to face forward, face what is happening and stand up boldly.
How? With resilience, ethics, community and courage – ancient Jewish tools for continuity and sometimes greatness, our superpowers to navigate and transform adversity. If today's instruction manual doesn't exist, then we must write it – but not from scratch. We have proven tools. If we use them, we are #StrongerTogether.
This is our theme for these High Holy Days and 5786: we are #StrongerTogether. Together we have great power to transform, as we must if we are to inscribe ourselves into a Book of Life worth living. This power is more than tough: it can be soft, courageously loving, with healthy boundaries, with morality, with structure beyond self.
These Days of Awe will uplift our #StrongerTogether theme and the kinds of strength we most need through to meet this moment:
"End the old year and her travails." All years have travails, and all hearts too: each heart knows its own (Proverbs 14:10). We each know in our hearts our hurts and challenges of this moment. We all know society's hurts and challenges in these unprecedented times.
"Unprecedented times." We've been saying so for years. By now we might be weary from them. We yearn for the seemingly good old days. Don't you wish we lived in "precedented" times?
I do. Many of us feel nostalgic for when the world felt safer, we were younger, our health better, our politics sane, our planet's climate balanced. We yearn for better times, hence Garrison Keillor's "News from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking and all the children are above average." The "Diary of Anne Frank" is wistful for easier times and simple pleasures to power hope for better days – and also was utterly clear-eyed about reality.
Anne Frank's times are not our times. But a bit like then, we have no instruction manual for today's threats to values, the lies and outrage flooding the zone every day, with so much so fast, aiming to overwhelm us. Yet if any people, any world wisdom path, was forged in the fire for moments like these, it is our own. We come imprinted with 3,500 years of tools for wise living and societal betterment.
Today we don't have the luxury to live in Lake Wobegon, safe in our nostalgia, driving while looking only in the rearview mirror. It is our duty to face forward, face what is happening and stand up boldly.
How? With resilience, ethics, community and courage – ancient Jewish tools for continuity and sometimes greatness, our superpowers to navigate and transform adversity. If today's instruction manual doesn't exist, then we must write it – but not from scratch. We have proven tools. If we use them, we are #StrongerTogether.
This is our theme for these High Holy Days and 5786: we are #StrongerTogether. Together we have great power to transform, as we must if we are to inscribe ourselves into a Book of Life worth living. This power is more than tough: it can be soft, courageously loving, with healthy boundaries, with morality, with structure beyond self.
These Days of Awe will uplift our #StrongerTogether theme and the kinds of strength we most need through to meet this moment:
- Our Sovereign Power – our can-do ability to change, our capacity to turbo-charge our resilience. That's tonight.
- Our Moral Power – on Israel the state and all of us as the Children of Israel, amidst such hurt and hate. That's Rosh Hashanah morning tomorrow.
- Truth and Consequences – amidst our sometimes excess certainty, we have the power to re-think. That's Rosh Hashanah day 2.
- Our Circle Dance – about power in community. That's Kol Nidre night.
- Our Hidden Courage – that's Yom Kippur morning.
- On Paradise Street – our power of memory, Yizkor on Yom Kippur afternoon.
Think about what you make sovereign in your life. What truly rules you? Are you totally satisfied with your answer? Whatever it is, what we call the God of Creation imbues us with the power to choose, to re-center, to change. In Genesis 1:27 we read that the Creator made us בְּצֶלֶם אֱלֹהִים / in the divine image, with sacred attributes. If God can create and transform, then so can we.
We must start here, with our sovereign powers of choice and change. Otherwise, the travails of the heart and travails of our world can seem beyond our power to repair. Even if we know in our heads that we can change the world, we can change ourselves, we can bend the arc of history, the human heart can lag behind. The heart has its own logic, with impulses of fear, hurt and inertia we feel every day.
So it was for the primordial Adam in the Garden of Eden, that mystical womb of human consciousness. Imagine for a moment that you are the first human. You are in a lush garden. Your every need is met. All is light and bright, blissful and perfect. At sunset, the light fades. All that you know goes dark. You've never seen a sunset. What do you think and feel? Talmud (Avodah Zara 8a) continues the story:
| יום שנברא בו אדם הראשון, כיון ששקעה עליו חמה, אמר אוי לי ... ויחזור עולם לתוהו ובוהו.... היה יושב ובוכה כל הלילה... כיון שעלה עמוד השחר, אמר: מנהגו של עולם הוא | On the day that the first Adam was created, as the sun set on him, he said: 'Woe is me! ... The world returns to the void of its chaos....' He sat crying all night.... When the sun rose, he said: 'This is the way of the world.' |
Our tradition's stories exist for reasons. Our ancestors lived in dark times when all they knew felt like it was fading. They felt some dark moments like the end of it all. But they also knew, deeply, that experience and learning can strengthen us and transform us.
Adam mourned sunset with no hope that "the sun'll come up tomorrow." With no hope, he had no resilience. But experience catalyzed change in him: his dark night was the birth pang of hope.
That night is this night – Yom Harat Olam, rebirthing the world, a womb from which hope can spring anew. Over 3,500 years of Jewish history and many dark nights made our people into hope mongers – not blind to dark times and tough realities, but hopeful even so. As the Robert Frost wrote about stars, "dark is what brings out your light."
Our history reminds that true hope is not about waiting but about action. We can't afford passivity now: what is sovereign in our lives demands that we act to change our lives, join together and stand together.
Maybe the last time our world needed to act so decisively was World War II. From the war mobilization's total disruption of society was born the iconic revolutionary Rosie the Riveter. Rosie was brainchild of John Jacob Loeb, songwriter son of Jacob Moritz Loeb of the Jewish Welfare Board. That's right: Rosie was Jewish, which makes sense. Jews often have been social pioneers and the Loebs had reason: Hitler. Even in fear of what was unfolding, Loeb's 1942 song "Rosie the Riveter" conjured Rosie as an optimist "on the assembly line, / She's making history / working for victory." She sang on every radio. Norman Rockwell's famed visual depiction followed.
Rosie touched something elementally sovereign deep within: the promise and demand of equality. Of course, the patriarchy did not suddenly wake up in Barbie Land, sworn to women's lib: in 1942 there was no choice. Urging women into the work force was key to the war against fascism. Only for this reason did government deploy Rosie to galvanize the nation that "We can do it."
But the social changes that Rosie the Riveter and Wendy the Welder unleashed would not quit. They were the spark that launched this nation's every other modern movement toward equality. Most anti-discrimination laws trace back to Rosie. Not smoothly, quickly or without defeats, but change happened. True equality and equal dignity – our nation's oft-quoted creed – needed persistent pushing (it still does). It found a potent voice in Rosie with Jewish resilience, optimism and vision to see through the darkness.
Heaven forbid we face another world war literally, but battles today must be joined for our country's soul, for Israel's soul, for who we are. And there are battles that must be joined inside each of us against passivity, inertia, cynicism, despair, and the angels of our not-so-better natures. Rosie calls to us again: "We can do it."
If Adam was mythic and Rosie was iconic, a third exemplar of our #StrongerTogether sovereign power is very real. Meet Nissimmi Na'im Na'or, an Israeli chef and rabbi. What a great name for a chef-rabbi – in Hebrew, "miraculous, pleasant, enlightened." He uses food to teach about identity, social justice, social change and resilience.
One Friday, Nissimmi was up before dawn forming loaves of hallah for Shabbat, when air raid sirens went off. I'm no baker, but I'm told that one can't leave dough out forever. Nissimmi took his loaves and go-bag, and went down to his apartment building's safe area.
Few of us know from experience what it's like to live like that, routine and emergency side by side. For Nissimmi taking shelter is routine; for many Palestinians safety is unthinkable – something we will discuss tomorrow from the spiritual perspective of moral power.
So there Nissimmi was in a basement safe area with 100 others, their go-bags, and their hallah loaves. There was a kitchen; soon hallot for Shabbat went into the oven. He took out his cell phone and began broadcasting about sharing food, resilience under fire. His feed, "From the Kitchen to the Safe Room," went viral. In attack after attack, in safe rooms at all hours, Israelis held video visits with family and friends, did homework and made cookies.
I asked Israeli friends about the cookies: they sounded trivial, unserious. But with Israeli grit, they all gave versions of the same answer: "What? At war we shouldn't have cookies?"
We chuckled, then discussed sobering realities. We talked about exhaustion, defiance and moral pain. They said that cookies were not for distraction or stress eating. They weren't for hiding: they were for living – a morsel of resilience to face hardship, together in community, affirming basic humanity under fire, come what may.
Jewish history, and our Israeli cousins, teach that when we truly make community, resilience and humanity sovereign in our lives, we are more able to light up the darkness. Yes, Israel is far from perfect; so are we. Nothing ever gets better by pretending it away.
And still we hope, with a particular kind of hope. Jewish hope is not a dream or a distraction, but a fervent intention, a way of life that insists, "We can do it." This hope is demanding. It demands truth, conscience and steadfast resistance to nihilism. This hope is our spiritual birthright – but at risk of heresy, it does not come from God. Elie Wiesel put it best: "Hope," he said, "is like peace. It is not a gift from God. It is a gift only we can give one another."
This Erev Rosh Hashanah, new moon of this new year, urgently needs us to give each other this gift of hope. Only together – with all our flaws, foibles and not-so-better nature – can we strengthen each other to face them and change them. Only together can we most brightly shine into the darkness, for the dark brings out our light.
Easy words, but not an easy path. It is hard to change. It is hard to change ourselves, and even harder to bend the arc of history. But we've done it before, our ancestors' strength flows through us, and this moment summons us.
May these sacred Days of Awe open us to the empowering hope that teshuvah and repair are possible. May each of us greet this hope like Adam's first sunrise: "This is the way of the world," even when parts of our world seem darkest. May we share this hope like Rosie's optimism: "We can do it." And #StrongerTogether, may we make 5786 a shanah tovah um'tukah – a good and sweet new year for each other, our loved ones and worlds beyond.
Adam mourned sunset with no hope that "the sun'll come up tomorrow." With no hope, he had no resilience. But experience catalyzed change in him: his dark night was the birth pang of hope.
That night is this night – Yom Harat Olam, rebirthing the world, a womb from which hope can spring anew. Over 3,500 years of Jewish history and many dark nights made our people into hope mongers – not blind to dark times and tough realities, but hopeful even so. As the Robert Frost wrote about stars, "dark is what brings out your light."
Our history reminds that true hope is not about waiting but about action. We can't afford passivity now: what is sovereign in our lives demands that we act to change our lives, join together and stand together.
Maybe the last time our world needed to act so decisively was World War II. From the war mobilization's total disruption of society was born the iconic revolutionary Rosie the Riveter. Rosie was brainchild of John Jacob Loeb, songwriter son of Jacob Moritz Loeb of the Jewish Welfare Board. That's right: Rosie was Jewish, which makes sense. Jews often have been social pioneers and the Loebs had reason: Hitler. Even in fear of what was unfolding, Loeb's 1942 song "Rosie the Riveter" conjured Rosie as an optimist "on the assembly line, / She's making history / working for victory." She sang on every radio. Norman Rockwell's famed visual depiction followed.
Rosie touched something elementally sovereign deep within: the promise and demand of equality. Of course, the patriarchy did not suddenly wake up in Barbie Land, sworn to women's lib: in 1942 there was no choice. Urging women into the work force was key to the war against fascism. Only for this reason did government deploy Rosie to galvanize the nation that "We can do it."
But the social changes that Rosie the Riveter and Wendy the Welder unleashed would not quit. They were the spark that launched this nation's every other modern movement toward equality. Most anti-discrimination laws trace back to Rosie. Not smoothly, quickly or without defeats, but change happened. True equality and equal dignity – our nation's oft-quoted creed – needed persistent pushing (it still does). It found a potent voice in Rosie with Jewish resilience, optimism and vision to see through the darkness.
Heaven forbid we face another world war literally, but battles today must be joined for our country's soul, for Israel's soul, for who we are. And there are battles that must be joined inside each of us against passivity, inertia, cynicism, despair, and the angels of our not-so-better natures. Rosie calls to us again: "We can do it."
If Adam was mythic and Rosie was iconic, a third exemplar of our #StrongerTogether sovereign power is very real. Meet Nissimmi Na'im Na'or, an Israeli chef and rabbi. What a great name for a chef-rabbi – in Hebrew, "miraculous, pleasant, enlightened." He uses food to teach about identity, social justice, social change and resilience.
One Friday, Nissimmi was up before dawn forming loaves of hallah for Shabbat, when air raid sirens went off. I'm no baker, but I'm told that one can't leave dough out forever. Nissimmi took his loaves and go-bag, and went down to his apartment building's safe area.
Few of us know from experience what it's like to live like that, routine and emergency side by side. For Nissimmi taking shelter is routine; for many Palestinians safety is unthinkable – something we will discuss tomorrow from the spiritual perspective of moral power.
So there Nissimmi was in a basement safe area with 100 others, their go-bags, and their hallah loaves. There was a kitchen; soon hallot for Shabbat went into the oven. He took out his cell phone and began broadcasting about sharing food, resilience under fire. His feed, "From the Kitchen to the Safe Room," went viral. In attack after attack, in safe rooms at all hours, Israelis held video visits with family and friends, did homework and made cookies.
I asked Israeli friends about the cookies: they sounded trivial, unserious. But with Israeli grit, they all gave versions of the same answer: "What? At war we shouldn't have cookies?"
We chuckled, then discussed sobering realities. We talked about exhaustion, defiance and moral pain. They said that cookies were not for distraction or stress eating. They weren't for hiding: they were for living – a morsel of resilience to face hardship, together in community, affirming basic humanity under fire, come what may.
Jewish history, and our Israeli cousins, teach that when we truly make community, resilience and humanity sovereign in our lives, we are more able to light up the darkness. Yes, Israel is far from perfect; so are we. Nothing ever gets better by pretending it away.
And still we hope, with a particular kind of hope. Jewish hope is not a dream or a distraction, but a fervent intention, a way of life that insists, "We can do it." This hope is demanding. It demands truth, conscience and steadfast resistance to nihilism. This hope is our spiritual birthright – but at risk of heresy, it does not come from God. Elie Wiesel put it best: "Hope," he said, "is like peace. It is not a gift from God. It is a gift only we can give one another."
This Erev Rosh Hashanah, new moon of this new year, urgently needs us to give each other this gift of hope. Only together – with all our flaws, foibles and not-so-better nature – can we strengthen each other to face them and change them. Only together can we most brightly shine into the darkness, for the dark brings out our light.
Easy words, but not an easy path. It is hard to change. It is hard to change ourselves, and even harder to bend the arc of history. But we've done it before, our ancestors' strength flows through us, and this moment summons us.
May these sacred Days of Awe open us to the empowering hope that teshuvah and repair are possible. May each of us greet this hope like Adam's first sunrise: "This is the way of the world," even when parts of our world seem darkest. May we share this hope like Rosie's optimism: "We can do it." And #StrongerTogether, may we make 5786 a shanah tovah um'tukah – a good and sweet new year for each other, our loved ones and worlds beyond.
RSS Feed