Categories
High Holy Days

Blank Pages

At this moment of writing I sit in my study at Temple Emanu-El, the early morning quiet contoured by impending rain clouds that promise a wet Atlanta morning.

The clock on the wall, set above my ordination degree bearing signatures of my teachers before me, softly ticks and tocks with each second.  The sound both soothes and beckons me with potential and with challenge.

And in front of me, a blank page stares back, demanding words to share that are ripe with inspiration, aspiration, and meaning.

Perhaps in the space between the ticking seconds, and through the glaring white page, the metaphor calls out to us, “Yes, it is right here. Open your eyes and be awake!”

The High Holy Days are around the corner.  Each year the weeks leading up to them are heavy with a certain weighted intensity that our Jewish tradition fosters as a positive and necessary experience.  The backdrop of the harvest (yesteryear), the new semester, and a return to the fast- paced workplace after the summer lull is part of the atmosphere. But the real pressure that Judaism prescribes is the proverbial tick of the clock and glaring white pages of our lives still to be lived.  There is a spiritual urgency that stirs in us.

What will we do with our time to make the very most of the days that we have left? (tick… tock)

In the Book of Life (Sefer HaChayim) where we implore God to inscribe us each new year, what will we choose to write on that glaring blank page?  For the pen is in our hands, as are the stories, words and deeds…

These questions form the backbone not only of our High Holy Days, but of our collective lives.

The stakes presented in these existential questions are far from hypothetical, but rather are intensely personal.

For this reason, The High Holy Days are often referred to as the Yomim Noraim, the Days of Awe, for it is with ‘awe’ that we are cautioned to approach the honest assessment we are asked to make of ourselves and our lives.  Our liturgy calls this a Heshbone HaNefesh, an Accounting of the Soul.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel helps us understand the concept of ‘awe’, and our approach to it, by asking us how we might approach the Grand Canyon. Perhaps you have been there.  Imagine standing right on the edge, looking out and down.  It is vast.  It is truly incredible.  It makes us simultaneously feel insignificant and luminous.  With our toes on the edge of the precipice, we gaze into the abyss, all the while knowing that our feet rest on firm and unshakable ground.  That is ‘awe’, a mixture of elation and fear.

Elation for what we could yet achieve with our lives, our relationships, and our ability to appreciate the invaluable worth of each moment.

Fear of falling far short of our potential, squandering our relationships, and closing our eyes to the beauty and meaning that permeates our precious days.

On Rosh HaShanah when we pray to be inscribed in the book of life, we are not just praying for more time on earth, but we are jolting ourselves awake to really, truly live!

אב’נו מלכנו כתבנו בספר ח”ם טוב’ם

Avinu Maleinu, kotveinu b’sefer chayim tovim.

Our benevolent God, inscribe us (and may we have the courage to inscribe ourselves) in the Book of Lives Well Lived.

May our congregations everywhere, and our congregants be blessed; and in turn bless one another.

And may this year be a sweet year for us all.

Rabbi Spike Anderson serves Temple Emanu-El in Atlanta, Georgia.

Categories
High Holy Days spirituality

High Holy Day Self-Care: A Rabbinic Primer

My ex-boyfriend used to joke: I love you every week of the year, except for the week between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Oh, and the day before Rosh HaShanah. I find it challenging to love you then too.

I get it, and I bet you (and your significant other, or kids, or cantor, or assistant, or all of the above) do too. As a Rabbi’s kid, who’s herself worked for some very anxious senior Rabbis, I can attest: the high holy days often make us crazy. And not just crazy but angry, unpleasant, overtired and sometimes even nasty. My mom (who, strictly speaking, as a pediatric surgeon had a far more stressful job than my father) used to say, “I just try to stay out of your dad’s way during the month before the holy days.”

The irony is, of course, this: ‘tis the season of cheshbon hanefesh, of checking ourselves, apologizing to others, and guarding, a bit more closely, our words and actions. It’s what we preach from the bima, but far, far too often fail to practice in the lead up to the days of awe.

So, in the summers leading up to Elul, I’ve gone above and beyond to set aside some time to prepare myself – not just with cues and sermons and music – but spiritually, emotionally, and physically, for the chagim.

A few suggestions, based on trial and error:

1) The next time you’re agonizing over a sermon, or impressing your biggest donors with your Yom Kippur appeal, or figuring out the perfect balance between the political and the pastoral, stop. Literally. Stop it. Get out of your office. Step away from your computer. Put down the David Wolpe or Jonathan Sacks sermon you wish you’d written, and go for a walk. Get a massage. Hug your kids. Pick up Annie Dillard, or Wendell Berry, or Brene Brown, or Mary Oliver’s new book of poetry, or Yehuda Amichai, or whatever, whoever, inspires you. And then forgive yourself for not being able to produce utter brilliance in one sitting. If you have a creative hobby outside of the rabbinate, do it. Paint. Go to a yoga class. Go for a hike. Walk the dog. Give back to yourself so you have something to give to others.

2) Take your own preaching to heart, and forgive. Forgive the temple president who drives you crazy, the assistant who forgot to mail out the yahrtzeit notices, and yourself, for everyone you’ve failed – knowingly, and unknowingly this year. Be like God: balance your judgment of yourself – and everyone else – with mercy, compassion and gentleness. And then, once you’ve forgiven, apologize to those you need to apologize too. And don’t yell at anyone during the ten days, or you’ll have to do it again. (Yes, even you, Rabbi.)

3) Daven, just a little, just a bissel, every day of Elul. For me, this means mindfulness meditation. For others, it means selichot – prayers of forgiveness. For still others, it’s a niggun that connects us to our hearts. Because if you can’t give to yourself spiritually, or connect with what brought you to the Rabbinate in the first place, you can’t give to your congregants, or your students, or your patients.

4) The morning of Erev Rosh HaShanah, if you can, take an hour, or maybe even two, for yourself. Do something that gets you out of your head, out of your neuroses, and into your body. Last year, I woke up early and went surfing for two hours, which put me (very small person) in perspective (a very, very big ocean). (How important could my own mishegas about everything going off without a hitch be in a world so big?) This year, I’ll go for a trail run. Whatever it is that nurtures you (maybe even watching your favorite comedian for an hour), get out of your anxieties and fears and into a place of joy, and contentment, so that when you’re on the bima, welcoming the new year with all the joy, and excitement that a new year deserves, you mean it. The Jews in the pews can tell when you mean it.

5) Once the moment comes, try to enjoy it. Try to pray while you’re leading services. Try to set aside all of the madness that led up to the moment when tefilot begin and simply be present to the birthday of the world. It’s the climax of our spiritual year, the peak of the arc of our Jewish yearly lives and too often we’re too busy looking for our next cue or trying to make eye contact with the cantor to take it all in. So take an extra breath when you’re facing the ark, or pause for just a heartbeat, and remember what a tremendous privilege it is to lead hundreds, perhaps even thousands of Jews in letting go, starting over and beginning again. Even when it makes us crazy, it’s still the best work in the world.

Oh, and finally: Shanah tovah u’metukah – may it be a sweet, happy, healthy and meaningful new year for all of us.

Rabbi Jordie Gerson serves Adventure Rabbi in Boulder, Colorado.

 

Categories
High Holy Days Rabbis Reform Judaism

What Ought My Future Hold? Reflections on the Approach of Rosh HaShanah

Think ought.
Not what is a Jew, but what ought a Jew to be.
Not what is a synagogue, but what ought a synagogue to be.
Not what prayer is, but what prayer ought to be.
Focus from is to ought, and our mindset is affected.  Is faces me toward the present; ought turns me to the future.
Ought challenges my creative imagination, opens me to the realm of possibilities, and to responsibilities to realize yesterday/s dream.
Ought and is are complementary. Without an is, the genius of our past and present collective wisdom is forgotten. Without an ought, the great visions of tomorrow fade.
Ought demands not only a knowledge of history, but of exciting expectation.  Is is a being, ought is a becoming
Ought emancipates me from status quo thinking.
Ought is the freedom of spirit.
Ought we not Ought?                                            (Rabbi Harold Schulweis)

What is this summer like? Hot, hot, hot! But how have we used these dog days of summer as the days and weeks now rush to Labor Day and this year towards Rosh HaShanah but hours later. Have we made the time to catch our breath and found some time for rest, relaxation and reflection?  Are we fully aware of what the calendar tells us and even who we really are, what we ought to be doing and ought to be becoming?

We become aware of the nearness of these moments of transition as our calendars tell us figuratively to turn the page to August (only a month left of summer)  … or in Jewish terms to turn the page to Elul, (the Hebrew month with 30 days to get ready for Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.)  August is a time to pack in as much of summer as possible. Elul is the time to get yourself ready for the sacred time of the new year heralded by the sound of the shofar for a time of introspection and self-examination.

The Hafetz Hayyim, Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan, earned widespread fame for what today we’d call “personal self-help”.  The story is told that Rabbi Kagan was once in a distant village.  In search of a ride home, he met a wagon driver and asked the driver, who did not know his identity, where he was going.  When he learned that the driver was going to his village, he asked if he might go along.  The Hafetz Hayyim asked the driver why he was going there, and he responded excitedly, “I am going to meet the Hafetz Hayyim to prepare for the High Holy Days.”  Though still not revealing his identity to the driver, he responded, “Oh, I know the Hafetz Hayyim, and believe me, he’s not so wonderful.”  With that the driver punched the Hafetz Hayyim in the face and threw him from the wagon.

When he recovered and reflected on the incident, the Hafetz Hayyim said the driver taught him an important lesson, “Never speak badly about anyone, not even yourself!”  From this we learn that the Days of Awe, our High Holy Days and the idea of repentance call upon us to reflect and deal honorably with others, including ourselves.  To be inscribed in the Book of Life, we need to realize that life is not fiction. God’s inscribing us is about our cheshbon hanefesh, the personal accounting of what is and what ought to be, about how we have been living in the year soon ending … and about how we ought to live in the new year.

It is no easy thing to be human –  so much to tempt us and so difficult to be strong. Our basic humanity hinges upon our being able to discipline ourselves to do the right things, to make the right commitments, to embrace the right people, to do good, to work for tikkun olam, repairing our lives and our world. Elul, and August this year, amidst summer’s heat, is about asking yourself questions:  Have I healed or have I hurt?  Have I helped or have I hindered?  Have I been a model for those who look to me, or have I fallen short of my potential?  As one of my hero’s and teachers, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught, “In a free society where terrible wrongs exist, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”  We cannot allow wrongs to pass unnoticed; we cannot all retreat to the convenience of being busy:  living as a Jew mandates that we be responsible, face the challenges, address problems and make a difference!

RabbiGelfandFor us and our families, and for our world,
Amidst August/Elul & summer’s warmth, may what is be filled with blessings
And may what ought the future to hold  in 5774 be filled
with sweetness, human kindness and peace.

Rabbi David Gelfand is rabbi of Temple Israel of the City of New York.