Needless to say, everything changed a week ago. We went to bed a week ago Monday with no more than the usual concerns vexing us; we awoke last Tuesday to calamity - not only death and destruction, but fear, anger, shock, and despair. As we have done throughout the past week, we will have many opportunities this RH and this HH season to address these events, and these feelings. As one example, my sermon for tomorrow morning - like that of rabbis around the country and around the world - is now completely changed, and will attempt to tackle some of these issues.
Tonight, while some of what I am about to share of course had to be changed to reflect the tragic circumstances, much of it is able to remain the same. Because its an evening service that comes at the end of a long work day (or for some of us a frantic preparation day; in my case theyre the same thing) - and there are more kids and fewer, or at least fewer focused, adults - Erev RH is a good time to share a story. In our tradition, stories are important vehicles for imparting ideas; while the Bible, Talmud, midrash, and Zohar all make use of this technique, it was the Hassidic masters of the 18th & early 19th centuries who used it to greatest effect.
There are many words Hebrew words for story - sipur, from sefer (book); aggadah, often translated as legend or lore; as well as the modern Hebrew alilah, among them. A story about a particular event is often called a maasiah, from oseh, to do - in Yiddish thats maaiseh, like a bubbemaaiseh, a tale passed down through the generations. While all these kinds of stories might have something to teach, theres a different word for a story designed to do just that. Its called a mashal - some translate it as fable - and it leads up to the nimshal, the moral of the story. In some cases the nimshal is the last line of the tale itself; but often its less clear, and to understand the nimshal requires us to think. As with so many Jewish texts, many stories offer a beautiful range of nimshalim to choose from - our texts rarely speak in one voice.
In thinking about sermon topics and titles back in July - a world ago, it seems - there were two things that had happened within our community that needed sermonic attention. One was the annual retreat, where we studied and discussed and rededicated ourselves to our communitys core principles, as eloquently laid out in our Statement of Principles and series of Guidelines (which are soon to come under the microscope as part of a redrafting process). That made sense for Yom Kippur morning, where it shall remain.
The other was a huge loss in our community, the passing of our beloved Rabbi, teacher, mentor, friend, and community member - and above all, for Miriam and Anne, father, and for Carol and Judy, beloved presence in their life - Rabbi Ira Eisenstein. Knowing that by now the immediacy of the grief would have passed, a story sounded like an appropriate way to give voice to this loss, while yet keeping alive what he stood for. That was to be tonight - and so, too, shall it remain.
Yet we cannot ignore the events of the past week. Grief is immediate for us, though its over thousands, not over one. Its the grief over people cut down in their prime, not one who lived a more-than-full and rich life. We mourn for those who never had the chance to fully let their talents shine, to write their books, to be there for others, to make a difference, to use their influence to affect the way others see themselves and the world, hopefully for the better. Ira did all that, and more; the victims of the terror last week did not. We cannot compare the loss of one man in the fullness of his years to the loss of thousands of innocent civilians long before their time. And yet, here are these two moments of grief when our community confronted loss, bracketing the memory of our happy summer with the tears of late-June and of mid-September.
The mashal, the story, I had in mind for tonight has many possible nimshalim. Those that I will suggest hardly constitute an exhaustive list, but theyre a start. This is a story that spans the first four generations of Hassidic leaders, and the astute listener may quickly discern some of the levels of interpretation, of nimshal, that emerge from it. However, like a painting or a poem that is put out into the world with the invitation for all to find their own meaning in it, we are not here to discuss framers intent. The story stands on its own, and we breathe new life into it as we seek to find meaning from it for our day.
The mashal:
When the Holy BESHT would face a crisis, a time of calamity (which was not uncommon in the Eastern Europe of his day, with one foot in the medieval world and one in modernity) - when he was unsure of what to do & how to lead - he would go to a particular place in the woods that had special significance to him. He would light a fire there, in a most particular way, that seemed to help. And he would say a very particular prayer. After that, the BESHT would offer his own spontaneous prayer: Ribono shel olam (Master of the Universe!) - I beseech you to come to our aid at this perilous moment Upon his return to town, he would know what to do, and every time - possibly as a direct result of his prayer and ritual, as his followers said; certainly, as we see it, at least partially as a result of his actions - the crisis would be averted.
The Maggid of Mezrich would face similar problems, and he tried to recall the teaching of his late mentor. He had some of the parts, but not all. He was able to go back to that same place in the woods, and to say the same particular prayer - but along the way, the secret of the fire was lost. He said ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. I am afraid that I can no longer light the particular fire, but I have come to the special place, and said the special prayer. May these be enough And, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.
A generation later, Rabbi Moshe Lieb of Sassov faced similar problems, and he too tried to recall the teaching of his mentor. In this intergenerational game of telephone, he too had some of the parts, but not all. The fire was long ago lost, and though he still knew the prayer, by now he was far from the land of his teachers - he couldnt go to the same sacred spot in the woods. He sent a message to his friends back in Mezrich and Medzhbedzh to go to that place on his behalf - but no one there, either, could recall the place. So he recited the prayer, and then said ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. I am afraid that I can no longer light the particular fire, or go to the special place, but I have said the prayer. May this be enough And, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.
By the time of Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn, the great Rizhnitzer Rebbe, the troubles for the Jews in Eastern Europe had only intensified. He faced great calamity, and needed to marshal all the spiritual resources he knew of, in order to get himself and the community through these trying times. But by now, even the language of the prayer was lost. So he thought and thought, and finally, he sat down in his own special place, and said: ribono shel olam - I know that our ancestors in such times would turn to you in a special way. The knowledge of this is lost -- I can no longer light the particular fire, or go to the special place, or even say the particular prayer. But I do have one thing, and that is the story. May this be enough And sure enough, according to the story, he too returned, and knew what to do; and the crisis was averted.
This story is an old favorite. Now, on to the nimshal. The first nimshal I will suggest comes through explaining the history behind this powerful story. The first generation of Hassidic masters was in fact just one rabbi, Israel Baal Shem or simply the Baal Shem Tov, the master of a good name (also known by the acronym of Baal Shem Tov, the Besht). He was the Mordecai Kaplan, if you will, of Hasidut, who helped galvanize new creative and mystical energy during the early 1700s in Eastern Europe, and in so doing gave rise to Hasidut.
The next generation is represented by the great Maggid of Mezrich - Maggid meaning preacher, or story-teller (from Aggadah, which you may remember is another name for story). The Maggid was the Baal Shem Tovs first disciple, who helped translate many of the founders brilliant yet inscrutable ideas into language that spoke to the times, and captivated his listeners. If the Baal Shem Tov gave birth to many of the ideas of Hasidut, it was the Maggid who turned it into a movement.
For those of you who might not know where Im going with this - though I think that most Adat Shalomers here see by now - the analogy of the Maggid to Ira Eisenstein is a fitting one. Ira was not only Mordecai Kaplans first and most eager, and perhaps brightest, disciple, he also became Kaplans son-in-law (a happy fact for us because of Miriams presence in our midst). Ira was also Kaplans life-long associate, transposing the ideas of his teacher into a contemporary key, and guiding the movement for decades.
Good enough, but such a reading accounts only for the first two generations. Who, then, are Moshe Lieb of Sassov, or the Rizhnitzer? If we think of generations of influence chronologically, then analogies are found right here within our midst - Rabbi George, and Rabbi Sid. And certainly we have all learned from these two, and seen the influence on them of Ira and his teachings. But if this reading is so, then that makes me the vanguard of the fifth generation already - and if the logic of the mashal continues, I dont want to be caught without even the story!
So instead, let me suggest that we are ALL Moshe Lieb of Sassov. We, spanning as many generations as we do, are in this sense all the third generation. We are all blessed to have learned with, and from, our Maggid. We have benefited not only from his erudition and creativity and brilliance, but from his person, as well - his humor and humility, his gentleness and dedication, his passion and his compassion. And ironically enough, were he to hear this tribute, hed likely say dai kvar - genuk - enough already!
No doubt, rather than words of tribute, he would want us instead to plumb the story for depth, for meaning, for relevance. And that brings us to perhaps the more important nimshal. What would Ira say? I think hed say that while losing rituals or ideas before their time is indeed sad, such things have been - and indeed should be - discarded, all along the long march of Jewish history. Our people and our traditions have survived by always adapting to changing circumstances, always speaking in the language of the day - even while holding onto its spiritual center, and being able to speak the language of the past. We all know the code-sentence for this belief: Kaplan & Iras formulation of Judaism as (and you can say it with me!) the evolving religious civilization of the Jewish people.
So according to the teachings of our own Maggid, that which worked for the Baal Shem Tov, may well not have worked for the Rizhnitzer! Perhaps its a good thing that these particular rituals were lost along the way, lest their inheritors have treated them as sacred museum pieces, enshrined and inviolate for all time, until they ossify. (That by the way is the Reconstructionist critique of modern-day Hassidut. A once radical system now turned reactionary, it holds that dress, observance, and the entire way of life should remain as unchanged as possible. Of course they want and need change, but they do it selectively, while maintaining an unchanging veneer. This works for them -- but not for us.)
Ira learned from Kaplan, and some might say he held on to some of the particulars of his teachers ideas for a bit too long. But he did change them - after all, the kernel of Reconstructionist ideology is not any particular set of affirmations, not any newly reconstructed dogma: it is a process, by which we approach this evolving religious civilization, and keep it relevant for today. And we must do the same. We, the generation following the Maggid, get to live his teachings, and spread them ever further and wider - yet we must also change them, help them evolve, along the way.
In a generation with a short attention span for history, the story itself is what matters - not the exact nature of the fire, language of the prayer, or exact GPS coordinates of the place in the woods in a land now mostly Yudenrein anyway. In a post-modern world, the story is what stands out: it gives us the meaning we need it to. In a world blessedly informed by feminism, environmentalism, and other great social and ideological movements, the story alone can teach us: even if the fire generated hydrocarbons, the place in the woods is now a golf course, and the prayer talked about God as King; we can relate to, and own, the story.
Thus far, Ive shared what Id originally hoped to. We now come to levels of nimshal that we all wish didnt have to be offered. Remember that our mashal had to do with leaders struggling with what to do in the face of calamity. Today our leaders likewise struggle with what to do in the face of calamity. What can we as Jews - as Reconstructionist Jews - tell our leaders, that might help inform their decision-making at this terrible time? Tomorrow morning we will probe Judaisms rich resources, and suggest some possibilities. For now, I want to use the story itself to address the question. All four elements of our story hint at the work we must do:
The fire: people today are clamoring for fire, with brimstone; for rubble bouncing in Kabul, as some say. Of course, we must respond. But fighting fire with fire only works sometimes. Prescribed burns, the technical name for fighting fire with fire, only works sometimes - it takes tremendous time to plan, much set-up, and ideal conditions; yet even then, a shift in wind currents can spell disaster. If we are to fight fire with fire, we must be very careful. A Torah School student during a discussion on Sunday passed along the expression of her teacher in regular school: revenge is best served cold, i.e. upon reflection. Reactions in the heat of anger are seldom well-thought-out. Let us be clear that any actions we take serve our long-term goals
The prayer: yes, prayer. We should tell our leaders, and ourselves, to search our souls, to tap the resources of this and of other traditions that help us to take the long-view, to see life on a theological time scale, to cultivate patience. We should center ourselves through prayer among other religious means, and act from that place of centeredness. And part of prayer is tshuvah, the internal work of reflection and self-betterment that is the focus of this High Holy Day season. Let us remember that tshuvah is about pointing the finger of examination inward: as much finger-pointing as there is to be done elsewhere, lets not lose the gift our tradition gives us of this time, to work on ourselves first lets not let the terrorists take that away from us, too
The place in the woods: remember that an old growth forest takes nearly 1000 years in order to mature - and that when good trees are felled before their time, it can take nearly 1000 years for the forest to regenerate. The impact on the ecosystem is visible for centuries. As we protect ourselves, along with all that is beautiful and ethical about our way of life - civil liberties, equality, pluralism, democratic process, due process - let us be sure not to clear-cut others forests. Selective logging always works much better.
Finally, the story: Just as the Hassidic story has been around for nearly 200 years, so will others someday be telling the stories of this past week. We must remember that our actions and our words live on beyond us. What stories will they tell, and to what effect? This perspective should give us pause in considering our reactions - but it should also give us hope.
Earlier I suggested a nimshal that accounted for only three generations - the Besht (Kaplan), the Maggid (Ira), and the Sassover (all of us). This interpretation left out the fourth generation, that of the Rizhnitzer. But the fourth generation stands for the future, for those who will yet come after us, to carry on our work and to carry forward the most enduring of our values. Having this fourth generation in our story is the ultimate expression of hope: the story goes on.
We are teachers. Every action we take, every word we speak, impact the world around us - hopefully, if not always, for the good. Those of us blessed to have children in our homes are teachers in a unique way; kids absorb everything. Just as we benefited from studying at Ira's feet, so do our children, our students, our junior colleagues, our friends, our community all stand to benefit from what they learn from us. The community of listeners goes on; the chain of tradition remains unbroken. That which we cherish shall not be lost, so long as the story is told.
May we live our lives in a way that does justice to the memory of all those who have gone before us - and that serves well the cause of all those who will live after us. Shanah Tovah.