Tonight the ark was opened, the Torahs taken out; a hush fell over the room as we rose, and started that sacred singing. We stood: for something (for Kol Nidrei). But we stand, together, for a lot more than that.
Tonight, we consciously stand as one people. It’s hard not to imagine, in synagogues and rented churches and high school auditoria the world ‘round, Jews gathering for Kol Nidrei. We’re pulled here by a tradition in which we have a stake -- which we treasure. Each of us has a slightly different sense of what this tradition is, and what it stands for: “Ethical monotheism.” “Torah, service, loving-kindness.” “Truth, justice and peace.” Israel. History. God. And still, we stand together.
In this particular auditorium, we too stand together as one community. But who and what is this community? Whether we’ve belonged for years, are first-time visitors, were dragged by relatives – tonight we are all part of a community that proudly defines itself in a certain way, with reference to a larger set of shared values. This is, for the record, Adat Shalom **Reconstructionist** Congregation.
It’s rare, in North America anyway, to be asked “what is Judaism?” But raise your hand if you’ve had to answer “what is Reconstructionism” more times than you can count!?! ______ Yup – more hands than we can count!
As a Reconstructionist rabbi, I hear this question more than most. And I always try to understand what’s behind it – why are they asking, what’s their frame of reference, what kind of answer will make sense, and satisfy – and keep their attention? There’s never time to convey its full richness, its breadth; I always leave something important out.
For any important question, cogent, pithy, meaningful answers, are tough. They’re art: an art form often known as “the elevator speech” – compressed explanations, catering to short attention spans, but an opportunity to say something important, if oversimplified. Ninth floor to the lobby, with two stops: you’ve got a minute maybe. A hundred words. What do you say, to give the person a real sense -- of what you do, who you are; in this case, what your community and denomination are all about -- what you and they stand for?
As individuals we‘re at Adat for different reasons: “It’s welcoming.” “It’s thought-provoking.” “It’s innovative” (sorry, though, no gospel music tonight!), “I can be myself” “Love the oneg.” All of these are aspects, reflections, of a Reconstructionist community. But there’s much more to it – a philosophy that gave birth to those onegs and warmth and egalitarian spirit.
Tonight, you’ve got homework: the back of your handout has three sample “elevator answers” to “what is Reconstructionism?” None may work perfectly for you, but all have elements worth thinking about, perhaps incorporating into your own ‘Recon rap’.
This Fall brings many ways to deepen our own sense of this movement – besides Intro to Recon classes, we’ll focus on that great primer book, “Exploring Judaism, A Reconstructionist Approach”, by Rabbis Rebecca Alpert and Jacob Staub (to help us out, a quick show of hands – how many of you have a copy at home? _____ Great – now, keep your hand up if you’ve read it! _______. Hmm… Not bad….).
We plan to make these books available to all – leading to our Shabbaton, second weekend in January, with Jacob and Rebecca – so read it by THEN! It’s the first time they’ve scholared-in-residence together – on understanding, and expositing, Reconstructionism.
Then, come Spring, practica, and senior seminars. It’s our year-long chance to focus, as a community, on this piece of who we are, and what we stand for. Within Recon’s wide range, whatever it is, stand proud. Please participate.
That’s this year. Tonight, we return to the larger theme: what we stand for, individually and collectively -- and how we share that with others, through our actions, words, even elevator speeches.
Some people are all talk. Others, more rare, are all humble righteous action. Tradition favors anavut, humility -- and for good reason. But I’m here to tell you that doing, and sharing what you’ve done, can spread your mitzvahs further. Those stories of tzadikkim who did super-noble things, incognito? Consider: if no one knew, we wouldn’t have the stories, and they wouldn’t be models for us today! (Just saying….)
Humility is good. Not taking up too much space, is good. But hiding your light under a bushel, isn’t. There’s a balance: one which, well struck, can leave the world a MUCH better place for your having been here.
An institutional example of that balance: When Adat Shalom first needed construction then cleaning crews, our values led us to pay extra, and make special arrangements, for living wages and health benefits. I don’t think we proclaimed it far and wide, but people heard; we’re now cited as a model for workers’ rights, leading other congregations to consider doing the same.
One beloved janitor, suddenly ill, had it checked out only because we’d insisted that the contractor give those benefits. His acute appendicitis was caught in time. We may well have saved a life. Perhaps we should trumpet that story, even more broadly – what if doing so could motivate further change, save other lives?
On Rosh Hashanah we talked about midrash-making and narrative psychology; the same goes here: what we say about what we do or who we are, reinforces what we do, and who we are (and vice versa). If we tell the story that we’re a shul that did this or that admirable thing, we’re more likely to continue to act that way – and, others may follow.
So too on the individual level: it’s okay, praiseworthy even, to bring up in casual conversation that you volunteer three nights a month, that you tithe, that you drive an efficient car or (ahem) often ride a bike. Of course, share it with all the humility you’ve got, and then some; question your assumptions; remain truly open to learning from others, as well. It need not sound boastful, when it’s about modeling for others, and raising the ethical ante in our society, not about you.
It also helps to somehow gauge how the other person might receive it. There’s a seemingly superfluous line in a Rosh Hashana Torah reading, when the angel called to Ishmael “ba’asher hu sham, in the place where he was.” What, was there another place? Rather, commentary says, the angel comes to teach us good communication skills.
Whatever you’re sharing, speak a little less from the place where you are, and more to the place where they are. That’s an important lesson to learn for our seasonal attempts to make amends; and it’s a larger lesson for communicating anything, to anyone. Like the angel, meet people where they are.
Which loops back to our elevator speech on Reconstructionism -- and elevator speeches in general. The very need for them feels distasteful -- summing one’s work, life passion, into a hundred words. When Lincoln and Douglass debated, folks listened for hours, broke for dinner, then came back for more. Today, debates are on YouTube, in a medium best known for ‘surfing’ -- two-minute answers feel ‘long.’ We may bemoan society’s shortening attention span, but it’s real, and we must adapt – by reaching people where they are.
Sure it’s compromising – cram what I’ve devoted my professional and spiritual life to, into a soundbite?! But it’s also a sort of exercise in respect, reaching others on their terms. Again, when asked about Reconstructionism, I try to gauge where the person’s coming from, why they ask, what they already know about Judaism and the movements. Do I think they share many of my values, “Recon values,” or not? All that affects which elevator speech I give.
The same goes when asked “how do you spend your time?,” or “what do you do?,” or other variants on “what do you stand for.” I seek the best way to send my most meaningful message – and then, stand and deliver, this ‘elevator speech of life.’
Somewhere around retirement age -- kids long grown, more of life behind, and less up ahead -- that’s when people often take stock, and start sharing, in ways big and small, the wisdom they’ve acquired. Think of some wise elders in your life, and how they’ve shared their vital message with you.
Then, recall that vulnerable, mortal, Unetaneh Tokef message of this season: that any of us could go, at any moment. It’s a reason to do teshuvah, now. It’s also a reason to share what you know, your sense of how the world should be, now. If your fifteen-minute Warholian moment of fame were right now, what would you do with it? What purpose would it serve; what message would it send?
What do you stand for? And is that what you say, when given the chance to really say something?
This season’s focus on God’s dominion makes us feel small, humbling us toward perspective, and introspection. But Judaism also focuses on teaching others, lighting the way. Humility, yes – but lights unto nations must shine, brightly! When people or communities go out of their way to do the right thing, but don’t become visible role models for others to do likewise – that’s taking humility too far.
When you believe something strongly, by golly, wear it on your sleeve! Be an educator, a consciousness-raiser. Use persuasion rather than force, of course, but do be persuasive. You may not have another chance to be heard.
So, get your elevator speech down – and then, make sure you act accordingly, once you reach the ground floor and walk away. Our entire lives are an object lesson; others do as we do more than as we say. Do the right thing -- it’s a mitzvah, and it’s a mitzvah to do it humbly, AND it’s a mitzvah to model it for others.
This Yom Kippur, and in the time we’re given in 5768, and in the years to come: fully live, and speak, your truth. Then you will leave the world enriched.
Gemar chatimah tovah.