Rabbi Yom Kippur Sermon, "Stepping out of the Circle of Control and Embracing Uncertainty"

Stepping out of the Circle of Control and Embracing Uncertainty

When you enter the synagogue on Yom Kippur, what are you hoping for? What reassurance are you seeking tonight?

I want to offer some reassurance from a story about Honi. You have undoubtedly heard the story of Honi and the carob tree. Before I retell that tale, let’s find out more about this man.

Honi was not a rabbi, which makes it all the more notable that we find him in the Talmud among tales of the Sages. He lived in the first century BCE, that is some time before the Destruction of the Second Temple. He was known as Honi the Circle Drawer.  Here is the story of how he got that title.

Honi had a reputation for the wondrous power of his prayers. Once a drought occurred late in the rainy season. The summer would soon arrive and without rain the crops would be devastated. Desperate, Honi’s students and followers came to ask him to pray for rain.

Honi drew a circle and stood inside it. He called on God in prayer saying, quite audaciously, “I will not budge from this spot unless you bring rain.”

His prayer met with some success. A few drops fell but it was not enough to save the crops. The followers begged him to try again.

Honi made his prayer more specific and more fervent:

“It was not for a few drops of rain I prayed, but for enough rain to fill the wells, cisterns and caves.”

Rain began to fall in such large drops, it was said that each drop held a gallon of water. The followers came to Honi again, pleading with him to change his prayer, for fear that such a rain would destroy the world.

So Honi’s prayer became even more specific and more demanding:

“Not for such a rain did I ask You, but for desirable rain that would be a blessing and a bounty.”

The rain suddenly began falling normally but continued for so long that a torrent flooded the streets. The people of Jerusalem were forced out of their homes to head to higher ground on the Temple mount.

It appears that while Honi possessed great powers, he did not have the power to control his circumstances. Using his power brought the good that he intended, but also led to destruction.

The Sages at the time pondered how to treat Honi. They appreciated the good he was able to do and they were appalled by his arrogance. Though the Talmud includes stories of miracle workers, it teaches that no one can control the uncontrollable. We have no other stories attesting to Honi trying to control the weather after that. Perhaps Honi learned to step outside of the circle, to submit to the unpredictable in a different way.

Today, as we observe the rituals and liturgy of Yom Kippur, we are called to step outside of our circle of control, and to submit to the unpredictable. Yom Kippur centers us in the greatest mystery of all, the mystery of mortality. Who among us has not been moved by the words we mournfully chant in the Unetanah Tokef, Who shall live and who shall die? Life and death are not in our hands.

In a little while we will hear the piyyut, Ki heni Kachomer, comparing our lives to clay in the hand of the potter. The image of God shaping us into a vessel, our fate resting in divine hands, may disturb us with the fatalism that it seems to profess. But I’ve learned from potters that the process of shaping a vessel is not entirely in the potter’s hands either. Aliza Arzt explains the art of pottery in regard to this particular piyyut:

“Too much thinning and the bowl develops a hole.  Too thick and the bowl has a lump.  Too much water and it sags.  Sometimes the potter has to take a break and give the piece time to begin to dry and to “firm up.” Sometimes the piece doesn’t seem to want to assume the shape that the potter is trying for and a compromise needs to be reached. If the potter is too unyielding, the bowl may look fine when it dries, but will crack when it’s fired.” That is, both for the potter and for the clay, the results are unpredictable. Within our hands, yet beyond our control.

Even when we seek to be our best, we fail, we offend, we cause unintended harm. When we enumerate the multiple sins in the al chet confession, we admit: for the sins we committed that are willful and thoughtless, and for sins committed both knowingly and unwittingly. Even when we believe we are in control of our actions, we cannot control the outcome.

Only weeks ago we had joyfully anticipated returning fully to services in person without masks. We have been so careful. We have isolated, we have kept social distance, we have worn masks, we have been vaccinated. And now, where have we ended up?

We have ended up in a Yom Kippur state of mind: living with uncertainty. It is not that uncertainty is new. All life is weighed down with uncertainty. But we have been living with the illusion that we are in control of our future. Now that that comfort is gone, our eyes have been opened to the possibilities that surround us. We have noticed the tulips, as if they have never been so plentiful. We have heard the songs of birds, as if they have been awakened to life. We have cherished the laughter of little children, the joy of a smile without a mask, or even a hug, as if we have never known the fullness of that joy before.

Perhaps we can learn, therefore, to embrace uncertainty.

What do we give up when we embrace uncertainty? We give up our emphatic hold on results. We give up our tightly clasped expectations. We give up our need to control others. We give up our grasp over our children’s choices, what they will hold dear from our teachings and who we think they will become.

And what do we have to gain? We are released from the paralysis of anxiety and worry. We turn our attention to what endures: acts of kindness, generosity, and compassion. We discover the value of listening to others. We lovingly observe as our children astound us with their growth. We open ourselves to be right here, right now, embracing life as it unfolds.

Let uncertainty be our teacher, patiently helping us to learn and to grow.

While we embrace uncertainty, we may rightly wonder, what then is within our control?

Now is the time for the story of Honi and the carob tree.

Sometime later, Honi saw a man planting a carob tree.

He scoffed at the man and asked him, “Don’t you know it takes 70 years for a carob tree to bear fruit? What do you have to gain from this?”

The man replied, “When I came into this world, I found carob trees. As my ancestors planted for me, so will I plant for my descendants.”

Honi sat down near the tree. He ate and then fell asleep.

Over time a grotto formed around him, hiding him as he slept.

70 years later, he awoke to find a man collecting carobs from the tree.

Astounded he asked, “Are you the man who planted this tree?”
The man laughed. “No, that was my father’s father.”

From this story, we can learn how one lives boldly into uncertainty.

First, we acknowledge those who provided for us in the past.

“As my ancestors planted for me, so I plant for my descendants.”

What a gift to reap the harvest of the fruits of their labors, and with that harvest, to treasure those who came before. In all their imperfections and misguided judgements--this one thing, they did right. And we are deeply grateful.
Second, we learn from those who came before to live with the faith that guided them to act even when they knew they would not live to see the harvest. And yet they planted. More than the harvest itself, their greatest gift is that faith and faithfulness, that belief in our future.

Third, we have been given the vision of a world where planting seeds is a way of sharing unconditionally, of living in the moment, and of embracing uncertainty with love and joy.

We plant for the future even if we can’t plan for the future.

We plant, with hope, a hope that arises from not knowing.  

We plant, because we respond to the call to plant. And then we respond to the call to let go of the harvest, to hand it over to the unknown.

In these uncertain times, may we have the courage to step outside of our circle of control. May we have the tenderness to embrace uncertainty.

And may we live with the faith that what truly matters, what is truly worthy of eternity will endure.  Ken yehi ratzon

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Temple Hillel B’nai Torah

Yom Kippur 5782

Rabbi Penzner's Rosh Hashanah Sermon, "Practicing Hope"

PRACTICING HOPE 

Our story begins in the second century CE after two turbulent centuries of Roman rule over Judea, decades after the Holy Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. It was a dark time for the Jewish people. The Talmud tells us of a discussion among a group of 3 scholars, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yosi and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, all esteemed colleagues and students of the same master, the beloved teacher Rabbi Akiva. The topic turned to the merits of the Roman Empire. 

Rabbi Yehuda began innocently enough, remarking: How pleasing are the actions of this nation, the Romans. They established marketplaces, established bridges, and established bathhouses.   

[some of the great contributions of the Roman Empire!]

Rabbi Yosi remained silent.

Rabbi Shimon bar Yocḥai retorted: Everything that they established, they established only for their own purposes. Their marketplaces are full of corruption and immorality; their bathhouses serve their own self-indulgence; and their bridges are used to collect taxes from all who pass over them.

Another colleague listening in to this discussion told what he heard to his household, and they told, others until the Roman rulers learned of them. [Betraying confidences didn’t start with social media.]

As a result. the rulers decreed, because Yehuda elevated the Roman regime with praise, he will be elevated and appointed as head speaker of the Sages. Because Yosi remained silent, his voice will be silenced through exile. And Shimon, who denounced the government, will be condemned to death.

Rabbi Shimon managed to escape, along with his son Eliezer. They found a cave to hide in. It is said that a miracle occurred for them. A carob tree grew up there and a spring of water bubbled up by the mouth of the cave. The carobs and the water sustained them. For twelve years they remained isolated in the cave. They spent their days studying Torah. Much of the day, they would remove their clothes, covering themselves in sand up to their necks. When it came time for daily prayers, they would put on their clothes out of respect.

[like putting on a nice shirt for a Zoom meetings] After their prayers they removed their clothes again to preserve them from wear and tear.

For twelve years they survived this way until one day, it is said, Elijah the Prophet came and stood at the entrance to the cave and said: Who will inform Shimon bar Yocḥai that the emperor has died and his death decree has been revoked?

Hearing that, Rabbi Shimon and his son got dressed and emerged from the cave.

[…Think for a moment what it must have been like to leave their isolation after so long. Were they overjoyed? Concerned? Fearful? What did they expect to see after twelve years? How would they respond to a world that was probably different from what they remembered? What skills had they lost in twelve years of living alone together, engaged in their favorite activity, with all their needs taken care of?]

Outside the cave they saw people who were plowing their fields and sowing seeds. Rabbi Shimon declared with anger: These people neglect the eternal life of Torah study and only engage in material and temporal life for their own benefit. And it is said that every place that Rabbi Shimon and his son directed their eyes would burst into flame!

A Bat Kol, Divine Voice, was heard chastising them: Did you emerge from the cave in order to destroy My world? Return to your cave!

Rabbi Shimon and his son were not able to live peacefully in the world. They had adapted to their isolation. They had become trapped in their new habits, and more pointedly, in their limited way of thinking. They could not imagine that good people might think or behave differently from them. They were convinced that their way of being, their passion for Torah—laudable as that is, their world view was the only correct way. They were so blinded by anger, they could not see what had changed for the better. After all, the old emperor was gone! The decree had been lifted! But alas, when the world did not bend to their way of thinking, they were filled with destruction, fueled by despair.

This story, sadly, could easily describe all of us emerging from isolation. After 18 months, the world looks somewhat familiar, yet is alternately confusing or frustrating. Eager to come out of our isolation, we return to the world bolstered by our own opinions and our own way of doing things. As it turns out, emerging is not so easy. The world is not the way we had hoped. We are angry. We are grieving. We are frustrated. We are fearful. And now that we are still facing an uncertain and frightening future, some of us are close to giving up hope.

But the story of Rabbi Shimon does not end there. Heeding the Divine Voice, Rabbi Shimon and his son did return to the cave. They remained there for another twelve months. At that point, they prayed that a year of judgement should atone for their sins. A Bat Kol, Divine Voice, was heard once again, ordering them to emerge from their cave. And they came out of isolation a second time. This time, the Talmud tells us, wherever they found destruction, they brought healing.

What changed for them in those twelve months? A later commentator, the Toldot Yaakov Yosef, explains that the second time they emerged from the cave, they had learned compassion. When they had first left the cave, they were enraged by other points of view. But when they were sent back into the cave, they took on a practice. One could call it a practice of hope. The commentator notes that in those twelve months they learned a better way of being in the world. Those were months of teshuva, of an honest reckoning with the world and their place in it. After a year of working on themselves, of trying to be different inwardly, Rabbi Shimon and his son returned to the outside world differently. The world no longer looked hopeless. In place of anger they brought compassion. In place of hard-heartedness, they brought open hearts. In place of despair they brought hope.

We can become like Rabbi Shimon and his son as we take steps to emerge. We welcome a New Year because it reminds us to hope. We begin the year with the hope that anything is possible. This last year has been filled with making the impossible possible. Who could have foreseen that vaccines that are safe and effective would be widely available in record time? Who could have imagined gymnastic superstar Simone Biles taking a step back from the spotlight and standing up for mental health? Who would dream that the star of the Inauguration would be a young Black woman named Amanda Gorman? Who would have thought that families would be brought closer together during the pandemic, whether by living in close quarters or speaking on Zoom across oceans and continents? Who could have envisioned that more people than ever before would join Torah study on Zoom, week after week? Who would believe how much we were able to carry on, to learn, and to grow despite our setbacks?

Hope is a practice. It requires diligent attention--especially when we are least optimistic about the future. Sorrow may arise. Disappointment may appear. Anger may visit. Yet we can’t allow sorrow, disappointment, and anger to overcome hope. These three are our guests. But hope is our home.

I turn to these words of theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, who reminds us:

“Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore, we must be saved by hope. Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our standpoint. Therefore, we must be saved by the final form of love which is forgiveness.”                    

As you reflect on the year that has passed, notice the losses, feel the pain. And then notice the gains, even the small ones. Feel the joys, even the fleeting ones. These are the seeds of hope.  Nurture them. Help them grow and flower and bear fruit.

Now what if you practiced hope every day? What if every morning you woke up, brimming with potential, knowing that today, every day, begins a New Year, a year full of hope for the impossible? Just imagine. Ken yehi ratzon.

Rabbi Barbara Penzner

Temple Hillel B’nai Torah

Rosh Hashanah 5782

Ma nishtanah—What makes this night different from all other nights?

Ma nishtanah is a question, inviting us to tell stories about what was and reflect on what we have been through. A year ago, everything changed. To acknowledge the changes we experienced, as well as those yet to unknown, we changed the name of our temple newsletter to Ma nishtanah last March and reformatted the information we provide every week.

Ma nishtanah is also an exclamation. Look how everything has changed! And it invites us to imagine a future that returns us to some of what we long for from the past and creates new possibilities that we had not imagined before.

Today, we are still undergoing changes, even as we imagine returning to the temple sometime this year. And we ask, what changes are still to come?

This year, as most of us are preparing a second Zoom seder experience, we offer some of the familiar aspects of the holiday as well as new resources. I urge you to acknowledge this past year as you open your seder. You may have participants share the name of someone you are mourning who died this past year. You could also go around and share what has changed in your life. Or tell a story from a favorite seder in the past.

Below you will find an array of links and documents to help you add to your experience of Pesach as a time for contemplating the slavery we still experience, the liberation that we dream of, and the joy of this Shehecheyanu moment. This is truly a time to give thanks, a time to celebrate our resilience and a time for renewal.

For the HBT Second Night Community Seder: A Night of Questions Reconstructionist Haggadah. Rabbi Barbara will be sharing her screen, but you may want your own copy.

For families and children of all ages

From kveller.com: Kids’ crafts (the two short videos are in Hebrew, but they are simple to understand in any language) and a downloadable kid-friendly Haggadah.

https://www.kveller.com/passover-crafts-for-kids-that-are-easy-and-actually-fun/

https://www.kveller.com/haggadah/

From Storahtelling: One Giant Leap has trivia, activities (magic trick: see the Red Sea part) and games (Jump for Freedom). Note that the url on the page no longer works.

Pdf (attached)

Seder readings

From Reconstructing Judaism: Readings and family activities for your seder.

https://www.reconstructingjudaism.org/passover-box

From Ritualwell.org: Three seder traditions of Mizrahi Jews you might not know about.

https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/three-mizrahi-seder-traditions-my-home-yours

New this year: translation of the original Hebrew 1971 Israeli Black Panthers’ Haggadah, a text documenting the oppression and struggle of Moroccan Jews in Israel. Soon to be published, here is a translation and annotated transcript. I recommend looking at their satirical version of Ha lachma anya (let all who are hungry come and eat).

http://jocsm.org/the-israeli-black-panthers-haggadah/

Menus and recipes

Menus for all kinds of tastes, some especially tailored to smaller gatherings.

https://jamiegeller.com/holidays/sensational-seder-menus-to-satisfy-everyone/