Words to Live By (Inspired by a sermon from Rabbi Jack Reimer)

Ralph Waldo Emerson asked:

"Is not prayer also a study of truth,-a sally of the soul into the unfound infinite? No man ever prayed heartily, without learning something."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature, chapter 8

Emerson understood the sacred power of prayer - words that challenge us to confront the truth in our world. When we truly embrace the power of prayer, and dedicate ourselves toward its aim, we gain understanding.

On this night, our tradition puts before us some of the most powerful and personal prayers in our liturgical canon. Chief among them is the al heit, the list of fourty-four sins, two for every letter of the Hebrew alphabet.

Written centuries ago, this alphabet of woe displays remarkable insight into human nature. Rabbi Jack Reimer captures the power of the Al Heit in his writing, "[The Al Heit] is an accurate mirror of the human situation. It is an accurate x-ray of the human psyche…It says that we are gluttons. Aren't we? It says that we brood. Don't we? It says that we gossip and lust and that we are proud and arrogant and inquisitive. It says that we drink too much, and that we give too little. It says that we are too competitive, and that we are too conformist. Is there a single sin on this list that any of us can deny?" ("Four Phrases to Live By," published in A Treasury of Favorite Sermons by Rabbi Sidney Greenberg)

Among that list are many that have to do with the power of speech - in fact more than a third of the transgressions in the al heit are sins of speech: for the sin we have committed through slander; for the sin that we have committed through gossip; for the sin we have committed through boasting; and the list goes on.

Contrary to the old children's rhyme about sticks and stones, words do cause harm. Our tongues may be more dangerous than any other part of our bodies. While we may not be able to recall having hurt anyone with our fists or feet over the past year, we know in our hearts that the words from our mouths have caused pain to others.

But if we can sin with our words, so too can we atone with words. And in this new year, when we seek to begin the work of teshuvah, of repentance, our path to atonement begins with three phrases -- I love you, What can I do?, and Thank you.

In our world, the three words, "I love you," have become part and parcel of every relationship. Yet, love, in the context of Torah, refers very little to the love between two partners in life, or even between a parent and child. We find more frequently in Torah love used in regard to the connection between the people Israel and God. Take for example, the words of the V'Ahavta - commanding us to love Adonai our God with all our heart, with all our mind, with all our being. We also find in Torah the message to love others in your community. "Love your neighbor as yourself;" and "Love the stranger as yourself for you were strangers in the land of Egypt."

On rare occasions we find love, ahavah, used in the context of the relationship between two partners. After Isaac meets Rebecca and takes her for his wife, the text simply says, "And he loved her." When Jacob is told that he must work for seven years to earn the right to Rachel as his bride, Torah says that "because of his love for her, [those years] seemed to him but a few days." Noticeably absent from the text are the three words that have become the epitome of emotional expression - "I love you."

Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov (d. 1807) offers this teaching: How to love [other people] is something I learned from a peasant. He was sitting in an inn along with other peasants, drinking. For a long time he was silent as all the rest, but when he was moved by the wine, he asked one of the men seated beside him: "Tell me, do you love me or don't you love me?" The other replied: "I love you very much." But the first peasant replied: "You say that you love me, but you do not know what I need. If you really loved me, you would know." The other had not a word to say to this, and the peasant who had put the question fell silent again. But I understood. To know the needs of others and to bear the burden of their sorrow-that is the true love of humanity. (Chasidic Tale, 18th century, Tales of the Hasidim, Martin Buber, page 86).

Rabbi Lieb's story serves as a metaphor for the relationship between God and man. The love described by the peasant is that of God's love for the people Israel. One also sees in this text that Rabbi Lieb has offered us a standard by which to understand love. We should strive to be like God - it is not enough to simply say the words, "I love you," but to have the meaning behind those words. Love, is about recognizing the needs of another-physical, emotional, psychological-and understanding those needs.

Our friends and family members are not mind readers. Like the peasant in the story, who sought the comfort of knowing that there were others who cared about him, our loved ones need to hear us say those words that mean so much. To hear us say, "I love you," and to know that we understand their needs and we care about their well-being.

What can I do?

We read in Pirkei Avot the teaching of Rabbi Tarfon, "The day is short and the work is great; you are not obligated to complete the work, neither are you free to ignore it." Rabbi Tarfon's sage advice assures us that we, as individuals are not responsible for fixing all that we see wrong around us. At the same time, Rabbi Tarfon admonishes us that we must make an effort.

Our sages tell the story in our midrash of an old man who was planting trees by the road. A Roman general happened to pass by with his entourage while the man was working. "Excuse me," said the general, "But what kind of trees are you planting?" "They are carob trees," replied the old man. "Carob trees!?!?" said the general with an incredulous tone, "But those will take more than 70 years to bear fruit. Surely you will not live to harvest the fruit of those trees." "I may not live to enjoy the fruits of these trees," answered the man, "But I have enjoyed the fruits of the trees planted by those who came before me throughout my lifetime. It is important that I plant these for the generations to come."

We each have tasks to do in this world, some of which we will enjoy their fruits today, others which will be enjoyed by those who come after us. Yet, in order to start our work, we must first use that most important tool, our mouths. To turn to those around us and simply ask the question, "What can I do?"

A few years ago, I officiated at the funeral for a remarkable young man by the name of Stevie. Born with mental and physical handicaps, Stevie spent almost his entire life living in institutions. One of his social workers told me about the first time she visited Stevie's home. Each and every member of the staff there had something positive to say about Stevie. Eager to meet a person so worthy of praise, she sought out Stevie to talk. At the end of their meeting Stevie asked her, "What can I do?" Not sure what answer to give, the social worker said nothing and brushed his question aside.

At their next conversation, Stevie again asked her, "What can I do?" And again, the social worker did not answer. But curious about his meaning, the social worker decided to spend some time that day observing Stevie. She quickly realized that Stevie asked everyone he met, from the residents at his home to the staff, "What can I do?" Most of them gave him an answer. Stevie helped one person tie his shoes, another to take out the trash, and a third he assisted up the stairs. Although each task was small, it was clear to the social worker that Stevie's effort brightened the lives of those around him.

Those simple words, "What can I do?" are the gateway for us to make our world a better place. By asking how we can help, we find that we can repair this world one small task at a time.

Thank you.

Judaism teaches us to show gratitude for the gifts that we have been given in life. Each morning begins with the blessing, "Modeh Ani Lifanecha…I am grateful to you Adonai, Master of All, ….

This message of thanks is reinforced in our blessings around meals. You may not realize this, but the command to recite the blessing after the meal preceded the notion of a blessing before it. While many of us are familiar with hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz, it is birkat hamazon, the grace after meals that we are commanded to recite. Deuteronomy emphasizes the importance of expressing gratitude to God for the goodness we have enjoyed, - and that after we are sated, we should offer words of thanks and blessing to God.

Even as we thank the Creator, so should we offer words of thanks to those individuals around us. Thanks to a spouse or parents for a meal that has been given to us; thanks to a loved one or friend for a compliment that has been received; thanks to a stranger for an act of menshlikeit or an offer of hospitality.

A modern fable is told of a teacher who was working with a very difficult class of 7th grade students. She observed that a number of the students were mean to one another, using sarcasm and insults to put one another down. Concerned about their self-esteem and the well-being of the class as a whole, the teacher came up with a plan.

As class began, she passed out pieces of paper to the students and asked them all to write one nice thing about each of their classmates. At the end of the class, the teacher collected all of the papers from the students. That night, she sat down with their pages and compiled a list for each student which started with the words, "Thank you for being…" and then continued with the list of positive attributes identified by the student's peers - a friend, a nice person, smart, etc.

When the class met again, the teacher handed out the lists and asked the students to each read their list aloud. While some elicited a few giggles, most seemed surprised to learn that their peers appreciated their talents, skills, and personalities.

From that point forward, the teacher noticed a more positive vibe in the class. Students who had previously snubbed one another, now sat together and talked. While others, who previously felt isolated, now interacted with the whole group.

Years later, the teacher learned that one of the students from that class had died while in the military. At the funeral, the teacher was introduced to the parents of the deceased. Upon hearing her name, they immediately began to cry. Apologizing for their tears, they explained that the teacher had made more of an impact on their son than any other teacher in his life. Reaching into her pocket, the mother pulled out a tattered and worn piece of paper - "He had this with him in his pocket at all times," she said. The teacher opened it up and saw the words of thanks from his classmates that she had written so long ago.

Later that night, while visiting the home of the deceased, the teacher saw a number of her former students. Upon seeing the old list of thank you's, one by one they began to recount how much those words meant to them - many had the papers or knew exactly where to find them. Hearing those words of gratitude, generated by their peers, forever changed their lives.

Friends, whether we are saying thank you to God for the blessing of food that has been given to us, or thank you to a friend, co-worker, or loved one, our words carry great weight. A little gratitude goes a long way.

Al heit sh'hatanu l'fanecha for the sins which we have committed before you, O God, with our tongues, we ask forgiveness and mercy. For the times when we have slandered, gossiped, boasted, and sworn falsely we beg for your mercy, that we might, on this night, turn our swords into plowshares. May our tongues, which can so easily wound those around us, become sources of blessing..

 

L’shalom,

Rabbi Adam F. Miller