It is tempting to use the line that a speechless Jon Stewart used so poignantly this year. “I’ve got nothing.” After the Charleston massacre, what else could you say? He continued, “All I have is sadness, at the depravity of what we do to one another and the gaping wound of the racism we pretend does not exist. I’m confident though that by acknowledging it, by staring into it, we still won’t do jack shit. That’s us. And that’s the part that blows my mind. What blows my mind is the disparity of response, between when we think someone foreign is going to kill us and when we kill ourselves. ”

I’ve got nothing, on what is supposed to be the most joyous days of the Jewish year and yet this year I have nothing. Yet, I too find I have got more to say. Tonight, our tradition says that life hangs in the balance. Tonight, we stood here, together as a community and chanted Kol Nidre. Our elders, our leaders, our men, women and children and the strangers amongst us, fellow travelers, friends. Tonight we stand here and recite our sins, all of our sins, together as a community. We make new promises…to not make the same mistakes that we made last year in the coming year.

Every year someone asks me if Yom Kippur is a sad holiday. Every year I answer that it is not. It is actually one of the most joyful holidays on the Jewish calendar. It is a night filled with hope, filled with possibilities, filled with potential—and therefore, filled with joy.

As Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson said, “The 10 days from Rosh Ha-Shana to Yom Kippur are days of transformation. Can we summon the strength to become the person we are at our best? These are days of possibility, days of magic! Time to dig deep.”

But what are we digging deep towards? Who do we want to become? What do we want to change? If we can figure that out, then that is the magic. That is the joy.

Tonight is about promises made and promises broken. Covenants made and covenants broken. The question becomes, how do we come back together as a community again?

G-d made a promise, a covenant, a contract. The first one was with Noah on behalf of the world—a promise that G-d will not destroy the world again by a flood. We say that the rainbow is a sign of that promise—when we see a rainbow we have a special blessing—zochair habrit, that G-d and we remember the covenant. And our promise to be partners to protect the earth, to not destroy the world. That all lives matter.

At Tashlich at Lords Park we saw a rainbow and remembered as we were cleaning the park. At the Botanic Garden yesterday I saw another one. And I remembered. This is a beautiful world. We have a responsibility to take care of it. And all lives matter.

God made another covenant, with Abraham That if Abraham believed in G-d, G-d would make him as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the sea. Abraham was given two children, Ishmael and Isaac. Two children of two different mothers. Two children to he loved. But somehow his understanding went tragically wrong. He thought that maybe each child was to be sacrificed. He missed the point that there was enough love to go around for all people. That all lives matter. He didn’t seem to understand and so while both children survived their near miss with death, neither were quite whole again. Neither reconciled. Abraham did not seem to do teshuvah and so he died alone. But tonight there is hope. Jews are observing Yom Kippur. The pope is in Washington and Muslims are celebrating the Haj. Perhaps there can be peace as we remember: All lives matter

G-d tried again. God made yet another covenant. This time with the people of Israel. Shabbat is the sign of that covenant. If we promise to love G-d with all of our heart, all of our soul, all of our might, then the years of our lives will be lengthened. At the very end of Deuteronomy when Moses is speaking in G-d’s name for the last time and sharing their vision with the people of Israel, those standing, all of the men, women and children, the woodchoppers and the water drawers, the young and the old, and the strangers within our gates. God begs us, Choose life that you and your children may live. All lives matter, even all those generations yet to come.

This is the legacy of the Jewish people. It is how we become a light unto the nations, a holy nation, a holy community. This is the covenant that we have chosen. That life is sacred. That life has hope. To proclaim that all lives matter. That we need to continue to choose life.

This was a summer that was painful. Difficult. Yet there were glimmers of hope. There are still possibilities if we remember the vision.

This year, as of last month, 24 unarmed black men have been shot and killed by police according to the Washington Post. I can never fully understand what it would be like to be a black male during a traffic stop. I can tell you even when I get stopped, thankfully not very often, that there is an automatic adrenaline rush. But I can tell you also that I am proud to be in Elgin, where long before Ferguson and the death of Michael Brown or the death of Freddie Gray we, the clergy, the police chief and the mayor, began a conversation about race and policing that continues here in Elgin.

I went to Ferguson this past Jewish year. For 4 hours and 32 minutes—I know because I stood outside in the pouring rain for that same length of time, Michael Brown lay on the pavement. Some people see Ferguson in black and white tones. I see it in orange and red. Orange for my friend who will be saying Mass tomorrow with the pope who dresses in Buddhist orange for peace and red for the large red umbrella that the Unitarians loaned Father Jack, Rabbi Gordon and me as we stood in the rain singing, Wade in the Water. It seemed like our own mikveh. Signs of hope.

Yet, there is a difference here in Elgin. Our police chief and our mayor would not have allowed anyone to lie on the pavement like that. Can a mistake be made? You bet. Our police officers have split seconds to make life or death decisions and they cannot always get it right. BUT the difference lies in the police’s belief that all lives matter—and that they will not signal out one ethnic or minority group. As Chief Sawboda said at the last community policing meeting, “I don’t want one bad apple here.” And as Deputy Chief Bill Wolf explained, almost too modestly, there were only 7 complaints last year about the Elgin Police Force out of 80,000 calls. Think about that math. That is remarkable. All lives matter here in Elgin.

That is not enough however. Police lives matter too. I grieve with members of the Elgin Police force that trained with Police Lieutenant Joseph Gliniwicz in Fox Lake. While this case has not been solved and the details are still guarded, I grieve with the widow, the children and people of Fox Lake. 18 police officers nationally have been shot in killed in the line of duty this year. All lives matter.

I grieve for the 9 members of the church in Charleston, including their senior pastor, who died when a person who had sat with them for an hour, studying the Bible and praying with them opened fire and murdered them. My first call that morning was to Pastor Nat Edmond. Mine was the first call he received. Together we reviewed each of our security plans. The survivors’ stories of their ability to forgive the shooter touches my heart and gives me pause on this Yom Kippur. I am not sure I am ready to forgive. And giving me pause are the Confederate flags that have gone up in South Elgin after this tragic shooting. I am not sure that my neighbors understand that All lives matter.

I grieve for the families of all victims of gun violence, everywhere and especially on the streets of Chicago. The figures are staggering. This past weekend was the second worst weekend this year with 8 fatalities, plus one more from a stabbing and 45 people wounded. That brings the total to 2213 shooting victims and 365 homicide victims. And I wonder where is the outcry. How do we teach that life is sacred? That sll lives Matter?

I grieve for a family in Jerusalem whose daughter Shira Banki was stabbed at the Gay Pride Parade in August. Her assailant, a Jew, had been released from prison just weeks before for stabbing people at the Gay Pride Parade in 2005 after serving a 10 year sentence for that crime. How did he miss the Jewish concept that All lives matter.

I grieve for the family and neighbors of Ali Dawabsheh, an 18 month old toddler on the West Bank, in the town of Duma, whose home was firebombed allegedly by Israeli extremists. Both his parents also succumbed to their injuries. Do Israeli lives, Jewish lives matter more than Palestinian lives? No. All lives matter.

I grieve for little Aylan Kurdi, the three year old in the red shirt, blue shorts and velco sneakers. Washed ashore on a Turkish beach. 4 million Syrians displaced. 3 million Iraqis. These lives matter too.

I grieve too with a family whose son was in the hospital yesterday as either a drug overdose or an attempted suicide. Alcohol, heroin, marijuana and zanax is a potent, lethal combination. It is only because of the skill of the Naperville police force, the Edwards Hospital team and the family that this kid is alive today. While the family is grateful, the young man is not yet. While he may not think his life matters, I do.

And I grieve for the families who are grieving for their loved ones they lost this year. For Delores, Harry, Louis, Sharon, Michael, Joseph.

We just chanted the Kol Nidre. The prayer that asks that we are absolved from promises that we make that we did not keep. Promises made and promises broken. Promises renewed and promises discarded.

I think that G-d sits on the heavenly throne and weeps. Weeps for us and with us. Wonders why make covenants with us when we seem incapable of keeping up our end of the bargain.

So tonight, we will recite the Al Cheit, the litany of our sins. And I add…

• We broke our promise to partner with God, to be caretakers of this earth.
• We broke our promise to value life. To choose life. To hold life sacred
• We broke our promise to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger. The most marginalized among us.
• We broke a promise to our children when we let students fall through the cracks, when we can’t find ways to reach them and when we run up student loan debt and made college educations difficult to achieve financially.
• We broke a promise to our seniors when we leave them isolated and alone, unsure of whether they can survive on fixed incomes and whether their health insurance will cover their pressing needs.
• We broke a promise to those with mental health issues when we stigmatize mental illness.
• We broke our promise to Shira and to Ali. To Michael Brown and Freddie Gray. To Joseph Glieniwicz.
• We broke a promise to this community when we engage in gossip and innuendo. When we dis the Jewish community, this community and each other.
• We broke a promise to the key people in our lives—to our husbands, our wives, our sons our daughters, our brothers, our sisters when we failed to live up to the best in us. When we yelled or were impatient. When work was more important than time with family. When our smart phones took over our lives.

But tonight is a night of possibilities. Of potential. Of rising to our own highest selves. Of returning to being the persons we were meant to be. Of renewing our covenant.

Tonight we are commanded to make new the promises. For the sake of our children—all of our children: tonight this is what I am prepared to promise. This is my covenant for the coming year:

• I promise that I will continue to uphold the principle of bal tashchit, to not destroy. To not cut down fruit trees, to buy locally grown produce, to group my errands and carpool when I can, to reduce my dependence on fossil fuels, to pursue alternative energies like solar and wind power.
• I promise that I will continue to recognize that all people are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d, whether they look like me or not. Whether they speak English or not. Whether they live in Elgin or Ferguson, Jerusalem or Guatemala. That I will treat people with respect and compassion, whether they are straight or gay, Jewish or Muslim, rich or poor, educated or illiterate.
• I promise that I will continue to welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. We as Jews know the pain of borders being closed. Or being persecuted. Marginalized.
• I promise to help those of you who want to become Jews who haven’t had a chance to meet your own goal. It is interesting that now one out of six Jews today in the world was not born Jewish. Judaism has much to offer the world.
• I promise to put down my phone and listen, really listen to what each of you is saying. And to try not to cut you off in my own enthusiasm and passion in a conversation.
• I promise to take my commitment to education seriously. I believe in life long learning. For our kids. All kids. For our adults. All adults. Look for announcements in October’s HaKol about new adult study possibilities. One is called Chai Mitzvah and it combines independent study, a monthly study session together as community, spiritual practice and tikkun olam. I am excited about this new program.
• I promise to take the range of Jewish observance seriously….that is part of our embracing diversity.
• I promise to take the partnership with lay leadership seriously. To take our vision and make it reality. To continue to grow this community.
• I promise that I will continue to repair the world, here in Elgin and around the world. If I am not for myself, who will be for me. If not now, when. It is not ours to finish the task, but neither are we free to ignore it.
• I promise that all lives matter.

May we continue to make promises that we can keep. Tonight and always. May we continue to choose life for us and our children. Always. May we be inscribed tonight in the book of life, tonight and always. Ken yehi ratzon.