Last night we talked about community and connection. We’ll continue that theme today. Today’s and tomorrow morning’s Torah portions are tough ones. Why do we read these two portions every year? Why do we need them? 

Hagar, whose very name means The Other, is cast out by our patriarch Abraham. Together with her son Ishmael, they are given three days worth of water and bread. Exhausted on the third day, she puts the lad under a bush and cries out—NOTE, she doesn’t pray—not to look on while the child dies. For surely, the child is about to die. G-d hears the cry of the lad and lo and behold, opens Hagar’s eyes and she sees a spring. 

What does this have to do with belonging? With community? These seem to be stories ripped from the headlines this year. In some of our border states it is now illegal to give migrants—not my preferred term—water.. What is their crime? Crime? No person is illegal. We learn that from this morning’s portion. 

Hagar is cast out. It would appear that her voice is not heard. Why is that? The rabbis of midrash are not especially kind to her. Some argue that she is a woman so G-d doesn’t hear her voice. Some argue that she is an Egyptian, so as an Other, G-d doesn’t hear her voice. Some argue that she didn’t listen to Sarah’s voice and do the bidding of her mistress. Some argue that she didn’t stop her son, Ishmael, from “playing” with Sarah’s son, Isaac. What the nature of that playing was is unclear. What Sarah was afraid of is unclear. Nonetheless, G-d tells Abraham to listen to the voice of Sarah.  

Rabbi Lord Sacks said: “God hears our silent cry. In the agonising tale of how Sarah told Abraham to send Hagar and her son away, the Torah tells us that when their water ran out and the young Ishmael was at the point of dying, Hagar cried, yet God heard “the voice of the child” (Gen. 21:16-17). Earlier when the angels came to visit Abraham and told him that Sarah would have a child, Sarah laughed inwardly, that is, silently, yet she was heard by God (Gen. 18:12-13). God hears our thoughts even when they are not expressed in speech. The silence that counts, in Judaism, is thus a listening silence – and listening is the supreme religious art. Listening means making space for others to speak and be heard.” 

We need to listen, really really listen to the widow, the orphan the stranger, the soujourner in our gates. Those on the edges, the marginalized, the disenfranchised, the disengaged as JewBelong calls them. Who are they—often our young people, those living in poverty, people of color, people who are not like us, people who are disabled, people who do our menial tasks.  

Tourists by Yehuda Amichai
Visits of condolence is all we get from them.
They squat at the Holocaust Memorial,
They put on grave faces at the Wailing Wall
And they laugh behind heavy curtains
In their hotels.
They have their pictures taken
Together with our famous dead
At Rachel’s Tomb and Herzl’s Tomb
And on Ammunition Hill.
They weep over our sweet boys
And lust after our tough girls
And hang up their underwear
To dry quickly
In cool, blue bathrooms.
Once I sat on the steps by agate at David’s Tower,
I placed my two heavy baskets at my side. A group of tourists
was standing around their guide and I became their target marker. “You see
that man with the baskets? Just right of his head there’s an arch
from the Roman period. Just right of his head.” “But he’s moving, he’s moving!”
I said to myself: redemption will come only if their guide tells them,
“You see that arch from the Roman period? It’s not important: but next to it,
left and down a bit, there sits a man who’s bought fruit and vegetables for his family.” 

Can we see the people in front of us? Can we hear their voices? Their stories? Their Torah?  

There is another voice that is not heard in today’s readings. In the haftarah that you just heard, Hannah is praying for a child. Eli thinks she is drunk, because her lips are moving but he can’t hear any words. Yet, G-d did hear her fervent prayer and a child was born.  

In this congregation, we embrace diversity. We have members who come here from more than a dozen countries. (China, Japan, India, Mexico, El Salvador, Peru, Canada, Germany, France, Ukraine, Russia, Holland). We represent four counties, 11 school districts and 30 communities. 

We have people who have varying levels of abilities or disabilities. We have kids on ed plans. We have people who can’t walk well, who can’t hear, who can’t see. We have people who are intellectually challenged. We have people with hidden disabilities, and chronic illnesses. We have people with mental health challenges. We have gay people and straight people. People who may be gender non-conforming. Married. Single. Others who are widowed. Those planning weddings and new births, and sadly those who recently buried family members. We have people who were born Jewish and people who were not and chose to join us and those who did not. We have people across the Jewish spectrum of religious observance and belief or even no belief. We range from 6 months to 101. We have some of you in person and others of you on Zoom.  

We welcome you all. We welcome your voices. All of you. You all belong. You are all part of this community and we are richer for it. Your perspective matters. Your opinion matters. Your voice matters. Even if we disagree. Especially if we disagree, because those debates strengthen the community. We need to hear your voice, your cries, your opinions. It is part of being in a community, As we learned last night, “Kol yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, all of Israel are responsible for each other.” 

There is still another voice that is not heard today. Today is Shabbat and Rosh Hashanah. Because it is Shabbat we don’t blow shofar. The only commandment for Rosh Hashanah is to hear the voice of the shofar. So why do we not hear it today? The voice of the shofar is silent. There seem to be several reasons. In the time of the Temple, the shofar was heard at least in Jerusalem. After the destruction of the Temples, the rabbis ruled that even in Jerusalem it would not be heard for fear of carrying the shofar. Carrying is one of those 39 prohibited categories of work associated with building the Temple.  

However, apparently Italian rabbis even then, knew that not hearing the sound of the shofar might be upsetting for people and they changed the blessing for Areshet Sefateinu from “kol tekateinu” to “kol zichron tekiateinu.” We can remember the voice of the shofar. In our silence we can still hear the voice of the shofar. We can hear the still, small voice of G-d, as did Elijah.  

The Silent Shofar by Rabbi Eli L. Garfinkel 

The duty to rest on Shabbat cancels the blowing of the Shofar.
But nothing can cancel the Shofar itself. The idea of the Shofar is never silent.
The Shofar is a sound that can be heard loud and clear even when it is not blown.
And maybe it is the silent Shofar that is the loudest of all sounds.
The silent Shofar reminds us that there are people who want cry out but are afraid to do so.
The silent Shofar reminds us that silence can both bless and curse.
Silence blesses those who need a rest from the constant hum in our lives.
The texts, the notifications, the calls, the news, the stupid opinions of unserious, cruel people.
Silence curses those who allow it to be a shelter for the wicked.
Silence curses those who allow it to express apathy toward wickedness.
Let the silence of our Shofar today be a siren heard throughout the year.
In this silence, let us hear only the whisper of God, the kol d’mamah dakah. 

 Meditation plays an important role in Judaism. Stillness and silence: plays an important role.  Psalm 65:2: l’cha dumia tehillah, “to You silence is praise” is among many texts on silence  Talmud answers the question, what do the rabbis do before they pray? The sages would “be still one hour prior to each of the three prayer services, then pray for one hour and afterwards be still again for one hour more. “BT Berachot 32b. This was interpreted by the Rambam as silent motionlessness in order “to settle their minds and quiet their thoughts.” [Maimonides’ Commentary on Mishnah Berachot 5:1] 

Don’t worry! We are not going to sit for an hour! Find a comfortable place to sit. Close your eyes. Just listen. See if you can hear the silent sound of the shofar. See if you can remember.  

Sh…listen…
Sh…remember…
Sh…the silent sounds today
Sh…Tekiah, a joyous cry, a shout, announcing, crowning the Ruler of the Universe
This is the birthday of the world. And we are still here. Hineini
Sh…Shevarim, three, painful, heaving sobs.
The world is not yet complete. We are completing it
Sh…Teruah, a staccato cry, a wake up call, an insistent alarm clock
A demand for justice and a better world
Sh…Tekiah Gedola, a blessing for the new year.
Sh! WAKE UP!  

Did you hear the cry? The sob? The wake up call? Look around you…see the people. Hear their voices. See how we are connected. 

What do we do now? According to Rabbi Nicole Guzik, “When you cannot hear the shofar, be the shofar. As it is said in Pirkei Avot, “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” What does it mean to be a shofar? Where we see brokenness, let us not merely recognize pain but also be willing to act as a comforter. Where we see abuse, let us not close our eyes to the injustice experienced by others. Where we see opportunities to be a light unto others, let us not expect someone else to provide the match. Being a shofar is raising our hand to be called upon as God’s messenger, God’s partner, God’s amplifier of goodness.” 

 When I was in Guatemala with American Jewish World Service, we participated in an interesting community building exercise. We are going to do that now, Right now, Here is a ball of yarn, I am going to throw it to Lizzie who will then throw it to someone else. Soon we will have a tangled web. We will each be connected. One to the other. And in the process we will have built community. Right here, right now. 

On the back table you will find friendship bracelets. Little pieces of yarn to silently remind you that you are connected. That you belong. That you have a friend. Please feel free to take one and wear it proudly, knowing that your voice is heard. That you belong. That you are part of this community.