We are almost at Yom Kippur, and still I do not feel prepared. Still I get angry. Today there are two bloggers. One a retired literature professor. One a soon to be Bar Mitzvah who will read these very words of the 13 Attributes next week during Sukkot.

Barbara Njus says, “I found a commentary…about the 13 attributes. www.conversativeyeshiva.org/slichot-the-13-attributes-midot—god-teaches-us-how-to-ask-for-divine-forgiveness  Its subtitle is: “God Teaches Us how to Ask for Divine Forgiveness,” and concludes, “The potential for forgiveness is no longer in Divine hands but  in our own.  God’s forgiveness is as sincere, and only as sincere, as our desire to be forgiven.”

“This email commentary has an interesting paragraph on Jonah and his anger at God’s forgiveness to the people of Nineveh.   This commentary says, “Jonah does not explain his wrath,” which is a good question.  Jonah essentially tells God, Why did you make me shlep all the way to Nineveh, when you are a merciful God and were not going to destroy the people of Nineveh anyway?  God’s answer is also wonderful, of course.  He says, But why should I destroy “the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left – and also much cattle?”   The commentary paragraph also mentions “accountability and responsibility for one’s actions [as] important means for maintaining social order.”  And wasn’t this Jonah’s problem, that he didn’t want the responsibility?”

“If our own forgiveness is in our hands, so we must first own the responsibility for our actions, our lives, our choices.  We must acknowledge our need for God’s forgiveness  and our desire for God’s forgiveness deeply enough and sincerely enough to allow God to forgive us.”

I would add, that she is right. Sometimes we don’t want the responsibility and that makes us angry. Sometimes we think we know the outcome, as did Jonah, so why should we bother? Jonah certainly didn’t want to. He was so angry he ran away, all the way in the opposite direction to Tarshish.

Then AJ comes along, and as young students can do, he teaches us. His Haftarah portion says that G-d is angry. So angry that G-d is willing to punish the world with an earthquake. Here is what AJ says: “My haftorah does not start out nicely. G-d is angry and promises that if the Israelites do anything wrong G-d will do something unspeakably horrible to them…..like an earthquake. Does G-d cause an earthquake to punish? Even this summer, people tried to say that G-d punished the people of Oklahoma because maybe they didn’t observe all of G-d’s commandments. Why would G-d do that? G-d is supposed to be compassionate and kind, slow to anger. Why does my haftarah say that G-d has a raging anger and a blazing wrath. I think this is because the Israelites haven’t been listening to what G-d has been telling them…kind of like how my brother doesn’t listen to anything I say and I get very frustrated just like G-d.”

If we are trying to be like G-d, we should be compassionate and kind, slow to anger. It doesn’t say we can’t be angry at all. It can be frustrating when we think we are not being listened to. G-d gets frustrated with the Israelites when they dance around the Golden Calf and later one. AJ gets frustrated, just like G-d, when his brother doesn’t listen. Part of Yom Kippur is recognizing this in ourselves and learning how to be slower to anger and more patient. Part of Yom Kippur is forgiving ourselves. As the words of Kol Nidre say, “Vayomer Adonai Selachti Kidvarecha.” And G-d said, I have forgiven you according to your word.” Divine forgiveness is already assured. Forgiveness is now in our own hands. May this Yom Kippur be a day of forgiveness, atonement, wholeness and peace.

This evening I went to the City of Elgin City Council meeting. The Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders, together with the League for Women Voters and the Human Rights Commission under the leadership of Denise Henson, helped Elgin to become an International City of Peace. The proclamation was read today, September 11, 2013 as a fitting tribute to the horrors that occurred on 911 thirteen years ago. I was proud to have been at City Hall. I look forward to next weekend’s focus on peace in all the local churches (and my synagogue!) and the event scheduled for November 3 which will deal with making Elgin a safer, more peaceful city.

High Holiday sermons are a puzzle. You start out writing and hope you get somewhere. You hope you have something meaningful to say. If you are lucky or skilled, the puzzle pieces fit together and you have a set. This year mine turned out to be a series. The Power of Hope. The Power of Names. The Power of Presence. The Power of Questions. The Power of Memory.

Some years I spend hours and hours, writing, rewriting, getting just the right nuance, just the right turn of phrase. Some years, at the last minute I have to throw out my work and start over. I am not alone in this. Every rabbi has developed his or her own process over the years. Every rabbi changed his or her sermon in the immediate aftermath of 911. The one I know who did not did not have her contract renewed. People needed comfort, needed something, anything to make sense out of the inexplicable. We knew the world had changed forever.

Today’s guest blogger, Paul Cohen, helped me solve this year’s puzzle, at least as a sermon. He wonders about the names of G-d and the connection to the 13 Attributes:

When we assign attributes to an individual we do so in an effort to describe their personality.  Although attributing personality to a deity is very Egyptian, or Greek or Roman, it does not seem very Jewish.  Also, the personality defined by the Thirteen Attributes does not seem to be reflected in any of the direct contacts between G-d and Abraham, Moses, Job or Jonah.

Does G-d ever describe Him(It)self?  At least once, yes.  When Moses is confronted by G-d at the Burning Bush he senses an Imminence- another worldly Presence.  Having been raised since childhood in the Egyptian culture of his day he asks an Egyptian question.  “Who’s there?”  In other words, “Are you Osiris or Horus or any of the other gods I know of?”  G-d answers, “I Am That I Am.”  Moses says nothing as if to comment, “Swell, that doesn’t help.”  G-d then adds, “I am the G-d of your Fathers, the G-d of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.”  Moses has had just enough contact with the culture of the Hebrew slaves to know who he is dealing with.  The rest of the interview is spent on instructing Moses on what he is to do, and reassuring him that he will be able to complete his mission.

As with Moses, most direct interactions with G-d are either instructions of chastisements.  Neither of which suggest a “Personality” consistent with the Thirteen Attributes.  My conclusion is the Thirteen Attributes Personality is more of a description created by the Rabbis trying to impart something hopeful to their students.

Paul is correct. The rabbis aer trying to impart something hopeful. That is part of why the rabbis leave out the last part of the verse in the liturgy. The full verse says, “The Lord! The Lord! Is God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children’s children, unto the third and unto the fourth generation.” This is precisely what I wrote my rabbinic thesis on. Why did the rabbis drop the back half of the sentence? What does that have to teach us?

Part of the reason is because in later scripture, G-d seems to reverse G-d’s own mind and punishment for our parents sins is no longer carried out in the next generations. Part of it is that they were looking to provide hope. Not very hopeful to be sitting in shul and be told that you are not pardoned, rather, even your children and your children’s children to the third and fourth generation will be held accountable, will be punished. Why bother trying to be good? Why bother trying to do teshuva? However there are some things that seem to be transmitted from one generation to the next, patterns that repeat. Domestic violence. Alcoholism. The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Do they have to? Can we stop the patterns of violence? Is that why this whole verse was included in the first place?

As world events were unfolding last week, I knew I needed to make some statement about Syria from the bimah. People were expecting it, even asking me what I would be saying.

Here is my Rosh Hashanah Morning sermon, the Power of Names, my response both to Paul and to Syria. I continue to pray for peace.

Rosh Hashanah Morning: The Power of Names
I owe some people an apology. This is appropriate at this season. It is McFarlane with an e and not a d, it is Glaser with an s and not a z, it is Marcy with a y and not ie, it is Burker not Bruker and it is Narbone not Narvone. If I have gotten anyone else’s name wrong, I am sorry. Some of you might say, “What’s the big deal, those were typos,” or “you had a lot of names to learn; it was your first year.” But names are important. There is both a power and an intimacy in knowing someone’s name. Remember how cool it was when your elementary school teacher learned your name. You thought you were special. If you are a teacher, remember how hard you worked at learning all those names that first week.

When a couple knows they are going to have a baby, they spend a lot of time figuring out exactly what name to give that child. They consult baby name books, or online directories. They may ask family and friends. They may even argue about it. But they know that the name they choose is important. There is an implicit power in the name. Once the baby is born, we Jews make a big deal out of it. We have special blessings. The father and mother may be called up to the Torah and that very special name is proclaimed for the first time. We even have developed “Naming ceremonies” so that girls are on a equal footing with boys.

This morning’s Torah portion is a difficult one. It reads like a modern story of surrogacy. Abraham at the urging of Sarah sends Hagar and Ishmael out into the wilderness with nothing more than a skein of water and some bread. The assumption is that they will die shortly. How can Sarah demand this? How can Abraham do this? How can G-d condone this? I am not going to answer those questions today. Instead I want to talk about something that arises from the text.

We know Hagar and Ishmael’s names. But at the end of this morning’s text, their names are never used. Ishmael is referred to as “the lad”. Hagar, as that Egyptian woman. The Hagar cries out, a prayer I assume, but G-d hears the cry of the lad. Not that it is even called a prayer. Women who are other don’t pray, per se. Not that G-d even hears the right person. What happened to their names? Not using them marginalizes them. They don’t really count. We don’t really care about them. They don’t even have a name.

There was an old radio play called the Last American Jew. It had the last Jew in America on display in a museum, essentially in a cage. He would repeat over and over again, “My name is important, my name is important, my name is important.”

Why? Why are names important? We know from reading the Odyssey that if a person knows your name, they have some power over you. Think about Odysseus with the Cyclops. The fact that he knew the Cyclops name meant that he could control him, master him at some level. Even beat him at his own game. Win the battle, if you will. Names offer a level of intimacy.

The names of G-d are important too. They mark the level of intimacy that we have with the Divine. Abraham knew that G-d was El Shaddai, the Almighty G-d.  At the burning bush, Moses demands, “Who are you? and G-d answers, “I am that I am.”  A difficult translation of difficult, impossible Hebrew. I am what I will be? I am who I am? As our own Paul Cohen, and many rabbis before him point out, “Moses says nothing as if to comment, “Swell, that doesn’t help.”  G-d then adds, “I am the G-d of your Fathers, the G-d of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.”  Moses has had just enough contact with the culture of the Hebrew slaves to know who he is dealing with.”

Before Moses goes back up the mountain to receive the 10 commandments again, he asks again, “Who will go with me?” G-d assures him that G-d’s Presence will go with him and give him rest. Then Moses asks for more, demands that G-d, “Show me your ways.” Go G-d agrees and promises to hide Moses in the shelter of the rock and allow G-d’s goodness to pass before him and whisper G-d attributes to him. Adonai, Adonai, El Rachum v’chanun. This is the very list that we sing over and over again as part of the High Holiday liturgy. It tells us that the The Lord! The Lord! Is God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. 13 different character traits, attributes. This gives us much more information about who G-d is than I am that I am.

 We know who G-d is. We have lots of names for G-d, El, El Shaddai, the G-d of your fathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, I am that I am, HaMakom, Emet, YHVH or Adonai, HaMelech. Hagadol, Hagibor, Hanorah, El Elyon,  Knowing who G-d is by name is important because it creates a certain intimacy with G-d. We can call G-d different names as we need them. G-d the Father says something different to us than G-d the Sheppard. G-d the Creator is a different sense than G-d the Redeemer. G-d the Healer and G-d the Comforter. All the same One G-d. Those names help us create what Buber refers to as an I-Thou relationship, rather than an I-It relationship. It is relational Judaism, the newest buzz word from Ron Wolfson’s newest book, at its best. We have a relationship with G-d precisely because we know G-d’s name, or precisely the many names of G-d.

And this is a reciprocal relationship. We are told by G-d, in Isaiah, that “I called you by name and kept you. You are a covenant people, a light onto the nations.” G-d knows my name? Even before I was born as Psalm 139 says, that G-d knows my ways precisely because he knit me together in the womb. G-d has a relationship with me. That brings me comfort.

One of these names of G-d is really important: El Roi. The G-d who Sees. This is the name that Hagar, the very Hagar we started with gave to G-d. She is the first person to name G-d in the Bible. And still our portion doesn’t use her name when she is thrown out by Abraham.

 What could she see, through her tears and her anger that the others could not? She could see that G-d is One. This morning we recited the Sh’ma. Many of you closed your eyes, the better to concentrate, the better to meditate, the better to be fully focused and aware of the oneness of G-d and our relationship to the Divine. We are witnesses to G-d’s oneness, even more paradoxically because our eyes are closed.

Rabbi Victor Reinstein, a colleague in Boston, the head of the advocacy committee for the Massachusetts Board of Rabbis and a JTS alum, teaches us that, “The journey to One begins with a question. The very first word of the Mishna, of the entire Talmud is מאימתי/from when?” From when may we say the Sh’ma. First they deal with when in the evening, because as we learned last night, day begins at night. And then in the morning. The answers are not given in time but in degrees of light, from blue to white, or from blue to green, from a wolf or a dog, or between a donkey and a wild ass. But the anonymous stam of the Talmud says, “From when a person can see their friend at a distance of four amot, about six feet, and recognize them. As Reinstein points out it is only when we can recognize the difference that we arrive at the time in which we can affirm G-d’s oneness. The Talmud argues about who is a friend. A close friend is likely to be recognized regardless of darkness and distance, according to the Jerusalem Talmud. This is someone who we might have just passed by. A friend is not necessarily someone we have a close relationship to but someone to whom we have the possibility of having a relationship with. Perhaps are Reinstein suggests, the answer is From when we can see the image of G-d, tzelem elohim, in each other.” The midrash on that is clear. We are to understand that G-d created us all b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d, from one man, Adam, so that no one could say his lineage is better. We are also taught, and we share the same teaching in the Muslim Hadith, that to save one life is as though we have saved the entire world.

Names are important. They allow us to identify the people as our friends. When the names of people, and their G-d become unimportant, dangerous things happen. In the classic story Les Mis, in the opening scene of the musical, we learn that Jean Val Gean has been arrested and held on charges for 20 years for stealing a piece of bread. He has been reduced to his prisoner number. 24601. He lost his identity as a person and he struggles with this throughout the musical. We know Javere’s name, as he argues that the most important thing is upholding the letter of the law. Jean Val Gean argues that he had done little, he broke a window pane and stole a loaf of bread. This in order to feed his sister and her child.

During World War II, people in the camps had their prisoner numbers tattooed on their arms. That number was their only identity. They were no longer known by their names. Many people cannot fathom the devastation that occurred during the Holocaust. How is it possible that so many were killed? “It is an unsettling thought to think of Anne Frank, naked, dead and rotting among the corpses in the pits at Bergen-Belsen. Yet that is what the Holocaust is, that thought, multiplied six million times.” I first read this quote as a sixteen year old on a summer trip to Israel. We know her name. Anne Frank, just a child. An innocent victim. Knowing Anne Frank through her diary, through her everyday life, through her name, makes the Holocaust more real. Six million times. How can there be six million nameless deaths?

 Today we are facing a similar and tragic situation. It has been documented that Syria has used sarin gas on its own people. These fellow human beings have ceased to have names, they only a number, collateral damage in game of chess, where no citizens can win. There are no easy choices in Syria. It is not clear to me, this rabbi, what the US can or should do. What is clear to me is that names are important.  40,000 are already dead. People cried out, like Hagar without a name, and no one heard their nameless cries. 1400 people were killed August 21 in this sarin gas attack. On August 29, the BBC published a report and film of a bombing of a school yard with Napalm in Syria. The use of the word Napalm brings me back to the Sixties. Yes, I am old enough to remember them. You remember the song too…”How many roads must a man walk down…how many times must the cannonballs fly
before they are forever banned… How many times can a man turn his head
and pretend that he just doesn’t see… 
How many ears must one man have
before he can hear people cry?
How many deaths will it take till he knows
that too many people have died. The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.”

The answer may be blowing in the wind, and on the winds of public opinion. It is hard to build consensus to act. The United States doesn’t have strategic interests, per se, in Syria. The age old question surfaces, “Is it good for the Jews or bad for the Jews.” I know I don’t know what the answer is to Syria. Last Friday I participated in a conference call with 1000 rabbis with the President of the United States. In this brief call of Rosh Hashanah greetings there were three questions asked. One on the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech and immigration reform. One on health care and the economy. The very first one, asked by the president of the Rabbinical Assembly, the rabbinic arm of the Conservative Movement, in the name of other rabbis around the country, was on Syria. In his question, he made an interesting point. He stated that only one other time has this president used the term red line. That was with Iran over nuclear weapons. Since the President has now called the use of chemical weapons a red line, if he does not act will that send the wrong message to Iran and they will keep designing, building or G-d forbid, using chemical weapons? The president replied that he had not yet made up his mind, and could not say anything too specific on a call with 1000 people for national security reasons. Then of course he announced his decision on Shabbat.

This week the president is in St. Petersburg at the G-20. While the summit is supposed to be about the economy, the pundits are saying that the economy will take a back seat to Syria. While no formal meeting are scheduled on the topic, and nothing directly with Putin, you can be assured that there will be important conversations in the breaks. I am reminded of another summit that happened on the eve of the Final Solution. 34 countries gathered in the French resort of Evian in the summer of 1938. Most of those countries, including Great Britain and the US expressed concern and condemned Germany for its treatment of Jews. Only the Dominican Republic was willing to open its borders to more Jews.

Has anyone been to the Pita Puff? A charming Mediterrian café near the Jewel on Summit. Great pita and wonderful soup, which the owner brought to me as a sample for free as a sign of welcome and hospitality. It reminded me of the soup I had every day in Israel for lunch. But does any one know his name? Because I confess I do not. I do know that when I first spoke to him last year he was very concerned about what was going on then in his native Syria. He is a Syrian Christian and he explained, patiently that they have a different greeting than Saalam Aleikhum. Apparently only the Muslims use that Arabic greeting. He told me he is one of the lucky ones. He managed to get out, to capture one of those elusive visas. He told me he came to this country because he could not attend higher education in his country and he had a dream of opening a restaurant. I pray that his family that remains in Syria continues to be OK.

While I, as an American like the idea of having Congressional and International support before striking, I worry that our president and the news media has tipped our hand too much making it more dangerous for our troops and even for the Syrian people we are trying to help. I have a friend who is a rabbinic Navy chaplain. She is on a ship somewhere in the Mediterranean (she cannot disclose where) on high alert. But she and three Jewish sailors took time out to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. She reports Tashlich on a ship surrounded by the Mediterranean is awesome. But I digress. She now has no idea when she or the sailors she is responsible for are coming home.

While I as a Jew and a supporter of Israel have worried about Syria for decades, I am not sure I understand fully why now. Why is sarin gas worse than 100,000 deaths? Why is sarin worse than napalm? And the very real question…what happens to Israel? Is this likely to become a regional war. Iran has said, repeatedly, that they have Israel in the crosshairs. If the United States strikes, with or without further international support, what terror will Iran unleash on Israel? Seeing Israelis stockpiling food, making sure that bomb shelters are ready and testing their gas masks scares me.

I do know that we as Jews, as Americans, as people concerned with Israel, that too many people have died. There have been too many nameless deaths. The names, the names are important. We cannot, in light of the Holocaust, our own history, marginalize others. Our tradition demands that we be able to distinguish the face of our friends and that we hear people’s cries. Our tradition demands that we pursue peace, that we actively run after it.

This week we will pound our chests in a collective alphabetical litany of sins we have committed, either as individuals or as a community. Ashamnu, bagdanu, babarnu dofi. At the very end, we say ta’anu, ta’avanu, we have been xenophobic, we yielded to evil and were zealots for bad causes. May we not in this year to come be ta’atanu, guilty of such sins, even through the complicity of silence. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who marched with King and explained that he felt his feet were praying, said that “In a democracy some are guilty, all are responsible.” This was true in the Germany he was fortunate to escape and this is true in the United States.

We cannot remain silent to people’s cries, whether they are a strategic interest or not. Whether we know their names, or not. We cannot remain silent to their cries. Shana tovah.

A postscript:
Since delivering this sermon, Great Britain has said they will not participate. 80% of the American public does not support limited air strikes into Syria. The president has spoken to the nation and seems to have retreated a little. He is attempting to build consensus before actually striking. It feels like we back from the brink. While I am still not sure what should be done about Syria and I do not want to put our troops at risk nor hurt the still fragile American economy, I still believe that we have an obligation to speak up, to not be silent. We have an obligation to pursue peace, to actively run after it. If this means using diplomatic means and not rushing in with air strikes that may or may not be effective, may or may not hit their intended targets, may or may not draw the region into a bigger regional war, then by all means lets pursue diplomatic options at all costs. Just as long as the 100,000 nameless dead are not forgotten and their cries are not ignored. Ken yehi ratzon.

Once a year on Yom Kippur the High Priest, the Kohen Hagadol would enter the Holy of Holies and proclaim the divine name. We know that name as Adonai. Adonai, Adonai, el rachum v’chanun. This ceremony was the most anticipated part of the Yom Kippur service and the High Priest would prepare for weeks, practicing the Ineffable Name. Only the High Priest knew how to pronounce it. It was a moment of real dread. If he did it wrong, he could die. In fact, the people would tie a red belt on him in case they would need to pull him back out.
Rabbi Menachem Creditor wrote a book from the point of view of the Kohen Hagadol,
“Avodah A Yom Kippur Story”. While it may sounds like a Dr. Seuss book with its ryhming scheme and rhythm, it is really quite deep. Listen: “The work I was trained for, well it had me quite scared. My family, my People, all watched me prepare…for this one special place, for this one special time, for the most special Word from one lonely voice…mine.” After the Kohen Hagadol has finished his ritual he says, “We know that we matter. We know we’ve survived a difficult year, as each one is in turn.”

Simon Jacobson describes Yom Kippur as entering your own personal holy of holies. This is the inner sanctum. Everything had to be pure.  If the High Priest had not atoned for even one sin he would die. How does one prepare for such an awesome task?

For the high priest and for me, part of the preparation involves immersing in the mikveh. Last night I went to the mikveh, preparing to do Divine Service. I have gone to the mikveh any number of times before Yom Kippur. It is a ritual that resonates with me deeply. One the way there this time it was not clear to me why I was going. What was I expecting from this experience this year. I called my chevruta partner in New York. She said I would know. I knew already that the drive time gave me a chance to think. What is this divine service? Why am I doing it? What does mikveh have to do with any of this?

As Jacobson said, “Today we have no High Priest and no Temple. But the Holy of Holies still exists—in the depths of our own soul. On Yom Kippur we attempt to reach the purest part of our selves and to connect with G-d there. We might not be able to stay in that pure place for a long time. It might be only for a few minutes. But as we know the most special experiences last only a moment. We prepare for these most special times for hours, years, even decades, and the effort of the preparation is well worth that split seond they last.”

Last night I went through my usual steps of preparation. Peri Smilow wrote a song for Mayyim Hayyim that contains the seven steps of preparation for the mikveh: “Hinini b’tzelem elohim nikavim nikavim, nishmati t’hora hi.” While singing this, I think to myself, “Here am I, created in the divine image, a finely balanced network, my breath, my soul is pure. Ready to do G-d’s service.” In Perry Smilow’s words, “Baruch Atah Adonai, Wonderous source of healing. Baruch Atah Adonai, We thank you and bless your name. Oh G-d this body is all I have. May I be blessed to sing Your song.”

I prayed the High Priest’s words, first for myself, then for my family, then for those who depend on me, my members at Congregation Kneseth Israel, those in the wider community who call me rabbi, and those in the wider world. “Eternal G-d, pardon the sins, iniquities, and transgressions that I have committed before You, I and my household, as it has been said: On this day atonement shall be made for you, to purify you; you shall e cleansed from all your sins before G-d.”

I immersed not my usual 3 times but 9 times. My tears mixed with the water. Holy tears, holy, living waters, mayyim hayyim. It was a very powerful experience being in that Place. Jacob had a dream. His pillow was a stone. When he awoke, he said, “Surely the Lord is in THIS PLACE and I knew it not…” He was afraid but he was able to say, “How full of awe is this place! This in none other than the house of G-d and this is the gate of heaven.”

This summer I too had a dream. It was just a fragment of one about our ability to go into the Holy of Holies and back out, into HaMakom, that Place, and back out. It was a holy moment. I am not Jacob and I am not the Kohen Hagadol, but I lead my people.

Rabbi David Paskin has a song he wrote after his daughter Liat died of a brain tumor before her second birthday. He tells the story of how we tell someone “Hamakom yenachem etchem. May The Place comfort you.” He asks the question, why The Place. Why use that name for G-d. He answers his own question, as I have said before on this blog. “Why not call G-d, The Compassionate One, the Merciful One, the Comforting One? Why call G-d at that moment the Place. He discovered that it is because when you lose a loved one, all you have left is a space, a place, an emptiness. They are saying that may that space that hurts so damn much comfort you. May you learn to live with that space. He wrote a song in tribute to Liat, called HaMakom.  “May the One who fills our space, give us hope and give us strength. In our silence may we hear the voice of G-d.”

We may not have the Holy of Holies anymore, but we can still go into our own personal holy of holies. We can still proclaim, “Baruch shem kavod, malchuto l’olam va’ed, May the Name be praised for ever and ever.” As Creditor says in the name of the Kohen Hagadol, “And while the this time the voice that was needed was mine, perhaps the next time that one voice will be yours… The challenge that day is to walk through your door…so come. Hold my hand. Stand with me. Do your part.  Close your eyes. For to dream all you need is your heart.”

May our own preparations for Yom Kippur, whether we are a kohen, a levite, an Israelite, a rabbi, a cantor, or a layperson, bring us moments of comfort and entrance into that very special place, the holy of holies of our heart.

I found this quote this morning doing my own preparation for Yom Kippur: “One who doesn’t cry during the Ten Days of Teshuvah—his soul is not complete. When one cries, it is a sign that he is being judged above at that moment.” (The Ari). Yoma 86b in the Talmud teaches that there are two types of teshuvah, that from fear and that from love. The latter has the power to transform the past; it actually transforms intentional sins into merits. Simon Jacobson continues, “That is the power of teshuvah that comes from love—not fear of punishment or guilt, but out of love to get closer to our Source.”

I cried this week. I don’t usually cry. It was frowned upon in my family. Sometimes I think I don’t slow down long enough to allow myself to cry. But there I was, on the bimah, as the rabbi, blessing my only daughter before she left for Los Angeles. And I laughed and I cried. It was a real moment, unscripted. Then my bimah partner, Saul gave me a big hug. Later this week that same Saul cried when we recited Kaddish over the graves of his wife and daughter at Kever Avot. Then this morning I cried again. These were definitely tears of love. Did I do it because I thought I would be judged? No. Do I think so? I am not sure. But I do know that part of the process of the Days of Awe is to open ourselves so completely. This crying is part of the process. We can’t stay tough forever. It doesn’t work. I know. I tried. I am reminded of a song from Free to Be You and Me: “It’s alright to cry. Crying gets the sad out of you. It’s alright to cry. Crying gets the mad out of you.”

Crying is actually a sign of strength. And courage. And empathy. And love. Many cried in the Hebrew Bible:

Genesis 21 says Hagar wept.
Genesis 27 says Esau wept.
Genesis 29 says Jacob wept.
Genesis 42 says Joseph wept.
Judges 14 says Samson’s wife wept.
1 Samuel 1 says Hannah wept.
1 Samuel 20 says Jonathan wept.
1 Samuel 30 says Saul wept.
2 Samuel 1 says David wept.
2 Kings 8 says the man of God wept.
2 Kings 13 says Joash wept.
2 Kings 20 says Hezekiah wept.

On Yom Kippur the High Priest would cry and plead for his people. G-d answers a repentant Hezekiah, “I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears.” (Isaiah 38:4). G-d hears the silent cries of Ishmael. (Gen. 21) Rachel weeps for her children, “A cry is heard on the heights, wailing and bitter tears. Rachel is weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted for her children who are no more (Jeremiah 31:15). This is a promise and a comfort for all the generations of Jews in exile. “A mother’s tears for her displaced children were the assurance of not being forgotten.”

We know that G-d is compassionate and loving, even to the 1000^th generation. We know that G-d will be with us, lighten our burden and give us rest. We learn this from the aftermath of the Golden Calf. Moses does not want to go back up that mountain and he cries out, “Who will go with me?” God answers, “I will go with you and give you rest.” G-d then proclaims the 13 Attributes.

People ask me if G-d cries. I have to answer, an anthropomorphic as it is, YES, even G-d weeps “‘Let my eyes flow down with tears night and day, and let them not cease; for the virgin daughter of my people has been crushed with a mighty blow, with a sorely infected wound.’”  (Jeremiah 14:17). But it is not clear who is doing the crying, G-d or Jeremiah. Rabbi Tanhuma to claim that it must be about God, that God cries because no man can cry without ceasing. Mishnah Sanhedrin teaches that even when a criminal is hanged, God cries out ‘woe unto Me.’ Since we are created in the image of the Divine, whatever we do to others, it is as if we do it to G-d.. “When I injure my fellow man, I injure God.” (Abraham Joshua  Heschel) So even if anthropomorphic, G-d cries. When G-d cries and we recognize that cry, we know we have not been forgotten and we are comforted.

This week our nation will pause to remember September 11. I was in New York that day. I remember the blue sky. I remember the smoke. I remember the sirens and the deserted streets. I remember the raw fear. I remember the tears. This week there will be more tears. There will be more fear. And there will be the lingering question. Where was G-d? For me the answer remains, as taught to me by Rev. Larry Zimmerman at John Oganowski’s funeral, the pilot from Flight 11. G-d was there crying with us, with the flight attendants of Flight 11 who bravely used their cell phones to report what was happening, with the passengers on Flight 83 who took down their own plane, with every first responder who rushed into help, with every person trapped in the stairwells, with every person who lost a loved one, with our nation as a whole as we once again wrestle with how to respond to unspeakable tragedies. G-d weeps with us every time we choose to do evil.

May we, this week, cry tears. Real tears. Of love. Of repentance. Of teshuvah. Then our preparations for Yom Kippur will be more complete.

Tomorrow my little girl leaves on a new adventure. She is moving to Los Angeles where she will pursue her dream of acting, on stage, on film, on TV, in commercials. In the meantime, she will be teaching Hebrew School. She has taught before. 4 years of Hebrew School while she was in High School. Any number of years as a program aide at Girl Scout camp. Two years at a theatre camp where she taught acting. The time is right for this move. She got a job. She has connections in Los Angeles, as well as her sister, her cousin and her cousin’s son. She is the right age. She is pursuing her dream and doing what she needs to do. She won’t have to sit back and wonder at some future date, “I wonder what would have happened if I went for it!” She will know that she went for it and that we believed in her.

Isn’t that a metaphor for our relationship with G-d? G-d told Abraham to Lech Lecha, to go forth, or perhaps more accurately, go towards yourself. G-d wants us to leave our country, the land of our birth, our parents’ house, to go become our own individuals, to follow our dreams. Our G-d believes we can succeed. Our G-d believes in us. Our G-d will be with us along the way, when we lie down and when we rise up. Our G-d wants each of us to find our way, wherever that may take us.

So Sarah, I hope you find time along the way to read this and to know how very, very proud we are of you. How excited we are for you. Yes, it can be scary. But G-d is with you and I am a phone call or a text message away. (and I’ll still beat you in scrabble!)

In the old days, a rabbi would give a sermon just twice a year. The Shabbat before Passover so he, in those days it was only men, could teach his flock how to prepare for Passover. And then again on the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, so he could tell them how to do teshuvah, return.

These days rabbis tend to do sermons, or d’vrei Torah (words of Torah) or drashes, almost every week. The High Holidays contain 5 lengthy sermons alone. So this morning I turned the tables. I asked my congregation how they do teshuvah, how they return. The discussion was serious and remarkably deep. One person talked about meeting with each person in his family individually and apologizing. “Sometimes this can be painful, learning that I hurt someone and I didn’t even know it.”  Another who spends a lot of time traveling on business, talked about taking the time, really taking the time to think. “No phones, no email, going to shul and letting it wash over me and thinking deeply. About all the baggage I carry around. I unpack each suitcase and examine items one by one, then put them back. I feel lighter.” Sometimes teshuvah is about forgiving oneself. Sometimes that can be even harder. One spoke about the need to not beat up on himself. He makes lots of mistakes, he said, and cannot wait until Yom Kippur to begin the process. I was reminded of the story from the Talmud. You should repent one day before your death. But the rabbis asked, how do you know when you will die? You should repent every day.

Others spoke about the need to first recognize that you have done something wrong before you can do teshuvah. That can be the hardest step. A psychologist talked about the difference between apologizing and making amends. “In 12-Steps programs you don’t apologize. You have to make amends. That is a harder process.” We agreed that maybe hardest of all, after you recognize your own mistake, don’t blame others for it so that you own it as your own, make amends, and promise not to do the bad behavior again, is living up to that promise. How do you make your new behavior a habit so you don’t slip into your old ways? Teshuvah is a challenge but one that makes the High Holidays more meaningful. The conversation was certainly meaningful.

Another part of the holidays is thinking about the legacy that you want to leave. Moses is up on another mountain, overlooking the Promised Land that he will not be allowed to enter after leading his people for 40 years. This week we read his farewell address. This man of slow speech has much to say at the end of his life. I asked what the individuals would say to their own families. Here are some of the comments:

• “Go forth and multiply.” Because we need to guarantee the survival of the Jewish people
• “Go forth and prosper.” From an attorney who is also a cohain, who then amended it to “Live long and prosper.”
• “Be good.”
• “Good luck,” Which led to an interesting discussion of how luck plays into our lives.
• “Choose life,” not as some Christians have co-opted it but as a way to live life fully and meaningful.
• “I love you.”

The Thirteen Attributes give us courage. G-d waits for our return. G-d desires our repentance. G-d is slow to anger and patient. G-d will wait until the very moment of our death for our return. G-d offers lovingkindness to the 1000^th generation. This brings us hope and courage.

However we are cautioned in the Talmud, “For sins between G-d and man Yom Kippur atones but for sins between man and his fellow Yom Kippur does not atone until we make things right.” This is the challenge of the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

How do you do teshuvah? What will your legacy be?

Today is the second day of the New Year. Not as much fanfare perhaps. Usually there are fewer people who show up. But the rabbis have a tradition of still saying Shehechianu on something new. This makes the day special. Some say Shehechianu on a new fruit of the season. Some specifically use a pomegranate for that purpose. I always look for one that has a perfect crown. Those are not so easy to find. Some eat a fruit or some other food they have never, ever tasted and scour the marketplace looking for something special. Some buy a new piece of clothing to wear.

After my serious car accident in 2007, we finally went mountain climbing again in the late summer of 2008. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I took one of Sarah’s best friends, a high school classmate. This friend had made sure that when I wanted to quit on a previous hiking trip, when I sat down and said I couldn’t go any further, finished the hike and then came back to get me. “The views are amazing. You have to finish. You can’t miss the views.” Together, the two of us we finished that hike. I have never forgotten that kindness or that friendship.

I went into this hike with a little more trepidation and fear. How far could I get? What about my sense of balance? What if I have to quit; will it be embarrassing? We made it up to the top of the mountain. All four of us. We enjoyed the views and a snack. Then we headed down. It started to rain. We picked up our pace. That was hard. I find going down always harder than going up. We made the bottom just as the first thunder started. I paused to say Shehechianu. My daughter said, “Mom, I think you should say Shehechianu every day. You are still here.” That’s what Shehechianu says, Praised are You, Lord our G-d, Ruler of the Universe who has kept us alive and sustained us and enabled us to reach this time.”

A long time ago, we went to our friends, Nancy and Alyn, to announce our engagement. We were not quite sure how they would respond. Nancy was digging in her garden. She stood up, gave us both hugs and kisses and commanded Alyn, “Alyn go get the champagne.” I learned from that, and I tell every wedding couple this, to always have a bottle of champagne on ice, to celebrate the big moments, like an engagement or a new job, a raise, a promotion, or the little moments, day by day by day. Like Shehechianu, Sarah thinks after my car crash I might be entitled to champagne every day.

We have a prayer we use every day when we first wake up. A personal kind of Shehechianu. Modah/Modeh Ani Lefanecha, Melech Chai V’kayam. I give thanks before You, Ruler and Sustainer of Life.

How will you say Shehechianu today? What new thing will you do?

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us be glad and rejoice in it.” (Psalm 118:24)

Today is the birthday of the world, created again anew. Today we experience the gift of the God’s majesty. We see this reflected in our liturgy, in Avinu Malkenu, literally translated as “Our Father, our King.” What does it mean that God is our Ruler? What does it mean that we call God our loving Parent? Does this differ from the 13 Attributes we have been studying? How do we relate to such a God? With fear and trepidation? With longing? Are we seeking God’s approval? How do we make this relationship right?

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the new year, the birthday of the world. You have been working very hard. Spend some time today thinking about your journey. Remember that you are a beloved child of the Divine and that your efforts in preparation are loved by God. You are loved by God. Write a letter to yourself to open at Chanukah with your goals for the coming year. While, similar to American New Year’s resolutions that seem to never be kept, this is more of a covenant between you, yourself and God. Where do you want to be? Perhaps you could include some promises in the spiritual, physical and emotional realms, giving you some balance.

The shofar sounds call to us, awakening us from our slumber, calling us to remember creation and God’s sovereignty.

Prepare. Are we ever really ready? Can we be? Writing this blog has helped me prepare. So has talking with friends and family, reading lots of books, shopping for a new dress, polishing silver, changing the linens from blue to white, singing on the bimah, adjusting the mikes and hiking at Starved Rock. Am I ready? No. It will be what it will be. I hope that it is enough. It will be enough. G-d does not demand perfection, even in preparation. G-d only demands that we try. That we return. That we turn. If you take the first step, G-d will meet you half way.

“Like water, teshuvah is both destructive and creative. It dissolves the person you were but simultaneously provides the moisture you need to grow anew. It erodes the hard edges of your willfulness but also refreshens your spirit. It can turn the tallest barriers of moral blindness into rubble while it also gently nourishes the hidden seeds of hope buried deep in your soul. Teshuvah, like water, has the power both to wash away past sin and to shower you with the blessing of a new future, if only you trust it and allow yourself to be carried along in its current.” Dr. Louis Newman

When we were walking in Starved Rock, we climbed to the highest point, Eagle’s Cliff Overlook. It was beautiful and we felt we were on the top of the world. We then started hiking back. There were sign posts along the way. They were each marked with a single word, “Return”. I took a picture of one at the start of a bridge. I was thinking of Nachman of Bratslav’s words which have become a popular Jewish camp song, Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar me’od. V’ha’ikar, lo lefachda klal” The whole world is a narrow bridge, the central thing is to not be afraid.”

Don’t be afraid. The central thing is to return. G-d is waiting. We don’t have to complete the journey but we have to begin.

When we got back home and I looked at the picture, a rainbow appeared in the picture. I didn’t see it on the trail! It is a reminder that G-d is ever present and will not destroy G-d’s beautiful creation.

We have looked at the 13 Attributes from many perspectives and that study has enriched me immeasurably. When I hear these strains this week I will reflect on what each of you has taught me.

As children, when playing Hide and Seek, the person who was “It” would hide his or her eyes, count to some impossibly high number while the others hid and then call out, “Ready or not here I come!”. In the story of Adam and Eve, after they eat of the apple, perhaps the pommegranite some of us will taste for New Year’s, G-d calls out, “Where are you?,” in some kind of Divine game of hide and seek. Doesn’t G-d know where they are? The answer to that is yes. However, G-d is waiting for their return. Sometimes it seems that we hide from G-d and sometimes it seems as though G-d hides from us. Sometimes we are surprised by G-d, like with the sign saying “Return” and then the hidden rainbow.

So here we go. We have counted to 13. I know I am not quite ready, but “Ready or not here I come!” Ready to seek the One G-d, to seek G-d’s presence, to return to G-d. May this be a sweet year, a fulfilling year, one filled with peace, with sustenance, with health.

Much of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is cerebral; it is all in our heads. However, there are some concrete things that happen, some of which require real physicality. The linens on the bimah are changed from ordinary blue or maroon or whatever to white, symbolizing purity and holiness. The books need to be changed from regular Shabbat and festival ones to machzorim, High Holiday prayer books. The additional chairs need to be set out. We are preparing to welcome lots of guests. We have done all that.

The part I like the most is polishing the silver. For me this is a symbolic act. It links me to generations of women, my mother and grandmothers especially who polished their silver twice a year. Once at Rosh Hashanah and then again at Passover. I feel that instant connection. More than that as I polish every nook and cranny, every crevice, it slows me down long enough for me to think. What do I need to polish in me? What tarnish do I need to remove so that I will shine brightly like the silver? For me, it is about the deep understanding that my mother’s and grandmothers’ love for me was for all time, that G-d’s lovingkindness and compassion extends to the 1000^th generation, that as I polish this silver, maybe my third and the fourth generation will come to understand this fact easier than I have. This is a real changing, a real return, a teshuva. I still have work to do in the deep crevices. There are still apologies to be made. But it is a start.

What tarnish do you need to remove to see the real you? How will you shine brightly during the new year?