Our next guest is Rabbi Linda Shriner-Cahn, the first person I met when I entered the Academy for Jewish Religion. She became my chevruta partner. She is the rabbi of Tehila in Riverdale, NY where she is involved in many peace building activities. After a recent event she penned this poem:

Building bridges
Across the abyss of hate and mistrust
Lies believed
Truths untold

What does it take?
One step following another, then another  and another still

All the world paying close attention
That the bridge does not collapse
As we build slowly and carefully
getting to know one another
Building trust,
friendship and peace along the way

That is our prayer; that is our hope

That is my prayer too. It reminds me. On Rosh Hashanah morning I used this quote as a meditation before the Amidah: “Prayer cannot mend a broken bridge, rebuild a ruined city or bring water to parched fields. Prayer can mend a broken heart, lift up a discouraged soul and strengthen a weakened will. Those who rise from prayer better persons, their prayers are answered.” Let’s take those first steps together.

Here is my Rosh Hashanah Day Two Sermon with some changes:

The sun’ll come out tomorrow

Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow 
there’ll be sun
Just thinkin’ about tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow till’ there’s none

When I’m stuck in the day that’s grey and lonely
I just stick up my chin and grin and say oh

The sun’ll come out tomorrow
So you got to hang on
 till’ tomorrow, come what may!
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow
You’re always a day away

Today is Rosh Hashanah,,the birthday of the world. And yes, the sun did come out this morning. Precisely at 6:44. Right on schedule. I blew shofar on my back deck to the amazement of the neighborhood dogs. Today is Rosh Hashanah morning and friends of mine gathered on the shore of Plum Island at dawn to watch the sun rise over the ocean and to blow shofar. Later they will enjoy a potluck breakfast on the beach and a shortened Rosh Hashanah morning service. It is a lovely, gentle way to welcome the new year. One year when I sat there, I wondered why the world couldn’t be at peace. In the early morning light, it all seemed so easy. That was the year a rabbi had been stabbed in Frankfort Germany on the way home from shul. They had just unraveled a terrorist plot for the Frankfort airport and the American base at Heidelberg. And I wonder—have we made any progress?

And yet, and yet. I trust that the sun will come up tomorrow morning, and the morning after that and the morning after that.

Once I wasn’t so sure. Simon and I had climbed Cadillac Mountain, in Acadia National Park, Maine, the first place the sun touches on the eastern seaboard in order to see the sun rise. It was slow by flashlight. It became clear we were not going to make it to the top for sunrise. We sat down on some open granite rock because it was clear we were not going to be at the summit in time. And then we waited and waited and waited. I said, “I don’t think the sun is coming up.” What I really meant was that the sun was not going to clear the fog bank that had settled in.

At Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley in 1978, they converted the Ner Tamid to one that runs on solar power. Rabbi Everett Gendler explains, “Its symbolic appropriateness is evident.  Non-polluting, not in danger of imminent depletion, it seemed perfectly suited as a pure symbol of illumination and eternity.  We obtained two solar panels, storage batteries for hours of darkness and periods of heavy cloud cover, and at the dark of the year, during Hanukkah, 1978, we celebrated its installation.  People appreciated its symbolic value.”

The symbolic value is real—and keeping it going is not as simple as flipping a switch or replacing a bulb. Yet still the light burns. I trust that it will continue to do so as long as the temple remains.

I trust that the world will be here for our children and our children’s children. But that is not so clear. Every day when I wake up, I think that the world is going to be a better place. Maybe it is a naïve hope. Maybe it is a little like Anne Frank. She said in her diary: It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.”

That’s faith. That’s trust. In Hebrew they are related words. Emunah and Emet. Faith and truth.

This past week saw 400,000 people converge on Manhattan to participate in the largest rally for climate change. Our own Margot Seigle was there. 1500 organizations co-sponsored the event including my seminary, the Academy for Jewish Religion. They estimate that half of the participants were Jewish. Even from Elgin, we participated too. During ruach, our assembly, we made blessings for the world, for the environment which I put on ribbons and sent to the Ribbon Tree.

Their ribbons said:

• I want the world to be perfect
• I wish for more recycling.
• I wish for cleaner air.
• I wish for less pollution and less greenhouse gasses.
• I wish we would stop launching toxic gases into the air to save polar bears.
• I wish we could tow an iceberg to South Africa to provide fresh drinking water.
• I wish for more crops to feed the hungry.
• I wish there were a cure for ebola.

The people that I know that attended said that it was the most important, significant thing they have ever done.

Why? Why were half the participants Jews? Because we have a responsibility to take care of creation. We are partners with G-d in creation. G-d promised after the Flood to never destroy the world again through water. We need to protect this glorious creation. We cannot just wait for the next generation to solve the problems that we ourselves created. It is like the old Girl Scout adage, leave the place better than you found it. We have been entrusted with this world.

On this first morning of creation, the birthday of the world, let us explore the Jewish context for this. The early stories of Genesis

The principle of bal tashict, do not destroy, is rooted in Deuteronomy. We may not cut down fruit trees during a siege in a time of war. By Talmudic times the bal tashchit principle was expanded to include other forms of senseless damage or waste. It included preventing wasting lamp oil, tearing clothing, chopping up furniture for firewood or killing animals. Today, in contemporary Jewish ethics it is used as a basis for environmental justice.

This morning is Rosh Hashanah. It is the new year 5775. It is the beginning of a shmita year, a year set out in the Torah for release. “For six years you are to sow your land and to gather in its produce,
11 but in the seventh, you are to let
it go [tishm’tenah] and to let it be [u’nitashta], that the needy of your people may eat, and what remains, the wildlife of the field shall eat. Do thus with your vineyard, with your olive-grove.”

In Israel, they maintain the shmita year and 5775 is it. Based on this tradition, the Rosenfelds also maintain shmita but on a different cycle. Here at CKI where we are completing year two of our community garden, there may be other ways to think about shmita. Since our community garden is planted expressly for the hungry and they still need to be fed, I would recommend that we continue to plant it.

Following the shmita year is an act of faith and trust. Leviticus teaches us, “You are to observe My laws, my regulations you are to keep, and observe them, that you may be settled on the land in security, that the land may give forth its fruit and that you may eat to being satisfied and be settled in security upon it.. Now if you should say to yourselves: What are we to eat in the seventh year, for we may not sow, we may not gather our produce? Then I will dispatch my blessing fo you during the sixth year so that it yields produce for three years. “ It is not unlike the gift of manna in the wilderness, where a double portion fell on Friday so that there would be enough to eat on Shabbat.

Another commandment for the shmita year is to have a community gathering during Sukkot to teach these very words of Torah. (Deuteronomy 31:10). We are to assemble the people, men, women, and children, and the travelers within your towns that they may hear and that they may learn and they will have awe before the Lord your G-d, and guard all the words of this Torah and to act upon it, and that their children, who have not yet known it, may hear and learn and have awe before the Lord your G-d as long as you live on the land.”

This gives us a year to plan our very own Sukkot event for next year. What if it includes teaching these texts about leaving the corners of our fields for the widow, the orphan, the stranger, the hungry. What if we find ways to reduce the synagogue’s carbon footprint. We are on our way with the new windows and new heating unit. What if we find a way to make this ner tamid a solar one?

Sukkot has a strong connection to water. What if we find a way to make rain barrels so so that our community gardens are watered with rain water? What if we give out stencils for storm drains that say, Dump No Waste Drains to River in order to protect our drinking water. What if, as Elise suggested to me in an email, we find a way to host some kind of community potluck event to call awareness to the kinds of foods we eat. Or we find a way to partner with other Elgin organizations to work on these issues for the sake of our climate, for the sake of our world. Today I am just planting the seeds, pun intended. We will see how they grow. I am filled with hope.

Yet sometimes trust seems elusive. Sometimes trust is violated. This morning’s portion maybe that kind of portion. It is one of the most difficult in the Bible. G-d tests Abraham. Take your son, your only son, the one you love, take Isaac to a place that I will show you. And Abraham trusts God and off they go. Isaac asks his father about where the offering is. Abraham answers, God will provide. And the two of them walk on together.

What kind of G-d tests someone that way? What kind of parent follows that kind of voice? Really, I want to scream. Ask another question! Either of you. Ask another question! In the end G-d does provide, or so it seems, and a ram is offered instead of Isaac. The two walk back down the mountain in silence. No dialogue now. Isaac goes his own way, marries Rebecca, loves her and is comforted by her after his mother’s death. It would seem that Abraham and Isaac never have another conversation. Neither do Abraham and Ishmael. Neither do Isaac and Ishmael. That trust seems to have been eroded. Abraham died alone. Only after his death did Isaac and Ishmael come back together—to bury their father.

This is not just a Biblical story. Trust is hard to maintain. Every day there are little examples and then there are the big ones.

Every day when I get in my car I trust that the bridges will hold. Every day I trust that parents will love their children and yet there are examples of horrendous abuse. I trust that my husband will pick up the ice cream and sometimes he forgets. And sometimes I forget to remind him. I trust that doctors will figure out illnesses and help heal us, and sometimes they can’t. I trust our health care system, our legal system, our educational system. I trust that our world wants peace.

Here at Congregation Kneseth Israel we have built a community of trust. We are a warm and welcoming congregation where people are embraced when they are celebrating or when they have sorrows. As I listened to the choir rehearse and the sweet sounds of Stephanie, I know that I trust my bimah partners—Paul and Saul,, day in and day out. They have my back. I trust all our volunteers who love to lead parts of the davvening. Joe, and Myron, Linda and Perry, Rich and Barry. I look forward to more people feeling empowered to do so. I trust Stew and the amazing choir that has graced our services. I trust the house band—because they are committed to davvening, to worshipping, not to performing. I trust the religious school teachers to provide a safe, energetic, engaging experience creating Jewish memories so that our children want to remain Jews. I trust the kitchen people that make sure kashrut is observed. I trust our board and our executive team, Joe and Barry and Marc, Jana and Sue and Barb to keep this building humming.

Will mistakes be made? In the davenning, in the kitchen? Sure but that does not erode our fundamental trust. It takes working on it every single day.

Repairing the world, repairing relationships, repairing trust is hard work—but that is precisely what the High Holidays are about. That is what teshuva is. Being able to trust. Being able to trust is a form of security. Being able to trust brings peace. Let’s use these next ten days to begin the process. Like we learned yesterday, sometimes like Hagar we need to have our eyes opened to find the well. Don’t wait like Abraham. Sometimes we need to take the first step.

The sun will come out tomorrow. It will be a sweet new year and a Shabbat filled with Shalom.

This is what I started Wednesday afternoon…and then waited for after Shabbat, needing to still run around and prepare.

Girl Scouts, and Boy Scouts too, have a motto, “Be Prepared”. No matter how early I begin preparing for Rosh Hashanah I never feel ready. Oh sure…The choir has practiced. The cantorial soloist and I have rehearsed. The sermons are written. The linens have been changed to white. The silver polished. The prayer books swapped to High Holiday ones. The chairs set up.

I have done Selichot (the penitential prayers on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah. I have been to the mikveh. I have shopped for brisket and chicken and chopped liver. We have apples and honey. And a pomegranate for the second night. I have a new white dress.

Preparing for yuntif happens on many levels. Preparation for the congregation. Preparation for our own families. Preparation for ourselves. The last preparation is the hardest—and perhaps the most important.

When I stand in front of the congregation, facing the ark, the words above the ark say, “Da lifney mi atah omad. Know before whom you stand.” There is a sense of awesome dread. It is humbling. Can I ever be the bridge between the congregation and G-d? Can my words be inspiring enough? Can my voice be good enough? Can I be pure enough? Can I ever be clean enough? Can I ever be good enough?

At Mayyim Hayyim, the community mikveh in Boston, they use a different translation of tameh and tahor. Instead of impure and pure, or unclean and clean, they use ritually unready to ritually ready.

Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom quotes Carl Rogers: “Before every session, I take a moment to remember my humanity. There is no experience that this man has that I cannot share with him, no fear that I cannot understand, no suffering that I cannot care about, because I too am human. No matter how deep his wound, he does not need to be ashamed in front of me. I too am vulnerable. And because of this, I am enough. Whatever his story, he no longer needs to be alone with it. This is what will allow his healing to begin.

While leading prayer and sitting with someone in a counseling session are different, understanding that what we have to offer is our own vulnerability and our own humanity is important. Remembering it is humbling.

I tell this to students who are leading services. I tell this to the choir. I tell this to the house band. Leading prayer is not a performance. It is worship. It is about connecting with the Divine. It is about being a messenger, the shliach tzibbur, of the congregation.

I had two powerful experiences today that bring me hope that I am ready, that I have found my own sense of peace. Usually I go to Weight Watchers on Fridays. Obviously not doing that this week. So I went today. I have been disappointed in my weight loss but thought I might be down this week, so I went. I was. It seems trivial. But what happened next was not. I hit a milestone number and that led me to have a new insight. “I am not a bad person.” This type of insight is what the holidays are all about.

Later when I went to deliver a challah to one of our older members, I blew shofar for her. Not as well as some, but good enough. This 98 year old had never touched a shofar before. Never held one. When she heard it, she asked, “Did you just say baruch, blessed, through the shofar?” Wow!

Between those two experiences, I guess I am ready. And if not, there is still time. Yom Kippur is 10 days away.

Ready or not here I come. Hineini. Here I am. As fully present as I can be. May it be a sweet, new year, one filled with peace. Join with me as we continue to prepare to meet the Divine!

Our next guest is a clinical psychologist specializing in grief therapy. .She was a great consultant to the Hebrew School I was directing, where I taught her boys. She worries about living in such a non-Jewish environment She can tell you every good gluten free cupcake around.

I experience the most peace when I am swimming. I don’t mean swimming laps but when I let myself, swim underwater for a few seconds. It is this moment that I feel total  peace-free from any worry or concerns. I discovered this, as a child at summer camp but returned to it while raising my two sons. Swimming underwater is a favorite pastime of mine. Being submerged underwater I don’t see or hear anything.
 Dr. Nancy Cohn

Last night I went to the mikveh. It is part of how I prepare personally for the chaggim, the holidays. For me there is a sense of at-one-ment and peace. It is a place of healing and calm. I never understand why it works, but it always does. I leave feeling renewed, refreshed, energized. It recharges my batteries and makes me feel whole. Unlike Nancy, I am not sure when I realized that floating in the water was one place I could feel peace. But I remember a poem I wrote after living in Israel about floating in the Sea of Gallilee, Yam Kineret.

The Summer Before the Lebanese War

Bouncing on a red Egged bus
Through Upper Galillee,
We are returning from a tiyul
to the Good Fence
the bridge between
Israel and Lebanon

We pass through Kiryat Sh’mona,
Streets still deserted
From last night’s ketushya raids.

We pause. . .

Yam Kinneret
The Sea of Galillee
Where Jesus is said to have
Walked on water
and fed the multitudes with
Two loaves and five fish.

“Swim break,” the madrich calls out
“Everybody out, lishdot, lishdot, lishdot”
I am sick of drinking tepid water from hot canteens
But I do as I’m told.
You must drink here, in the desert.
We tumble down the stairs of the bus
Anxious to be the first to reach
The cool, soothing waters.

Israeli jets stream overhead
Shining silver against the cloudless sky
Splitting the sky in two
Adding a straight streak of white smoke
That melts into the Michigan blue sky

Heading to and from
Lebanon
Answering every Russian-made Ketushya
With a bomb of their own

Boum!
Another sonic boom.

The water is calm today
And reflects the Golan Mountains
As if they haven’t a care
As if they haven’t seen forty years of fighting
And we pretend not to be afraid
As we race each other
To the water’s edge

I swim out a bit
Loosing sight of the shore
And flip over to my back

For a while I watch the mountains
On the other side
As they meet the water.

Once the Heights were Syrian and a threat
Every night the PLO would bomb the kibbutzim
Killing kibbutzniks, destroying schools,
Shattering a night’s sleep, every night.

Now the hills are Israeli and no longer feared.
But it is a fear I know.
Now there are new threats.
We spent last night in a bomb shelter,
Waiting and listening and praying and hoping,

Ketushiyot sound like thunder from afar.

We were amazed at how calm the Israelis were
They have been through this
For four wars and thirty years
Life must continue normally
They must not know we are afraid.

And I wonder

What would it have been like
To float here
Two thousand years ago
In this ageless sea

Before there was fear?

As I continue to float
I forget about
politics and war and bombers overhead

The water gently caresses my body,

Supports me, holds me,
Makes me trust it
It eases my fear
Nothing seems separate
Everything seems to be a part of the whole

The water, the sky, the hills
All look close enough to touch
Even G-d is touchable
As I melt into the sea
And become one
with it all.

Summer 1986 for Deborah Diggs poetry class at Tufts University as part of my masters in education

Melting into the sea maybe that’s what it will take to bring peace.

Tonight, well actually Sunday, two congregations came together to observe Selichot. This is the official start of the penetenial season. We begin to say again the words out loud that God taught to Moses. Adonai, Adonai El Rachum v’chanun. Erech Apayim v’rav chesed v’emet. Nose chesed l’alaphim, nose avon v’pesha, v’taka’a v’nakeh…The Lord, The Lord, God Merciful and gracious, slow to anger, full of lovingkindness and truth, extending lovingkindness to the thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin.

After Kol Nidre, said on Yom Kippur night, God answers, “Selachti kidvarecha, I have pardoned according to your word.”

That is what selichot is about. Beginning to say you are sorry. In fact, if you bump into someone on the street in Jerusalem, that is exactly what you say, “selicha” Pardon me, excuse me, I am sorry.

But saying you are sorry isn’t always easy. Not to God, not to your friends and families, not to yourself. It can’t be done overnight. It takes time to do it right. So we enter into this slowly.

Tonight we began with snacks—always good to have snacks—and havdalah. Then we showed a movie, Dancing in Jaffa. It is a good documentary—perhaps a little long something a good editor could fix—with an interesting premise. A Palestinian refugee who left Jaffa when he was four has become a world class ballroom dancer. He has returned to build bridges between Palestinian and Israeli youth living in Jaffa. Peace through dance. I like it. It has been tried before. Peace through soccer, through circus, through theater. Seeds of Peace, the camp in Maine. All of these have had some success.

But we are seeing this movie now. After the summer that Israel and Gaza just endured. I had watched the movie before the program to feel prepared. It felt a little naïve. On the other hand, having written about this topic for my thesis, I cannot think of another group where the Palestinian has been the initiator. Let’s see how this plays out, I think.

He has more to overcome than fear of the other. First he has to get boys to dance with girls. To actually touch them. But he makes the point that dance brings respect. “May I have this dance, please.” Eventually they do dance. Boys with girls. Jews with Muslims. And the program as well as the movie does a good job of breaking down stereotypes, of breaking down fear.

When we began the evening, one congregation sat on one side of the room and we sat on the other. By the time we were discussing the movies, the groups were a little more integrated. The conversation was intense. The question of how you can make peace—or even just dance—with your enemy or with someone who you believe wants you dead is a big question. I am glad we created a safe space to voice those deep concerns.

Rabbi Amy Eilberg in her book From Enemy to Friend cites a list of rules from Johnson, Johnson and Tyosvold, for rhetorical opponents to conduct their disagreements in fruitful ways.” It is worth repeating here:

• I am critical of ideas, not people. I challenge and refute the ideas of the other participants, while confirming their competence as individuals. I do not indicate that I personally reject them.
• I separate my personal worth from criticism of my ideas.
• I remember that we are all in this together, sink or swim. I focus on coming to the best decision possible, not on winning.
• I encourage everyone to participate and to master all the relevant information.
• I listen to everyone’s ideas, even if I don’t agree.
• I restate what someone has said if it is not clear.
• I differentiate before I try to integrate…
• I try to understand both sides of the issue.
• I change my mind when the evidence clearly indicates that I should do so.
• I emphasize rationality in seeking the best possible answer, given the available data.
• I follow the golden rule of conflict: act toward opponents as you would have them act toward you.

These are good rules—for engagement with a spouse, for check-in meetings at retreats (at the Academy for Jewish Religion we call them mishpacha, family meetings), in business meetings, at synagogue boards. Perhaps they work for geo-political meetings as well.

Or perhaps, we need a man with a vision, who was willing to think outside the box and teach dance and respect to children. My enemy becomes my friend. I feel safe. I build trust. Peace begins to grow. Slowly, like a waltz.

Or perhaps, building peace is saying that word selichot. You have to be willing to say, “Selicha, I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” Then teshuva begins. If I have done anything this past year, intentionally or not, knowingly or not, to cause hurt, then selicha. I am sorry.

“Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem. You stand here, all of you, today. Before the You’re your God. Your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from the wood chopper to the water drawer.”

Let’s discuss, why the wood chopper and the water drawer? Perhaps it is examples of everyone—not just the heads of the communities, the doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs, but the “little people”, the day laborers, the ones who work at minimum wage jobs, the people at WalMart or at Hyatt, or at McDonalds. The migrant laborers who pick our fruits and vegetables. The ones who work at staffing agencies so that large corporations can scale up or scale back and don’t have to pay any benefits. These labors stand with us before God.

Rashi links the stranger with the wood chopper and the water drawer. We Jews have been strangers in a strange land—from Egypt through the Babylonian Exile to the present day. 36 times in the Torah it insists we treat the stranger with dignity and respect. The same dignity that we demand for ourselves. That is part of loving our neighbor as ourselves.

Yet there is still a problem. In classical exegesis, there are 13 rules that Rabbi Akiva derived. One of them is that there are no extra words in Torah. So if the strangers are already mentioned, why be this specific? Each word has to teach us something new. So again, why wood choppers and water drawers? We looked at whether the Hebrew itself contained a clue—like good poetic alliteration. It didn’t help. Is there something unique about those jobs? Is there a spectrum of action here?

Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, the dean of the Ziegler School in Los Angeles, has a different idea. What if each of these, the wood choppers and the waterdrawers are different parts of ourselves as we stand together before the Holy One with our whole community as we enter these Holy Days. He taught in the name of Reb Shlomo Carlebach, who understood this term as a metaphor for the possible abuse in human relationships. He asks, how often do we see the person across from us or next to us as an object to cut down, prove wrong or shape in the image we think they ought to be? This can happen with our families, our friends, our business associates and workplaces or even, dare I say it, in our synagogue. It can happen with our relationship with God. And I think it can happen with ourselves. Sometimes, myself included, we are our own worst critics, judging ourselves too harshly.   We go too far, we cut too deep and it becomes hard to repair the relationships, with our friends and family, with our fellow workers, with ourselves or with God.

Waterdrawers, however can be a metaphor for how people are wells of inspiration, waiting for us to engage them, learn from them, and to be nourished and satisfied by them. It needs to be a two way street. We need to give and receive. However, I think we need a caution, a well can dry up, if it is not replenished.

So I think there is something more going on here. The image of the wood chopper is not positive. What does it mean when we have been exiled from the land? In this case I don’t just mean the land of Israel. What is our responsibility to the earth? Tomorrow there will be a march in New York for the climate. They are anticipating 200,000 people, the largest march since the famous Civil Rights March in Washington DC. There are 1500 organizations that are co-sponsors of this rally. They are expecting half of the participants to be Jews.

It makes sense. On Wednesday we celebrate the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashanah. The head of the year. Hayom Harat Olam. The world’s birthday. We have an obligation as Jews to be partners with God in creation. We learn this in Genesis. We learn this again in Deuteronomy when we are told bal tashchit, do not destroy. In old Girl Scout terms, we need to leave this place better than we found it.

Part of the rally is a “ribbon tree” organized by members of the Academy for Jewish Religion. Our religious school students came up with their own dreams, wishes, blessings for the world that will then be put on the ribbon tree tomorrow. This next generation—the one that was standing with us at Sinai, standing with us today, said….

• I want the world to be perfect
• I wish for more recycling.
• I wish for cleaner air.
• I wish for less pollution and less greenhouse gasses.
• I wish we would stop launching toxic gases into the air to save polar bears.
• I wish we could tow an iceberg to South Africa to provide fresh drinking water.
• I wish for more crops to feed the hungry.
• I wish there were a cure for ebola.

These students get it. They will find ways to put their wishes into action. The path is not yet clear but this is a beginning.

I want to tell a story about a woodcarver—not a wood chopper—from a little book, the Active Life by Parker Palmer, a Quaker, telling a Zen Buddhist story, published by the Church of the Brethren, right here in Elgin, given to me by an Episcopal priest. It teaches us that we need a balance: between meditation and action, between chopping (or carving) and preserving.

The Woodcarver.

Khing, the master carver, made a bell stand
Of precious wood. When it was finished,
All who saw it were astounded. They said it must be
The work of spirits.
The Prince of Lu said to the master carver:

“What is your secret?”

Khling replied: “I am only a workman:
I have no secret. There is only this:
When I began to think about the work you commanded
I guarded my spirit, did not expend it
On trifles, that were no to the point.

I fasted in order to set
My heart at rest.
After three days fasting, I had forgotten gain and success.
After five days
I had forgotten criticism.
After seven days
I had forgotten my body
With all its limbs.

“By this time all thought of your Highness
And of the court had faded away.
All that might distract me from the work
Had vanished.

I was collected in the single thought

Of the bell stand.
“Then I went to the forest
To see the trees in their own natural state.
When the right tree appeared before my eyes,
The bell stand also appeared in it, clearly, beyond doubt.
All I had to do was to put forth my hand
And begin.

“If I had not met this particular tree
There would have been
No bell stand at all.

“What happened?
My own collected thought
Encountered the hidden potential in the wood;
From this live encounter came the work
Which you ascribe to the spirits.

The Active Life, pages 55-56

This reminds me of another story. From the Chassidc tradition:

When the great Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews, it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Magid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: ‘‘Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer,’’ and again the miracle would be accomplished.

Still later, Rabbi Moshe-Lieb of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say: ‘‘I do not know how to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient.’’ It was sufficient and the miracle was accomplished.

Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: ‘‘I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is ask You to redeem us, and this must be sufficient.’’ And it was sufficient.

So if we all stand together—our tribal heads, doctors, lawyers, men, women, children, water drawers, wood choppers and wood carvers, we will get somewhere. We will be able to find the beauty in the world and make art. We will find balance. We can create peace. If we don’t know the place any more, or how to light the fire, if we don’t remember the words, all we need to do is begin. Together. Our children already have.

I admit it. On Shabbat afternoons in the fall I do something that some would consider not traditional. I watch football. Not any football. University of Michigan football. And almost every week I vow that I am not going to do it the following week. The fact that it is a vow gives me something to think about when we say Kol Nidre. On Sundays you may find me watching the Patriots or the Bears (yes, I’ve almost been converted!).

I didn’t go to the University of Michigan. In fact, I opted out, even though I was accepted to the honors college. I did go to football games in high school—sometimes but not always. So why? Why watch? For me, I enjoy the social camaraderie it builds. It is what my family does. My husband was a student manager of the University of Michigan football team. His father and grandfather attended UofM. Every Klein is a University of Michigan fan. Some have season tickets. Some go to every bowl game. My first trip to meet the family was a Michigan-Nebraska Fiesta Bowl in Tempe. Every year we dream of a University of Michigan-Arizona bowl game. I already know it will not be this year!

I could argue that watching football preserves peace in the house—shalom bayit—but that really depends on the outcome of the game. It was hard to say who was more upset over the shut out of Michigan by Notre Dame this year. My husband has said I don’t have to watch but I can’t imagine not sitting down with him, enjoying some blue corn chips (blue maize, get it?) and some Michigan salsa with a cold beer. Or my traditional third quarter nap.

As someone who thinks she is a peacenik, is it good to watch large men try to pulverize each other? Is it good for any of us? We know that violence in video games and on TV and movies can lead to more violence. Does watching violence in football games lead to more violence?

Football has taken some hits recently. I am very concerned about concussions and head trauma. I have been concerned since a University of Michigan Delaware State game about injuries when a big team like Michigan plays a much smaller, less prepared team. I can’t imagine how the administrators who set that schedule can allow their kids that risk. The answer I received while watching that game in a Boston bar with other UofM fans was not acceptable—for the glory of the good play—and for the TV royalties that come from playing Michigan. Really? What about the career-ending injury that could also come?

Now we are told there is another problem. Domestic Violence. Players, especially NFL ones who hit their partners. Is there something in the culture? If you are told to be aggressive on the field does that give you the right to be aggressive off the field? If you are big man on campus does that put you above the law? No. Period.

This is not a new problem. Every year or two there is a player or a former player, college or professional who is arrested on charges of domestic abuse or rape. Every year we seem to look away.

The statistics are overwhelming. 1 in 4 women will be abused at some point in their lifetime. 1 in 4. That more than will get breast cancer at a rate of 1 in 8. Why is it OK to talk about breast cancer and not about domestic violence?

For those who work on the frontlines of protecting women and children, football is tricky. It is not just a way that women can relax. Maureen Manning-Rosenfeld does a good job of summarizing the issues in this article from the Daily Herald. http://www.dailyherald.com/article/20140918/news/140918320/

USA Today reported on the pregame show before a recent Thursday night football game that included the Baltimore Ravens. The anchor, James Brown “spoke directly to the camera and delivered a plea to viewers. He asked that all the energy given to the Rice controversy be channeled to raising awareness of domestic violence. With so much attention paid to who saw the elevator video and when they saw it, Brown’s words were a needed reminder that this is about something far bigger. Two years ago, Brown made a similar plea after Kansas City Chiefs player Jovan Belcher killed his girlfriend, then committed suicide in the parking lot of Arrowhead Stadium. On Thursday, Brown pleaded for men to learn what “healthy, respective manhood is all about,” beginning with choices of language and deeds. “Our silence is deafening and deadly,” Brown said at the end of the powerful 90-second soliloquy. “

I may still watch football. But my vow this year for Kol Nidre will be to strengthen my voice and speak out about domestic violence wherever it occurs.

Our next guest is Sarah’s Hebrew School teacher. She is a former president of Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley. Together with Linda Gilmore, she and I have taken students to New York and Washington DC. Ask her about the signs we saw on the way home from New York.

I recently read Elul 9 and immediately thought about what my vision of peace is.  Just as quickly I remembered being at my father’s 60th birthday party at my parents’ house.  We were all in the dining room, and surrounding the table, closest to the food, were my father’s grandsons (his only granddaughter wasn’t born yet), great nieces, and great nephews.  The oldest was around 7 and the youngest around 2.  I looked at my father who was looking at all the little children, and he turned to me and said, “Look how beautiful they are.”  Yes, he was kvelling, (swelling with pride) and he was full of the peace and joy only family can give you.

I always hoped I would feel as he did at 60.  I’ve passed that milestone without any grandchildren, but just the thought of my great nieces and nephews gives me joy. And now that I’m thinking of it, they all fill me with peace and hope.  Hope that we’ll all see peace, and hope that we’ll all do what we can to help bring it about sooner.

My parents didn’t teach hate.  Mostly by their actions, they taught their children to accept differences and to try to understand why they exist.  My father told us at dinner one night, that we should never hate someone.  Hatred itself is bad; understanding is better.  It may be hard to do, but it’s the right thing to do.  I hope that all the generations touched by my parents will understand how Zayde/Uncle Sam felt about hatred and peace, will take it to heart, and will pass it forward.

Shabbat shalom,

Frada, (another name for Joy) also known as Marylin Gallant

With Joy is the best way to approach Shabbat.

Our next guest picks up what I was saying yesterday and hones in on it. This entry made me cry. It was exactly what I needed to hear. She is my WeightWatchers leader and has been very successful in her own weight loss journey. She is one of the most optimistic people I know. She is a successful real estate broker, mother and wife and she is a devout Christian. She blogs at http://www.terraayres.com

When we look at the outside world around us, it can be overwhelming to try to find peace.  It seems as if we need to change other people, other view points, societal beliefs, etc., in order to bring about peace, yet we have no real control over others.

What about starting from within? What changes could we make in our own thought to bring more peace into our own lives?   What we DO have control over is our own thoughts and understanding.  Most of us agree that we want a more loving, kind, forgiving, gentler society, so where does that start?  Where can we have the most impact and control?  I believe it is within our own thought.

Are we loving ourselves as the perfect children of God that we were created to be?  Or are we critical, harsh and unforgiving when it comes to treatment and thought about ourselves?  If we don’t love ourselves and cherish who we were brought into this world to be, how can we look outward and really share that with others?  We often think we have to change to find peace. “I will feel at peace when”….when I lose 20 pounds, when I earn more money, when my kids grow out of this stage.  I don’t believe peace comes from any “If this…then that” kind of mentality.  That’s like chasing a mirage.  We lose the 20 pounds or land the awesome job, then some other material circumstance arises and we find ourselves back in turmoil and unsatisfied.  We need not wait to love and accept ourselves.  We are perfect just as we are and when we can find a calm sense of that in this very moment, much of our inner turmoil will dissolve.  Loving ourselves is not selfish.  It is the exact opposite.  It’s showing respect and gratitude for the life we have been given.  Nurturing ourselves with self forgiveness and acceptance allows us to reflect those qualities so that others around us will experience it too.

All IS well!

Terra Ayres

The last few days we have been talking about where to find peace. Many said that there is a need for inner peace before there can be world peace. Even that seems elusive. Risa talked about respect. David also talked about respect. Judaism stresses this concept when it talks about creation. Each of us was created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. Each of us has that spark of the Divine. For that reason alone, we need to find respect for each person. Each person is a reflection of the Divine.

Sometimes that reflection is hard to see. Maybe when Ken holds that high bar, high standard of inner peace and talks about it being like a Monet painting, it is refracted light. It is our job to put those little pieces of peace together to make a bigger peace.

Sharon made the point that it is easier when there are enough resources. In particular she cites getting enough sleep. She is right. Maslow’s pyramid lays this out. People need enough food, water, air, even sex. They need safety and security. They need a sense of love and belonging. Only then can people move further up the hierarchy to self-esteem and self-actualization. I know this is true for me. If I don’t get enough sleep, if I don’t eat on a regular schedule, I get cranky. When I get cranky I can act in a less peaceful manner toward those who are closest to me. If I feel unsafe, then I am afraid and not at peace. That fear can be from an external source or an internal source. That fear can come from walking through a parking structure alone at night, or driving through the “wrong neighborhood”. It can be because of a health scare or not having enough money (another resource). We know that more couples argue over money than over anything else.

Fear is an impediment to peace. We began this blog with the words of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav said, “Kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od. The world is a narrow bridge. The central thing is not to be afraid.”

Exercise, meditation, prayer can help. Those are resources too. Most of us are not monastic. We don’t have all day to meditate or pray. Sometimes it is hard to find the time to get in the exercise—even when we know it would be good for our own mental health.

We don’t live in a vacuum. We come into contact with other people. Some of those people have the ability to push our own buttons. Learning what those hot buttons are, can help us achieve our own sense of peace.

Leviticus teaches us, “You shall not take vengeance nor bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Hillel said that loving your neighbor as yourself is the whole Torah, the rest is commentary go and study it. Others have said that before you can love your neighbor, you need to love yourself.

Perhaps then, this is what peace is: having enough resources, not living in fear, not holding a grudge against those who push our buttons, learning to love ourselves individually so that we can love our neighbors as ourselves.