“This is the day that the Lord has made…let us rejoice and be glad in it.” I stand before you today with a full heart. One that is overflowing with joy, and tinged with sadness since my grandmother passed away one week ago today. She called to tell me she wasn’t coming to ordination, that she and my mother were proud of me and that I would make a great rabbi. More importantly, her outlook on life was always one of joy—even in the face of disappointment.
My father sent my daughter a box filled with joy—all the refrigerator magnets, the alephs and bets, the a’s and the z’s, with a note saying all the wisdom of Judaism and American society were contained herein, her job was to recombine them and find meaning and joy.
Driving her back to college after Passover, we listened to Rent. Like Psalm 90, it asks how to measure a life? In deference to our cantors, I won’t sing. It answers, Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes. In daylights? In sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee? In miles, in laughter, in strife? I can number rabbinical school that way. In 12 calendar years, 2 of which were at Hebrew College, in 8 academic years, in 204 miles from Chelmsford to Riverdale, in 70 courses, 38 ritual skills and a 122-page thesis, in sunrises over Long Island Sound or on the Merritt Parkway debating the exact time to recite the morning Sh’ma, in midnights at retreats, in countless cups of coffee.
The song suggests something deeper, that a life is better measured in the truths learned, in times cried or in bridges burned. Studying at the Academy has been full of truths learned, tears cried and joys shared. Rather than bridges burned there have been bridges built, friendships that last because we have shared our neshamas, our souls, discovering our own truths as we took those refrigerator magnets, recombined them and found layers of meaning, so that then we can then find our own joy and teach them to others.
It wasn’t easy. There was strife and obstacles along the way. A serious seven-car accident on the West Side Highway. The death of my mother who we miss today. Challenges with money and being far from my family. And the haunting memory of an attack by Israeli soldiers. Some said it couldn’t be done. I stand here today and say Hineni, I am here. It is possible to overcome challenges and find joy.
That joy comes the verse I chose: Or zarua latzadik ulyishrei lev simcha. Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart. Like the refrigerator magnets, this text was a puzzle. There are many words for joy—simcha, gila, sasson, rina. What nuance does simcha, my middle name, bring? Rabbi David Greenstein told me years ago that simcha carries with it a sense of passion, a later meaning gleaned from the Chasidic masters especially Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav.
Davenning in Israel recently I suddenly understood, the light bulb went off. Joy follows light, after we act righteously. It comes when find our passion, share it unstintingly and use it to make the world a better place. Then light is sown and we experience joy.
People’s lives are complex. Everyone experiences joy and pain. That is part of what makes us human. How we respond to that suffering is what makes us G-dlike. If despite the obstacles we can live our lives with passion, play out our dreams, then we find joy, at the break of day as light is sown. But not in a vacuum. Only if we act justly and righteously.
So my message to you is simple. Recombine those refrigerator magnets. Find your passion, follow your dream and make the world a better place. In doing so, find joy.
Today, as I stand before you I am very, very rich. There are so many people to thank because each of you played a role enabling me to reach this day. While the a’s to z’s are in your program, I especially and publicly want to thank the community of the Academy, my many friends, mentors, teachers and advisors, the office staff, my beit din, Temple Emanuel, the interfaith associations, Meg and Steven Roberts who opened their home to me, my brother Danny who appeared as an angel on the West Side Highway, beating the ambulances, and my extended family. But most importantly Simon and Sarah who bring me joy, love me and taught me to love. Words fail. So simply, I love you. This is the day that the Lord has made, let us now rejoice and be glad in it. May 13, 2010.