We just heard from Jeanette and Chris about how meaningful it has been to have a child to become parents during this past year. I once heard a parent describe being a parent as his most important project. And we welcome Elliott to the bimah for his first time. Now that is a Shehechianu moment.
(Little Elliott slept through most of his starring role and father Chris helped him act out most of his parts. It was beyond adorable. And another little baby cooed on key with the choir. And then wailed just like one should during Avinu Malkeinu, which is a wail. Sign him up now! )
In Judaism, we have a prayer that we say in the mornings…Elohai Neshama. We do it here every Shabbat morning. We just did it early today. It is actually in every morning service.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaEJKe25BPo
It begs us to recognize our breath. Take a deep breath. Know that your breath is life itself. That it is your very soul. And that G-d created it. Formed it. Breathed it into you. And that it is pure. You are a child of G-d. You are beloved of G-d.
Perhaps you prefer the other version…perhaps you can hear it’s very heart beat. The drum beat. Listen carefully. This one is by Shefa Gold:
Elohai Neshama (Shefa Gold)
At what point does that change? The idea that we were created b;tzelem elohim, in the likeness of G-d. That we are pure?
Rachel Naomi Remen tells a story in Yom Kippur Readings. I’ve used this story before; but it bears repeating. (This story was hard to tell, as a woman rabbi with a baby boy of the bimah, but work with it. And Elliott was adorable!)
Once a prominent rabbi was giving a Yom Kippur talk about forgiveness. He began by taking his infant daughter from his wife’s arms and bringing her onto the bimah. He then began his rather traditional and somewhat boring sermon. The baby girl smiled and everyone’s heart melted. She patted him on the check with her tiny hands. He smiled fondly at her and continued with his customary dignity. She reached for his tie and put in her mouth. She grabbed his nose and the whole congregation chuckled. He said, “Think about it. Is there anything she can do that you would not forgive her? She grabbed his glasses. Everyone laughed. He waited for silence and then said, “When does that stop. When does it get hard to forgive? At three? At seven? At sixteen? At forty five? How old does someone have to be before you forget that everyone is a child of God?”
I would add again, created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of God, with the divine spark inside.
This is the morning we say the world was created. Hayom Harat Olam. The Birthday Day of the World.Go ahead, sing it with me. Yom Huledet Samayach!
Sometimes, however, creation is hard. In the midrash we learn that G-d created 974 worlds before this one, struggling to get it just right. (Midrash Tehillim 90:13)
There is a great desire to create. To give birth. To leave a legacy. That legacy could be children and grandchildren or it could be poem or other writing or a business. Some people become teachers and their students are their legacy. (That applies to corporate training and mentoring too!) Nobody on their deathbed ever asks to be able to work longer. Most want to spend more time with family. A legacy is what you leave behind. What values do you want to leave?
Sometimes, as we see in both today’s Torah and Haftarah portion, couples struggle with infertility. Every month seems to be an indictment of our own personal worth. Some of you have struggled with those feelings. Some of you have lost children or have kids who have become estranged. Some of you chose not to have children. Some of you adopted children. And some of you have created other legacies. Buildings, businesses, teaching, coaching, foundations, research, artwork, a novel, a poem.
Our stories in the Torah are sacred. Our individual stories are sacred too. Each of your stories, the good ones and the bad ones, are woven together into the fabric of CKI. We are actually a collection of individual stories and those stories are important. We’ll talk more about that tomorrow. Hagar, Sarah and Hannah in today’s portions, their struggles are important stories. They were imperfect people dealing with an imperfect world.
We hear the story of Abraham listening to Sarah’s voice and sending Hagar and Ishmael out into the desert, with just a jug of water and some bread. Hagar, running out of water, puts Ishmael under a bush and prays, “Don’t let me look on while my child dies.” No name. Just my child. Imagine being the mother of a sick child dealing with the inevitable. Not praying “Heal my child (by name)” but “I can’t bear to watch.” That’s desperation.
But what if we turn that desperation into resilience? We’ll talk more about resilience tomorrow. What if we remember that everyone, according to Brene Brown in her book, Rising Strong, is trying their best.
Brene Brown continues that “This doesn’t mean we stop helping people set goals or that we stop expecting people to grow and change. It means that we stop respecting and evaluating people based on what we think they should accomplish and start respecting them for who they are and hold them accountable for what they are actually doing.. It means that we stop loving people for who they could be and start loving them for who they are.”
“Loving them for who they are.” Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, Ishmael. Each of you. Created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of G-d. This little baby before us and each of you individually—however messy your life may seem.
But this isn’t always easy. Because Brown added that the people who struggle with perfectionism have a hard time thinking that anyone is doing their best. “I know I ‘m not doing my best, so why should I assume others are?” That was a lifechanging thought.
Everybody is doing the best they can.
Was Abraham trying his best? Was Sarah trying her best? She desperately wanted a child to give to Abraham, to secure their legacy. Was Hagar trying her best when she ran away? Was G-d trying G-d’s best when G-d told Hagar to return to Sarah and submit to her harsh treatment? What does that do to our text to think that although they were imperfect, they were still trying their best? At a Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting this summer, sitting on a deck outside so we could be socially distant but the first in-person meeting in who can remember, we wrestled with just those kinds of questions. It got heated and split down gender lines when we talked about G-d’s role here.
Tomorrow we will read the story of Abraham taking Isaac up the mountain. They return. Forever changed. Abraham winds up estranged from both Isaac and Ishmael. Abraham died alone. He was never able to reconcile with either child, apparently. Isaac and Ishmael only come back together to bury their father. Part of our work during this High Holy Day season is to find another way., to look for reconciliation and peace. To not give up when things seem desperate.
We have been given the opportunity to give birth. To leave a legacy. To build and rebuild. We need to figure out what that world would look like after the pandemic, just like Gale told us in her “one wild and precious life “speech.
I asked a question recently, what do you need to hear? Not much has changed. Surprisingly to me, it is nearly identical to the list from 2018:
But let me tell you what you need to hear. What you crave to hear:
- That you are loved
- That you are forgiven
- That there is hope
- That the world is going to be OK—for us, for our children, for our grandchildren
- That someone is proud of you
- That what you did made a difference
- That we can reconnect with G-d, with each other, with ourselves
- That we can find balance
- That you are OK…right now. Just the way you are.
Let me say it clearly then:
- You are loved,
- You are forgiven
- There is hope
- The world is going to be OK—for us, for our children, for our grandchildren because we are partners with G-d in creation.
- I am proud of you, of all of us
- You did made a difference, that’s your legacy
- You can reconnect with G-d, with each other, with ourselves
- You can find balance
- You are OK…right now. Just the way you are.
- You are doing your best.
Honi the circle drawer saw a man planting a carob tree. He wondered why since it would take 70 years to bear fruit. The response was that just as my ancestors planted to me, so do I plant for my children and grandchildren. That’s a legacy. That’s resilience. That’ hope. That’s the message of the messy lives of Sarah and Hagar.
Yet there is hope. That hope lies in the Pacanowski’s baby. And the Goldmans, and the Rassmussens’, the Sitzers and the Gothmanns’.. Five new babies this year with more on the way. May we leave a legacy and build to tomorrow as we celebrate a time to be born.