Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester: Sermon Archives

EREV ROSH HASHANAH
SEPTEMBER 22, 2006

IMAGINARY MENAGERIE

In the end, it was
As in the beginning; no one
Learned anything. What was alive
Was killed and posed,
Stuffed, put on display. The remaining live
Wandered around amongst the dead,
Wondering what they looked like
When they were alive and in the positions
In which they were now posed, which the live
Could have witnessed in life
Had they not killed
The now
Dead.

Barbara Tran

As we anticipate the year 5767 we confront a deeply troubled world. July in the Middle East raised the age old spectre of Armagedden. Will the collision of cultures and civilizations provoke World War III? Terrorists dominate our television screens fueled by extremists of another century equipped with the skill and deadly technology of the 21st century. The conflict in Iraq continues sapping energy and funds from daunting problems; healthcare, hunger, global poverty, alternate energy supplies, to mention a few and Iran hovers in the wings. America, once the model for human rights has severely damaged that reputation. With all of our sophisticated means of communication, blackberries, bloggers, the internet, we are not relating. And most disturbing, the majority of our people, to say nothing of our politicians fail to react. The worst, irrational, element in our world controls events while those who represent the best sit by and acquiesce.

Our world is in pain and, on a personal level we are not exempt from individual hurts and sorrows, harbored in the privacy of our hearts. In the words of William Wordsworth

"The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers --- so might I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;"

The world is too much with us. We are forlorn. Uncertain of the future if not for us then for our children's children. But this is a New Year and Jews have always believed in beginning's, rebirth. How else could we have survived? With all of our travail we remain eternal optimists. We are a people who have always dreamed. We do not relinquish hope and in this way we can "re-invent our stolen world."

The recently published novel, "A Thread of Grace," set in World War II, chronicles a little known story of the vast Italian underground effort to save the lives of 43,000 Jews. One of the characters, a Rabbi says: "In Hebrew there is a saying 'No matter how dark the tapestry God weaves for us there is always a thread of grace.'" I have read and re-read those words,"No matter how dark the tapestry God weaves for us there is always a thread of grace," of confidence in the future.

The challenge in this New Year is to discover that thread of grace; to redeem our global and in some instances, personal worlds. I can not suggest easy answers but I will share with you my search and how I found a thread of grace. It began in Israel, over the summer. The war with Lebanon was in its fifth day and I was in Jerusalem. As the threat of katushyas hovered over head it was time for me to return home, to the United States and with a sense of relief I cleared customs at Ben Gurion airport.

Then it happened. Fifty, perhaps seventy five, young people pursued me on my way to departure gates numbers six and seven. The youth sang in full voice, beat on a timbrel, an Israeli drum and filled the airport with sound. Each individual, including older counselors, wore a blue t-shirt with the Hebrew letters Zichron Menahem. Remember Menahem.

Arriving in the departure lounge with the noisy entourage I asked a flight attendant, "Are they flying to London (Gate 6) or New York, my flight (Gate 7)?" When informed that they would soon board the plane to London I exhaled. At least I would not have this clamor for 11 _ hours to New York.

Passengers appeared annoyed at the disruption. The young people danced in between the seats and shouted into a bullhorn. I experienced a surge of anger. Who were these teenagers? Should I protest? To whom? But an inner voice cautioned, "Patience, there is more to this story." So I approached a middle age woman who seemed to be in charge. She too wore a blue "Remember Menahem" t-shirt.

"Excuse me," I inquired. "What is this group?"

The first streaks of gray infiltrated the woman's close cropped black hair. She smiled. Sadly.

"These are Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs."

She paused. "They have cancer and are traveling to a summer camp in England to play, to enjoy themselves. They have few opportunities to be lighthearted. Maybe they are a bit boisterous. I apologize."

I waited, before asking, "I do not want to be intrusive but who is Menahem?"

There was quiet. Then a slow reply. "Who was Menahem? He was my son. He died of Leukemia."

"I am sorry" I said softly, "very sorry."

Menahem's mother nodded. "I understand."

The boarding call resounded from Gate 6 and the sea of blue t-shirts filed through the gate. As they slowly disappeared I was gripped by sorrow for those Israelis and Arabs, their lives snuffed out in the North of Israel, the South of Lebanon, lives sacrificed to the cancer of hatred that pervades the Middle East. They were caught up in an unending dance of death. And here, at Ben Gurion Airport, were Israelis and Arabs, fighting a different form of cancer, their future unknown, but they danced the dance of life. For a moment their joy drowned out the roar of missiles and bombs.

As the last blue t-shirt, "Remember Menahem," disappeared into the plane I called after them, "Sing, sing with all your might."

That song was my thread of grace. It sang of life not of death. The final words of Moses reverberated in Ben Gurion airport. "I set before you this day life and death. Choose life that you may live." Choose life. Our world does not have to kill, to destroy one another, to deprive the neighbor in our midst, to make choices that deplete necessary resources. We have a choice. Seventy young people in an airport, choosing life when confronted by possible death, and I asked why, why does it take sickness and war to sensitize individuals to the value of life? Why does it take loss, actual or imminent, to impress upon us the precious gift of our years, and the gift of those closest to us?

When William Faulkner accepted the Nobel Prize in 1950 he addressed the gathering: "I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion, sacrifice and endurance." Those young Israeli Jews and Arabs rejoicing in Ben Gurion Airport possessed a soul, an inexhaustible voice, an unflagging spirit. They had become my thread of grace.

But instead of opening ourselves to the song of tomorrow we permit ourselves to be consumed by fear, expertly spun by those in power. The journalist Paul Krugman, playing on the words of FDR, wrote in the New York Times, "Our leadership has nothing to hope for but fear itself." Paralyzed by fear we will never see that thread of grace. A Hasidic Jew offered a prayer, "Let me not die while I am still alive." Fear kills the soul.

A legend.

"Once upon a time there was a lion. One day, he went to the side of the water to drink. Staring back at him from the water, he saw another lion. The lion growled , but he was met by a growl of such ferocity that he jumped back. For a whole day he stayed by the pool, getting thirstier and thirstier, more and more frightened. Finally the lion's thirst overcame his fear and in desperation he bent his head deep into the water. In a trice, the other lion - which had merely been his own reflected self - disappeared and the real lion was free to take a long drink of the cool, clear water."

Perhaps the time has come to infuse our world with hope rather than fear; hope inspired by the realization that we do not have to live in darkness. That fear is only a reflection on the surface of our mind. Beneath the dark waters lies a thread of grace. And, since, on this Rosh Hashanah, I am absorbed with the theme of tapestries and threads I would share a second image. The image of Persian rugs. When a weaver creates a rug he intentionally weaves one black thread into the fabric. According to the weaver, the black thread, an obvious flaw, reminds us that even in the most beautiful work of art imperfection exists.

Many years ago, aware of this fact, I visited a rug workshop in Iran and scanned each carpet searching for the black thread. I seemed obsessed with finding that single thread, until a friend cautioned: "You will destroy your life if you continue to search for the black thread. You will miss the beauty of the broader tapestry, the bright colors that do exist if only you look." And as he spoke I understood that so much of life consists of perspective. We can constantly fix our gaze on the black thread or we can have the vision to be open to other directions, hear the song, move beyond fear and choose life. But this is not always an easy task. As individuals and as nations we become hardened in our ways; not unable but unwilling to change. This attribute was recently demonstrated in an e-mail I received of an actual radio conversation between the British and the Irish off the coast of Kerry, Ireland in October 1998. The Radio conversation was released by the Chief of Naval Operations October 10 1998. These were the words.

The Irish: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision.

The British: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the north to avoid a collision.

The Irish: Negative you will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the south to avoid a collision.

The British: This is the captain of a British Navy ship. I say again, divert your course.

The Irish: Negative. I say again, you will have to divert your course.

The British: This is the aircraft carrier HMS Britannia! The second largest ship in the British Atlantic fleet. We are accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers and numerous support vessels. Demand you change your course 15 degrees north. I say again, that is 15 degrees north or counter measures will be undertaken to ensure the safety of this ship.

The Irish: We are a lighthouse ... Your call.

Too often we fail to see the light. We blunder on along paths leading to a shipwreck and continue to do what has not worked. Perhaps it is time to change course.

May this be the year that we change course in our world and, where necessary, in our personal life. May we fix our sights on the thread of grace running through the majesty of creation. Then, we pray, we may welcome a New Year; one that ushers in greater peace in our world, in our homes and in our hearts.