Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester: Sermon Archives

Erev Rosh Hashanah
September 12, 2007

This year, 5768 is a momentous year in my life. In January I will turn 70 --- but this year also marks three other milestones, Important memories, designated by the numbers 35, 40 and 50. Over the High Holy Days I will share the meaning of each number.

Since this year is a year of remembrance, in the process of nostalgia I may even use a story or a quote I have used before. If that happens I will be reminded of a congregant who, many years ago, approached me after a family service. "Rabbi," he said, in a tone intended to demonstrate his great power of memory --- "Rabbi, that story you told tonight --- I heard it the last time I was here!"

"Really," I answered. "And when was the last time you were here?"

With brimming self confidence he replied, "Ten years ago."

"Well," I countered "Then you come too often."

Tonight, and in the days to come, I assure you, no one will ever come too often, at least not for me, but I do beg your pardon for any repeats. 35, 40, 50. Tonight the mystical number is 40, the number of years I have been Rabbi of Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester. Unlike Moses, who wandered from Egypt to the Promised Land over a period of 40 years, in the last 40 years I haven't gone anywhere. I suppose some of us simply discover our Promised Land in a shorter period of time --- or we disdain long hikes! Whatever the explanation, I came to Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester in 1967, intending to remain for two years while completing a degree in International Affairs at Columbia University. Instead I have remained for four decades. What lesson do I draw from this slight variation in plans? Firstly, I am adverse to change. Second, I have loved being your Rabbi.

The night of my first sermon, 40 years ago, we held services in our present social hall. That was the entire temple building. It was a sultry night, the hard gray metal chairs uncomfortable. Before services the President, a mischievous wink in his eyes, gave me friendly counsel, "Dan, we can't wait to hear what you have to say, but please keep the sermon short ---." Some requests never change!

Terrified by his warning I removed my watch and placed it on the pulpit before me. That way I could constantly look at my watch and monitor the length of the sermon. As some of you may notice I still unstrap my watch before the sermon and place it on the pulpit. The only difference is that I no longer bother to look at the watch. Today, who knows how long my sermon will last? Actually I shouldn't say that. One family in the congregation not only assumes they know, they even places inter family bets on the length. I am an unwitting accomplice to gambling. I can't wait to confess on Yom Kippur. Back to my first year: besides glancing at my watch there were certain built in reminders of the President's warning not to be too long winded. For example there was Grace Williamson. Mrs. Williamson was a lovely, elderly pianist who played at our services. Unfortunately, at my maiden service she fell asleep in the middle of my sermon, her head falling on the keyboard of the untuned but loud piano. Everyone jumped. However, with the vitality of youth, I continued undaunted.

No sooner had Mrs. Williamson reawakened, peace restored, than a second attempt at silencing the Rabbi occurred. Since the night was hot and the windows were open, at an especially poignant point in the sermon a dozen wasps, the generic variety, flew into the pseudo sanctuary and buzzed overhead. Since I was speaking about the Six Day War in Israel and describing the air battle over the Sinai, the congregants assumed this was a Reality Sermon - similar to Survivor. But no one waited around to make sure.

Benevolently, I concluded my sermon. "Amen." "Dayenu." It is enough! What did I learn from that timely entry into my years at Emanu-El? A bit of wisdom that extends beyond sermons and touches all of life; namely, always be aware of time. It may be too long. It may be too short, but be aware of time and use it well.

In a small Provencal village in the south of France there was a clock shop. Wandering along the narrow streets, I accidentally discovered this shop and entered. Inside was a display of clocks of every size and shape. One clock in particular fascinated me. On the face were two sets of hands. Not one. Two. The uppermost hands revolved in the usual order. Clockwise. 1 o'clock, 2,3,4. But the second pair moved backwards, counter clockwise from 12 o'clock to 11, 10, 9, 8.

Amazed, I asked the clockmaker, who also owned the shop, "Sir, how can you have a clock that moves forward and backwards at the same time?" The spry little man tipped his beret, tugged gently on his curled white handlebar moustache and smiled. Then he replied. "And why not? I'm the clockmaker. I can do as I want."

"Really," I stammered.

Suddenly the clockmaker became serious. "I love this clock," he exclaimed. "See, I stand in the present but when I look at the clock I can move into the past or the future. Doesn't that make sense? What could be better? A clock that melds past and future." And he beamed.

A question: Would you desire to go back in time? To re-wind the years? To go counter-clockwise? What moment would you choose? Assuming you had a choice. Often I listen to congregants, to friends, even to my own inner voice express regrets for something in the past. The world of might have beens. If only. If only we could return. Erase what went before and start over again. Sadly, mired in the past we fail to move forward. That is not to say the past doesn't affect us. It is always a part of us. As Santyana wrote: "If we fail to examine our past we are doomed to repeat it." We do need to understand what went before in order to choose a new path for our future.

But once we look backwards we should not linger there. One of my favorite psalms is the well known 23rd Psalm --- A Psalm of David. "The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want." As the psalm builds to a crescendo there is a single verse that I am convinced is crucial if we are to use time successfully. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death." A smart man, that psalmist. Very smart. Walk through the valley of the shadow of death --- walk through, don't dwell there. When a love, a dream, a goal dies pick yourself up and continue forward. Don't try to turn the clock backwards. Don't become rooted in a past that was and is no more. It is futile. A vain striving after wind. That's not your future.

In August my grandchildren came to Brant Lake. Their Saturday program was fishing and, as the afternoon advanced, they caught an assortment of sun fish. One fish swallowed the hook too deeply to remove. To spare the fish further suffering we cut the line and threw the fish back, line, leader and hook dangling from its mouth. The following day, the children returned to the dock, dangled the fishing rod over the water and soon I heard the joyous cry: "Grampy, we caught a fish" --- and then a postscript "The same one as yesterday!" Now, since all sunnys look the same, please, forgive my politically incorrect stereotyping, I called back "How can you tell it's the same fish?"

"Come see. Come see!"

Proudly, the children held the fish hanging from the line. Except, next to Sunday's hook, Saturday's line also dangled from the fish's mouth.

I am unschooled in counseling fish but if I could I would have asked that fish why it didn't learn from the past. Why grab the bait once again? Fortunately, at least for the fish, the children went home Monday.

Savor what was good in the years that went before but avoid repeating that which should be discarded. Don't grab the same hook. Over and over.

And live for today. Today. The author of Out of Africa, Isak Dinesen wrote that "God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road." This statement may not be theologically valid but the philosophy is sound. Too often we are so intent on looking down the road that the road passes us by. We can not foresee what the hands of our personal clock will bring in the future,. Plan for the future? Of course. Have dreams, certainly, but since time moves in mysterious ways follow the dictum: "Plan as if you'll live forever but live each day as if it were the last."

This year a gathering of congregants met periodically for lunch in New York City. The topics for discussion varied but one month I asked each participant to share their personal assessment of being Jewish. The question? How does Judaism contribute to your life? I was impressed with the replies, especially one reflection, "I value Judaism because it emphasizes this life, this world." Since we do not have a traditional concept of an after life we should make the most of these years. A Protestant colleague told me recently that unless I believed in Jesus as the savior I would not go to heaven. In fact, he was even more explicit: I would go to hell. I did not choose to remind him, that, as a Jew I would never look that far ahead and, by the way, I don't believe in a heaven or hell. Some Muslims exalt martyrdom because, after death the martyr will be with Allah - and 70 virgins. But, instead of destroying myself I prefer to heed the words of Moses who said, "I set before you this day life and death. Choose life that you may live." Choose life, and live it fully, with all your heart, with all your soul, with all you might

A final comment on clocks and time, culled from family lore. Before I was born my parents purchased an antique wall clock that was a permanent fixture in our house. The clock chimed on the half hour and the hour and, with 12 chimes at 12:00, that clock really made itself heard. Once every 7 days my father re-wound the clock.

In the final year of my mother's life, when she was living in a small apartment on So. Allen Street, Dorothy, the empathetic caregiver, approached me. "Daniel, that clock, I can't sleep at night. It chimes at 11:00 and when I finally drift back to sleep it chimes 12 times at midnight. Could we stop the clock? Let it wind down, and leave it unwound?"

I agreed. When the clock stopped, the hands read 11:00 o'clock. After my mother's death I inherited the clock and with great anticipation, rewound the mechanism. I was reassured by the gentle tick tock and the chimes took me back to my childhood. In 7 days I would rewind the clock like my father had done. But, on the first day of its new life the clock stopped. Once again, at 11:00 o'clock. It was broken.

The clock repairman, uncertain if he could fix it, gave me a critical glance.

"Sir, why did you try to stop time? You can't stop time. It's not good for the clock."

That was all he said, "Why did you try to stop time? "It's not good for the clock."

And it is not good for life. Flow with time. Flow with life. Embrace its current wherever it takes you. Wherever you choose to go. Why do you wait to begin? As Hillel said, "If not now, when?"

So that's it. 40. The first number I wanted to share with you. A special number marking the anniversary of my arrival at Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester. I still hear the echo of the discordant notes Mrs. Williamson inadvertently played when she fell onto the piano keyboard. And I am probably the only person who, when he hears the buzz, buzz of a wasp thinks of a sermon.

But nothing stopped that first sermon 40 years ago. I continued it at the next service. I say that with pride. Nothing stopped me. I went on and will continue to do so --- not with this sermon of course. No, this sermon has stopped The sermon, only the sermon, not my enjoyment of the richness of time.

As you enter a New Year may you also cherish the time granted to you.

Shanah Tovah.