Sermons

Sabbath Service June 4, 2010

What does a rabbi say as he contemplates retirement? Perhaps I should share my greatest challenge in this year of transition. A lovely congregant said I was not permitted to retire until I officiated at the marriage of her two daughters. One year to find two men. Where to look? Then I had to block out two weekends for the wedding ceremonies. But the real obstacle was that one daughter is age 11 and the other is 13. I may be around for a long time.

What else can I say? Maybe I should reminisce about my early years in the rabbinate. That seems appropriate. Looking back. My first wedding ceremony. Ah yes I remember it well. The venue was a catering hall on Long Island where 5 weddings occurred at once. Each one on a separate floor. As the groom started down the aisle I realized I had never seen him before. As the bride started down the aisle I realized the only familiar aspect of her countenance was that she wore a white dress. Who was she? Suddenly I understood. I was on the wrong floor, at the wrong wedding.

Then there was that funeral service for the 97 year old mother of a delightful congregant with a marvelous sense of humor. Even though we never wish to see one we love leave us it was time---and the daughter knew that. In the funeral procession to the cemetery, a cemetery located at the far tip of Long Island, I was placed in the rear seat of a limousine with 5 men smoking cigars. Big fat cigars! When we exited the cars and approached the graveside the daughter looked at me---or what remained of me. I was very green. A victim of cigar smoke. Then she turned to the grave diggers and with a twinkle said: "Make it a double."

I could share other poignant tales of my rabbinate which, even now bring tears to my eyes but instead I will spend a moment expressing my appreciation to those with whom I have been associated over the span of 42 years. Staff who have assured the temple functioned expertly. Leadership who devoted many years to our congregation. Marcie, our dedicated temple educator, always there to support me. Marcie has only one known flaw---pyrophobic she will not light matches and kindle the Sabbath candles. But in contrast Marcie has kindled a flame for the love of Jewish learning in children and adults alike. Her unique qualities will burn brightly through the generations.

And Meredith of the golden voice who accuses me of being the only person who, when I sing, can throw her off perfect pitch. Now that I have resigned myself to silence my life has been enriched by the beauty and spirituality not only of her voice but who she is.

Above all I express my appreciation to you---my congregants. You are my extended family. There are days when I enter this sanctuary and the pews appear empty. They are not. They are filled with memories. Memories that radiate from who you are and what you have meant to me. Each one of you, in your own way, has been my family. We have laughed together, shed tears together, experienced the small moments that eventually blend into a lifetime. I will not leave you nor will you leave me. Thank you for inviting me into your lives for over four decades. Hopefully I have touched you. This I know. You have touched me. Deeply.

A final acknowledgement. Margie. The only person able to decipher my handwriting. If they had put her on the case of the Da Vinci Code the code would have been cracked on page 1 and I would not have had to read the whole book. Margie, creative, accomplished, recently left a piece of paper on my desk. She had found my initial Rabbi's Message from the temple bulletin of September, 1967. I read an excerpt.

"Many years ago, Michelangelo was at work in his studio when interrupted by a visitor. The visitor wanted to know how Michelangelo was able to create a 'David' or a 'Moses' out of a shapeless block of marble. Michelangelo answered the question with great simplicity. As an artist, I uncover the externals – this is all that is involved."

The bulletin message continued.

"As we begin our association together, we are handed a block of time. At present it is formless and without shape. Within this block, great promise is contained. Like the artist, our task is to fashion a meaningful expression of our faith, for ourselves and for our children. It is my hope that as we come together, we will fashion an image that will bring to fruition the ideals we hold."

Words from September 1967.

42 years ago. A block of time was given to me. A precious block of time. To be your rabbi. And as the years have passed I have become ever more aware of the inestimable value of time. Time which cannot be retrieved. And it is always too brief---even 42 years. But together you and I and those who came before have sculpted the life of Congregation Emanu-El of Westchester and in so doing have enriched our interpretation of Judaism and reached individual goals of satisfaction, contentment and love. Together we have shaped time and, looking back I can only say Dayenu. It is sufficient.

People have asked: "Dan, how do you feel as you approach retirement? Is it sad? Is it bittersweet?" And in my life there is a further question. As you are aware, my father, also a rabbi was an unseen presence in my life and it was his unspoken inspiration that has guided me in the rabbinate---even though he left me at too early an age. What are my feelings after being a Rabbi's Kid and then a rabbi---and what is next? What is next? Yes, these are a few of the questions addressed to me in recent months. There is not a simple answer but rather a complex labyrinth of feelings.

Yet, I am a man of faith although one of our congregants once estimated that I only gave one sermon on God in the 2000 sermons I have delivered over the years. She informed me that she had gathered that fact on Google.

But I am a man of faith; predicated in part on a profound premise. Michelangelo completed one sculpture only to begin again. Each one of us is granted many still unformed blocks of time. Our challenge is to take a new block of time and begin creating future works of art. I will choose paths that lead in different directions, still unsculpted destinations promising excitement, whether geographic or within the heart and mind. The past is over although it will endure within, but the future will unfold, waiting for the imprint I choose to place on the next stage.

Together, we will move forward although our paths may diverge. In the words of Henry David Thoreau: "Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star."

There are many days still to dawn and the morning star will continue to shine brightly. We need but be awake.

Thank you for that block of time we have spent together.

Good night. Until the morning.