A version ot this sermon was delivered at Temple Emanu-El of East Meadow on Erev Rosh HaShanah 5777.
A story[1] is told of a chassid, a
simple and pious man, dedicated to his family, and always going out of his way
to provide for them. Though they were wealthy in spirit, they were poor
in possessions. Every Shabbat afternoon, as the sun began to set, this man,
Yitzchak, who always did for his family, would do something small for himself.
He packed a small bag of dried fruits and nuts and took it with him as he
went for a walk in the woods. It was during this time that Yitzchak would
commune with God and with nature; he enjoyed God’s world, all of creation out
before him.
One particularly
beautiful Shabbat, Yitzchak was out walking. The sun shone as he had
never seen it before. The birds sang so clearly those back in the village
heard their melodies. Yitzchak couldn’t wait for his precious moments
alone in the woods.
And so, at his
regular time, he packed his small satchel with dried fruit and nuts and made
his way. He kissed his wife and children saying as he said every week:
“I’ll see you in a little while, and then we’ll have dinner together.”
And so, he strolled. Into the woods, singing with the birds,
enjoying the trees, the flowers, the bushes. He enjoyed himself so much,
that he looked up suddenly and realized that his surroundings were unfamiliar.
As he strolled
further, the sky began to darken and the beautiful day began to turn eerie and
gloomy. Realizing he had lost his way, Yitzcak tried to turn back, but
each time he made a turn he got more lost. When he thought he recognized
a familiar patch, he would head in that direction only to be more confounded by
the forest. He was completely confused. He didn’t know how to get
back home. As he wandered, he began to worry, and to become afraid.
At last he noticed
a clearing and he said to himself, this must be the way back to the village.
And so he headed in that direction. Yet, as he approached he realized
that it didn’t look familiar at all. Still, he continued walking, and
soon he began to hear a drifting melody
♫♫♫♫
on the wind, a
haunting melody, the more he walked, the louder it became, and the more joy he
felt in his heart as his feet and legs seemed to carry him toward the sound.
He walked until he saw where the sound was coming from. A group of
men, sitting in a circle, having a good time, sharing a large bottle of wine
and telling stories, all punctuated by this melody.
♫♫♫♫
As he listened, he
began to sway to the melody. He watched as the men got up to dance and
jump for joy to this wordless tune, this niggun. And suddenly, Yitzchak
saw that these were no ordinary men singing and dancing. In fact, they
were cossacks, who had been persecuting his village for many years. But
he did not run. Yitzchak hid behind a bush and listened to the melody
again and again. He was entranced, and began to sing to himself.
Louder and louder without noticing it, he sang this melody.
Seemingly hypnotized, he swayed to himself with his eyes closed, praying
to God the wordless melody.
♫♫♫♫
He opened his eyes
to see the cossacks staring at him. “Come out of the woods, Jew spy!”
they shouted at him. What could he do, he was found. He went
to them. Quickly, they tied him to a tree and went back to their party,
their food and their wine. And there was a lot of wine. So much
that one by one, they each drifted off to sleep, leaving Yitzchak tied to the
tree, the melody still clear in his mind and in his soul. Well, Yitzchak
was no dummy. Though he was fearful, the melody in his mind gave him
strength and courage, seeming to energize his soul. He managed to quietly
free himself from the ropes and make his escape.
As he quietly and
quickly fled, he said to himself: “what a wonderful melody I have learned, even
amid such a difficult time. I hope I never forget it.” So he began
to hum it over and over again to himself.
♫♫♫♫
Yitzchak looked up
and saw the familiar path toward his village and his pace quickened as he
headed home, all the while singing and humming the melody. As he approached
his wife and kids and the neighbors all came out to greet him. “Yitzchak,
what happened? We were so worried about you! Where have you been!”
Yitzchak smiled at them and began to sing.
♫♫♫♫
“Yitzchak, what’s
wrong with you!” his wife asked. “We’ve been worried sick and you can’t
even say hello!?” Yitzchak kissed his wife on the cheek and sang again.
The same thing happened when his children asked after him. Thinking
it would pass, they gave him a couple of days – who knows what happened in the
woods? – but each time someone would ask him a question, he would only sing the
melody he learned in the forest. They took him to the doctor, they took
him to the rabbi. No one knew what to do!
Eventually, the
rabbi, the doctor and the elders of the town decided that Yitzchak needed to go
to a nearby town, where there were doctors who treated people whose souls were
sick. Sadly, his family packed his bag, and took him to the square to say
goodbye, where the entire town was waiting to see him off. Everyone had
always loved him and didn’t know what had happened.
His carriage
arrived. The villagers lifted him to his seat. Before he left, he
turned and waved, still singing the niggun. The carriage began to make
its way, and as it drove off, Yitzchak heard from behind him one of his
children: “Papa!” the girl shouted, and then Yitzhcak heard the melody again,
this time coming from his daughter.
♫♫♫♫
Then his wife
joined in.
♫♫♫♫
Then the entire
town, singing this niggun to see Yitzchak off.
♫♫♫♫
In their sadness
and confusion, they found the melody on their hearts, and for a moment, they
felt better as they watched his carriage head out of town.
“STOP!” Yitzchak suddenly yelled at the top of his
voice, to the driver.
“Yitzchak, is that
you!” his wife shouted. “You haven’t spoken in weeks!”
“Of course it’s
me!” He jumped out of the carriage. “I was so worried that I would
lose this melody, this tune which brought such joy to my heart and to my soul,
such inspiration to my prayers to God, that I was determined to teach it to all
of you, whom I love! This joyful tune should be a part of all of our
souls. Now that we have shared it together, this, like every other sacred
memory that we join together to create will never be lost.”
***
What are we to learn from Yitzchak, whose
name comes from the word for laughter? So pure was his joy at this
melody, and so important to him was this ability to pray with joy and
intentionality that he decided to forego everything, his words, his family, his
relationships, to ensure that what he experienced would not be forgotten, and
could be experienced by others. He desired to spread the joy which helped
him to reach out to God in prayer. Prayer is often supposed to be joyful,
you see, not experienced as a burden, something we have to sit through to make
it to the oneg, which is one of the many words in Hebrew for joy.
And this joy, like laughter, can be contagious.
But it may be hard to experience joy if we
don’t know where to look and what to listen for. It may also be hard,
because, let’s be honest, this last year has been difficult for many of us.
But it is out of these difficulties that we ought to search for the melody
on our souls, the prayers in our hearts.
Though these High Holy Days have heavy
theology and serious words and themes, we are, nonetheless, supposed to be
joyful on this New Year’s Day.
In a recent article,[2] one of my professors from
Seminary, Rabbi Michael Chernick notes that the Yamim Nora'im are
supposed to be a time of our great joy, and that it’s only one part of the
Jewish family that really sees the days of awe as our machzor puts it in
its translation of the Unetaneh Tokef: “full of dread.”[3] This prayer, the Unetaneh
Tokef, which reminds us of the fragility of life is of Ashkenazi origin,
which means Sepharadic Jews don’t recite it. And, because it’s not in
their service, the heaviness of our mortality is not quite as prominent a
theme. For many of us, the High Holy Days would be incomplete without
this prayer. But Rabbi Chernick seems to tell us that they are also
incomplete if we allow the theme of this one prayer to set the mood of the
entire Days of Awe.
Is there a place for introspection? Of
course. Is there a place for confession and repentance? Of course
there is. But the days are incomplete if we don’t also make room for joy.
The Torah calls this day “Yom Teruah” a day of the blasting of the
horn, but a Teruah is not just a blast, it is supposed to be a joyful blast of
the horn, and we read in the Torah: “On the day of your joy and your festivals
and new moons, sound the trumpet.”[4] Joyful days are
accompanied by blasts of the horn. We close out Yom Kippur, 10 days from
now, with a blast of the Shofar to celebrate the joy of having made it through
the day, and having been sealed in the book of life. The shofar blasts a
melody of joy and wholeness, a melody that should stick in our hearts and our
souls throughout the year ahead.
In addition Sepharadim don’t just have one
Selichot Service, they do it all of Elul, early in the morning, and it’s joyful
and upbeat mostly. I recall one early morning in Jerusalem, our entire
class went on a field trip to attend sepharadic selichot, early in the morning,
and the melodies and singing were seemingly out of place in what was supposed
to be a mood of asking forgiveness. But joyful it was, and Dr. Chernick
explains that “the general feeling is that although we may not have been our
best selves, and should do better, nevertheless, we have a loving parent, who
is ready to accept our imperfections if we just try harder to be the Image of
God we were created to be.”
So, in what image of God were we created?
On this anniversary of Creation, we recall that when God finished
creating, God commented on the goodness of the creation. It was all good:
Tov or Tov me’od, very good. God looks upon what God has
created with pleasure and joy as God recognizes the positive aspects of
creation.
As we begin our journey through these High
Holy Days, let us strive to seek out joy and imbue our prayers with the
goodness that exists. And beyond these 10 days, let us seek out joy in
our prayers throughout this year ahead 5777. Even in these difficult
times, when we face personal, communal and global difficulties, let us endeavor
to find the joy in our prayer, it may make the difficulties that much easier to
bear.
***
What melodies will we hear and be moved to
sing that will ferret out the joy in our hearts? What will it look like
to share that melody with others? How might it change us? And how
will it connect us better with God?
May the shofar blasts mark this as a day of
joy. May we hear their calls and be moved to sing out for wholeness and
for joy in our souls and in our entire beings. And may we enter the New
Year in gladness and goodness, happiness and contentment.
Shanah Tovah! Shanah Tovah, me’od.
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