It happened once
that a group of friends were traveling on a train. They were college students,
and they were coming home for the High Holy Days. They all went to the same
synagogue, so when they saw each other in the station, they decided to sit
together. And of course, the minute the train started moving, so did their
mouths.[1]
"I heard
we are getting a new rabbi!" One of them started.
"I wonder
what she's like!" Another said.
"Is she
married?"
"Does she
have kids?"
"What does
she look like?"
"Where did
she come from?"
"I wonder
if she can sing."
"I wonder
what kind of sermons she'll give."
"I wonder
what she'll wear on the bimah. We've never had a woman rabbi before."
This went on
for a good half an hour. They knew nothing about the new rabbi, so they could
only ask questions and guess at the answers. By the time the train stopped at
the next station, they were almost out of questions to ask and guesses to make.
At that next
station, a young woman got on the train. She wasn't pretty or ugly. She wasn't
tall or short. She wasn't fat or thin. She wasn't dressed in a particularly
interesting way. In fact, they wouldn't even have noticed her except for one
thing: she was wearing
the ugliest shoes they had ever seen.
Now, a lot of
people wear ugly shoes when they are traveling. Most of the young people themselves
were wearing comfy old sneakers or cheap plastic flip-flops. But these shoes
were something different.
The shoes were
SO ugly, in fact, that there was a full minute of silence in the train car
while they looked at the shoes and thought about what they would say first.
They started
with the obvious. "Those are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen."
"Really!
What was she thinking?"
"What a
horrible color!"
"The
pattern makes me dizzy!"
"And they
don't even match!"
"What is
she, a clown?"
"Ugh, even
clowns have better taste."
Now, as usual
when people are talking about someone on a train, they don't always remember to
be quiet. The woman's ears perked up, like they sometimes do when someone is
talking about you, and she stared in their direction, looking hurt.
"Well,"
one of them whispered. "It’s her fault for wearing such ugly shoes."
"Really,"
another whispered, "We're doing her a favor. She should know never to wear
those shoes again!"
Soon the train
came to a stop. The woman in the ugly shoes got off and so did the rest of the
people. They didn't think much about what they had done. Their parents picked
them up and they went home to change for Rosh Hashana services.
The service
began, and the new rabbi stepped up to greet the congregation. She wasn't
pretty or ugly. She wasn't tall or short. She wasn't fat or thin. And since she
was wearing a robe, they couldn't tell if she was dressed in any remarkable
way. But she did look kind of familiar...
And then, all
at once, they saw them. Peeking out from beneath her robe were the ugliest
shoes they had ever seen. The ugly shoes they had been making fun of for the
entire train ride home.
They didn't
find out if the new rabbi could sing or what kind of sermons the new rabbi
would give. They were so embarrassed and ashamed that they couldn't listen or
concentrate. But this was the High Holy Days. They knew what they had to do.
They had to apologize to the rabbi.
After services,
they waited at the rabbi's office. Each of them nudged the other, saying,
"You tell her. No you tell her" until at last one of them stepped
forward.
"Rabbi,
we're so sorry we made fun of your shoes. Please forgive us."
The rabbi
looked at them. "It is nice of you to apologize. But I can't forgive
you."
"But
really!" One of them said. "We didn't mean it. Your shoes are lovely.
Such bright colors, such a pretty pattern."
The rabbi just
looked at them. "It is nice of you to apologize. But I can't forgive
you."
The next day,
they all came back with flowers, the same colors as the rabbi's shoes.
"We're so sorry. Please forgive us."
The rabbi just
looked at them. "It is nice of you to apologize. But I can't forgive
you."
The day after
that, they came with a box full of all their old shoes. "We're going to
make up for what we did by giving all of our old shoes to charity. Please
forgive us."
The rabbi just
looked at them. "It is nice of you to apologize. It's nice of you to give
shoes to charity. But I can't forgive you."
This went on
for days, each day of the Ten Days of Repentance, in fact. The college kids would come back and think of
a new way of apologizing. And each time, the rabbi would say, "It's nice
of you to apologize. But I can't forgive you."
Finally, on the
afternoon before Kol Nidre, the college kids came back and said, "Rabbi,
it is almost Yom Kippur. This is THE day of forgiveness. Why won't you forgive
us?"
The rabbi said,
"It's not that I don't believe you are sorry. It's not that you don't
deserve to be forgiven. It's just that, I'm not the one who can forgive you.
I'm the rabbi. You didn't make fun of the rabbi. You made fun of a woman on a
train, when you didn't know who she was. You didn't feel bad about your words
then. It was only when you found out who I was that you were sorry. Her
feelings were hurt, not mine. You have to apologize to her!"
Apology,
repentance, these fill our minds on Yom Kippur.
Having concluded our confessionals, we move into the afternoon of the
day, as the hunger pangs begin to gnaw at our insides, cognizant that there is
still time to apologize. There is still
time. The gates are open.
The rabbi of
our story seeks to hold the young people in her congregation accountable for
their words and their actions. And,
though the group of college students know that they have erred, they cannot go
back and apologize, for they are accountable not to the Rabbi, but to a woman
they didn’t know, a woman they judged and insulted, that woman with the ugly
shoes. The young people learn that they
are accountable for their words and deeds whether or not someone is listening
or paying attention.
We are in a new
era of accountability, fraught with complexity as we try to balance the need to
finally hold many accountable for their words, deeds, and actions while ensuring
that due process and rights of the accused are maintained. But, there is no question that this era of accountability
is a positive for our communities, our nation, and for the world.
This new era
began, some would say, with the publishing of articles in the New York Times
and the New Yorker, highlighting accusations of the abuses many women faced at
the “hands” of Harvey Weinstein. His
power and prestige in the entertainment world meant that many had known about
it, and had whispered about it for years.
Some worked behind the scenes to keep others safe. Others enabled the behavior by looking away,
by weakness of will, by fear of repercussion.
As a result of this, and what some call the Weinstein effect, the #metoo
movement came to be, first on Twitter and other social media outlets. Women in this country, and other countries
all over the world, stood up to tell their stories of harassment, abuse, and worse. After months, years, or for some, decades,
thanks to a newfound #metoo community, and a sense that others were finally
willing to listen and believe, many women and men spoke up, holding their
abusers accountable, shining a light on their behavior, and working to ensure
that it would not happen again.
Weinstein was
held accountable, and many of his terrible actions were brought to light. He no
longer has his work or many of his friends. Though a trial is still to come, the sheer
number of accusations is hard to discount, and the stories told by the women
who found themselves on the receiving end of his abuse of power are difficult
to brush off. He’s got enough money, and
he will live comfortably even if he never works again, but he has, at least for
now, been shunned by his community and his company, feeling the weight of
accountability.
The first
articles last year, on the heels of the trials of Bill Cosby, and leading up to
the most recent big name to be accused, Les Moonves of CBS, opened the eyes of
the many of us to what too many women and men already knew: no one was holding the
powerful, primarily men, accountable for their abusive and exploitative
actions. The power dynamics at play
prevented it. The society we live in and
the culture of Hollywood, the boardroom, and even religious institutions,
prevented it, but no longer. While too
late for many, #metoo is a mirror for our society, reflecting how we are all
accountable for the way we treat each other, and for how power and sex are used
as weapons of control.
The original
choice for the Yom Kippur afternoon Torah reading by the rabbis of old was not
the Holiness Code we will hear today, which advises us to be holy as God is holy. Rather, the original reading comes one
chapter earlier in Leviticus, which advises us about illicit sexual
relationships, detailing which relationships God permits and which God does
not. We are rightfully uncomfortable
with this section because our society has evolved enough to recognize that not
all which the Bible considers abhorrent is actually so. But if we take a step back and consider the
larger theme rather than the specific prohibitions, we sense that the rabbis
recognized that relationships require accountability. Relationships, especially ones involving
intimacy, require boundaries. Not every
relationship is healthy, or consensual, Leviticus tells us.
The purpose of
including this chapter of Torah, about the accountability we have to our
partners and to our families fits in with this day, for this day, the Sabbath
of Sabbaths, is about our accountability in all aspects of our lives. We remind ourselves over and over, as thirst
parches our throats, and our heads ache from lack of caffeine, that we are
accountable, that we are held accountable, and that we ought to hold others
accountable, as well, for the wrongs they commit. And yet, there is room for forgiveness. Forgiveness is a divine quality, but before
apology and forgiveness are reached, there must be accountability.
Teshuvah is, in
essence, a recognition that we are accountable for our actions. We list the many sins we have committed to
tell God that we are holding ourselves accountable for where we missed the
mark, for where we overstepped, for where we spoke out of turn. We hold ourselves accountable for where our
thoughts turned to cynicism, to lust for power, to misogyny, to anger. We hold ourselves accountable for when we
were too lazy to do the right thing, though we knew what it was, too meek to
speak out, though we knew we should. We
hold ourselves accountable for where we failed to further the cause of justice
and of peace, for where we failed to be allies.
For each of these sins, and the many more enumerated in our al chets,
we stand before God saying that we recognize our errors, and that we hold
ourselves accountable for them.
This era of
accountability, however, ought to cause us to seek out where else we might hold
ourselves and others accountable.
Accountability does not stop and should not stop with our personal
actions. In addition to holding
ourselves accountable to God, let this new era of accountability push us to
seek accountability in all areas of our lives.
Our confessionals are in the plural because we are all accountable, as
much as we are each individually accountable.
Let us hold
ourselves accountable to our community.
A congregation, especially a newly merged and growing congregation
cannot work without everyone’s help. If
we value this congregation, and we value what it provides for our lives and our
families, we have to put in the work, and not just between Rosh HaShanah and
Yom Kippur, but between Yom Kippur and Rosh HaShanah!
What are the
ways that in the last year we missed the mark in terms of how we supported our
house of worship? Finances are only one
means of contributions. A community
requires that we hold each other accountable to do what is best for the
community, even if it might not be what we prefer. Holding ourselves accountable means we find
ways to use our talents to help whenever and wherever we can. So many put in a lot of time already, and for
that we are grateful. Imagine what a
difference it would make if instead of a handful of folks stepping up time and
again, we had a large corps of volunteers willing to help at an event, willing
to sit on a committee, willing to work together to create a thriving community
with a culture of excellence.
What could we
create if we held ourselves accountable to be with each other when we mourn and
when we celebrate? What kind of
community would we have if we started treating our B’nai Mitzvah like communal
events rather than a private family event, if we all tried to attend the shivah
at the home of a fellow congregant we might not know? What we would see is that by holding
ourselves accountable to our community, our community becomes accountable to
us, to be with us in our joy, to sit alongside us in our sorrow. Our community would be with us because we
were with our community.
We would be living
the words of Hillel, who reminds us not to separate ourselves from the
community.[2] When we actively include ourselves into the
community, we hold ourselves accountable and we establish new communal norms of
behavior that benefit everyone and bring us closer together.
We ought to
also remember to hold ourselves accountable to the next generation. We are working on fulfilling the vision of a
regional Reform congregation for the future generations, but what kind of world
do we want to live in, and what kind of world do we want to leave behind? If we believe in l’dor vador, passing
down of traditions from generation to generation, and if we live by it as a
principle, it is up to us to ensure not just that there is a next generation,
but that the world we leave them is better than the one we were handed. By recognizing that our actions and our work
have lasting impacts, how are we working to make the world as we would like it
to see?
What are we
doing to combat climate change, as storms rage bigger and more destructive each
year? What are we doing to combat the
scourge of gun violence, so rampant in our nation? What are we doing to support the youth of
today, who are speaking up in record numbers against gun policies that keep
their lives in danger, and our lives in danger?
How are we working to build a world where differences are appreciated, respected,
celebrated and do not become the source of division?
The answers to
all of these questions require holding ourselves accountable for our actions
and their effects. But there is only so
much each of us can do alone.
We also must
hold our elected leaders accountable.
Elections have consequences, and no matter which box we might check, or
which bubble we fill in, their purpose is to hold our leaders accountable. This year, in advance of the upcoming midterm
elections, the Reform Movement and the Religious Action Center have announced a
civic engagement campaign. This campaign
seeks not to sway any outcome, but to encourage voter participation, with the
goal of registering and encouraging everyone to vote as a part of working
toward every eligible member of every Reform congregation voting in the
November elections, “As Reform Jews, each person is an agent of change. Our
Movement has long been committed to protecting and elevating the cornerstone of
our democracy: the right to vote.”[3]
Our Social
Action committee has taken up this charge, and has already held voter
registration drives in conjunction with the nonpartisan League of Women Voters,
who will also be here registering people to vote at Bingo in the next few
weeks. We can help you, too, if you’re not registered to vote. Our votes are our voice, and if we are to
hold our leaders accountable, we must speak up and use them. Our Social Action committee will be letting
us know about candidate forums and deadlines for registration, all in an effort
to bring elections back to what they were always supposed to do, hold leaders
accountable, for the good they do as well as the bad.
We’re just 10
days into this New Year. There is so
much potential for what can be accomplished in the days and months ahead. Likewise, we are only just beginning to
understand this new era we are living in.
Let us welcome this new era of accountability. Let it usher in a time of tremendous growth
for us as individuals, as a community, and as a society. Let every voice add to the chorus demanding
accountability, helping us to live in a community we are proud to pass on to
the next generation and a world we leave better than we found.
May we all be
inscribed for good and blessing in the book of life.
G’mar Chatimah
Tovah.
[1]
With Gratitude to Rabbi Leah Berkowitz for this rendition of The Rabbi's Ugly
Shoes--A Children's Story September 11, 2009 LRB JRC based on a story by A.J.
Heschel about Rabbi Chaim Soleviechik of Brisk (Dosick, p. 140).
[2]
Avot 2:4
[3]
Rac.org
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