4

MAYIM MAYIM—B’MA’AVAR, B’TEFILA, B’SASON

Today’s sermon is dedicated to the memory of Sam Bercovich, for Sam was like mayim chayim, living water. First of all, he was a fountain of information and history about Temple Beth Abraham, having been a member for all 98 years of his existence and the great nephew of the founders of the synagogue, Abraham and Bertha Bercovich. Secondly, he lived life like a gently flowing stream, with his easy-going ways, love of family, and baseball, not only as a fan, but as the sponsor of baseball teams, Bercovich’s All Stars, which literally took thousands of high risk kids over the years off the street, including several future major leaguers. One of them, Hall of Famer, Frank Robinson, used to say that “Sam took the knife out of my hand and put a glove and bat in there instead.” He also gave me one of the greatest thrills of my rabbinic career, arranging for me to officiate at the funeral of Raiders owner Al Davis. Most importantly, water is a symbol of joy in Judaism, and Sam symbolized the pure joy of living life. No one had a bigger and more frequent smile than this shul-going, baseball-loving, charity giving through baseball mensch. And so today’s sermon is dedicated to Sam.

Continuing the central theme linking all the High Holiday sermons to one of the four basic “elements,” today we turn to the last of the elements in the song “Adama v’shamayim, chom ha’esh, tzlil hamayim,” to the tzlil hamayim part, the drop of water. By the way, if you were paying close attention, I went in order of the song. Perhaps I should start with the ice bucket challenge, except I don’t want to waste even a drop of water during this California drought, I don’t want to get the sanctuary carpet all wet, we just asked you for money that’s not for ALS research and, well the whole ice bucket challenge is so “5774” anyway.

I wanted to talk about water today, because it is one of the central “characters,” if you will, of the Haftara we will read this afternoon, the story of Jonah. In particular, it serves as the significant point of transformation and of prayer in the Jonah narrative. He flees upon the water on a ship to Tarshish, and it is only through the sailing, the storm, and, of course, the great water creature, the great fish or whale, that he becomes ready to receive God’s message that he must call the Ninevites to repent. In addition, his great moment of prayer takes place inside the belly of this same water creature.

In my trouble I called to Adonai, from the belly of Sheol I cried out, You cast me into the depths, the floods engulfed me…the waters closed in over me, yet You brought my life up from the pit. When my life was ebbing away, and my prayer came before You…”

From this text, we can derive two important lessons about the role of water in the Jewish tradition—that it serves as a symbol of transition and that it is inextricably linked to prayer. A third lesson, perhaps the most important, is that water is perhaps the ultimate source of joy in the Jewish tradition, though, ironically and probably intentionally, it is completely missing from the Jonah story. Transformation, prayer, and joy, the three concepts flowing, no pun intended, from water.

How many of you have ever been to the mikveh? If you haven’t, I highly recommend it. We are fortunate enough to live in a community where the Orthodox mikveh, at Beth Jacob, is open to all as the communal mikveh. For those of you who don’t know what a mikveh is, it is a ritual bath, made up of at least 40 seah, a Biblical measurement which is just over 150 gallons, of water from a natural source. Traditionally, married Orthodox women visit the mikveh seven days after their period is finished, and only after that are they permitted to touch their spouse again. It is a physical transition, from forbidden to permitted, from separate to together. For those who observe it, these laws of what is called “Niddah” have great physical and emotional power. Brides also traditionally go to the mikveh before their weddings, marking their new status. Our community uses the mikveh frequently, not for Niddah, but for conversion. It is a necessary halachic requirement for conversion to immerse in the mikveh. It marks a convert’s transition to being a new person. And I don’t know if it’s because the water is a perfect temperature, almost identical to a person’s body temperature, or it is the sanctity of the moment, but just about anyone who has ever been through the process tells me they truly feel the awesomeness of the moment. In addition to these traditional transitional moments, I have taken people there after a miscarriage, as part of recovery from a 12 step program, and at other significant emotional moments in a person’s life. I personally will be heading there next Thursday morning, and I invite all male members of the congregation to join me there, as part of my own process of spiritual renewal. I do this every year in preparation for Yom Kippur, marking the transition to a new year where I hope to be better and kinder and more connected to Hashem.

The mikveh is the clearest example, but we also use water at other transition times in Judaism. We wash our hands before eating bread, we wash the dead before burial, we wash our own hands after leaving a cemetery, and during Tashlich, which we did last week at Dimond Park, we cast bread crumbs into water in the hope we can transition our personal sins into purity during the ceremony of tashlich. I hope every one of us can utilize the power of water to mark significant and sacred moments in our lives during the coming year.

One problem with using water this way, of course, is that there is not enough of it. We are entering our third or fourth year of significant drought in the Bay Area. As most of you know, Judaism has a built in prayer for rain in the Amidah that we are meant to do three times a day, mashiv haruach umorid hagashem, which we recite between Shemini Atzeret and Pesach. Given the drought, I actually go against custom and add it to my personal Amidah every day, regardless of the time of the year. We can never pray too much for rain. But, if it drought still persists, the Talmud, in Tractate Ta’anit has a progression of steps to take to “encourage” the rain to flow involving fasting. The first step involves “men of eminence” fasting for three days. They may eat and drink by night. And they may work, and wash, and anoint themselves, and put on their sandals, and use their couches." I that doesn’t work, the congregation undertakes the same fast. Then it moves on to a full fasting, where you can’t even eat and drink at night to the point where people have to stop doing business, planting, getting married, and even greeting one another. There are also additional prayers to be added to the Amidah, though we are not halachically supposed to do them since the Temple in Jerusalem is not standing.

Thanks to the encouragement of our member, Richard Applebaum, Rabbi Dardik of Beth Jacob and I joined together in undertaking the first phase of this fast for rain. And, lo and behold, it worked! Did our fast actually do the job? My Father claims it was not our fast that brought forth the rain, but that he had his car washed. Either way, it was a moment of connection between both the Beth Jacob and Beth Abraham communities and between us and God.

We tried to get other rabbis in the area to join us. Some were away, and others wouldn’t do it because it went against the grain of their theology. “Prayer doesn’t work like that. God is not Santa Claus,” was the line of thinking. But it did work. It rained for the first time in a long time because of our fast. My head understands that prayer really does not work like that. One of the first rules of data observation is that you can never confuse causation with correlation. But we persisted anyway for the following reasons.

1. By fasting we are focusing on precious resources, both thinking about them and, for three days, actually using less of them. Everyone can get on board with that, and it potentially h as a long-term effect on the eco-system.

2. It connects us to our ancestors. The idea that our ancestors did this forges a bond between me and them, and between us and our sacred texts.

3. It connects us to God. As I said head knows rationally that there is no direct cause and effect between my little fast in Oakland and the biosphere’s ability to make it rain, but my heart and my gut feel differently. We are allowed and encouraged to bring a little of the mystical into our lives once in a while. The action helped connect me to Hashem.

4. Most importantly, in the words of past President of the congregation Sandy Margolin, when all is said and done, “it couldn’t hoit,” right?

So, mashiv haruach u’morid hagashem, let us be connected to God through prayer for water, mashiv haruach u’morid hagashem, to the one who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall.

From prayer and water we move to the third and final aspect of Judaism and water that I want to point out today and that is water as the eternal source of joy. As I keep mentioning water, I imagine at least some of you are singing or dancing in your head, “mayim, mayim, mayim, mayim, hey mayim b’sason,” perhaps the most famous of all Israeli dances. The words come from the Book of Isaiah, 12:3, and are recited as part of the Haftarah for the 8th day of Passover. What do they really mean? Well, Isaiah is speaking of the Messianic Age, telling his people that despite the dark days ahead, eventually this world will be redeemed, and ushavtem mayim b’sason mima’aineh h’y’shua, and you shall draw water joyfully that day from the fountains of salvation.” According to Rashi “you shall draw water” means that we will receive a new teaching, and the “salvation” means that all the secrets of the Torah that have been forgotten during the exile, a physical and spiritual drought, will be revealed to them.”

In other words, God will deliver us, we will exalt God’s name, and we will shout for joy to all the world about the miracle and the glory and the salvation. “Ki gadol b’kirbecha kadosh Yisrael, how great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.” May 5775 be a year filled with an abundance of water, literally and figuratively. May we be able to water our lawns and wash our cars. May the poor and the hungry be able to feed their children and quench their thirst. May our lives be filled with what water symbolizes in the Jewish tradition--sacred transitions, meaningful prayer, and most importantly on this sweet new year—mayim, mayim b’sason, joy and gladness and delight. Please join me in the singing of Mayim B’sason.