East Meadow Jewish Center

YOM KIPPUR

September 30, 2017

Rabbi Dr. Ronald L. Androphy

The story is told of three college seniors from a university in the mid-West who had never been to New York City before. To celebrate their imminent graduation, they decided to visit the Big Apple, and made a reservation at one of the City’s nicer hotels. Arriving, they were assigned a room on the thirtieth floor of the hotel. Because they didn’t want to waste any time, they immediately left to explore the sites. Leaving their key at the front desk (this was before the era of electronic keys), they spent the day visiting the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, Times Square, and more, capping the evening by hitting a couple of Manhattan bars. Utterly exhausted, they finally returned to their hotel.

As they walked through the revolving doors, the head bellhop informed them that, unfortunately, the elevators were not working, and that they had a choice: they could either take the stairs to their room, or wait an hour or two until the elevators were fixed. The thought of comfortable beds was too much for the three tired young men to resist, so they decide to climb the stairs to their room on the thirtieth floor.

As they were about to ascend, one of the guys suggested that in order to distract their minds from the grueling trek, each of them should tell the funniest, most hilarious story he could think of. The other two visitors thought this was a great idea, so one of them shared a comical story for the first ten flights. After that, the second young man, huffing and puffing, told his funny story. By the time they reached the twentieth floor, their legs were like jelly and they were so winded that they could barely talk. The third friend, who was so breathless he could hardly speak, said, “I’m sorry, guys, but I just cannot talk.” They trudged on very slowly now in total silence, using the railing to pull themselves up the stairs. When they reached the twenty-ninth floor the third friend started laughing hysterically. Practically collapsing on the stairs to catch his breath, he wheezed to his companions, “I just thought of the funniest story ever, and it is a true story!” “What is it?” his friends demanded. He responded, “We forgot to retrieve our room key from the front desk.”

Chances are many of us have a key in our pockets.

From the sound of the English word “key” itself, one would have absolutely no idea what a key’s function is. Right? That is not true in Hebrew. The Hebrew word for key, which isמפתח, is derived from the Hebrew root פתח, which means “open”. Keys, after all, open doors.

Many people wish they possessed keys other than the ones that unlock the doors to their home, cars, and workplace. People today desire the keys to success

the keys to happiness

the keys to good health

the keys to financial stability

the keys to a happy marriage

the keys to proper child-raising

and maybe on this Yizkor day, even the keys to heaven. How do I know this? – Because the Nassau County Library System lists 873 books in its collections that contain the words “Key/Keys to” in their title,and Amazon lists several thousand more.

I would hope that during these High Holy Days, and especially today, on Yom Kippur,we would want to determine what are the keys to a meaningful life, for on this day we should be charting for ourselves the course we should be taking during the coming year. After all, do we not pray today for God to show us the way to a more worthwhile and meaningful existence? Do we not pray to God for spiritual guidance? Do we not seek God’s help in dispelling the darkness in our lives?

Today I want to share with you what I consider to be a very easy, simple-to-follow pathway to living a life of meaning. It consists of just one simple key– perhaps the only keywe will need in order to open the door to creating a life of significance. And this key can be expressed in just one English word.

And that word is the pronoun WE.

If we want to create a meaningful life for ourselves, we must think in terms of WE instead of I, US and not ME,OURS instead of MINE; we must think in the plural, not in the singular.

You may entitle today’s sermon, “The Power of WE.”

Why is it so important for us to think in the plural? – Reason number one:

What happens when we think in the singular, the I and the ME and the MINE?

We become selfish and self-centered. We close ourselves off from considering the feelings and the needs of others. We can become narcissistic, making ourselves the center of all existence, hearing and listening to only our own voices, and not hearing the cry of other human beings. It is all about me. We focus only on our own concerns rather than the common good.

You all have heard about the “Me Generation”, those who grew up in the 1970s and 80s, and their self-centered concerns. Well, the “Me Generation” has given birth to what I call the “Entitled Generation”, a generation that thinks it is entitled to so many privileges without working for them and without any sense of responsibility towards others.

But look what occurs when we think in terms of WE and US, instead of I and ME.

We immediately realize that we are part of something greater than ourselves. We realize that we have responsibilities beyond fulfilling our own desires; we realize that we have obligations towards other people as well – to our community, to our country, to the entire world. And we begin to act differently when we think of WE instead of I. We become more generous, more giving (something I will return to in a few moments), more willing to share. When we think in the plural we become more respectful of others and more tolerant and accepting of those who may be different from us.

If you notice, so many of the prayers we have recited and will be reciting on these High Holy Days are in the plural:

אשמנו בגדנו– WE have sinned, WE have acted treacherously;

על חטא שחטאנו לפניך– For the sin which WE have committed before You;

אבינו מלכנו– OUR father, OUR king;

And so on. Why do we pray, especially on Yom Kippur, in the plural – WE and US and OUR? – To teach us that we are responsible for others; to teach us that we have obligations towards others beyond ourselves.

The Talmud says it so succinctly: כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה-- All Jews are responsible for each other. Why? -- Because as I explained on the Second Day of Rosh Hashanah, we are family, and a family always thinks in terms of WE, not I.

But, my friends, in the wake of Charlottesville, thinking of WE, US, and OUR, rather than I, ME, and MINE becomes crucial. When we sink into I-ness, there is the risk of tumbling into the world of extreme identity politics, in which we think of ourselves only in terms of our individual personal identities, and exclude and even vilify those who do not share our identity.

In Charlottesville we witnessed the I-ness of the white supremacists, who denounced blacks because they are not whites, Hispanics because they are not Aryan, and Jews because we are not Christian. They threatened violence against those who do not share their identity; they spewed racist and patently anti-Semitic threats; and one of them even drove his car into the counter-protesters, murdering an innocent young woman.

Thinking in terms of WE translates into our thinking of the wider community which is the United States of America. It means that we respect all law-abiding denizens of this country, that we show tolerance of those who are different from us, that we try to understand those whose backgrounds, faiths, ethnicities, political opinions, or gender identities are not the same as ours. It means that we learn to live and work together with others -- male and female; straight and queer; Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, and Buddhist; white, black, Hispanic, and Asian; liberal and conservative; Democrat and Republican; native-born and immigrant. We do not have to agree with others, but we at least have to respect them, unless, of course, they are so extreme that they serve as a danger to this country and its denizens.

As I reminded those assembled three weeks ago for East Meadow’s 9/11 commemoration, this country’s motto is E Pluribus Unum – Out of Many, One; if we want to live by that value, then we must think in terms of WE, US, and OURS, instead of I, ME, and MINE.

And as this country becomes more and more polarized, we must begin thinking in the plural immediately, or else we will fracture ourselves beyond repair. And after Charlottesville, and given what takes place on the opposite end of the political spectrum on college campuses, living in the plural has become a crucial necessity.

Second, when we think in terms of WE, we become more generous, more willing to share. Whether it is with our time by volunteering, whether it is with our financial resources by donating, whether it through our wisdom and experience by counseling or mentoring – when we think in the plural we realize first that we are truly blessed, and second that we have an obligation – a מצוה -- to share with those less fortunate than we are.

But it is more than that. When we give to others, we receive in return; we receive joy and happiness in knowing that we have helped another human being. We feel good about ourselves, that we have had a positive impact on another person. I have found – and many of our congregants have reported to me that they have experienced the same feeling – that when we share with others, we actually receive even more than we give.

I have to admit to you that I found one aspect of sitting shiva for my father very difficult. While I was so very deeply touched and consoled by all of you who made a shiva call, I must share with you that it was hard for me to be the recipient of condolences rather than the offeror of consolation. Perhaps by my nature and certainly through my profession, I am a giver; it was very weird to be a receiver.

But that led me to ponder an issue that, if God grants me the years, I will confront down the road. I sincerely love all of you, and I love being – and I am extremely proud to be – the Rabbi of the East Meadow Jewish Center. But somewhere down the line (and I think we are talking single digits here) I am going to want to retire. The question I considered is this: What do I want my retirement years to look like? What do I want to do in retirement? Can I – or should I – de-Rabbi myself? Is that even possible? Should I continue to be a giver?

And my answer, at least at this point, still a few years away from that day, is that, yes, I would want to allot at least part of my retirement to volunteering or sharing with others -- something about which all of us in or near retirement should consider.

But the point is, no matter what age each of us might be, we all should take advantage of the opportunities we are offered to be givers. If you are a teenager, chances are you need service credits for high school. If you are a college student, I am certain that your school offers a realm of instrumentalities through which you can help others. If you are on the younger end of the post-university demographic, organizations today – Jewish and general communal – are starved for young leadership and involvement. Get involved. And for those with more time on your hands, the possibilities for giving are practically boundless.

When we think in terms of WE, we share. And doesn’t sharing break down the barriers which may divide us? Doesn’t giving make us more sensitive to the needs and the predicament of others? Doesn’t donating help ameliorate at least some of the pain and torment of other human beings? Doesn’t volunteering enable us to understand others a little better? In addition to blessing us with joy, doesn’t giving contribute to making this world just a little bit better? And given the terribly divisive character of this world of ours, don’t we need to engage in every action we can undertake to improve the world?

Third, when we think in terms of WE, we connect ourselves not only with people alive today, but also with those who are no longer alive and with those who are yet to come into existence. When we think in the plural, we realize that we are the inheritors of a legacy from those members of our family, community, country, and peoplehood who have gone before us, and that we are the bequeathers of this legacy to the next generations. That places an enormous responsibility on our shoulders: we have to be sure to keep the noble legacy that has been passed down to us, and we have to preserve it in such a way that we can pass that legacy on to our children and grandchildren. This concept is embodied in the Hebrew word מורשה . Usually, the Hebrew word מורשה istranslated into English as “inheritance,” but that is not entirely correct, because if you receive an inheritance, you can, if you want, spend the entire bequest. Right? Not so with a מורשה. A better translation of the Hebrew word מורשהis “sacred trust.” You can be the beneficiary of a sacred trust and you can enjoy the benefits thereof, but with a sacred trust you must also preserve that trust and legacy– even enhance it -- and then pass it on intact to the next generations.

When we think in terms of WE, we realize that we are the inheritors of several of these sacred trusts. As Americans we are partners in our country’s legacy of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; of justice and equal opportunity for all. As Jews we are the current possessors of the sacred trust which is our Jewish heritage – a heritage that we received from our ancestors, a heritage that we must enhance, and a heritage that we must bequeath intact to future generations of Jews. And as members of families, we are the inheritors of rich and ennobling legacies bequeathed to us by our parents, grandparents, and ancestors, many of whom we will recall in a few minutes when we recite Yizkor.

Over the years, congregants have occasionally asked me, “Rabbi, do we Jews believe in an afterlife?” Or they have phrased the question this way, “Rabbi, where is my departed father, mother, husband, wife, whoever right now?” And for the first time in my life, I am now personally confronted with the same questions concerning someone who is an immediate relative of mine, my father. Where is my father right now? Is there truly an afterlife? What does happen to us after we die?

The truth is Judaism’s view of an afterlife has changed over the millennia. As far as all but the last booksof the Bible are concerned, death is the end. The Bible contains no statement about the existence of a world after death. In the Bible, dead is dead is dead. But, apparently, by the end of the Biblical period, roughly 2,200 year ago, our ancestors found this attitude uncomforting, and so Judaism developed a belief in an עולם הבה --an afterlife, the next world, where the souls of all people who have lived a reasonably good life go after death. As to what happens in the next world, there is no certainty since no one has returned from that realm to inform us. However, the Talmud does engage in speculation as to the nature of the עולם הבה -- the next world. One opinion offered is that heaven is one big BaisMedrish – one big yeshiva – in which all of us are students, and where God Himself is the teacher; the better a person has been in this world, the closer he/she gets to sit to the front of the class, the closer he/she gets to sit near God the Teacher. As you can imagine, when I teach about this to our Hebrew School or Hebrew High School students, and they hear that heaven consists of perpetual Hebrew School, they usually say something to the effect of “If heaven is all-day, every-day Hebrew School, then I want to go to hell!” – a sentiment that might be shared by some of you. In any event, belief in an afterlife has become a firm and basic belief of Judaism, enshrined, for example, in Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles of Faith.

Can the dead see us? Are our departed loved ones one gazing down upon us right now? Is my father watching me deliver this sermon at this very moment?

I cannot answer these questions with certainty. Like many of you with your loved ones, I feel my father’s presence with me all the time. And as I frequently say at funerals, our departed, their love for us, the values and lessons they imparted to us by how they lived their lives, and the memories they leave behind – in essence, their legacy -- must live on inside of us – they are the WE of which we are a component – so that they can continue to guide us and inspire us to continue their legacy and to pass it on to future generations. Over the past two months, I have learned that these are not just pious platitudes that I have been uttering; they are, at least for me, meaningful and deeply spiritual truths. Our loved ones must live on through our actions, through our deeds, and through the acts of goodness we perform.