On Truth, on Goodness, and on a Life of the Spirit:
Building Our Lives on Solid Foundations
Rabbi Leila Gal Berner
Erev Rosh Hashonna 5764 (2003)
Hayom Harat Olam! Tonight we celebrate Creation, the birthday of the world. But which birthday? Rabbinic legend has it that before the world we know was created, God had made several worlds, bringing forth nine hundred and seventy-four whole generations before ours. But the Holy One had destroyed all those previous worlds because none were good enough. Even the Source of All Him-or-Herself couldn't seem to get it 'just right.' When, finally, our world was created, God declared that it was "tov," good, and when on the sixth day humans were created, the Holy One said that it was "tov me'od," very good.
Each year as I prepare for Rosh Ha-Shana, I delve into gematria, Hebrew numerology of the Kabbalah, to see if I might learn anything from its combination of numbers and letters. In gematria, each Hebrew letter has a numerical equivalent - alef equals one, bet equals two and so forth. The later letters were given values in the tens and in the hundreds.
Tonight we begin year five thousand, seven hundred and sixty-four. Usually, the 'thousands' are left out of the calculation, so for the number seven hundred and sixty four, a phrase jumped out at me about God's creation of human beings - v'hinei tov me'od - va-yehi erev va-yehi voker [Gen. 1:31] and lo, it was very good - and there was evening and there was morning. . ."
It is great to know that this year, the creation of humankind is highlighted in the mystical world of gematria. It's lovely that evening and morning are now rendered 'very good' BECAUSE we humans, exist.
I also find it fascinating that even God seems to have to work hard at creating near perfection. I find it inspiring that with nine hundred and seventy-four 'practice sessions' under the Divine "belt," the world God created was imperfect even then. Soon after the creation of our world, God would try yet one more time to perfect it, bringing a cosmic Flood upon the earth, and finally, perhaps realizing that tov me'od ('very good') was good enough, God brought us a Rainbow of Hope and Peace, and the promise that the world would never again be destroyed, at least not by God.
It is indeed comforting to know that in all those previous tries, even God couldn't control the infinite elements of the universe and achieve perfection. And certainly I know that we humans can't control very much. Just this past week, we were reminded that there is so MUCH we cannot control. As Hurricane Isabel thundered through our area, Nature showed us once again her brutal power. Hundreds of thousands (including many in our own congregation) were left without electricity or safe water - and even tonight, there are still some whose homes remain in darkness.
There is SO VERY MUCH we cannot control. And yet, even as we encounter our own powerlessness, we must also know that we humans can control a great deal. We possess a lot of God-given creative power. That power lies in our free will, in the choices we make. That power lies in how each of us chooses to create the universe that is OUR OWN SELF. On this Erev Rosh Ha-Shana, as we celebrate God's awesome creation of our world, I invite you to consider with me the kind of world each of us chooses to create for ourselves.
In the Mishna, we are taught: that the world stands on three things:
on Torah - God's teachings
on Avodah - spiritual devotion
and on Gemilut Hassadim, deeds of lovingkindness.
Like the rabbis of old, I believe that we too can choose to fashion our own selves on three foundations and create a personal world that is spiritually satisfying and ethically compelling. If I were to rephrase the ancient rabbis' words, I would say:
Al shlosha devarim ha olam omed: al ha-emet, v'al ha-tov, v'al chayei ha-ruach - the world stands on three things:
Al ha-Emet: The world stands on Truth:
The Hassidim tell that when Rabbi Zusya of Tarnipol was about to die, his students gathered around him. Seeing their teacher crying, they asked him why he wept. "You have lived a good and pious life and have raised up many students and disciples. Soon you are going to the next world. Why are you sad?" Reb Zusya responded, "When I enter the next world, nobody will ask me why was I not more like Moses. I am not expected to be Moses. They will ask me why I was not more like Zusya. That is why I am crying. I am asking myself, why was I not more like Zusya?"
This simple story reveals a profound truth: each human being is a unique creation, unlike any other. "Humans stamp many coins with one mold and they are all alike to one another, " so we read in the Talmud, "but the Holy One stamps all humans with the die of the first person, and no one is like any other one." Ultimately, we can be no one better than our truest and most unique selves.
Rabbis Arthur Green and Lawrence Kushner teach that the Hebrew word for "truth," emet, is spelled with letters spanning the entire Hebrew alphabet - alef, the first letter, mem, the middle, and tav, the last. In contrast, the letters for the word, sheker, "lie" or "falsehood" are all huddled in a single corner at the end of the alphabet. Truth is broad and all embracing, Rabbis Green and Kushner remind us. Truth is expansive and liberating, freeing us from the narrow and constricting space of sheker, - the prison of inauthenticity, dishonesty and falsehood.
Who knows this better that we, here in our congregation? We, who have had to hide our truest selves all too often, KNOW about the redemptive quality of EMET.
When each of us lives with EMET, with truth, when each of us conducts our lives in a way that is most faithful to who we are, we live an authentic life - we are more like 'Zusya,' or 'Scott' or 'Alex' or 'Leila.' We must be true to ourselves in all that we do - in our ethical decisions, in our most intimate relationships, in the work we do in the world. When we honor our own uniqueness, understand our own essence and act in ways most consistent with that essence, we stand on a strong foundation for life.
AL HA-TOV: THE WORLD STANDS ON GOODNESS
And life, with all its complexities, is a struggle. Each day we face choices about how to live in ways that reflect the best in us, in a manner that manifests Godliness and goodliness. And each day, we struggle with the less-than-noble parts of ourselves.
Every morning, if we pray the traditional Jewish liturgy, we say, 'Elohai neshama sheh-natata bi tehora hi" - 'my God, the soul you have implanted within me is pure.' And yet we know that all too often, our actions are anything but pure. Jewish tradition teaches us that when God gave us that pure soul, which is our core essence, the Holy One also gave us free will, implanting within us a "yetzer tov" and a "yetzer rah" - a good and an evil inclination. We have within us the capacity for building and maintaining a Self that is based on great goodness, and we also have within us the capacity to do great evil.
For me, the hardest part of this time of year is to look back and realize that I have allowed my "yetzer rah" to rule parts of my life. The painful part is to realize that I have hurt others (often the people I love the most), that I have violated that pure soul that is my essence, that I have, in some profound sense, assaulted EMET, that foundation of Truth and Authenticity upon which I try to live my life. Every Elul, I wish that I could have ended the year without the need to ask forgiveness, without the shame I feel for my misdeeds. And each year, I feel the deep regret of a good person who has made some bad choices.
Ultimately, it IS all about choices.
Once, a Native American elder spoke about his inner struggle. "Inside me are two dogs," he said. "One of the dogs is kind and good. The other is mean and evil. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time." When someone asked the elder which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, "The one I feed the most."
The elder's reply says it all. While we must acknowledge that we have within us both noble and base inclinations, while we must accept all of who we are, the pure along with the sullied, we can make the choice to starve the evil and feed the good. We can try mightily to choose a path of external behavior that mirrors the goodness and the purity that is within us - we can consciously and mindfully establish a way of acting that is rooted in what our world MUST stand on - Ha-Tov - goodness.
And how do we build that foundation of Goodness? All the clichés come to mind - and yet most clichés contain a kernel of truth. So, I ask you to forgive the clichés, and accept them as I offer them, as heartfelt reflections on what it means to live in Goodness:
Each of us can live a life that exalts generosity over selfishness;
Each of us can live a life that favors concern for others over excessive self-centeredness;
Each of can live a life that reflects humility over arrogance;
Each of us can live a life that offers kindness instead of insensitivity.
"Be kind," Philo of Alexandria, a great Jewish philosopher, said almost two millennia ago, "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle."
For me, this is at the core of building a life rooted in Goodness.
To know that life is a battle is to know that I must be kind.
To know that life is a battle is to know that I must feed the
good and gentle "dog" within me, that I must bring forth my"yetzer tov," my inclination for the good, because it is my strongest tool in life's struggle.
To know that life is a battle is to know that others, too, struggle with the good and the evil within them - and to forgive them and have compassion for them when they cannot restrain their "yetzer rah."
To know that life is a battle is to know how much I need other people, how much I need their compassion, their forgiveness, their caring and their love. And it is to know how much they need me, too.
To know all this means that my choice must be to engage in life and its struggles with all my heart, and all my soul and all my strength, seeking always to swerve away from evil and seek goodness and pursue it.
But goodness and compassion and kindness do not always come easily for me - even though I know that I am fundamentally a decent person. It is not always easy to be good.
Over the years, I have come to understand that when the "mean dog" within me is winning, it is because there is an emptiness within me, a place unfilled by a greater kindness, a greater love than I can receive from myself or from any other human being. When the "mean dog" within me snarls most loudly, when it bites more powerfully, I know that I have lost my way, I know that I feel distant and cut off from what I need most - the greater love that only God can give me. And when I engage in a turning, a re-turning to the Source of All, when I am able to deeply do the work of teshuvah, I return not only to the best within myself, I return to God's love. And when I allow myself once again to accept that Great and Infinite love, when I return to the door of God's house and seek to be welcomed home, I am, once again, much more able to keep Goodness strong within me.
AL-CHAYEI HA-RUACH: THE WORLD STANDS ON A LIFE OF THE SPIRIT
Each day during the month of Elul, before the High Holy Days, we are instructed to recite or sing the words of Psalm 27 - Achat Sha'alti - 'one thing I ask, one thing I seek, this I pray of You God: that I may dwell in Your house all the days of my life. . ." But how many of us really feel that we dwell with God? How many of us are able to accept God's love? How many of us knock on God's door, confident that we will receive a warm welcome?
Several years ago, at a particularly painful time in my life, a friend asked me what I needed most. Without hesitation, I answered that I wanted to close my eyes, lean back and fall into God's arms. I was startled by my own response, because even though I am a rabbi, I had - to that point in my life - never really allowed myself to contemplate the notion of "letting go and letting God." I have always been proud of Judaism's activist emphasis - 'pray for what you need, we are taught, 'and then go out and do what you must to find what you need.' This teaching is true, but I have come to believe that we might be over-emphasizing our part in the partnership and not giving God enough space to take care of us as well.
What does it mean to dwell in God's house? What does it mean to fall into God's arms?
I believe that tefilah, prayer, is a way of dwelling with God:
Prayer with a prayer book - yes.
Prayer as one walks alone or with a companion in a park or in a forest or by the ocean - yes.
Prayer as one sings or chants - yes.
Prayer as one sits in silence - yes.
Prayer as one communicates in true and honest and passionate ways with another human being - yes.
Prayer as one talks with God - that dialogue about which Martin Buber spoke, that intimate conversation that brings God and human together in loving connection, that "I-Thou" bond. This kind of prayer - yes!
The Hebrew word, l'hitpalel, to pray, - does not mean rote recitation of meaningless words. It is a reflexive verb, a verb that brings us back to ourselves - it means "to look within." And yet, it is not only introspection. Perhaps the Yiddish word, daven, "to pray," which, surprisingly, comes from the Latin, divinare - makes the most sense. It means to see more clearly. It is not only about delving deeply into ourselves. It is also about searching sincerely for that which we choose to call God - that Power in the universe that can give us courage and guide us, that Sacred Being who can inspire us and comfort us and indeed help us find insight and wisdom, and clarify our own vision of a life well-lived, a life worthily lived. To daven, is to reach out to God, to walk through the door of the Holy One's home and dwell there all the days of our lives.
But living in God's house takes practice. Prayer, in its myriad forms, takes practice - it requires constancy and focus and Kavannah - spiritual intentionality. Syd Lieberman once wrote that "for a few moments on Shabbat, God and I can roll up our sleeves, put some schnapps out on the table, sit down together, and finally talk." I would say that this can be our practice each day, not only on Shabbat. To build a strong spiritual foundation for one's own life is to practice daily, to find the time - ten minutes in the morning, half an hour in the evening perhaps, to roll up our sleeves and to sit down together with God and really talk. Then, when the talking is done, we can take a deep breath - and know that God's arms are waiting for us in loving embrace.
Al shlosha d'varim - the world we each create for ourselves stands on three things: on truth, on goodness and on a life of the spirit. May each of us in this New Year find our own truth and reconnect with our own goodness, and find our way home to God and to ourselves.
Shana tova!
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