Being the Change We Wish to See
Barrett L. Brick
Rosh ha-Shana 5762
Ha-yom ha-rat olam -- today is the birthday of the world. Today, in this new day's light, this first morning of the year, we celebrate events of creation: the creation of the world and the universe in which we live, and, even more particularly, the creation of ourselves as a people, on our birth as part of G-d's Creation.
Today is Rosh ha-Shana, the head of the year, the first day of the new year 5762. But it is also the first day of the seventh month. This is rather unusual. In most calendars we are used to, the new year's day is the first day of the first month. As the year turns, people rush around in a flurry of celebrations, and try to remember to make some resolutions for the year to come. And, indeed, we have spent the previous month of Elul in preparatory activity for these high holy days that mark the turning of the Jewish calendrical year. But why now? Why all this taking stock at what may be the calendrical new year, but is the start of the seventh month, as the seasons turn toward a final harvest and the sleep of winter? Why not at the first month, at the birth and re-birth time of Spring and Pesach, or at Shavuot, celebrating the giving of the Torah at Sinai, and which our liturgy recalls today?
I have long thought that it is as simple as the sabbatical nature inherent in the way in which we measure time. Shabbat, the seventh day, is a day of rest, prayer, and self-assessment. This concept is reflected in the every-seven-years Sabbatical Year as well - such as 5761, the year just past - which is a year of rest for the land, and also in the Jubilee Year, the year of release following seven Sabbatical Years. This seventh month, I think, carries with it its own sort of sabbath, a time most appropriate for reflecting in an unhurried way on our lives, our deeds, and our intentions for the future. Tishri, then, becomes the Sabbatical Month, taking its place with the seventh day and the seventh year.
For me, personally, this past year marked 21 years -- my third seven-year period -- of my working for the federal government, which provided me with an additional reason to take a month off from work for rest and renewal, and to spend time again in southern Africa. I was able to spend two weeks with my partner in Johannesburg, and another two weeks in the game parks and nature preserves of Botswana and Zimbabwe. I must say: tenting by lagoons in which crocodiles swim by day and hippos graze by night, having one's camp scouted by monkeys by day and hyenas by night, being able to come nearly face to face with elephants and lions, exploring the intricate interactions of a river and desert ecosystem, being surrounded at every moment by a profusion of life from butterflies and birds up to the largest land creatures - all this made me feel much closer to the rhythm and processes of Creation than at any time before in my life. This was especially so as in Africa, I really had a sense of being in the mother continent of humanity. And, yes, inevitably, coming upon a scene one day of a troop of baboons exploring around a waterhole in the northern Kalahari, it did seem that the only thing missing in that June of the Gregorian year 2001 was a large black monolith. But I did sense that something even greater was there, and, stopping on Friday evening by the Chobe River, to watch the sun set and to raise a glass of wine, I could think of few more stunningly beautiful places at which to welcome in Shabbat, celebrating the wonders of Creation.
But once we find ourselves in this world, once we find ourselves with others in this world, how do we become a people? How do we become what we are: not just individual elements of Creation, but something more?
Clearly, as too many soccer teams have been demonstrating lately, it's not just as simple as giving oneself a name and putting on a uniform.
As one of Julian May's characters in her Saga of Pliocene Exile series of novels once noted, it's an old method, but putting a bunch of individuals through difficult challenges together does mold them into a group. And, certainly, what our ancestors went through during their sojourn in and, after hundreds of years, Exodus from Egypt certainly included some very difficult challenges. After surviving generations of slavery and oppression, we faced the waters of the Sea of Reeds and the desert wilderness of Sinai, to come, finally, to receive challenging words at the mountain, as our liturgy today helps us recall.
It can be a delicate balance: recalling one's history, without being held hostage by it. Indeed, at Pesach, we are reminded that each one of us should look upon ourself as having been liberated from Egypt and having stood at Sinai. As Michael Melchior, Deputy Foreign Minister of Israel, noted earlier this month in a statement to the United Nations World Conference Against Racism in Durban, South Africa: "The horror of slavery is profoundly engraved in the experience of the Jewish people -- a people formed in slavery. The Jewish response to the slavery experience recounted in the Book of Exodus was remarkable. Rather than forget or sublimate the suffering of slavery, Jewish tradition insisted that every Jew must remember and relive it."
But we remember not to keep ourselves in thrall to the experience of slavery and oppression. Merely to have survived Egypt is not enough. This reminds us of what we are not, but it does not by itself teach us what we are. Defining ourselves by what we are not is not a sufficient basis for developing an identity as a people. And, as our history shows all too well, even making our way to Sinai, and receiving the words of Torah, was still not enough to mold us into the people G-d knew we could be. For still we feared, and still we sought comfort in familiar images and desires from the time of our oppression. The certainties of that time were too familiar to us, still too much a part of us, and the uncertainties of a free future something to which we were not yet ready to commit.
Ursula LeGuin has written: "Freedom is not a gift given but a choice made." So soon removed from slavery and oppression, we were not yet a people capable of choosing freedom. Ultimately, G-d accepts that there is one more thing that must occur before we truly can grow into a people capable of playing our role as G-d's partners in ongoing Creation. In the words of one Passover liturgy, it was not only necessary to take the Jews out of Egypt. It was necessary to take Egypt out of the Jews. Yes, there were those such as Nachshon, who saw the waters of the Sea of Reeds not as a barrier to engulf and destroy us but as a challenge to be accepted and passed through. On the whole, though, the mentality of victimhood, the harsh stamp of slavery and oppression, had to be removed from our people's consciousness, to allow us to move forward as a people, taking up the responsibilities of freedom.
Mere survival, whether, for example, of Egyptian bondage, or, more recently, the Nazi Holocaust, is an insufficient basis by which to create a people, and upon which to build and guide a community. As has been said previously, this keeps us in bondage to a vision of our history that emphasizes what the oppressors achieved. We do not remember our sufferings to create a vision of ourselves as perpetual victims. Rather, we remember our history to build ourselves into a people committed to a partnership with G-d in repairing the world. In one context, National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice remarks that: "I think that black Americans of my grandparents' ilk had liberated themselves. They had broken the code. They did not feel that they were captives. It didn't matter where you came from. What mattered was where you were going." Or, as Deputy Minister Melchior continued in his message to the Durban conference: "Remembrance of our suffering as slaves helps us to remind ourselves of our moral obligations. The experience of oppression brings no privilege but rather responsibility."
This is the purpose of our remembering today, in our recalling our people's history at the beginning of the year's sabbatical month. Putting individuals through difficult challenges molds them into a group, but the creation of a people needs something more, something that transforms. In recalling today the challenges we faced in becoming a people, we recall that it is not the water itself that transforms us, but the faith of a Nachshon that leads him and us to enter the water and accept its challenge. It is not the words of G-d at Sinai that transform us, or make us a people, but rather our willingness truly to hear the words, and, in the words of a translation of Ahavat Olam, to "weave [the words] into the texture of our lives." It is not the desert itself that transforms, but how we react to and what we learn from our journey through the desert, shedding ourselves of the mentality of slavery and becoming ready to take up our responsibilities as a people.
Gandhi said that "[w]e must be the change we wish to see in the world." If we wish to be full partners with G-d in the healing and repair of the world, we must ensure that we ourselves are fully healed and repaired from our own experiences of oppression. We know this as Jews, and we know this as Gay men and Lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered persons, the intersexed, whatever sexual orientation or gender identity we embrace. Thirteen years ago, in a Yom Kippur address, a member of this congregation noted the uncertainty with which many greeted the then seemingly radical idea that Bet Mishpachah should have a formal policy for kiddushin, for marriage. He recognized the uncertainty, and even the laughter in some cases, but noted:
underneath that laughter, I believe, is a more potent feeling---that we're worthy of public and spiritual affirmation, that our love is an achievement to be celebrated
. . . . If you can begin to understand the Kiddushin ceremony, then maybe you can see that we have the right to mold more of Jewish tradition to our lives . . . .
The willingness proudly to learn from and to mold Jewish tradition to our lives is a sign of a liberated group that has been transformed by its journey and has shed a victim mentality. As Gay men and Lesbians, people of various sexual orientations and gender identities, we have experienced our own journeys from oppression and challenges of liberation, whether we recall the entirety of our history, or the years since Stonewall, or the years since our own comings out. Of course, as we look at our community even today, we see that in many ways it is still fragmented, and many in it are still encumbered by a victim mentality, not believing that we are deserving of or capable of achieving full equality in society, though expressing this fear in other ways. This is, perhaps, not surprising, as it is not yet a full forty years since Stonewall. Our task in the coming year remains, then, as part of the repair of the world, to be the change we wish to see in the world -- to love Ad-nai, to walk in the ways and to keep the commandments, laws, and teachings of our G-d, to commit ourselves to the path of bringing about a more just and fully equal society, as we hear in the message of Isaiah. This is, as we have so recently, horribly been reminded, not always easy. There are those in the world who really do hate our values and resent our success, as President Bush has noted, who dance in the streets at attacks on us. To those who simply scoff at and mock us, living our lives is the best response. Those who would be modern Amalekites, however, have richly earned the right to share the fate of their predecessors.
I mentioned earlier that the year just past, 5761, was a Sabbatical Year. It was traditional that at the Sukkot following the Sabbatical Year, all of the people - not only the Jews but also those others living among us -- are called to assemble to hear the priest (and, in later years, the rabbis and the king as well) read the Torah, in a ceremony called hakheyl. In fact, in 1987, when the March on Washington fell during Sukkot, Bet Mishpachah held a Shabbat morning service in which leaders of the World Congress of Gay and Lesbian Jewish Organizations and its constituent groups were called up to read the hakheyl Torah portions. That this year 5762 is a hakheyl year should provide further impetus for us not only to incorporate the message of the Torah into our lives, but also to ensure that our lives are living examples of the Torah's message to all our communities.
Two years ago, when last I spoke from the bima during the High Holy Days, I suggested that the next time you go to or pass by Union Station, you should take a look up at its majestic exterior. On it are carved the words: "He who would bring home the wealth of the Indies must carry the wealth of the Indies with him." We who wish to change the world by bringing it healing and repair must carry healing and repair within ourselves. In this way, we ensure that we can be the change we wish to see in the world, bringing the world closer to one in which we can all live in equality and freedom, safety and peace.
L'shana tova!
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