Rosh HaShanah

***Lately, the formatting has been difficult in blogspot. I cannot seem to figure out how to get it right, save for retyping every sermon directly into the the blog. My apologies if it is difficult to read.***

L’Shana Tova! May this new year be a happy and healthy one for all of you, in your bodies, minds, and spirits. May it be a year of balance and harmony. The modern teachers of Musar, a Jewish ethical and cultural movement started in the 19th century by the Lithuanian rabbi Israel Salanter which teaches a collection of midot or traits to meditate on and hone in order to become a more well-rounded Jew, teach that balance and harmony is essential to the practice of Musar. For every midah or trait, there is a counterpoint. Most people do not hold these traits in balance, so if one is prone to arrogance, for example, they must practice the midah of humility or modesty. But if one is prone to excessive modesty or humility, they must practice the midah of confidence or conviction. It is essential to know which of these are one’s own personal strengths and weaknesses so that one may work to strengthen those that are weak and tame those that are excessive. This can, of course, be done at any time of year, but they do make for great New Year’s Resolutions or Rosh HaShanah vows.

In our Torah portion for Rosh HaShanah, God calls to Abraham, “Abraham, Abraham!” And Abraham responds, “Hineini” - “Here I am”. Abraham’s Hineini gets a lot of attention as the right response, that it is correct and morally good to step up to the plate and say, “Here I am,” when called, even if Abraham’s willingness to do what God asks in the follow up then draws some criticisms. In looking around for the wide usage for “Hineini,” I found a beautiful article published in The Forward in 2004 that was one woman’s moving tribute to her father who lived a “Hineini life”. He was always there for those call, willing to lend a hand, made sure his friends and family knew he was there for them, that he loved them. This sort of Hineini is a great example of the midah of humility. There’s no sense of self-importance in these responses. Just a declaration, “Here I am, what do you need?”

Recently, I was reading a book in which a Jewish character cries out to God the words, “Here I am,” but his usage was as an expression of yearning to be seen. It conjured up a few thoughts. The first was the memory of Barbra Streisand playing Fanny Brice and belting out at the conclusion of both “I’m the Greatest Star” and “Don’t Rain on My Parade” as she runs toward her thus-far-denied dreams (the stage, marriage) “Hey, Mr. [Zigfield/Arnstein - depending on the song], Here I Am!”

The second was that this sort of “Here I am” is the inverse of Abraham’s. It’s an expression of the midah of confidence, even in a moment of vulnerability. It requires a security of the knowledge in who one is and the strength to be able to raise one’s voice while being actively overlooked. To say, “Here I am. I exist and I have strengths and something to offer and I have needs that are not currently being attended to and I deserve to be seen and feel validated.” In our Haftarah, Hannah doesn’t quite say the words, “Here I am,” but whereas Abraham asserts his presence at God’s request, Hannah demands God’s attention to her presence. She embodies this midah of confidence too, even while she appears with all the visual representations of humility before God and before Eli the priest. She is confident in knowing what she wants and deserves, and asserts her rights before God. When Eli confronts her for supposedly being drunk, she maintains this quiet strength as she tells him she has had no alcohol and she is fervently praying for a child. Eli is put into the position of having to utilize his midah of humility to accept that he is in the wrong, even from his position of power, he must concede to the woman and bless her that her wish may be granted. Which, of course, it is. She calls, and in a wordless way, God responds, “Hineini” by answering her prayer.

Sometimes these calls are unanswered, or the answer is not quite what we thought it would be. Sometimes we call for someone, and they do not respond as Abraham did, “Here I am.” Sometimes we say, “Here I am, pay attention to this problem I’m having,” and no one does what God does for Hannah to validate the pain and create a solution. In our Yom Kippur Haftarah, we will see how Jonah tries to not be present when called, refusing to say, “Hineini”. In Leonard Cohen’s “You Want it Darker”, he seems to be expressing the pain of feeling ignored by God when he calls out, “Hineini, hineini, I’m ready, Lord.” The prophet Isaiah calls out “Here I am” to a God that does not call for him. Isaiah envisions God searching for a prophet and he pleads for God to choose him, saying “Hineni” in chapter 6 as the prophecy begins to unfold and repeating “Hineini” in chapter 65 as he recaps to the People of Israel how he got into this position. Both the prophets Leonard and Isaiah seem to be responding to what Cohen called “the critical moment that the emergency becomes articulate”, when it becomes clear that there is a need for them, even if the need isn’t directed particularly at them. And then both seem to suffer for it. Though Isaiah was certainly not among the most degraded prophets of the TaNaKh, the life of a prophet is never easy, and he lived through the most politically unstable time period of Ancient Israel. Cohen’s song expresses a sense of striving to meet the needs of the moment and feeling a painful lack of support from the Holy One. In a time when we no longer have prophets like Isaiah or Abraham, no visuals of God or direct conversations with the Divine, it can be easy to feel that emptiness. On these Days of Awe especially, when we stand before the Gates of Repentance and hope that our prayers are heard, that we are written in the Book of Life, some part of each of us is also crying that Hineini. Here I am! Take note of me! Hear not only my teshuvah, not only my willingness to serve as Abraham did, but see my whole self.” And where is God’s teshuvah, God’s answers to our pleas for mercy?

    Perhaps God feels just as distant from us as well. In Isaiah 52, God declares that while the People of Israel will be carried off into exile, their enemies mocking them and reviling the name of HaShem, God will ensure that the People of Israel at least remember The Holy One. God, too, declares, “Hineini.” God too wants to be seen and recognized. Much can be said about God’s existential loneliness, as the only One, but I think this story from the Talmud sums it up well, and leaves us with a bit of a happy ending for the topic. Berakhot 7a says:

“It was taught in a baraita that Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha, the High Priest, said: Once, on Yom Kippur, I entered the innermost sanctum, the Holy of Holies, to offer incense, and in a vision I saw Akatriel Ya, the Lord of Hosts, one of the names of God expressing His ultimate authority, seated upon a high and exalted throne (see Isaiah 6).And He said to me: Yishmael, My son, bless Me.

I said to Him the prayer that God prays: “May it be Your will that Your mercy overcome Your anger,

and may Your mercy prevail over Your other attributes,

and may You act toward Your children with the attribute of mercy,

and may You enter before them beyond the letter of the law.”

The Holy One, Blessed be He, nodded His head and accepted the blessing…”

Thus we see that God too demands to be seen. And it is our job to see God, to acknowledge the Oneness of the universe. Whether in prayer, praise, meditation, or even in argument, it is our job as Jews to continue to engage with the Divine One as we each envision or experience Holiness.

    The longing to be seen is a human need. This then also requires for others to need to see. We all have our moments to fill each of these roles, to say, “Here I am, listen to me! See me! Help me! Comfort me!” and to say, “Here I am, I am listening, I see you, I will help and I will do what you ask.” Musar teaches the balance of realizing exactly how much space to occupy, when to expand and when to withdraw, when to give and when to take. It’s a difficult symmetry to strike. As I said, I don’t think it comes naturally to anyone, as we all lean more in one direction or the other, and have to learn to develop the opposite trait. But in doing so, it makes us stronger people. More able to care for ourselves and others. More able to contribute to our community, to commit to tikkun olam. Balance and harmony is the key to a healthy life, spiritually and physically - or, as Maimonides would say, everything in moderation!

    This new year, may you be like Abraham and may you be like Hannah. May you be present and accommodating, and may you insist that others do the same for you. And may you have a year of balance, harmony, health, and peace. Amen and Shana Tova.