I used to give five High Holy Day sermons annually when I worked as a congregational rabbi. I have been out of the pulpit almost as long as I was in it. At first, I missed the opportunity to think deeply about the issues affecting my community and the world and to speak to those issues. After a couple of years away from the pulpit, I was happy not to have to give those sermons. This year, as I watch my colleagues struggle to prepare, I find myself writing a sermon I will not deliver.
Should a rabbi speak about the merits of the Iran nuclear deal up for Congressional review? Can a white rabbi in the suburbs convey a truth about the #BlackLivesMatter movement? In a season of introspection, how can a rabbi extend Jewish teachings to address the refugee crisis in Europe? In an era where most congregants digest their news and commentary in real time, what can a rabbi really add?
Lucky me, I do not have to worry; I am not required to speak. Yet, I feel called upon to do so.
The grandeur of the High Holy Days (the Days of Awe) is meant to draw everyone into the act of thinking beyond oneself. On Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year, we crown God as Monarch, lining up in military-style review. Judgment is passed; and we work on ourselves, pledging to do better so that the whole community is spiritually cleansed for Yom Kippur. On that Day of Atonement (the meaning of Yom Kippur), we deny our individual bodies food, water, and more in order to be a part of the community as together we reunite with God. Come Sukkot (the Festival of Booths or Tabernacles), we are celebrating the successful completion of the journey.
In the scheme of this religious drama, the concerns of our day — personal, local, national, or global — seem fleeting. Our concerns, though, take so much of our time and energy. In any given moment, we might be struggling for health, happiness, or a place to call home. For those who can attend to historical developments as they occur, the economic, political, and moral calculus overwhelms the humanity at stake. And yet . . . and yet we are called upon to try.
This then is my sermonic offering in a nutshell: Each of us is fighting some sort of battle for a better life. Rather than serving as judge over anyone else, from the parent of a toddler to the government of an international powerhouse, let us first walk hand-in-hand to build a human bridge over our troubled waters.
It is all too easy to take offense at someone’s attempt to right a wrong; it is all too easy to compete for do-gooder status; and it is all too easy to think we have the answer that others should accept. And yet . . . if we take these few precious moments, these Days of Awe, to recognize the humanity of the people surrounding us, then we might just be able to journey together.
There is not one right way to live. There is not one right way to address each issue facing us today. There is only one charge, though: to face our challenges, and to do so together.
We might not save the world through the mutuality of empathy and respect. We can, though, reduce the shouting, focus on the real issues, and help each other achieve success in addressing them. Take on your challenge, try to understand someone else’s, and as a result journey together to a world of at-One-ment.
Maybe next year, rabbis will not have to fret so much about their High Holy Day sermons. Hopefully, they will journey through this upcoming Jewish year finding ways to unite individuals and communities into a better world. My sermon will remain undeveloped and undelivered. And yet, in sharing this outline of it with you, I have shared the journey to make meaning in this season, in this world. May it be a sweet and good year for all.
About Rabbi Jeremy Winaker
Rabbi Jeremy Winaker is the executive director of the Greater Philadelphia Hillel Network, responsible for West Chester University, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, and other area colleges. He is the former head of school at the Albert Einstein Academy in Wilmington and was the senior Jewish educator at the Kristol Hillel Center at the University of Delaware for four years. Rabbi Winaker lives in Delaware with his wife and three children.
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