5781 Sermon Don’t Let a Crisis Go to Waste By Rabbi Tara Feldman

One would have thought that the hill itself, on which the Temple stood, was seething hot from its base, it was so full of fire on every side; and yet the blood was larger in quantity than the fire … The ground was nowhere visible for the bodies that lay upon it.1 ​

And so it is that Jospehus describes the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. It is hard to wrap one’s mind around the scope of this loss. There was civil unrest, months of devastating famine, fire and then on the 9th of Av, after six centuries of Temple Service, Jerusalem was gone. More than 1 million Jews died, so many given over to the gladiatorial arenas and sold for labor, that the price of a slave in the ancient world dropped that year.

But wait. Rabbi, remember: It’s not Tisha B’Av? It’s the new year! Apples, honey, !? Some uplift, please!

Yes, I get the point, but in this COVID-19 pandemic, is the level of destruction that we are now experiencing not similar to that of the Temple’s demise some 2,000 years ago? 2 Worldwide, more than 30 million people have been infected ,​ and more than 800,000 have 3 ​ ​ ​ lost their lives. ​ There have been 200,000 deaths here in the U.S. alone, and we are not yet ​ out of the woods yet—hardly.4 ​

Of course, there is economic devastation as well. Tekiyah! With a 10% jobless rate here in 5​ ​ the U.S. and thousands of small businesses gone, ​ it could be years before levels of ​ ​ ​ employment bounce back. The global economy is shrinking, in a decline described by the 6 International Monetary Fund as the worst since the Great Depression. ​ And even for those ​ of us who are fortunate enough to have work, there is fear. It all feels so fragile—our job, our health or even, for so many, the next meal. And as if that wasn’t enough, there is violence and victimization, protests as this pandemic underscores and lays bare, the racial and political divides, the inequities of our nation. What will the coming months hold? Tekiyah! The stakes could not be more high. ​

“Unprecedented” is a word, used all too often these days. But for us Jews, there is, in fact, precedent. Throughout the millennia, time and again, we have endured unimaginable loss, upheaval. Thus, as a people, we have made a commitment, to never let a crisis go to waste. So, how did we respond to Temple’s destruction? Reports , there was grief: ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ִמ ֶשָּׁחַרב ֵבּית ַהִמְּקָדּשׁ, בּוֹשׁוּ ֲחֵבִרים וְּבנֵי חוִֹרין, וְָחפוּ רֹא ָשׁם

1 Josephus, The Wars of the Jews ​ 2 https://www.huffpost.com/entry/30-million-covid-19-cases_n_5f6443d7c5b6b9795b0e0c70 ​ 3 https://www.usnews.com/news/world/articles/2020-08-22/global-coronavirus-deaths-approach-800-000 ​ 4 https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-09-13/us-coronavirus-death-toll-set-to-pass-200,000/12658432 ​ 5 https://www2.deloitte.com/us/en/insights/economy/global-economic-outlook/weekly-update.html ​ 6 https://www.bbc.com/news/business-51706225 ​ ַעל ִמי יֵשׁ ְלִה ָשֵּׁען

“When the Temple was destroyed, scholars and freemen were put to shame and so they 7 walked with covered heads (asking) Upon whom can we depend?” ​ And, at every Jewish …​ ​ ​ wedding, our pinnacle moment of joy, as if our grief, has wafted down through the centuries, a glass is smashed, our hearts shattered, still.

ִאם־ֶא ְשָׁכֵּחְך יְרוּ ָשִָׁלם ִתּ ְשַׁכּח יְִמינִי׃ If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither.8 ​ ​

Lest we begin to forget, enjoins, “When you stucco your home, leave a little corner bare And a woman may put on all her ornaments, but must leave—at least one—in the … jewelry box.”9 ​

Since the Temple’s destruction, we, as a people, have in some sense, been in a perpetual state of mourning. And that’s why, even on this joyous New Year day, I leave a corner of this sacred morning open—to acknowledge loss, to make a space for grief. But not that of the Temple millenia. Rather, the grief of our present reality.

Shevarim are the three three broken blasts, the sob, of the shofar. ​

What have you lost in this COVID time? Maybe it’s a special simcha, a milestone that you’re ​ ​ missing—a graduation you’ve been dreaming of for years, a wedding, a first year of college, now entirely different than the one you had imagined. Perhaps it’s a long-awaited trip or, simply, time, precious irreplaceable time with grandchild, a parent, a loved one. Maybe, your loss is a quieter one, as you face the reality of living alone, day in and day out, yours the only heartbeat in the house. This is about more than losing our routines or our festive holiday gatherings. For many of us, the pandemic has placed added stress on our mental health, deepened fractures in core relationships and in our communities. Or, perhaps, God forbid, the pandemic has taken the life of a loved one.

Like the corner of that room, left unpainted, in deference to the loss of Jerusalem, we pause now to make a space for grief. Here in community, in these few seconds of silence, we acknowledge the reality of the last seven months, of all that has been lost.

In truth, with the Temple’s demise some 2 millennia ago, Jewish life should have ended. For Jerusalem was the center of it all: culture, law, scripture. The sacrifices offered in the Temple were our connection to the Divine. Thus, its dissolution should have signaled for us ​ ​ the last chapter, the severing of our link to transcendence, the end of our story as a people.

But we have a spiritual calling—to never, ever let a loss, a crisis, go to waste.

7 Mishnah Sotah 9:15 ​ 8 Psalm 137:5-7 ​ 9 60b ​ I draw our attention, now, to the narrative of Yochanan ben Zakkai, the youngest, most distinguished disciple of Rabbi Hillel. We met him last night. In the year, 68 C.E. (just prior ​ ​ to the Temple’s fall) Rebbe Yochanan instructed his disciples to smuggle him out of Jerusalem in a coffin which they carried (with their teacher inside) into Vespasian's tent. ​ There, ben Zakkai told the Roman commander his vision that Vespasian would soon become emperor of Rome. Might the commander be willing, requested ben Zakkai, to set aside a place in Yavneh where he could study and teach Torah. Vespasian promised that if ben Zakkai’s prophecy came true, his request would be granted. And so it was Vespasian who became emperor and Yavneh replaced Jerusalem, becoming for centuries the center of ​ ​ Jewish life, the very seat of the , leaving the Temple cult and its sacrifices in the ​ ​ ashes.10 ​

As we consider the destruction of this present moment, is there not a bit of in each of us? Smuggled in a coffin out of a soon-to-be smoldering Jerusalem, ben Zakkai is a symbol of all we have lost. But he is also the inventor of unprecedented possibility.

Eckhart Tolle writes in his book, A New Earth: “When faced with a radical crisis, when the ​ ​ old way of being in the world doesn't work anymore an individual life-form...will either … … die, become extinct or rise above the limitations of its condition through an evolutionary leap.” When the Temple was destroyed, three things emerged from the rubble.

First: a radical opening in the life of the mind. Rabbi Yochanan taught:

אלו תלמידי חכמים העסוקין בהלכות עבודה מעלה עליהם הכתוב כאילו נבנה מקדש בימיהם Whoever studies the laws of sacrifice, it is as though the Temple had been rebuilt in their day.11 ​

After the Temple’s destruction, we evolved, we transformed from being a religion based entirely on the offering of sacrifices, to a people founded upon dialogue. As the smoke of Jerusalem cleared, learning became our lifeblood, our oxygen.

Second: arose an ineffable opening to the life of the heart, the longings of the spirit. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi taught:

ְתִּפלּוֹת ְכּנֶֶגד ְתִּמיִדין ִתְּקּנוּם. Prayers were instituted instead of daily sacrifice.12 ​

Learning, prayer and now a story illustrate the third new beginning: when Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakhai and Rabbi Yehoshua were walking together and saw the ruins of the Temple. Yehoshua began to weep, thinking that we could no longer atone for sin. But ben Zakkai shook his head and replied, “My son, do not grieve.”

10 https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/yochanan-ben-zakkai ​ 11 Menahot 110a ​ ​ 12 26b ​

יש לנו כפרה אחת שהיא כמותה ואיזה זה גמ״ח We have another form of atonement as effective as this. And what is it? Deeds of lovingkindness.13 ​

And so a third new opening, hesed, deeds of kindness, became our path, our way of walking ​ ​ in the world. If not for Jerusalem’s destruction, neither study, prayer nor acts of compassion could have evolved as the very essence of Jewish life as we know it today.

“One would have thought that the hill itself, on which the Temple stood, was seething hot from its base, so full it was of fire on every side.” If Josephus could only have seen our … world today. We, too, live in a time of ravaging fires: from California, to the Arctic, to the Amazon. And it is not just forests that are burning. There are fires of political unrest, fires of despair, greed, cynicism and hatred. But, any botanist will tell you that even the most devastating forest fire releases valuable nutrients stored in the forest floor, opening the canopy of branches above, allowing in rays of sun which stimulate the growth of new species. For some varieties of pine, only a forest fire can enable the pinecone to crack open, ​ ​ releasing seeds for the next generation.14 ​

In this time, each of us—in different ways—may be feeling a bit broken, but perhaps we can understand this experience as one of being cracked open. And so I ask: In these days when we are all being temperature checked, when the temperature of political debate and of the planet seems only to rise, what seedling is being released for you?

the breaking waves of ִמשׁבּרי־יָם ,The word for crisis in Hebrew—mashbehr—can also mean ְ ְֵ the sea, like those celebrated in the Psalms as we receive each Friday night.15 ​ Terrifying and beautiful, these are the same waves that will sweep ָכּל־ִמ ְשָׁבֶּריָך... ָעַלי ָעָברוּ over Jonah in just a few days, when he is tossed into the sea in our prophetic reading on 16 afternoon. ​ Melila Hellner of the Shalom Hartman Institute teaches that the ​ ​ 17 Hebrew word mashbehr, crisis, can also mean birthing stool. ​ Breaking waves, like birth ​ ​ ​ ​ pangs, hold the life force.

A personal story: Seven months ago, I came down with flu symptoms. We all know them. Bad flu symptoms. I was traveling, away from home. COVID was just beginning, and I wanted to be extra careful not to get anyone else sick, so I limped into the ER. As it turned out, I wasn’t ill with COVID but, rather, with a virulent bacterial infection that had begun to take hold of my body. I soon found myself in an isolation room where, for days, an incredible team of PPE-wearing infectious disease doctors—and many rounds of IV

13 Avot d’Rabbi Natan 4:5 ​ 14 Insights offered by Great Neck author and leader Farangiss Sedaghatpour and also found in ​ ​ https://www.nrcan.gc.ca/our-natural-resources/forests-forestry/wildland-fires-insects-disturban/why-forests-n eed-fires-insects-and-diseases/13081 15 Psalm 93:4 ​ 16 Jonah 2:4 ​ 17 Rabbi Shira Gluck, https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=729099164558618 ​ antibiotics—saved my life. I’ll never know how I got sick. I do know, however, that if not for the fear of COVID, I likely would have waited just a few more hours to get to the hospital, and my story could have had a very different ending. But I went when I did and am back 100%, 150%, healthy, humbled, grateful for the gift of life, of second chances.

Seven is the number of creation, and there are seven weeks between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashanah Yom Harat Olam. The day of the World’s Creation. Thus, Rosh Hashanah comes to ​ ​ ​ ​ ask each of us, “Even in the face of the fear, the uncertainty and loss or just maybe because … ​ of it, what in this new year 5781 are you creating?” What is emerging for you at this time? What new awareness, new possibility, unexpected opportunity? Remember, Judaism teaches us: Never let a mashbehr, a crisis, go to waste. Don’t fight the wave. Make it your ​ ​ birthing stool.

Tru’ah, the trumpeting shofar blasts remind us that we have been shattered. But tru’ah is ​ ​ ​ also a battle cry, a call to courage. T’ruah is the blast that causes fortress walls to crumble ​ ​ and opens new sightlines.

In my frenetic, ever-expanding life, these months of mandated simplicity have offered me a different perspective, a newfound humility, the realization that I simply can’t have, can’t do, it all. I think we are all learning to live with less. I’m thinking of the hours so many of us spent every week on a work commute, in planes or in subways. Trips, scheduled appearances, parties and conferences tru’ah! All of that has crumbled, been stripped …​ ​ away. As in those early days of spring when the smog briefly cleared above industrial areas of China, I myself can see more clearly now what is, in fact, necessary. And I find myself, frankly, amazed by the ways we have adjusted.

Even in the face of untold devastation, of frustration and imperfection, there have been waves of creativity. Picture those videos of Italians making shared music from their apartment balconies. Beloved, long-lost friends and family reconnecting over Zoom. All of us learning to live, learn and work in new ways. I am so proud of all we have done at Temple Beth-El, where prayer, learning and acts of loving kindness continue as vitally as ever with new faces popping up to join in. Our Temple arms and TriBEs continue to meet. We have renewed and strengthened efforts to feed our local food insecure population and offered sustained outreach to those living alone.

As a clergy team, we have entered into realms I never thought possible. Who knew you would be at our dining room table for Havdallah every Saturday night, sharing minyan over morning coffee, gathering again for virtual meditation through text message reminders or, to offer Kaddish and the bedtime Shema every night, by phone.

In his book, Meditations in an Emergency, Frank O’Hara, an American poet, art critic and ​ ​ MOMA curator, wrote, “In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love.”18 ​

18 Frank O'Hara, Meditations in an Emergency ​ ​ ​ ​ I am thinking about our Zoom b’nei mitzvah on this very bimah. Guests do join virtually, but here in this space, we have pared it all down. It’s the child, the family, the Torah. As if ​ ​ Covid has come to remind us what actually matters.

What has this time taught you about love?

The Mishneh Torah teaches:

ִבּזְַמן ֶשָׁהיָה ַהִמְּקָדּשׁ ַקיָּם וְָהיָה ֵבּית ִדּין ַהָגּדוֹל ִבּירוּ ָשַׁליִם ָהיוּ ַהכּל תּוְֹקִעין ִבּירוּ ָשַׁליִם ְבּ ַשָׁבּת ָכּל זְַמן ֶשֵׁבּית ִדּין יוֹ ְשִׁבין... ֹ ֲאָבל ִבּ ְשׁאָר ָעֵרי יְִשָׂרֵאל לא ָהיוּ תּוְֹקִעין:

In ancient times, when the Temple still stood in Jerusalem, the center not only of sacrifice but of law, if Rosh Hashanah fell on Shabbat (as it does today), the shofar would be sounded only from the Temple Mount. The shofar was not permitted to be blown in the country. The passage continues:

וַּבזְַּמן ַהזֶּה ֶשָׁחַרב ַהִמְּקָדּשׁ ָכּל ָמקוֹם ֶשׁיֵּשׁ בּוֹ ֵבּית ִדּין ָקבוַּע וְהוּא ֶשׁיְִּהיֶה ָסמוְּך ְבֶּאֶרץ יְִשָׂרֵאל תּוְֹקִעין בּוֹ ְבּ ַשָׁבּת.

Now that the Temple has been destroyed, Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai decreed that on Rosh Hashanah Shabbat, the shofar could be sounded, not only just in Jerusalem, but from wherever in the land there was a permanent court 19 …​

And so in a crisis, inspiration (that shofar call) is suddenly decentralized and released to arise from unexpected places. These past weeks, in our “Shofar Shorts” effort, conceived by Cantor Davis, we have sounded the shofar at North Shore University Hospital with our frontline heroes, with first responders at the local fire station, on September 11 from the bridge here in Great Neck overlooking that spot in the distance where the Twin Towers once stood. We have sounded the shofar, from the Berkshires, from the Youth House of our new Kulanu school and from the elevator, right here in the TBE building!

Since the destruction of Jerusalem, we are taught that not only is the shofar call set free but so is the Shechina herself, that feminine indwelling Presence of God no longer resides just in the Temple alone. Rather, she has become dispersed throughout the world. She has entered your home and your heart. She sits at your table. She is present in your loss, in your longing and in our age-old call for renewal.

Tekiyah—We are awake. ​

Shevarim—We are broken. ​

Teru’ah—We are called to rise above. ​

19 Mishneh Torah Shofar 2:8-9 ​

To decide what it is that we love. To birth something new, again and again.

Tekiyah gedolah—We are called to never ever let a crisis go to waste. ​