Handing It Over to God Temple Beth­El of Great Neck Rabbi Meir Feldman’s Sermon on Yom Kippur Morning 5776

Rabbi Wolpe Joke

It’s a story about two poor Jews taking a walk. They pass by a church with a sign: “Come in, get converted, and receive $50.” They stand there. “What do you think?” One says to the other. “Psh, I’m not going in there.” The other says: “You know what? I’m gonna go in. What does it matter? I’ll go, I’ll get the money. So what.” He goes in. Friend waits outside. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes later, the guy comes out. The one waiting says: “Well, did you do it?” Other, “Yep, I did it.” “Did you get the money?” Other goes: “Psh, that’s all you Jews ever talk about.” ​ ​

This joke is a wake­up call. It makes fun of something so deadly and serious. It highlights the idiocy of anti­semitism. Striving to soften our fear with humor, it reminds us to wake­up. And waking up is the mission of the shofar. We hear it every Rosh Hashanah. It’s true ­­ no one likes their alarm clock. But for some reason, we return every year to hear the primal call of the shofar.

But our shofar­alarm not only opens this Season of Forgiveness, it also closes it. Rosh ​ ​ ​ ​ Hashanah’s shevarim­teruah initiates these Days of Awe, and Yom Kippur’s tekiah ​ ​ ​ gedolah concludes them. The shofar unites the brokenness and yearning of Rosh ​ Hashanah and the exultant joy of the close of Yom Kippur.

These 10 Days of Awe are a journey and the shofar is our guide. What is its message? “Wake up to what?” we should ask.

JOSHUA’S SHOFAR

In the books of Joshua, Judges, and Samuel, the shofar warns us ­­ prepare to defend ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ yourselves, prepare for the battle against those who hate us, those who seek to destroy us.

For many of us, there is no more serious and urgent message. This is a moment of ​ awakening. On this day, when we feel the blessing and potential of community, the shofar calls us to open our eyes to the anti­Semitic hate that is exploding in Europe and beyond.

SHOFAR OF MT. SINAI But on this day and season of introspection, the shofar wants to hold us tight by the shoulders, look with love into our eyes and say: “go deeper. Don’t stop there.” During ​ ​ these Days of Awe, our ears should hearken not only to Joshua’s Jericho, but also to Moses’ Mt. Sinai. We may be sitting in the neck of Long Island, but the shevarim­teruah ​ and the tekiah gedolah, propel us to the foot of Mt. Sinai. ​ ​

If Joshua’s shofar thunders, Mt. Sinai whispers. Wake up to the blessing and the abundance that is bein einekha, right between our eyes­­Tekiah. Note what’s broken ​ ​ ​ ​ inside, honor those quiet tears.­­Shevarim­teruah. Elevate the yearnings for joy and life ​ ​ ­­ Tekiah gedolah. ​ ​

The calls of the shofar guide us on a journey: from evening to nighttime to morning; from fear to wisdom; even to joy. Our journey is from the tekiyah of vision to the ​ ​ gedolah of faith. Done with intention, the final tekiah gedolah tonight can raise for us a ​ ​ ​ mountain of love and purpose and joy. Mt. Sinai’s shofar whispers and speaks and even sings.

FAMILIES OF CHARLESTON Friends, I heard this shofar in a most unlikely place, in a Church. It was probably the most powerful tekiyah gedolah I have ever heard: a shofar blast that will forever ring in ​ ​ my mind and form an imprint on my soul.

Tara and I decided to make an unusual shiva call. It required a plane flight. We knew none of the mourners, or their loved ones, who had died, two weeks earlier. Let me back up. The time ­ Wednesday, June 17, 6:00 p.m. The place: Mother Emanuel church in Charleston, where folks were doing what 40 of us do every Saturday morning. [Join us, 9:15am. It’s the best way to discover the richness of Jewish learning and community.] They were engaging in their weekly Bible study class, when a 20­year old boy walked in, sat for 45 minutes, and then murdered nine innocent, beautiful human beings.

Two days after this hate­filled tragedy, the families of the Charleston 9 appeared at the first court hearing for the murderer. Listen to one report from that hearing: “Relatives ­­ of the nine victims shot down during a Bible study session at their historic black church ­­ confronted the shooting suspect Friday, during his initial court hearing. They spoke of love and forgave him. They advised him to repent for his sins, and asked for God's mercy on his soul.”

Myra Thompson was one of the murdered Charleston 9. Her husband, Anthony Thompson, said this in court: "I forgive you. My family forgives you. Take this opportunity to repent. ... and you'll be better off than you are right now." [Myra’s sisters and husband will be with us the weekend of November 6.]

Those words, and the other stunning, unimaginable expressions of forgiveness that day, caused Tara and me to make this shiva call. So, a few days later, on July 1, we arrived at the Charleston airport and went straight to Mother Emanuel Church. We immediately met Althea, with whom I had spoken the day before.

Althea is an amazing woman, overflowing with love and kindness and compassion, even after her dear friends were murdered in cold blood. For many years, Althea was the assistant for Clementa Pinckney, the extraordinary pastor of Mother Emanuel Church, whom President Obama eulogized on June 26.

Friends, we have so much to learn from our Charleston brothers and sisters. I am not exaggerating when I say to you that I would be a better rabbi, a better Jew and a better human being, if I spent some months praying with them, davening in their shul, learning their Torah.

So many of us hold grudges, bitterness inside our hearts. So many of us nurse our resentments, as if they are our children. It doesn’t serve us well. It doesn’t raise our ​ ​ days higher. It does not bring God or love or good into our lives.

Fifteen hundred years ago, the Talmud taught that our redemption depends entirely on forgiveness. In a volume devoted to justice, the rabbis state that, “Israel will only be redeemed through forgiveness.” Our lives will stand or fall on this one quality, teaches our Talmud. Our Sages surely knew that forgiving is often harder than repenting. To let go of that rage, that weapon, that power, is so much more difficult than to give a heartfelt apology.

I have learned from these Charleston families, honestly for the first time, what forgiveness is not and, I think, what it is. Forgiveness is profoundly misunderstood. First, forgiveness is not a “get out of jail free” card. It does not relieve a person from paying the price of his misdeeds. Far from it. [You may not be surprised but I played a lot of Monopoly with my kids this summer.]

I am a former federal prosecutor. I know a little about proving guilt and enforcing punishment. That’s a different field entirely from forgiveness. When I left that prosecutor life, I felt grateful to my colleagues for choosing that work. I just didn’t feel that it was my work. Today, I want us to see how easily, and maybe how often, we confuse the work of forgiveness, with the work of enforcing punishment. All too often, we withhold our forgiveness because we don’t want to “let them off the hook.” Be clear, ​ ​ Dylan Roof will likely spend his life behind bars.

Second, forgiveness is not something we grant because the other person has changed. It’s not something earned. Two days after his hate­filled murder, our Charleston families gave forgiveness without ever speaking to Dylan Roof, without requesting or receiving anything from him.

Lastly, forgiveness is not something we grant one morning, and then say, “been there, done that.” Rather, forgiveness is a daily undertaking. We must return to it, lashuv, we must choose it, embrace it, over and over again. Every day since June 19, our Charleston families are striving to do the torturous work of forgiveness.

Our daily liturgy makes this explicit. Every morning we recite the blessing chanun ​ Come to Minyan, on a Tuesday or Thursday .חנון המרבה לסלוח ha’marbeh lisloach ​ morning. Try it once and you’ll discover that every day our liturgy invites us to become gracious and generous granters of forgiveness.

We learn three truths from the forgiveness granted by these families immediately after this horrific murder: a) forgiveness is not a “get out of jail free” card; b) the victimizer does not earn, the forgiveness given; and c) The work of forgiveness is never really ​ ​ “done.” ​ ​

APARTHEID, PUMLA Dr. Pumla Gobodo­Madikizela was appointed by Nelson Mandela to serve on South ​ ​ Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Pumla spent hours interviewing Eugene de Kock, who was serving a 212 year sentence for his role as the commanding officer of government death squads. De Kock was responsible for more atrocities than any other individual, in defence of Apartheid and white minority rule. In her award­winning book called, A Human Being Died That Night, Pumla writes about forgiveness and this prolific ​ ​ killer. She writes: “Forgiving may appear to condone the offense, thus further disempowering the victim. But forgiveness does not overlook the deed: it rises above ​ it.”

SPIRITUAL POWER & TRANSFORMATION Transformation of South African society began with the Truth and Reconciliation Commision, not in overlooking evil deeds but in rising above them. So many acts of racial violence have occurred this year, in our country as well ­­ Tamir Rice in Cleveland, Freddy Gray in Baltimore, Eric Garner in Staten Island, Emilio Mayfield in Stockton, Walter Scott in North Charleston, a 14­year old girl at a pool in McKinney, Texas, to name a few.

There have been dozens of tragic and shocking events, each of which stirred more bitterness and mistrust and racial tension. But the aftermath of the Charleston 9, was ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ entirely different. Three weeks after the Charleston 9 murders, the South Carolina legislature voted 37­3, to remove the Confederate flag.

Many legislators made it clear that the late Sen. Clementa Pinckney – and the forgiveness given by the Mother Emanuel families – inspired them to take this monumental act of political courage. During that July 9, day of debate, Senator Tom ​ Davis, R­Beaufort, said this: "We now have the opportunity . . . to put the exclamation point on an extraordinary narrative of good and evil, and of love and mercy . . . " Republican Sen. Chip Campsen said this, "I regret that Clem is not here. I did not express gratitude to him while he was still on this Earth. The reaction that those members of the church had is a reflection of him as their pastor, as their shepherd. ... I regret that I don't have an opportunity to thank him for that.”

And in the debate’s climactic moment, Republican Jenny Anderson Horne tearfully pleaded with her colleagues to remove the Confederate flag. “The people of Charleston deserve swift and immediate removal of that flag . . . I ​ have heard enough about heritage. . . I am the descendant of Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States of America from 1861­65. ​ I cannot believe that we do not have the heart to take a symbol of hate off these grounds on Friday. . . For the widow of Senator Pinckney and his two young daughters, that would be adding insult to injury.”

We have been haunted by dozens of racially charged acts of violence this year. Not one of these tragedies has produced a ray of unifying light, a seed of hope or a shred of racial unity. Only the racist murder at Mother Emanuel Church produced positive communal change.

Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of Americans, were transformed by these nine families. The forgiveness they offered inspired so much compassion and love and hope. The power of their souls moved a mountain ­ Mt. Sinai ­ to the capital of South Carolina.

Mother Emanuel’s forgiveness transformed the halls of politics to a place of emotional depth, moral clarity and spiritual power. The forgiveness radiating from Charleston softened the hearts, and enlightened the minds of millions of Americans. Charleston proves the Talmud right. Forgiveness is the most powerful agent of change in the universe. No bomb, no army, no gun, . . . no argument, no legislation, no clever idea has the power to bring change, like forgiveness. More powerful than any political movement, more transformational than any partisan campaign, was the spiritual force of their forgiveness. Only the forgiveness of nine grieving families could break the gridlock, the chains and shackles of mistrust and animosity. Just maybe, it’s only forgiveness that can transform our politics.

MIDRASH, SHOFAR & MOVING CHAIRS The Midrash teaches (Lev. Rabbah on Lev. 24:9), Beshaah sh’yisroel notlin et ​ בשעה שישראל נוטלין את שופריהן וטוקין לפני­shofrehen v’Tokin Lifnei Hakadosh Baruch Hu ​ עומד מכסה הדין ויושב מכסה“ ,When God sees Israel take the shofar and sound it .הקב״ה Omed mi’ kesseh hadin V’yoshev Mikeseh harachamim ­­ The Almighty rises ,הרחמים ​ ​ from his Chair of Judgment and sits in his Chair of forgiveness. In other words, the whole point of the shofar is to move God and us, away from judgment and toward compassion and forgiveness.

The families of the Charleston 9 not only heard that timeless shofar call. They have blown that shofar of forgiveness for all of America. And because of them, Americans from coast to coast, have moved from a seat of judgment to a seat of forgiveness.

FORGIVENESS IS FAITH “Rabbi, Meir, their faith is great. But I could never do that. I don’t have their faith. They’re so religious and that’s wonderful, but I don’t believe what they believe.” A good number of people have expressed that sentiment.

There was so much quiet, dignified pride in Mother Emanuel. In its simplicity and unpretentiousness, it was so holy, so filled with faith. With a sloping balcony, dusty carpet, laminated bulletin boards, linoleum basement floor, it was one of the most faithful places I have ever offered a prayer.

We have so much. Oh, to compare our communities. We don’t want to compare our homes to theirs, our academic degrees and professional successes to theirs, our vacations to theirs, our cars, toys, entertainment to theirs. We surely would feel self­conscious, maybe even embarrassed. The painful, gnawing feeling in my gut is that their faith is so much more real ­­­ more relevant, more alive, more joyful than ours.

I want to say it very simply. Forgiveness is one word ­­ faith. You were right. It does require faith. In fact, that’s all it requires. To forgive, all you must have is faith. But you must have that. The families of Charleston have a faith in God that has changed something inside of me. What I felt there, and what they achieved in the world, has changed me.

I must share their words with you. “As long as I hold onto my hate and rage, that boy continues to victimize me. I’m done being his victim. Oh am I angry. But it’s either my anger, or my God. If I hold my anger, my God cannot work through me. His spirit will be stopped up inside of me. I don’t want that. Bitter yearnings for revenge and punishment, I won’t allow that boy, those bitter feelings, to rule the remaining days of my life.”

I pray that you/that we will see that their faith is a lot like ours. Maybe not identical. But it is a lot like ours. Like us, they have many doubts. Like us, they feel deep pain, confusion, anger and bitterness.

But far greater than these emotions, they have faith in their capacity to go higher; that there is a force in them and in the universe that inspires them to rejoice and to sing. We/you have that faith too. You are here because you have that faith. You are here because you want that faith. You are here because you are willing to sacrifice something to cultivate more faith.

And I am working harder on my faith too, because of them. I am more determined than ever to feel God’s presence when I drink a cup of water, eat a beautiful red apple, admit a poor professional moment, have a disagreement with my incredible wife. I want to feel God’s hand on my hand when I play tennis with my daughter or throw the frisbee with my son. I want God to be even more palpable when I play golf with you, when I sit with you at your loved one’s bedside, when we offer Kaddish together, when we learn the parashah together, when we sing Oseh Shalom together. At this moment, you are learning from my teachers of faith in Charleston.

I must share one final thing, so simple, so pure, from my teachers in Charleston. Again, their words. “God is big enough to hold my anger. God is big enough to hold my pain. I am not. And so, I give my anger to God. Every day, I hand it over to You God.” Those words are from the night of July 1, as we sat in Bible study class, in the very same space and very same chairs that the Charleston 9 sat in, before they were murdered.

Dear friends, we can learn to “hand it over to God.” When I admit that I am not big enough to hold my anger, I can hand it over to God. When I admit that my rage crushes the love and joy within me, I can hand it over to God. When I have the determination to bring purpose and love to every moment, I can hand it over to God.

This is the project of the tekiyah, shevarim­teruah, and tekiyah gedolah. It’s not so far ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ away. It’s not beyond the sea, or up in the heavens. It’s in our mouths and in our hearts. When we laugh, we give it to God. When we enjoy clever jokes, we give it to God. Our capacity for humor is a holy thing. It’s a moment of God­giving.

And it’s not only in our laughing. It’s also in the song and music and joy that we bring to our heartbreaks and catastrophes. Three weeks ago, parashah Ki Tavo set forth the ​ ​ horrific curses that may befall Israel. What it describes is as vicious and lethal as the anti­Semitism we began with this morning. The Torah text says: “A nation will swoop down against you from afar, like the eagle. . . a ruthless nation whose language you do not understand, who will show the old no regard and the young no mercy.” [Deut. 28:49­50].

How could our Torah possibly know this, 3000 years ago!?! But what comes at the end ַתּ ַחת, אשׁר לֹא­עַבד ָתּ את­יְהוָה אלֹהיך, בּ ִשׂמ ָחה, וּבטוּב ֵלָבב­­ ֵמרֹב .of is even more startling ֲ ֶ ָ ְ ֶ ֱ ֶ ָ ְ ְ ְ “because you did not serve the Lord your God with joy and gladness of heart out of the ​ ​ abundance of all things.” (Deut. 28:47).

Curses are those moments ­­ when we forget gratitude and goodness and joy, all of which are the seat of God. A curse, teaches Parashah Ki Tavo, is a moment without ​ ​ meaning and depth and love. That’s a curse.

All we have is the ability to bless every moment, even the worst of our moments. That’s what I’ve learned from these holy families in Charleston. All we have is our capacity to bring love and compassion and purpose to our moments. Our sacred task is to grope for a way out, to strive for a way back to forgiveness and joy.

Never in history has there been a more blessed Jewish community than ours today. We have it so good. I won’t accept, I can’t accept, that faith is just for people who struggle to put food on their tables. It cannot be that spiritual openness and depth, that yearning for holiness, is only for those who suffer like the Charleston 9.

This is our seventh High Holiday season together. Every day, I feel your faith. Every week I am moved by your depth and wisdom and goodness. Over and over again, I am moved by your yearning, by the holy fire that is within you.

SHOFAR & HANDING IT OVER We begin and end these Yamim Noraim, with the shofar. These Days of Awe call us to wake­up to the lethal, threatening forces “out there.” But our alarm clock, tekiyah, also ​ ​ beckons us to confront the beating forces “in here.” Inside each of us, our soul is hungry for more faith and forgiveness and joy. The shevarim­teruah is pulling us toward ​ ​ God. It’s that dotted line connecting us to the Holy One.

The Tekiah­gedolah is the peaceful joy of forgiveness. It is the love we feel in our ​ ​ sense of purpose. Greater than any material gain, the Tekiah­gedola is our reminder ​ ​ that timeless victory, eternal success, grows out of life’s hardest work ­­ the journey from pain to faith to forgiveness to love to joy. “Hand it over to God,” wails the shofar. ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​

I want a new Jewish joke. This joke won’t end with: “Pshhh all you Jews ever think about is money.” But rather, “Pshhh, all you Jews ever do is reap the abundant, the massive profits of forgiveness.”

ALAN ROSENBLOOM My very dear friend Alan Rosenbloom had good reason to be angry and bitter. Alan and Rochelle, his amazing wife, have been Beth­El members since their extraordinary adult children were toddlers. Childhood sweethearts, Alan forever referred to Rochelle as “Sugar.”

After a wonderful professional career, Alan planned to retire last spring 2014, at 60­ years old. He was excited to have many great years with Sugar/Rochelle, post­retirement. But, when retirement was just beginning, their world came crashing down. They discovered that Alan had a serious cancer, and the prognosis, although not totally hopeless, was very bad.

Late last winter, five or six months into this battle, Alan gave me an envelope with a letter inside. He said to me: “Meir, I wrote a letter to Rochelle, Marissa, Daniel, and Jesse. I have an important favor to ask. If it happens, if I go, read this at my funeral.” In early July, I sat with Alan in his home. He was incredibly weak. He knew it was happening. He said to me, “Meir, I have had an amazing life. I’ve had everything I could ever hope for, so much more than my parents had. Enjoy life, celebrate, Meir. And don’t forget to read that letter.”

Like the expressions of forgiveness I experienced in Charleston, the words that Alan wrote are emblazoned on my soul. Here is a passage from the letter we read at Alan’s funeral: “Stop crying everyone. I have lived an amazing life. . . Should this/my life continue? Of course. But enjoy everything. Stop crying. Love. Live. I love you!” ​ ​

And per Alan’s request, we concluded the service by singing Alan and Rochelle’s favorite song, entitled Sugar. Alan handed it over to God. “Stop crying everyone. I ​ ​ have lived an amazing life. I had an absolutely wonderful life. Should this continue? Of course. Enjoy everything! Stop crying. Love. Liive. I love you!”

Alan and the Charleston families have taught me life’s most profound lesson. There is great danger and pain in this anti­Semitic world. There is heartbreak and brutal unfairness in so many of our lives. But life is a building project ­­ a project of faith. The more faithful the effort, the more love and gratitude and joy we welcome into this world. It’s about handing it over to God, so that we can always live with an open and grateful heart.

BACK TO CHARLESTON (Ps. 137: 1­4) At the end of our Bible study, everyone stood, about 70 of us. The pastor leading the learning session, concluded with these words.

“Anytime someone can take away your song, they have taken away your joy. You are defeated when you cannot find a reason to praise your God. . . In spite of the tragedy on June 17 at Mother Emanuel, and the great loss to her and all of us, our joy is still intact. “Our hearts are saddened but our spirits still rejoice. This joy that we have, the world didn’t give it and the world can’t take it away. Now, Lord, we thank you for another day. We thank for another opportunity. Thank you for bringing us to Mother Emanuel. Oh God we bless your Name. Lord you have been good to us. You are better to us than we have been to ourselves. When we look back over our lives, we can truly say that we have been blessed. “We come tonight lifting up Mother Emanuel Church. We lift this crowd of witness. We just thank you so much, Lord. We thank you for the multitude of blessing that have come our way. We thank you for the outpouring of love that has come from all over the world. “We know you are alive God. You are still on the road. We just bless you tonight. Now be with us Lord. Guide us and keep us and we shall be kept.”

And with that the Families of the Charleston 9 began to sing and sing and sing. Oh did they hand it over to God. And, I pray, may we learn from them and hand it over as well.

Shana tova. Gmar Tov Happy New Year