Kol D’Mamah Dakah: The Still Small Voice. Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to? Cantor Sue Knight Deutsch Rosh Hashanah Day 2, 5780 Transcribed from the original spoken version: (Holding Shofar aloft and singing loudly): “u’vShofar gadol yitakah”. (Placing shofar on lectern, then placing hands over heart and singing softly): “v’kol d’mamah dakah yishamah”. “The great shofar will be sounded, and the still small voice will be heard”. These words come from the prayer, U’netaneh Tokef, which Cantor Natalie will be singing shortly. Everyone knows that this is a shofar, but my Rabbi tells me that not everyone knows what the still small voice is. This isn’t just any shofar. This is a special shofar to me. This one belonged to my late husband, Michael Deutsch, and he was taught to blow the shofar by our very own Charlie Lupul, and I think that Charlie helped him pick out this particular shofar. The last time that Michael blew this shofar was on October 1st, 2008, which corresponded to the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Yes, today is October 1st, and it is the first time since that day that the second day of Rosh Hashanah has corresponded with October 1st. It’s also the first time I’ve ever given a sermon on High Holy Days, even though I have given over 1500 sermons in my lifetime - this one makes me nervous! When Mike blew this shofar on October 1st, 2008, he had no way of knowing that he would not be here the following year to blow that shofar. The following week, on Yom Kippur, he had bronchitis and he was taking antibiotics for it. He didn’t get better and kept calling the doctor, going back for more medication week after week, and he kept saying to me, “You know, Sue, I feel it in my bones”. “What? It hurts in your bones?” I asked. “Well, not just that. Something is telling me there’s something more. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” So he kept going back to the doctor and coming back with more medication, and by October 31st, a full thirty days after blowing this shofar, Michael was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer. He said to the doctor, “I’m a dead man. Why give me any treatment?” The doctor told him treatment might take away some of his pain, and it might give him a little more time. Mike said, “Good! I want to go to China. I’ve always wanted to go to China, and I haven’t got to go yet!” Mike decided to fight so that he could get his trip to China. Anybody that knew Mike knows that he had a very loud voice. In fact, it was a BOOMING voice. Those of us who belonged to Congregation Eilat may remember that when the sanctuary needed to be turned into a dining hall, it was Mike who was yelling orders with his booming voice to set up the tables, so that lickety-split, we were eating lunch! But now, after this diagnosis, Mike’s soft voice came forward. His still small voice. As his illness progressed, he fought not only for his physical life, but also for the soft hum of his still small voice - his kol d’mamah dakah; the one that spoke to him in his evening meditations, the one that spoke to him when he taught Tai Chi, the one that little babies could feel when they were fussy - he had a knack, a way of calming them. All Mike’s loudness and bravado fell away, and the Mike that I knew came to the fore. Kol d’mamah dakah. Mike started to spend more time with his children one-on-one, and with the people who really mattered to him, and to make amends for anything that he had done wrong. Mike started to write in his engineering scratch form of how he felt. Mike had huge social anxiety, and that took a back seat as kol d’mamah dakah (still small voice) emerged. I had experienced loss before. Loss of a parent, loss of pregnancies, loss of physical capabilities, loss of friends, and I had helped others who were facing loss. Losing my partner changed everything about my life: the way I eat, the way I sleep, my relationships, my social standing. I had no way of knowing on October 1, 2008 when Mike blew this shofar, that the following year I would be standing on my pulpit at Heritage Pointe as a widow, having just returned from Poland with the Cantors Assembly on a mission, and about to appear in the movie “100 Voices: A Journey Home” where I can be seen and heard, and the voice-over is my voice chanting Torah from the barracks of Auschwitz. I had no idea that this experience would propel me forward to be better in my work as a chaplain to those facing serious illness and death. I had no idea that this kittel (white robe) that I’ve always worn on High Holy Days as a symbol of purity and joy, and the color of my wedding dress, would now take on new meaning as one day being my death shroud, and that it had something to inform me about my life. It was my kol d’mamah dakah that came forward a few years later in 2012 when I was standing on the stage at the Jewish Theological Seminary delivering a lecture for Yom Iyun to Cantors and Rabbis about how to use music in the hospital room. I was asked a question about my handout. It looked so pretty, and someone asked, “where can I get your book?”, and my kol d’mamah dakah answered, “oh, I’m in the middle of writing it!” – And write it I did. When I have a decision to make, it is my kol d’mamah dakah that I consult. Perhaps it is my practice of listening, or simply feeling that silence, that still small voice, that on May 8 woke me up from a dream. I was really busy this past May. The twin grandsons of a very good friend had their b’nai mitzvah in Los Angeles. I had other things to do in Los Angeles, and I drove back and forth for three days in a row, and in between I helped Rabbi Joe Mendelsohn co-officiate an adult b’not mitvah at Heritage Pointe, and I had people coming on May 10 from England, and I had plans for the next two weeks. On May 8, I woke up hearing my birth mother calling me in a dream. She said, “I’m dying”. Anyone who knew about my mother, knew that she had been at death’s door for the last thirty years. In fact, my aunt used to joke that if they called from England to tell me that my mother had passed away, I should say, “Please shake her and make sure!” So when I heard this voice, I thought it was random, but I called England anyway, and they said, “well, your mum hasn’t eaten for two days, but you know her, she always rallies.” I figured all was okay, and I would go ahead with my plans. But I got quiet, and kol d’mamah dakah kept saying, “you need to go, you need to go.” Twenty-four hours later, I was on a plane, having cancelled all my plans. I had booked a hotel room in England. I had booked a train for when I got there. As I sat on the plane, I argued with myself. What am I doing? I am going to come back next week and everything will have been fine! Yet kol d’mamah dakah whispered, “you’re doing the right thing, you’re doing the right thing.” Six days later, when I sat at my mother’s bedside singing to her as she took her last breath, I heard kol d’mamah dakah whisper, “you’re right where you need to be.” What does this teach me and us about the many decisions we have to make? How to decide between what we want to do and what we have to do? Often, the decisions we have to make are not between right and wrong, but between right and right. A week ago, I wanted to walk on the Susan B. Komen walk with Cantor Natalie. I had decided I was going to walk, and yet, three days beforehand, I had emergency oral surgery. I wanted to get up really early and go on the walk AND I needed to rest and sleep in. I had to balance what I was going to do. What was I going to do? I consulted with my inner voice that told me I needed to take care of myself, even though my brain was saying something different. Who is speaking in this kol d’mamah dakah? Where does it come from? Some people call it ‘intuition’; some people call it ‘universe’ or ‘mystery’. I always think of it as the spark of the Divine that always wants what is best for us and holds us when we most need to be held. The u’netaneh tokef prayer tells us, “Repentance, Prayer and Charity/Justice have the power to transform the harshness of our destiny”. Repentance, Prayer and Charity/Justice are simply our kol d’mamah dakah in action. How do you hear your kol d’mamah dakah and how do you let it hold sway? Notice, when I speak about it, I point here (to my heart), I don’t point here (to my ears).