Rabbi Evan Moffic
Chicago Sinai Congregation
15 West Delaware Place
Chicago, Illinois 60610
Rosh Hashanah Evening, 2007
Consider with me the following news item from just a couple of weeks ago: It appears that the radio, I-pods, six-disc CD players and fast-changing traffic is not enough to keep us occupied while driving. According to a new survey, more than 50 percent of commuters who use text-messaging have sent e-mails while driving. Even more have received and read them on the road. Evidently, they are able to steer with their knees while typing with their fingers.
Yes, this is humorous, but it is also serious. It is serious because reckless driving can endanger lives. But it is poignant for us on Rosh Hashanah because multi-tasking to this extreme says something about our lives. Many of us are terribly busy and stressed. With the start of the school year, this stress has only been compounded. I know some families with whole charts on the refrigerator to tell who does what, when, and where. Sometimes it is only luck when a mom and dad have 15 minutes to chat and check in with one another.
Rosh Hashanah is our time to pause. To re-evaluate. To re-prioritize. To remind ourselves of what is most important to us and our families. Toward this end, we can take some guidance from the words of a famous prayer and song. It is the Misheberach adapted and set by Debbie Friedman. It is usually sung as a prayer of comfort for those who are ill. Yet, I also see it as a prayer that can give each of us direction. Misheberach avotanu, mekor haberacha l’emotanu, “May the Source of Strength who blessed the ones before us, help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing and let us say amen.” Wherever we are in life—whether we are in our eighties or in high school—we can make our lives a blessing. We can imbue them with holiness and purpose. The three key ways Judaism teaches us to do so are to count our blessings, to say blessings, and to be a blessing. Each of these practices can transform our lives.
Counting our blessings is not something that always comes naturally. Often it’s easier to count our problems. Our favorite stock is down 15 percent. Our kitchen needs a renovation. We have too much work to do. If, God forbid, we have a serious health problem, it can consume us. Focusing on our problems, we sometimes overlook our blessings. As a father, I know I do this. I complain that Hannah does not sleep through the night much more than I express gratitude for being blessed with a healthy, happy baby. Sometimes we need a little push to remind us of our blessings. That is the lesson of a beautiful Yiddish story about a man who lived in a one-room hut with his mother, his wife, and six children. The hut, as we can imagine, was filled with crying and quarreling. It was noisy and hard to live. One day, when he felt he couldn’t take it any more, the man went to his rabbi. “Rabbi,” he said, “things are bad and getting worse. I live in a one-room house with my mother, wife and six children. It is too crowded and noisy. Help me find some peace, Rabbi, I’ll do whatever you say.” The rabbi thought for a moment. “Do you have a chicken? he asked.” “Yes, of course I do,” the man replied. “Good,” said the Rabbi, “take the chicken and bring it into your home.” “Well, okay,” said the man, though he was a bit surprised.
Imagine what the house sounded like now. In addition to the man, his mother, his wife and six children, there was a chicken clucking incessantly. Frustrated, the man returned to the Rabbi. “Rabbi, I did what you said, and it’s much worse than before. Help me please.” “Tell me,” the rabbi asked, “do have a goat?” “Yes, I do,” the man replied. “Excellent,” said the rabbi. “Go home and bring him in to live with you.” A couple of days later, life in the hut was even worse. There was crying, quarreling, clucking, and a goat pushing and butting everyone with its horns. The man returned to the rabbi. To his shock, the rabbi then instructed him to bring his cow into the hut. This Rabbi must be crazy, the man thought. But he did as he was instructed. The house became an utter chaos. When he returned to the rabbi for the fourth time, the man screamed, “Help me rabbi, the end of the world has come. There is no room in my house even to breathe.” The rabbi listened and said, “Go home now, my friend, and let the animals out of your hut.” The man rushed home and did so. That night was the sweetest and most relaxing night he ever had. Every member of the family slept comfortably and peacefully. When he returned to the rabbi, the man said “Rabbi, you have made life sweet for me. With just my family in the hut, it’s so quiet, so roomy, so peaceful…What a blessing.” What a blessing. When we feel overwhelmed, we can gain perspective by counting the blessings we enjoy each and every day.
In Jewish tradition, however, blessings are not only meant to be counted; they are meant to be said. In fact, the rabbinic sages taught that we should try to say 100 blessings a day. Why do we say blessings? Because they can transform us. Blessings, to use an image from the Jewish mystics, unleash the sparks of God that are scattered throughout the world. Dr. Naomi Remen, a leading cancer specialist, wrote about this phenomenon in her book, My Grandfather’s Blessing. Her grandfather was a rabbi and a scholar of Jewish mysticism. Soon after the world was formed, he taught her, sparks of God spread themselves across it. They landed in flowers, trees, waters and human beings. As a result, everything we see or touch contains a spark of God. We uncover those sparks, we release their spiritual power, when we say words of blessings to one another.
About a month ago, I saw an example of this power. I was in my office when a member of the temple came by and asked if we could chat for a minute. We sat down and he asked me if I knew the words of a blessing he had just heard. He didn’t know how it went except that it started Baruch Atah Adonai. “Okay,” I said, “it could be anything. Can you tell me where you heard it?” “Yes. I was in New York last week and having dinner at a restaurant. Just a few tables away from me, right as I was eating, a man proposed to his girl friend. She said yes, and everybody in the restaurant cheered. Then the man walked quietly over to a corner, put on a yamacha, and said some type of blessing. Both their eyes filled with tears. I barely heard what he said but it was quite short.” “The blessing,” I said, “may have been the shehechyanu: did it go like this:…. He said that’s it. “Do you have a copy of it,” he asked. “Yes, absolutely,” I said. Good. I am planning to propose to my girlfriend this weekend, and I want to say it with her….
Unbeknownst to them, the couple in the New York restaurant released powerful sparks that transformed another’s life. A blessing of gratitude became a source of inspiration. Now not all the blessings we say have to begin with Baruch Atah Adonai. Blessings express our feelings. They are words that come from the heart. And as one of the great Jewish sages taught, “Words from the heart enter the heart.”
I experienced this near the end of my grandfather’s life. He passed away this past May. Up until his death, I tried to talk to or visit him every day. We would usually end our conversations with my saying “Talk to you tomorrow.” I did not say to him, as I usually do to my parents or my wife, that “I love you.” He was not the warm fuzzy kind of guy, and it just did not feel right. But during those last few weeks, something changed. Perhaps it was the birth of my daughter Hannah, or perhaps it was his declining condition. Our moments became more fused with meaning. A month before he died, I was sitting by his bed and we were talking. As I got up to leave, I felt a twitch in my stomach. I turned to him and said, “Grandpa, I love you.” He didn’t say anything but the connection changed. Thereafter, we ended each conversation with my saying “I love you.”
Saying I love you to our dearest ones is a way of blessing them, and blessing us. It transforms our lives, giving them sanctity and a new meaning. To truly realize its power, however, we cannot only say a blessing: we must be a blessing. We must use our lives for tikkun olam, for repair and healing of the world. We must follow God’s call to Abraham to Lech Lecha, to go forth and be a blessing. To bless the world through the way we live, to see our lives as fulfilling a sacred responsibility to improve the world. In Hebrew, the word for life, chayim, is in the plural form. This tells us something. Life gains meaning only when we live for something larger than ourselves. Perhaps paradoxically, the more we live for things bigger than ourselves, the more energy and strength we gain. As the writer and religious leader Norman Vincent Peale put it, “The more you lose yourself in something bigger than yourself, the more energy you will have.”
I think, for example, of a British woman I read about recently. Her name was Sue Burns. She suffered from a rare condition called osteosclerosis, progressive deterioration of the spine. She was unable to stand or sit, even in a wheel chair. She lived in bed and in constant pain. Yet, despite her suffering, she greeted everyone with a warm smile. Her caregivers testified that she displayed a radiance that came from deep within, as if she was celebrating simply being alive. What kept her going? From the day of her diagnosis, she dedicated herself to helping others in a similar situation. She could not move to visit them, nor could they move to visit her. So she set up two phone lines at her bedside. She learned how to use a computer. And she created the Tikvah Help Line. Tikvah is the Hebrew word for hope. She contacted people who suffered from serious illnesses or handicaps and became their mentor, confidante and friend. She spoke with them regularly and connected them with different agencies and resources. Eventually, she merged her agency with the British equivalent of the Jewish federation. Just before her death, she was knighted by the Queen for her service to humanity. She became the first person taken into Buckingham Palace on a hospital bed and to receive her knighthood lying down. Characteristically, she told the attendees that the award was not for her. She had merely been delegated to receive it on behalf of all those who struggled with her.
More than many of us, Sue Burns knew the pains and pressures of life. By losing herself in a purpose larger than herself, she transformed her life into a blessing. Thankfully, we do not need to go through a life-altering illness to realize the power and purpose of our lives. We do not need to have a big title or be a celebrity to identify our lives with a sacred purpose. In whatever we do, each of us can bring blessings into the world. It is within our reach. As the Torah portion we will read on Yom Kippur affirms: I have set before you the blessing and the curse, life and death. Choose life…”
The way of blessing is the way of life. It is the way to a life of meaning, purpose and joy. As we bless, we become blessed. As we give to others, we become our best selves. This is the first day of our New Year. My hope and my prayer for this year is that Misheberach avotanu v’imotanu: That the Source of Strength who blessed the ones before us will help us find the courage to make each of our lives a blessing, and let us all say “Amen.”