Do you know whom you are named for? Which ancestor's name do you carry? My Hebrew name is Gedalyah Zorach, my maternal great grandfathers. My family has preserved one picture that comes from Europe of a venerable old man and woman in a forest clearing, him with a long beard and dark coat. If I let my beard grow and donned such clothing he and I would be identical: same face, same build, same height. This is Gedalyah. I am his namesake. On a Pesach night, across the Seder table, my grandmother looked at me and called me her father. We don't know the exact date of this picture. Yet I have every reason to surmise that it was taken near the end of the previous century, maybe even just at its close. With this picture in my hand come with me as I go back to 1899, the eve of 5660 and ask:
"Great-grandfather, What is one your mind?
What are your expectations?
What are your hopes, your fears?
What are the hallmarks and main stays of your life?
What are you thinking as your century comes to an end,
Erev Rosh HaShanah 5660?"
Could he have foreseen the century that was about to unfold?
Now imagine with me that one hundred years from now, erev Rosh HaShanah 5860, which I have compete faith will occur, and our grandchildren or great-grandchildren have pictures of us. What answers would we want them to have to the same questions?
Who are we?
What is our Jewishness?
What are the most important components to our lives?
What are our hopes, fears, and expectations as shortly we begin 2000?
as we now begin 5760?
I try to read my great-grandfather's eyes, try to see into his soul. I hope that there will be Jewish grandchildren and great-grandchildren looking into mine. Maybe the text of this sermon will even be passed to their hands.
IA.
My great-grandfather was certainly concerned with his physical survival. Living in a very small shtetl, life was difficult and demanding. Tevye's portrayal in "Fiddler on the Roof " is accurately reflective of the harshness of life for many Jews. It fueled the great waves of migration, explaining our presence here in America. While Gedalyah was worried about local trouble, an occasional Cossack raid, again, reflected in "Fiddler", he could not have ever dreamt or foreseen the terrible debacle that would sweep over European Jewry. Gedalyah's town of Bielsk, Jewishly, is no more, and any distant relatives all perished. I am glad that this century comes to a close. It has been the most catastrophic century since perhaps 1492 and the expulsion from Spain, the 1000's and the Crusades, or 135 and 70 C.E., the two great revolts against Rome. With all of his fears, Gedalyah could not have known to fear this. While anti-Semitism contaminated his world, he did not see it portending his extinction. I cannot read this in his eyes.
IB.
My great-grandfather only yearned to go to Eretz Yisrael in his prayers. The Geulah, the redemption, would only come to end the Galut, the Diaspora, when "the meshiach kummen", when the Messiah would come. Zionism did not infuse Gedalyah's world, only few from the shtetl might go to Turkish Palestine instead of America. The messiah had not come, a faith which I uphold, and he had no reason to expect that one was around the corner, a faith to which I also subscribe. I believe, completely and totally, that except for an occasional computer glitch, January 2000 will be just as normal, or abnormal, as any other day. My Gedalyah could not have imagined a place on earth where Jews would conduct every iota of life in Hebrew, that the Magen David would be imprinted on flags, jets, submarines and coinage of the realm. As I peer into his eyes, I do not see his imagination of Medinat Yisrael. As tragic and terrible has been this century, Liz and Menachem can do something that my great-grandfather could not. They will walk the soil of an independent Jewish state this coming year. The arising of our national existence was beyond his vision.
IC.
Yet I can see an inner contentment and tranquility. Gedalyah and his wife Kuneh, my mother's namesake, knew who they were, believed to know what God wanted from them. I see in my great-grandfather's eyes the flame of inner piety, the light of Torah and the awe of God. As much as exclusion from greater society controlled his world, he was at home in Yiddishkeit, Torah, and Jewish classics. There were mezuzot on every door, and seforim, religious books, a siddur, Chumash, machzor, on the shelf. I am told that the family lineage included shochtim, mohalim, and rabbanim. Before my grandmother left for America, it would have been easy for him to dream that his grandson or great-grandson would be rabbis. He will have to settle for a great-grandson and great great grandson, at least. It would be incredible to him that I know so little Yiddish and much more Hebrew. I would have understood his davening and he would have been able to join in Shabbos Zemiros at my table, pronounced Ashkenazically, of course.
ID.
Perhaps this is the most attractive piece of my fantasy-like dialogue with my great-grandfather, that the thread woven from generations before that I can never name, has continued unbroken, to include my name, to reach to me. Though a hundred years span our distance, he and I are instantly recognizable, as if parted by only a day. I live from him. He lives through me. His daughter was my grandmother Anna, Nechama, whose name was changed to Menachem and the family ladder continues. The generations regenerate. Am Yisrael Chai. Our small piece of the Jewish people lives.
IIA.
Erev Rosh HaShanah 2099 - 5860 - my great grandchild could hold up a family picture from Menachem's wedding. If I label it, they will know everyone in it. Who knows what the clothing fashions will be like? I surmise that we will look more alike than I am to my great-grandfather. When they look into my eyes, what will they see? How much will they identify with me? Will they understand my aspirations, my dreams and fears?
Maybe I will take a copy of this sermon and seal it in a bottle, that they will open one hundred years from now, and read it while they look at my picture.
These are my words to them.
IIB.
The core of my being is that of a Jew, its texture, its melodies, its values, its gestalt, its taste, and its touch. Itsbeliefs define me. Its rules guide me. Its Torah instructs me. Its dreams elevate me. Its rituals purify me. And if the picture from Europe could become a video stream on my computer terminal, I believe that that Gedalyah would smile on this one, and I could nod back. My great grandfather lived in an excluded society and I, while living in an open society feel connected, rooted in his. Yet my great grandchildren will only know the open, integrated world for the Jew. My dream is that they will, like God's promise to Abraham, be numerous and follow my path, bringing the blessing of Judaism to them and to the world. My greatest dream is that I will have descendants, is it too much to ask that there will be among them another Gedalyah, to whom my books will descend to be opened and read, studied and inscribed; that my numerous Kiddush cups will all be lifted every Shabbat and Yom Tov. I dream that continuing generations of Jews will pray in this sanctuary. That along with all others, this will be a vibrant Jewish community.
IIC.
And I know, in the marrow of my bones, beyond any shred of doubt, that that future depends on us. That dream begins with us. The Jewish people will only live, gloriously, and intensely,
as we study Torah,
as we live the Mitzvot,
as we root ourselves in belief in God.
Are there mezuzot on your doors?
Are there holy books in your library?
Are there Kiddush cups, Havdallah sets, Seder plates,
Shabbat and Yom Tov licht on your breakfronts?
Not as art pieces!
Are they touched, used, lit, opened, read?
Do you study Torah, take time to pray?
Do you make holy time of Shabbat and Yom Tov?
Beyond today?
These are the seeds of eternity. Only they promise, guarantee, the ongoing and eternal life of Am Yisrael. If my great grandchildren won't be standing on the bemah - they don't have to- I pray that they will be sitting down there,
and have the glow of Yom Tov candles in their eyes,
the taste of Yom Tov wine on their lips,
and the throb of Yom Tov prayers in their hearts,
my great grandchildren, and yours.
IID.
I don't know what it means to live without the shadow of the Holocaust. The world Jewish community in the entirety of my lifetime has lived with its reality and the fear of its repetition. I can see with my own eyes what my great grandchildren will not - the numbers imprinted on survivors arms. Any and every time an incident occurs, broken windows several years ago, the fires in Sacramento, and the shootings in the L.A. JCC, within our psyche instantaneously resonates the darkest fears. While Jewish history prior to this century gave ample cause for insecurity we exit it with a fuller dose of paranoia. For all my personal sense of security, especially in America, if my great grandchildren peer deeply, the anger, the fear, the hatred that I have, that this has befallen our people, and some measure of uncertainty, will be evident in some recess of my eyes.
My dream, my deepest aspiration, is that my/our great grandchildren, one hundred years from now, will not live under the shadow, with neither insecurity nor paranoia. While "crazies" will never depart entirely from the world, I pray that great grandchildren will no longer feel threatened because they are Jews, not here, not anywhere. They should walk proudly, uprightly as Jews, wearing a kippah or Magen David, or both. I pray for their eyes to be filled with peace.
IIE.
I don't know what it means to live in a world without Medinat Yisrael. Whatever its birthday is in May is mine in the fall. Someone introduced into the Birkat HaMazon, Grace After Meals, a beautiful line. May the All-merciful One bless Medinat Yisrael, the beginning of the flowering of our redemption. I was born during Israel's War for Independence, have a faint memory of the Suez Campaign of 1956, demonstrated at the U.N. during the Six Day War, lived in Israel during the War of Attrition in 1968-1969, and Ruby and I lived there during the Yom Kippur War. Since my birth, the wars of the State have defined my life. Jews inside and outside of Israel have had our lives distorted by the prism of war. They defined themselves as the remnant of Masada, which would not fall again, never to be pushed into the sea. We defined ourselves as Jews as defenders of the homeland from afar, raising money, demonstrating, persuading Congress, and writing letters. I pray that one hundred years from now our great grandchildren and those in Eretz Yisrael
will look back at a century of peace;
That Jewishness will not be equated with defense, fundraising, and campaigning;
That they will stand at the Kotel with awe,
Walk the land with peace,
And converse in Hebrew, tinged with whatever accent.
"Lu Yehi" - "If it will only be" sang Naomi Shemer, authoress of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav. I echo those words. "Lu Yehi" - if only our great grandchildren will tread upon the holy land b'shalom, that their eyes will not reveal pain nor tears that I have shed and known for Ma'alot, the bomb shattered streets of Jerusalem, by the sirens that broke the silence of a Yom Kippur afternoon. Can you imagine Medinat Yisrael one hundred and fifty years old! Israel, a light to the nations, and miracle in the heights! May our great grandchildren's eyes behold this wonder. In the meantime, every one of our children should visit Israel under the auspices of our synagogue's youth program.
III
Here is something that my great grandchildren will surely recognize:
Coca Cola in English,
Coca Cola in Hebrew,
On the bottom - Newport News, Virginia!
In it I have already placed a copy of this sermon and after labeling a picture from Menachem's wedding, I will seal it with wax. The label I affixed to the bottle reads: "To be opened by my descendants on Erev Rosh HaShanah 5860 -2099."
So this is what I suggest. After Yom Tov take a picture and label it. Then address a note to your descendants. Write them a letter telling them who you are, what you do, about your Jewishness, about your fears and prayers. Seal it in plastic, if not a bottle and label it like I did. This, too, is an act of faith, that there will be those after us who will want to know who we were, what we valued and what we dreamed.
And after you've finished all this, may we live the next year with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our strength, to make these dreams come true.
Amen.
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