Memorial Day and Shavuot

May 25, 2012

4 Sivan 5772

 

My Dear Congregation,

 

Once in a very long while our holiday of Shavuot intersects with the celebration of Memorial Day. While our ancestors stood in a sacred moment at Sinai to receive the Torah, Memorial Day was originally created after the Civil War as a sacred moment, called Decoration Day, to remember the dead who fell in that great battle. Ultimately its purpose came to be a sacred remembrance of all who have died defending our country throughout all the wars.

 

There is a Midrash that teaches that all the Israelites who were alive had to be standing at Sinai in order for God to give the Torah. Similarly, our country's freedom has been obtained through the sacrifice of each and every son and daughter who has died for our freedom, our existence. Each offering of body and soul has meaning and purpose. Judaism teaches that without Torah, without law there is no freedom. From its origin, America has embodied this central Jewish tenet. There is something special in the intersection of Shavuot and Memorial Day.

 

This Monday, that day of intersection, I shall include in our Yizkor service, the recitation of the names of Jewish military personnel who have died in Operations Iraqi Freedom, Enduring Freedom and New Dawn, even as we keep in our hearts the sacrifice of all men and women who have died in this service to our country and to the world. I realize that the attraction of sales and barbeques is strong, but I hope that that the draw of Torah and memory is even stronger.

 

On Sunday, the first day of Shavuot will read the actual portion of Torah of the giving of Torah at Mt. Sinai. Tefilot on both days begin at 10:00 A.M. I invite you to join us in the Divine glow of the Main Sanctuary for these very special days.

 

I extend personal congratulations to the Confirmation Class of 2012 as it takes it place in the long chain of tradition here at Temple Beth-El, and to our 'children' who have graduated high school and university. May you all ascend from strength to strength and bring blessings to yourselves, your families, our people and to God.

 

Please accept my best wishes for a meaningful Shavuot and Memorial Day celebration.

 

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

Ruth Teaches Us to Welcome Those Who Seek Judaism

Ruth Teaches Us to Welcome Those Who Seek Judaism

From the Heart

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

My class in Discovering Judaism is open to all, member/non-member, Jew/or not/ seeking/just exploring/no particular reason. My life has been most richly blessed by these people who have chosen to spend Tuesday nights with me in a comprehensive study of Judaism. We go a mile wide and more than an inch deep. Often whatever I think to accomplish is usurped by questions that cannot be denied. Except for my years on Long Island where we had a communal class, I have been doing this every year of my Rabbinate. Each participant is different. Each brings something special to the table. Each brings their own questions. As many as I have been asked, there is always something new. They learn, and I learn, too. I am grateful to them.

 

Often the participants come because they are searching for Judaism. While marriage, to a Jew, either in the future or in the past, sometimes instigates this search, ultimately, each person must accept the faith to be their own, completely and unquestionably. There are many difficulties that exist. I hope that our conversation assists them in overcoming the potential stumbling blocks. I welcome, I embrace tightly, I love completely, these men, women and the children they bring, who relinquish their past to embrace us, to adopt Judaism as their faith and the Jewish people as their own. This is a tremendous leap. Our people, from its very beginning of our history, has been infused with people who have transcended any barrier, to become Jews, to be Jewish, to "walk the walk" much more than just "talking the talk."

 

I feel compelled to reiterate this theme, on which I have written in the past, for several reasons. First, it was a significant issue that the Rabbinical Assembly Convention that I attended this past week. For over five hours, more than a hundred Rabbis sat discussing intimately, with pain, pathos, hope, and anticipation, the issues of intermarriage and conversion. This column does not afford the space to review all of the components of our conversations. But this much is certain:

 

The Jewish people have grown quantitatively and qualitatively because non-Jews have always, throughout our history, sought to become Jews. Great Rabbis in the Talmud were converts to Judaism. These who choose Judaism might not have our past, but they are us in the present and we are one in our destiny. Once a person converts they have only one title: Jew. Just like us. For ever and ever.

 

Secondly, this year's class is soon to conclude, with a number of the members coming to the mikveh for the ritual of conversion, and then membership into our congregation. Year after year we have been enriched and blessed. Respecting their privacy, I don't publish their names, but they are our members and their children are in our Religious School. They stand on the bemah as Ben and Bat Mitzvah. They swear allegiance to our God.

 

On Shavuot we read the Megillah of Ruth. She was a Moabite. While originally part of the family, the people of Moab became an archenemy of Israel. And yet, Ruth left her family, people, land and god, to join the Jewish people and accept the God of Israel as exclusively hers. And she becomes the grandmother of King David, and thus the ancestor of the Messiah.

 

We welcome them into our people, our faith, our synagogue, our community, these children of Abraham and Sarah. Thank you for blessing us. B'ruchim Ha-Ba'eem. I love each and every one of you. Now and from all the years.

 

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

Why I Am A Jew

Why I Am A Jew

From the Heart

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

Despite all my classes in my Seminary years, all the classes that I have taught, and  all the groups that I have hosted, I was not prepared for the following scenario and its question:

 

A local Christian day school brings me their third and fifth grades every year to acquaint them with Judaism and the synagogue. There is a set curriculum for me to fulfill. I always enjoy these opportunities. I firmly believe that we make a better world by more and deeper understanding and appreciation of every faith. At one point I mentioned that we also had two representatives of current Jewish history as part of the synagogue artifacts, the six light candelabra and the Holocaust Torah, representing the murder of the six million Jews in the Shoah. These were fifth graders. After a basic explanation of history, that this was but the latest event but that there were earlier ones, one child asked:

Why did everybody hate the Jews?

What would you have answered?

 

This was mine.

 

The most important teaching of Judaism is: everybody is holy. This means that everyone, of every faith, of every age, of every ability, of every position, of every ethnicity is holy. Everyone. Jew, Christian, Muslim, young, old, abled and disabled, of every country, of every faith, are holy. We are all God's children. It doesn't matter what we believe differently, we are still, all of us, are holy. Being holy means to somehow, in a mysterious way, reflect God in us. Being holy means that everyone is deserving of respect. Being holy means that everyone deserves to be treated with dignity. Living in a holy way means that we don't hurt each other; that we don't attack each other; that we care for each other; that we try to do the best for each other. The most important sentence in the Torah is: Love thy neighbor as thyself.

 

As Jews, no matter how observant we are or aren't, just by being Jews, wherever we are, we proclaim this message to the world. The world has not wanted to hear this message and live by this message. Nevertheless, we continue to represent it and embody it. God gave the Jewish people a tough job to do in the world, and we are still doing it. It is counter to the way the world runs. Check the daily newspaper. People have not liked us – hated us – for this message, every dictator, every despot knew that if they wanted to extinguish the message they had to extinguish us. We are still here. We still declare this message to the world. As Helen Zimm says: "Forever and ever."

 

That's why I am a Jew.

 

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

 

We Are Holy Beings

We Are Holy Beings

May 4, 2012

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

Some time ago at the daily afternoon minyan I mentioned that we don't count people to see if there were the prerequisite ten for the minyan. We had discussed this previously in the Talmud class. I remember growing up in shul that someone said:  "nisht eine, nisht tsvei" "not one, not two" and so on. Later I learned that we use the verse "Save Thy people, and bless Thine inheritance; tend them, and sustain them forever" which in the Hebrew is exactly ten words. The first ten people each was designated by a word, not a number. We live in a world that is all numbers. Even Skype, with live pictures and voice, is nothing more than numbers. We communicate with banks, stores, and our credit and debit cards just as an assortment of numbers. And there are those using numbers trying to detect and steal our numbers. And being numbers, we are able to be flooded by emails, even if they have some importance, and certainly spam which has none. I remember being told that I was only worth an amount created by the values of the chemicals of my body. The world we live in reduces us to numbers. Judaism does not. We are people. We are individuals. We mean something in our individuality. Our being makes a difference in the world. I am not known by my social security number. I am known by my name. To Ruby, my mother and my aunt, I am Gary. To my children I am Abbah. To my grandchildren I am Sabbah. To the rest of the world I am "Rabbi." It became my name, too.

 

In the Torah the months of the year do not have names. When the holidays are explained, it states that they occur on such and such a day in the numbered month. Only during the Babylonian exile do the months receive their names. Beginning with the narrative of creation in the Book of Genesis, we learn that the days are numbered, "first, second…" When the Torah needs to do a census of the Israelites, several times during the Wilderness period, each person gives a half shekel. These are tallied and thus the number of the Israelites is deduced.

 

The Jewish world view is so different, so at variance with the world you and I live in. We are reduced to numbers. Yet in Judaism, we can't be numbers. We are always our own person. Perhaps it was never clearer than through the prism of the Holocaust wherein the Nazis attempted to reduce each person to the number tattooed on their arm. In Israel, the original museum to tell the story of the Holocaust and extol the honor of our dead, its name was borrowed from the prophet Isaiah with the idiomatic Hebrew "Yad VaShem" which literally means hand and name. Today, there you can look up your family by their name. Judaism strives against seeing the human being as a statistic, as a number. We may count the days of the Omer, but do not lose sight of human beings. We never relinquish our being, our dignity, our individuality.

            I am not a number. I am a name.

            I am not a numeral. I am a person.

            I am not a statistic. I embody the image of God.

            From tomorrow's Torah portion, we are kedoshim, we are holy beings.

 

Perhaps because I am generally sensitive to the use of numbers, because we are counting the Omer, and because of my extremely heightened sensitivity to gun violence since our member's murder in December, it all intersected with the editorial in today's Times-Dispatch about April being the bloodiest month in Richmond. I have cringed reading the daily paper. I read every article and it is extremely painful. This editorial used the language "deviation from recent trends." That is the language of numbers. Judaism talks about souls, about lives, about people, about being holy, about being in the image of God. Numbers don't feel pain. Human beings do. The illustration of the police tape saying "Police Line Do Not Cross" did not do the editorial justice.

 

I wonder how people would feel, would it make a difference, would it change anything, if instead of words, bar graphs, or pie charts, they took a whole page of the Times-Dispatch, turned it on its side, and used the pictures of people to portray "trends," indicate "averages." Show me people, not numbers!

            Would people pay any more attention?

            Would handgun advocates see the havoc?

            Would the sellers, the makers, the distributers of guns do anything differently?

            Would it stop the bloodshed?

 

It has been interesting to watch the commercials by Bennett's Funeral Home on TV. They show a snap-shot of an individual and thumb-nail sketch of the person. I can relate to that. It speaks to me of their humanity. I am touched.

            We need to be touched and not hardened.

            We need to be preeminently human and not denigrated into being numbers.

            We need to be advocates to reduce violence and elevate civility,

                           to diminish cruelty and promote respect.

            We need to reveal the image of God that is embedded in each of us.

            We need to show the world that "We Are Holy Beings."

 

Shabbat Shalom.

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

 

Shabbat Sermon: Wine from Seder Cups

Why do we take out wine from the cups at Seder

When Mentioning the Plagues?

[Adapted from the Bulletin column 'From the Heart' April, 2012]

March 30, 2012

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

Since I never drank grape juice I thought it was a waste of good wine to take it out of my cup and put in on my plate when we read the ten plagues. And then three times more for the acrostic of the names of the plagues! I would rather have drunk the wine! And yet, the reason for this custom is more important every day; perhaps especially today, in the aftermath of the tragedy in Florida.

 

If ever there were a people whom we should have hated, at least before the Holocaust, it was the Egyptians.

If ever there were a people who perpetrated genocide upon us, it was the Egyptians.

If ever there were a people who dismissed our God, who denied His reality, it was Pharaoh and the Egyptians.

If there ever were a people who relished in the second chance to annihilate us, at the 'Red' Sea (really Yam Suf, Sea of Reeds), it was Pharaoh and the Egyptians.

If ever there were a people whom we should have hated, at least before the Holocaust, it was the Egyptians.

 

And yet, there is no echo of hatred of the Egyptians in all of our sacred literature. That is incredible. It is unbelievable. Contrary to even everything else in the world, even the political venom in the current presidential primary campaigns, the Torah, Tankah, Talmud, Midrashim, never espouse hating the Egyptians.

 

The reverse is true.

There is a Midrash connected to the episode at Yam Suf when the Israelites witness the drowning of the Egyptians (we never say that the bad guys should win), that the Israelites want to sing and God says: "My children are drowning and you want to rejoice!" What a statement! The Egyptians are God's children, too? After what they did to us? After their denial of our God? And God says that they are His children! Where does that leave us?

 

The Rabbis answered: We, too, are certainly God's children. But our message to the world, is that everyone is God's child, unqualified, unrestricted, unlimited. That means that everyone is created in God's image, which means that everyone is holy. When someone dies, of any faith, of any color, of any ethnicity, of any creed, something Godly has been damaged, diminished, lessened. Even the Egyptians at Yam Suf.

 

And so the Rabbis created a custom that when we read the plagues and their acronym, we diminish the cup of wine, symbol of our joy, happiness and celebration, not to waste the wine but rather to elevate the demand for our humanity, our respect of the "God part" in every person. By honoring others, we honor, show love and respect God. We recognize that in order for us to be free God had to bring the plagues and through them, because of Pharaoh's stubbornness, Egyptians, men, women and children suffered, were in pain. We understand that. We sympathize for them. We do not relish in their agony. They are human, thus they are God's children. So we lessen our joy and learn this lesson.

 

What was going through the mind and heart of both tragic participants in the terrible event in Florida? Especially that of George Zimmerman: Did he see another human being? I don't know. Did he see an "Egyptian" whom he should hate, or an "Egyptian" that also suffered and also is a child of God? Will we ever know?

 

Maybe both needed to have made a Seder, read the Haggadah and took out wine from their cups. Then strangers would have known each other and this catastrophe would have been avoided.

 

I also return to theme which I wrote about extensively in January: what was he doing with a gun? Why not just have a radio with which to summon the police? Guns coupled with hatred spell death. Even if there is justification for a neighborhood watch, even when there are fears, rational or not, Guns are not necessary. Guns do not solve problems. Guns kill. Hatred is multiplied. Pain increases exponentially!

 

The most important cup of wine on the table is that of Elijah.

We use the number four because the Rabbis identified four specific languages of redemption. Therefore there are four children and four cups of wine. Yet there is a potential fifth word of redemption – "v'hay'vayti" – "And I will bring you (to the land of Israel)." The Rabbis could not decide what to do, so they utilized their Rabbinic tradition to say that when Elijah comes – he returns to announce the coming of the Messiah – Elijah will answer this question. Until then, we put the fifth cup on the table and don't recite a blessing over it, and if and when Elijah comes, he will drink from it and recite its blessing. Elijah's cup is the Passover symbol of our belief in the ultimate coming of the Messiah, which will usher in a time of peace, a time without killing.

 

May Elijah come soon.

 

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

 

Rabbi Gary Creditor: "Purim: The truth behind the mask"

Purim: The truth behind the mask

By: RABBI GARY S. CREDITOR | Times-Dispatch
Published: March 07, 2012 Updated: March 07, 2012 - 12:00 AM

http://www2.timesdispatch.com/news/oped/2012/mar/07/tdopin02-the-truth-behind-the-mask-ar-1745380/

Purim is an intriguing holiday. Purim is a holiday that transcends its biblically appointed time and place. Its story is totally contained in the scroll of Esther in the section of the Bible named "The Writings," yet its messages concerning hatred, personal responsibility and the hidden hand of God speak with contemporary urgency and immediacy.

I remember first encountering the Megillah (scroll) of Esther in my youth. It read like sound history. Later I would learn that biblical scholars cannot make its details fit into the vast knowledge available about the Persian kingdom. I celebrated the holiday of Purim with the public reading of the Megillah, making noise to drown out the mention of the villain's name (Haman), and dressing up in costumes. Only later could I comprehend the exquisite dance of meaning in each.

The Megillah purports that after living tranquilly for some time in the Persian Empire, a recently appointed second-in-command to the king accuses the Jewish population of two crimes: being different, with their particular laws and unique customs; and not following the laws of the Persia. The former was true and did not threaten King Ahashverosh. The empire of 127 provinces contained many different peoples. But the latter was false. In the atmosphere of "hatred of the other" the distinction between the two was lost, and the groundless, baseless hatred of the Jewish people led to a decree for their extermination. What started this devolution into insanity? Mordechai would not bow down to Haman. We don't bow to humans. We bow only to God. Only God is the ultimate reality. For this, Haman hated Mordechai with great enmity, and from this he hated Mordechai's people.

The Megillah is a particular story inside the history of the Jewish people, a people charged by God to deliver His message of the sanctity of each human being, of the demand for a moral and ethical life, of the holiness of life itself, of animal as well as human, of every age, every color, and every creed. The bearers of that message are a hardy stock, and we have withstood attempts from Pharaoh to Haman to Hitler to Ahmadinejad to destroy us. We survive and flourish.

From this story the Megillah proclaims the rejection of hatred-of-the-other as a core religious value. That message is relevant today, applicable to those in our society, our community who look different from us, who speak a different language, whose sexual preference is different, who worship God by a different name and with a different theology. Hatred leads to murder. It is plain and simple. It doesn't matter if it is ancient Persia or modern Richmond. The hatred of Amalek in the book of Exodus carried down to their descendant Haman in the Megillah is found on our streets. With a gun in the hand, hatred leads to murder. It leads to the demonization of the other. Hatred only breeds hatred.

In the narrative, Esther, Mordechai's relative, becomes queen but must keep her identity secret. She wears a mask that hides her true self. Yet as the story unfolds, there ultimately comes that pivotal moment when only she can save her people. Mordechai informs her of the desperate situation. She can no longer wear the mask. She must risk her comfortable position in the palace; she must endanger her very life. Esther must strip off her mask and reveal herself, her true being, her inner self. Mordechai sends her a message: "Perhaps it is just for this moment you have risen to this position." And further: "If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter."

The Megillah proclaims the potency of any individual to change the course of history if we but rise up to accept the challenge, if we dare strip off the mask of indifference, if we have the courage to confront hatred, if we have the faith to commit ourselves totally. Mordechai challenged Esther in no uncertain terms. Her inaction would doom her and her family, even if everyone else was saved. The Megillah dares us to remain silent in the face of poverty, of hatred of homosexuals, of the proliferation of murder by handguns, of unequal education. The Megillah challenges us in our comfortable hiddenness to speak up and speak out.

Yet Mordechai had an inner confidence that behind the visible scenes of human history there worked the divine hand that would not allow the Jewish people to be destroyed by Haman. This is the one biblical book in which God is not explicitly mentioned or named. Yet when Mordechai told Esther that help would come "from another quarter," the Hebrew text says "Makom Acher." In this context "Makon" means "Place," a synonym for God. The Megillah proclaims that while there is much we cannot see and know, we must live with the faith that there is a God, that God loves and cares for us, and in that ultimate hour of need, in ways we cannot fathom nor predict, God will help us, the hidden hand of God will somehow cause events to occur for our salvation. It is a faith for all people and for all time.

In various ways on Purim we drown out Haman's name while publicly reading the Scroll of the Megillah, for we denounce and renounce the evil of hatred for us and for all people, for all time. Hatred must end. From Genesis we learn the divine demand that we are our brothers' and sisters' keepers. We wear costumes to remind us about hiding and revealing our true selves. We give gifts of food to others as they are part of the community. We give charity to the poor because no one is saved while others are hungry.

Purim is a fascinating holiday, and the Scroll of Esther is a complex text. I learned long ago not to worry about its historicity. Surely it is grounded in a kernel of historical truth. Yet its message, of the disease of hatred, of the necessity to accept personal responsibility, of stripping off the mask of hiddenness and indifference and faith in the hidden hand of God are values that are the hallmarks of the Jewish observance of this holiday and are eternal values, needed ever more so here and now. Chag Sameach! A happy holiday!

Gary S. Creditor is rabbi at Temple Beth-El in Richmond.

 

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Temple Beth-El

3330 Grove Avenue

Richmond, VA 23221

Phone 804-355-3564

Fax 804-257-7152

www.bethelrichmond.org

 

What Do Teenagers Owe and To Whom?

What Do Teenagers Owe and To Whom?

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

February 4^th, 2012

 

Last week I wrote about what we as parents and grandparents owe to our children and grandchildren. They did not ask to be born. We created them, and in that instant is the origin of our obligation.

 

Our children and grandchildren also don't begin as equals. There are differences in home environment, in financial support, in innate abilities, in desires. They don't go to equal schools, which don't receive equal funding. The world isn't equal and the world isn't fair. In this world of ours we as parents and grandparents owe many things to our children, our grandchildren, our teenagers.

 

Tonight I address the flip side of that equation. What Do Teenagers Owe and To Whom? They owe many things: to themselves, to their families, to their communities, to the world. Nothing comes easy. There are no free lunches. There is no gain without pain. All the clichés are true, for all sides of the equation in life.

 

I also acknowledge that any set of generalities cannot necessarily be appropriate to any particular situation. Yet there is no other way to speak. Again, I write because I share these words in realms far wider than our sanctuary. I hope and pray that they make a difference in lives.

 

Following our Talmud class this week Dr. Richard Schieken pointed out to me that while society thinks and speaks of "rights," "entitlements," Judaism speaks in terms of chiuv, obligation. It is not what we get, but what we give. It is this Jewish mindset that proscribes these remarks.

 

Teenagers owe it to themselves to take care of their bodies so that they serve them well, serve them adequately for the long run of their lives. Society is not obligated to fulfill or repair what they do to themselves. It is their chiuv to protect themselves from the consequences of tobacco, alcohol, sex – disease, unwanted pregnancy, speeding and bodily harm.

 

Teenagers owe it to themselves to learn as much as they can, widen their minds, add to the repertoire of skills, steep themselves in culture and imbibe wisdom from every source. They owe it to themselves to develop their minds. The goal is not get many "shingles" on the wall. The goal is to widen their perspective of the world so they can gain a better perspective of themselves.

 

Teenagers owe it to themselves, their families and to society to learn and adopt the rules of the road and play by them. We owe honesty. We owe integrity. We owe righteousness. We owe courtesy. Rules and laws structure how people interact with each other so that everyone will have good, happy and productive lives. Even when life isn't fair, our – their obligations don't change.

 

Teenagers owe it to themselves to be prepared to take personal responsibility for their lives and stand on their own two feet. While my parents never said it to me, never, ever, I felt it inside of me, without words, that some day, however distant, I would have to be responsible for myself to myself. Somewhere on a continuum my parents' responsibility for me would phase out and I would have to take over. I owed it to myself to be prepared.

 

Teenagers owe it to their families to be good people, cooperative, involved, sharing the load, the chores. The family is society in the microcosm. Here is where we learn how to be partners with everyone and in everything we do.  Being a teenager is not easy. It is hard to figure out life in the changing landscape of raging hormones and the demands of school and social networks. But home is the nest. They owe to the rest in the nest, loyalty, responsibility and truth. They will grow and leave the original nest and create their own. The noun becomes a verb. They owe to themselves and to their partners/spouses to nest well.

 

Teenagers owe to society to be responsible citizens of the world, good stewards of the environment, and involved in a good greater than themselves. The world doesn't owe them. They owe the world. We all do. There is no doubt that the world is a crazy, insane place. It is hard to understand it. Yet Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote the following:

 

"I would say to young people a number of things…I would say let them remember that there is meaning beyond absurdity. Let them be sure that every little deed counts, that every word has power, and that we can, everyone, do our share to redeem the world in spite of all absurdities and all the frustration and all disappointments." His words are good for us, too.

 

Teenagers owe it to themselves, to their families, to society and to the world to be exemplars of the core teaching of faith. It has direct implication and application in every corner of life:

 

hazing in college fraternities,

cheating on tests,

proper behavior to people of differing sexual orientations,

the proverbial "helping little old ladies cross the street" which stands for so much more,

and, to shun and reject hate, guns and violence in any form:

 

"Love thy neighbor as thyself." "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

 

What do teenagers owe to God? To seek Him. To ask questions. To look at the heavens, at newborn babies, and stand in awe of all existence. I don't worry about God. I worry about them.

 

With all of this I do not intend to write a manifesto, some creed for teenagers. I write for all of us. With last week's sermon and this, living when each daily newspaper reveals tragedy after incomprehensible tragedy, sorrow heaped on sorrow, we, adult and youth, need to face each other as ask:

                        How can we live?

                        How should we live?

                        How can we be happy?

                        What do we do to help each other?

                        What do we owe to each other?

                        What do we owe to the world?

                        What do we owe to God?

 

In the interpersonal dialectic of person to person, person and community, we each need to find our personal answers. It is not about how much money we earn. It is not about the house or the car. It is not about title and status. It is about our personal holiness, our sacred person, our very soul. In typing this sermon I once mistyped owe and in its place I typed woe.

Woe is to us if we cannot learn what we owe to each other.

 

Knowing my fondness for country music because it talks about us, here and now, our joys and sorrows, life and death, a song that has echoed in my heart was written by Randy Travis and is entitled:  Three Wooden Crosses. In it he sings about a farmer, teacher, hooker and a preacher. The bus they were riding on was hit by a truck. Of the four, only the hooker survived. He sings of the other three:

 

"That farmer left a harvest, a home and 80 acres

The faith and love for growin' things in his young son's heart

And that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children

Did her best to give 'em all a better start"

And that preacher whispered, "Can't you see the promised land?"

As he lay his blood stained Bible in that hooker's hand."

 

Yet it is the punch line of the chorus that stands out:

 

"It's not what you take when you leave this world behind you

It's what you leave behind you when you go"

 

Shabbat Shalom