You know the real question on this Yom Kippur is not how bad WE have been over the last year. God knows, most of us haven't been terribly evil. I feel pretty confident that we are all reasonably decent people. Sure, every one of us made mistakes. But you know as well as I do, if God wanted to create perfect people, She would have! If God wanted to create a perfect world, He would have! And as bad as it looks right now, our Midrash teaches us that God created a thousand different worlds and was disappointed by every single one of them before coming up with THIS one. As ironic as it may sound, God called our world, this world “very good.” Imagine that. The fact that we are together as we are today under these unusual and trying circumstances, I’m starting to see why that might be. Perhaps THIS world is a very good one. Here WE are, yet again, showing up on Yom Kippur, trying like mad to atone, and for what? A few white lies? For not taking responsibility for something we said or did? The times we could have shared our thoughts more respectfully with someone with a different point of view? The times we could have been more attentive when someone or our community needed us? Let's face it, the high drama of the season’s liturgy feels like it was written more for hardened criminals, and not so much for us imperfect but regular folks. And especially, in a year like this when we are cooped up in our homes, wondering whether any of this is efficacious, why not just skip out, skip over, go without all the ceremonial breast beating and intoning of confessions? After all, does it really make a difference one way or the other?
Won’t there still be people who hate and murder, careless individuals who start wildfires that destroy people's homes and lives, dishonest politicians, greedy corporate executives, activist judges with political agendas instead of impartiality, disturbed people whose only chance at feeling something happens by shooting up schools or setting off bombs in crowded marketplaces?
The problems that plague our world are large, so much is so broken, what can Yom Kippur possibly do to atone, to make teshuvah, for generations of injustice, for a century of environmental neglect, for decades of deteriorating democracy?
If we are really yearning for radical change in the world, maybe the ritual at this time of year should be to open the door, like we do on Passover, and wait for Elijah to come and proclaim the Messiah is coming to change everything FOR us, to fix the flaws in our imperfect hearts and finally bring the time where all can sit under a vine and fig tree and be unafraid, here and everywhere. Throughout the generations, Jews have yearned mightily for the day when Elijah will proclaim the messianic age is upon us, to turn the hearts of children to their parents and the hearts of parents to their children, and help each one of us turn our pettiness into perfection, our shortcomings into deeds of lovingkindness.
There have been times Jews hoped against all hope that they would see that great day in their own day, and that they would be relieved of great suffering. Decades since his passing, there are still some Lubavitch Chasidim that believe their deceased leader, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, is the messiah. I’m not sure he was. After all, nothing changed. We didn't get fixed. Our world didn't get perfected. There was no trumpet blast, no Elijah, and still, no peace here or anywhere. I’d say our day has its share of suffering.
And its hard not to wonder why our sufferings are not enough to warrant redemption from on high?
There is a legend, and I tell you it is only a legend, that the same Elijah who will announce the coming of the messiah, once roamed the earth as a lowly beggar. And that one day, in a certain town in the mountains, not so unlike ours, Elijah the beggar appeared. And there he met a poor baker who was on his way to buy candles for his wife to light that Friday afternoon for Shabbos. Approaching the baker, Elijah appeared to stumble and fall into the dusty street. Seeing this, the baker immediately rushed to his aid and helped him rise to his feet. Elijah said to him, “I am grateful for your assistance. Who are you?” He said, “I am a poor baker on the way to buy candles to welcome Shabbos this evening.” Elijah said, “For your kindness, I have a gift for you, this little sack. Keep it. And from it you may draw anything you need. Candles and candlesticks. Challah, wine. Anything you need. And if ever you are in danger, you may call upon this little sack to save you.” The baker went home and when his wife saw him she asked, “Where are candles for Shabbos?
“I didn't get the candles.” he replied. “I have a sack, given to me by a beggar I met on the road today.” She said, “A sack? What about candles? It's Shabbos!” “Watch this,” he said, “Little sack, little sack, give me candles.” And he reached into the sack and he brought forth candles. That Shabbos was like every other Shabbos until that time, except it was just a little sweeter, for a kindness was paid to them in exchange for a kindness shared. So it went on every Sabbath after that, except the sack provided the baker and his wife all the makings to properly honor Shabbat: candles, challah and wine and fish. In due time, the baker asked the sack for more and more things, all week long. And he and his wife became comfortable in their home, even wealthy. But instead of being the same kind, attentive, observant person he had been, the baker became cold and indifferent to those around him, more centered on himself and the ease of living. He fell out of the habit of observing Shabbos and walked down the street caring nothing for the poor and those with stumbling feet. Years passed and the baker grew old. And when the angel of death came to his bedside to collect his soul, the baker asked, “Who are you?” and the angel replied, “I am the malach hamaves, the angel of death. I've come to collect your soul.” Frightened and angry, the baker picked up the beggar's sack, and said “Little sack, little sack, swallow him up.” And the malach hamaves disappeared. Days later, the angels in heaven began to wonder why the malach hamaves hadn't returned. And so they asked the angel Gabriel to go down and search for him. Gabriel wandered the earth until he arrived at the bedside of the baker. The baker asked, “Who are you and what do YOU wish?” To which Gabriel replied. “I am the angel Gabriel.
I’m looking for the angel of death, have you seen him?” Frightened and angry, the baker took the beggar's sack and cried out, “Little sack, little sack, swallow the angel Gabriel.” And the angel Gabriel disappeared. Sometime later, great concern arose among the angels in heaven, for neither the angel of death nor Gabriel could be found anywhere. So they turned at last to Elijah and asked that he go and search for them. Elijah came and wandered the earth until finally he arrived at the bedside of the baker. The baker looked up and asked, “Who are you and what do you wish?” “I am Elijah. I once gave you a gift in gratitude for a kindness you did me. I've come to find the angel of death who was collecting the souls of the dying and the angel Gabriel who came to look for him.” His face twisted with fear and anger, the baker grasped for his sack and growled, “Little sack, little sack, swallow Elijah.” And so, my friends, why should we wonder that the messiah doesn't come?
According to this legend, it’s not because our world doesn't deserve it. God knows, if pain and suffering were the measure of what it takes for God to fix the world, there is enough right here amongst us. And in the story, it’s not because God is withholding redemption from us. To the contrary, Elijah is here giving out the keys to the messianic time. Just imagine what the baker might have chosen to do with the little sack if he hadn't seen it as a tool for his use alone? What if that sack could have brought forth enough food to feed all the hungry people in the world? What if it could have made not only the baker and his wife but every person able to find ease and comfort? I could think of a few tyrants I'd choose to disappear into that sack.
According to the legend, the messiah is missing in action not because things haven't gotten bad enough, but because we've forgotten that each one of our acts could be the one that keeps Elijah locked away. And that's why we enact all this drama on the holy days. Yes, we've been untruthful, and it does matter.
Yes, we've been arrogant, and that too matters. We haven’t listened to the marginalized among us. We haven’t done enough to share our blessings. If the messiah has anything to do at all with making our lives just a little bit more like our ideals, if the messiah has anything to do with making our world a little safer for ALL children, if he has anything to do with making us more open to dealing with our own pains and sensitive to the suffering of others, then what it takes from us is recognizing our own personal self-centeredness, realizing how complacent we've become about our own, albeit small, failings. The moral of the legend and the moral of these Holy Days is that the little failings add up and we don't notice. Criticize a child once and the child might do better. But criticize her twenty times a day, day after day and you have wrought the destruction of her entire world.
This afternoon, we'll read the story of Jonah and of an entire city that was given just a few days to turn themselves around for the better or else. And they did. Everything and everyone did the work of teshuvah and so consequently, they averted collective disaster. And that's what is so inexplicable and angering to Jonah. To him, that was too simple.
But WE read that story year after year so we shouldn't be so startled by the possibility that these Days of Awe might likewise shake us and wake us from complacency and despair. That we can emerge from our soul searching on these holidays knowing exactly what we must do to be the change.
This evening during Neila we will imagine the Gates of Forgiveness closing – our window of opportunity to let ourselves be transformed, to resolve to be different, to see our world and our relationships with new eyes and new hearts. And if we do that, the whole world may not get better. But WE will get better. Our little sphere of the world will get better. Our congregation will be better. Our neighborhoods will be better.
Anyone who has worked for peace, anyone who has taught in schools, anyone who has raised a child, anyone who is a health care worker, anyone who is judge, anyone who does research to solve the world’s problems, anyone who volunteers at a non-profit knows that it is a mistake to think that we get to go home one day having gotten those jobs done. We dive into these endeavors knowing the task is to get our hands dirty trying to figure out what is possible today, what we can build that might be different and make a difference, what gift we have that might shine some light and bring about healing to others, what brings out wisdom and justice and what creates peace. And then wake up everyday after that to do it all over again.
When all is said and done, that is why we don't open the door on Yom Kippur.
It’s not about waiting at all, for anyone, not even for Elijah. The only ones we can be waiting for to change and to turn are ourselves. When Neila comes and we read about the closing of the Gates, we are really reading about the closing of the Gates of Repentance. When it arrives, the time for guilt and grief will come to an end. And the opening of doors for the change in ourselves to begin. May this be our will. And may the new year, truly be a NEW YEAR.
Amen.