YK Drash - Maggid Jhos Singer

A gut yohr, shana tova, anyada buena, a good year.

We are 10 days into the new year of 5781. Hopefully we have done some learning, considered better ways to manage our stress and anxiety, and taken steps to seek or extend forgiveness. It is hard work. There’s an old Yiddish expression: “Es iz shver tzu zein a Yid.” “It is hard to be a Jew.” And it is hard, to be asked by your tradition, year after year, to admit your failings; to accept membership in a deeply flawed species. Hard to trust skittish, unpredictable old God—loving and forgiving one moment—demanding and downright psychotic the next. It’s hard to move forward while thinking backwards. But Ginger Rogers did it in heels, so we know it’s possible.

On Rosh Hashana I talked about how humanity has been pivoting back and forth for months—by the pandemic, social unrest, politics, the economy. We have been wracked by grief, frustration, and loss, and it feels jangly, erratic, and exhausting. But what if what we are evolving though those switchbacks? What if we are becoming like a flock of starlings in murmuration—those billowing, blossoming, magical clouds of birds that erratically dart about and split in the sky? Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of birds moving as one fleet in flashing, magnificent and unpredictable patterns. What if this pivoting is training us to become like those starlings? Subtle, nimble, adaptive, and connected to each other? We have so much to learn though these crises-- about ourselves and each other. Our world. God.

At this point in our High Holy Day spiritual journey, we pivot once more. While Rosh Hashana celebrates the creation of the world, Yom Kippur turns inward. We shift our focus from the chaos outside to the unrest inside. And that’s hard—es iz shver tzu zein a Yid. The external disturbances are compelling, and the drama is, well, addictive. Our rabbis knew this well. These rituals originated under similar circumstances and they too, are dramatic. The most iconic High Holy Day practices were born in exile, oppression, and/or under occupation. Our ancestors were no strangers to living in cultural turmoil, and yet they teach that even when the world seems to be crashing, you gotta make time to get your spiritual house in order.

The Torah says, “Make noise and sacrifices.”; the rabbis say, “Make reparations and walk your talk.” The Torah says, “Yom Kippur is a day of rest and soul affliction.”; the rabbis say, “This is a day for fasting, confession, and prayer.” The Torah assigns the power to atone on behalf of the community to the priesthood; the rabbis make each of us a priest. The Torah prescribes making offerings on the altar; the rabbis assert that Tshuvah—return, shifting, pivoting; Tefilah—prayer, supplication, argumentation, and Tzedakah—clarity, sincerity, and justice are the formulae for looking back, moving forward, and averting disaster.

We start by admitting our wrongdoing. Recognizing and owning where and how we got off track is a practice that helps us build spiritual muscles that are strong enough to help us sprint away from the places where we became cruel, mean, and destructive. Now, I’m not sure how tough that was in ancient Babylon or under Roman occupation, but in 21st C. America, admitting you’re guilty about anything is culturally transgressive. To be wrong is to be bad, and to be bad, is, well, really bad.

How bad? Check it out: I googled, “Should I plead guilty?” And literally the first thing that came up was the blog of a legal firm that included this advice:

“Some people worry that if they plead “not guilty” when they feel they really are guilty, that it could hurt them later. Please do not worry. The criminal justice system is designed for you to plead “not guilty”. This is the case because in America you are considered innocent until the prosecutor can prove you guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. ...we will examine all the evidence to see if the prosecutor has enough evidence to prove you guilty... In other words, we will look for a way to WIN!! You would be shocked at how many cases we win, even when our client is technically guilty....”

I’m not a lawyer so I won’t try to weigh in on the legal logic here, but on a spiritual level this is a highly problematic and probably disastrous way to think. Also, quite seductive! It’s Yom Kippur, and how many of us are still looking for a loophole, some technicality that will let us off the hook, anything that will allow us to blame something or someone else for our shortcomings?

We want to be right, even when we know we are wrong and that is not a healthy place to be.

The Place Where We Are Right, says the poet Yehuda Amichai

Maybe here, tonight, in this virtual community, maybe in this strange moment of being both together and apart, we can hear that whisper, find the courage and the quiet to own our errors and atone.

Perhaps we can let our spiritual ancestors shower us with their wisdom, show us how to get clean through confession, and strong through honesty. Maybe tonight we can let go of winning, of being right, of denying our screw-ups and just be true. We don’t need to win, friends, we need to work together. We don’t need to be right; we just need to be heard. We don’t need to hide, deny, or defend our screw-ups; we need to understand how we came to make them. And that’s what this ritual comes to help us do.

In just a few minutes we will begin our most rigorous prayer practice—the Selichot Service. In their wisdom, our spiritual forebears knew that there was strength in numbers, so together we will name the most likely errors, misdeeds, mistakes, and offenses that any among us might have committed this year. In a collective voice we admit to things we did, and those we didn’t. We lied, we were violent, we cheated, we stole.

And after we spill our guts and reveal our shameful secrets, we turn to the Mysterious Heart that pumps the universe full of forgiveness and compassion and we ask to be loved anyway. And that may be the hardest part.

I know some of you have heard this story before, but it is the story that I turn to most when I am off center, or confused, feeling self-righteous or lost. My mother, Mary Lou Johnson, of blessed memory, was a complicated woman. She passionately pursued justice, she was an anti-racist long before that terminology had been voiced, she was generous and radical, and she made a huge difference in many people’s lives.

But God help you if you got all “ooshy gooshy” with her, meaning, God help you if you got vulnerable or tender. She carried a lot of pain and was hard on herself. And she could be hard on those she loved. But she was there for you when you needed her. She had your back. Twenty years ago, dying of cancer and near the end, she was very weak. She was standing in the hall, and needed help getting back to her room. I offered her my arm, and she said, “You’re doing a good job.” I said, “Of what?” She replied, “The meds, you’re doing a good job with my meds.” “Ok, mom, that’s good--You’re comfortable?” She said, “Yep. And I want to die.” I thought, “Oh dear God, not this...” I composed myself and said, “Mom, I’d do anything for you right now, but, ya know, I’m not a doctor. I’m glad you’re comfortable, but I don’t want to make it worse. You know what I mean?” She said, “Yeah. I just want to die.” I could tell that she was trying to tell me something but it was getting muddled from the multiple pain drugs she was on. So, I asked, “Mom, are you telling me that you want to die, but you don’t want to be killed?” And she nodded and said, “That’s right.” I said, “OK, mom, well you just go on and die when you are ready then.” And then she turned her face toward mine and said, “Yeah. My job is to be fed when I’m hungry, warmed when I’m cold, and comforted when I’m scared.” Now, this was probably the most “Ooshy gooshy” thing she had ever said to me in my entire life. I was agog, but somehow I managed to reply, “That’s right mom. And we’re all here to help you with whatever you need.” And then, with laser like clarity, her eyes met mine, and she said, “Yeah. My job is to be loved.”

She took my arm and we shuffled back to her bed, where she lay down and set to the great work of being loved, a job she had resisted for decades. For 36 hours love poured in from the 4 corners of the world. It was palpable. And when she was stuffed to the gills with the stuff, whoosh, off she went.

I was with her when she took her last breath, just as she had been with me when I had taken my first. I looked at her tiny, still shell of a body, and I remember thinking, “I want more than 36 hours of that.” I could have never predicted that her parting shot to me would be, “My job is to be loved.” And I’m so grateful she found the courage. Because it is a hard truth. Our job IS to be loved. Loved when we are wrong, loved when we are stupid and selfish, loved when we are wasted or drunk and gross, loved when we are lashing out in anger, loved when we are shrunken with fear and dripping with shame. Our job is to be loved, with or without being loveable.

But it’s easier to be loved when we feel we might be just a little bit loveable. So, Judaism offers us three tools: tshuvah, tefilah and tzedakah to make us more loveable. These are the gifts, the roadmap, that the rabbis embedded into the rituals and recitations of this Yom Kippur service. We are invited to show up, honest and real, even when we are messy, dramatic, and ever so slightly tragic. The ritual gives us permission to ask for help and support even if we feel unworthy, awkward, and confused. This tradition trusts that when we seek freedom, justice, and truth, we know that our job is to be loved.

Because when you are loved, you are forgiving, and when you are forgiving, you are free. When you are loved, you are strong and when you are strong, you act justly. When you are loved, you are fully present, and when you are fully present, you are honest. When you are loved, you are loving, and when you are loving, you are a reflection of the Divine. Oun dan, es iz gring tsu zeyn ir. And then, it is easy to be you. Messy, delightful, imperfect, beautiful, complicated, loveable, you.

So let us repent and rejoice, let us pray and praise, let us seek justice and justice be. And may we finish well! G’mar chatimah tovah—may you, the whole of you, be inscribed for a year of good, juicy, powerful, life.

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