Avinu Malkeinu, shema koleinu – Almighty and Merciful, hear our voice. Yom Kippur traditionally is a time of repentance, of seeking forgiveness for past sins, for behavior that should have been different. However, one of the most emotional moments of these holy days is standing before the ark and listening to the chanting of Avinu Malkeinu, and for me the most profound verse is at the very beginning – Almighty and Merciful, hear our voice..

When I hear those words I want to cry out, where is Pastor Martin Niemoller and his famous post Holocaust poem,

First they came for the communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a communist

Then they came for the socialists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me

The greatest sin then and I believe that the greatest sin now is silence – silence in the face of evil, silence in the face of cruelty, silence in the face of the distortion of the truth, silence in the face of the destruction of the values that we hold dear. Silence when we are challenged as the people of Israel.

This is the sixty fifth year that I will be speaking on Yom Kippur – sixty five years of trying to bring a message to congregations, and to congregants. Those years have included the murder of a president, a war in Vietnam, a six day war in Israel and a Yom Kippur war just six years later, many other traumatic moments in our world but also the grand moment of the election of our first black president. During these sixty five years I have seen the grief of parents burying children and children bidding farewell to their parents. I have shared the joy of births and B’nai Mitzvah ceremonies, of conversions, of marriage ceremonies of many different religious, racial and sexual orientations. And each year I observe my father’s yahrzeit who died on Yom Kippur when I was only twenty years old. During all of these personal experiences, I was reminded of how precious is human life, all of human life, and that we, especially we the people of Israel, have a covenantal responsibility to protect that sense of sanctity. Thus, once again on Yom Kippur I cry out, a personal cry, Avinu Malkeinu, shema  b’koli, Almighty and Merciful, hear my voice.

Hear my voice when I ask with Job how there is so much human suffering in a world where so many believe in a benevolent god. Job was put to the test, losing everything. His friends argued over and over that he is the cause of his own suffering, that the good are rewarded and those who are guilty of wrongdoing pay the price. So, said his friends to Job, “you must be guilty of some sin because a benevolent all knowing and all powerful god would not punish you if you are innocent.” In real life the innocent do suffer, but who causes that suffering?

So I view the world.  I see men in masks raid stores and homes and kidnap those who they deem to not be American. They are brutally captured and taken to unknown places, often in conditions that are subhuman. I see those same men whisk away frightened little children who have escaped horrible circumstances, whose parents often sent them to America to save them from the terror from whence they came. Now, with no sympathy, with no caring, they are loaded on to planes and sent to foreign countries only to be terrorized once again. Those in the government of the United States who order these deportations do so without empathy.  These migrants have been called vermin, just as Hitler labeled Jews. We are shown pictures of the victims of unimaginable cruelty in cages with government officials claiming some sort of victory. So the innocent do suffer, but the perpetrators are human, not divine.

Hear my voice again when I ask how it can be that we have become a nation that seems to want to destroy the future of this earth. That can be seen in our attack on academic freedom, on proved and valid scientific research, on the continued development of medical knowledge and the application of proven medical practices. How can it be that we are willing to risk the lives of women who are being denied proper health care, of our children by trying to convince their parents that they should not be protected by vaccines that have saved millions of lives, how can it be that we want to increase the pollution of our atmosphere rather than continue the development of alternative sources of energy that will slow or end the pollution of our environment. How is it that we care so little about future generations that we are willing to weaken or destroy the very institutions that have helped to save human life.

Hear my voice when I ask about the freedoms that are being systematically taken away from us  – freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to choose one’s own sexual identity, freedom to criticize, freedom to seek asylum, freedom to protest, and even the freedom to have your vote count.  The rights of some are being protected while the rights of others are being denied, the ability of some to advance and the lives of others are being destroyed. We are moving ever closer to the oligarchy and autocracy of Russia and farther from the democracy of Lincoln.

Hear my voice when I speak about our brethren in our beloved land of Israel. There has been so much discussion about how far Israel should go to punish those who attacked them with such wanton disregard for the value of the lives of those people who were simply living their lives in Israel. The cruelty of Hamas has been manifest, whether rape, or torture or vicious murder. Israel has faced international criticism for the nature and size of its retaliation. More than sixty thousand have been killed in Gaza. Thousands are facing starvation. The vast majority of those who are suffering and dying are not part o the hate group that attacked Israel, and they are suffering the most. This is a difficult moment for Am Yisrael, the people of Israel.

A lovely midrash speaks of the story about the people of Israel crossing the Sea of Reeds. According to the tale, the Hebrews, fleeing from the Egyptians confronted a body of water they could not cross. Miraculously the sea parted and they escaped, but the chariots of the pursuing warriors were drowned by the rising water. In gratitude for their rescue they sang a song of praise to their god, rejoicing for their good fortune. They were, however, soundly rebuked. “How dare you rejoice at the death of the Egyptians”, scolded the divine voice. “They too are my children.” They too are my children. How difficult is that midrash for the people of Israel at this moment in their history.

Ahad Haam, a leader of cultural Zionism in the nineteenth century, published an essay entitled “Lo Zeh Haderech,” this is not the way. Hear my voice – this is not the way. It is not the way to treat those who want to take refuge in this nation as did our ancestors. It is not the way to ignore the warning signs of an atmosphere that threatens to destroy this earth. It is not the way to attack our institutions that have made America the envy of the world and have created and safeguarded our democratic way of life, that have promoted academic freedom and excellence, have developed high quality science and medicine, have cared for the poor and the needy, and made this country a safe haven for a great diversity of human life. This is not the way, o Israel, to win a war against an enemy that is determined to destroy you. While it is not easy at this moment, remember the midrash, they too are my children.

At the end of every seder meal, we open the door for Elijah.

There’s an idea in Hasidism that each of us has inside ourselves an aspect of Elijah. It’s a spark of zeal, a spark of intensity. Wanting to help someone or tell someone good news, to make the world a better place — that feeling is Elijah working inside you.

The book Becoming Elijah by Daniel Matt, explores what has become of Elijah, in Jewish texts and Jewish tradition, how he’s reimagined by each generation. A hidden explanation of the title is that each one of us can become Elijah.

Hear my voice, my beloved congregation – become Elijah. Let Elijah enter the door of this sanctuary, of your home and of your heart, of every home and every heart to bring the message of caring and kindness and empathy, of justice and freedom, of love and peace. We are about to enter the Yizkor service. We pay tribute best to those who are no longer with us by making certain they did not live in vain. Hear their voice. Shema b’koli, hear my voice, Shema koleinu. Hear our voice o world. Let the spirit of Elijah into your souls and your hearts. Hear our voice, on this Day of Atonement.

 

“Today you are all standing before the Lord your God.” (Deut. 29:9).

“Do not separate yourself from the community”. (Pirkei Avot – 1:14).

I want to continue the theme from Rabbi Maderer’s Rosh Hashanah sermon, and let’s return once again to the writer Robert Putnam, who, years ago, authored the book that really put him and the issue of aloneness on the map:  “Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community”. We are a nation that goes to church (and synagogue) less, joins clubs less, and are losing trust in each other and our institutions. These trends have been exacerbated by technology, the pandemic, and now with AI and political polarization. This “separation” from community is an urgent problem; anger,  betrayal,  emotional disagreement on Israel, antisemitism, and politics eat at the core of our community. And most of this vituperation is online, where we don’t actually speak to each other or look each other in the eye.

As Rabbi Maderer shared in her sermon on Rosh Hashanah, RS is pro-actively trying to find meaningful ways to break through this cycle by rebuilding right here in our own community. We have begun a series of small group discussions where we can once again see each other’s humanity – “panim el panim,” face to face. When we  see the humanity in each other, we will reverse this downward cycle and “return” together in community.

With that goal in mind, and fully recognizing this may seem strange in the middle of a Yom Kippur service – please indulge me: find someone nearby you don’t know; introduce yourself, and share what brings you here today – what compels you to come to RS this Yom Kippur. Let’s take two minutes to get to know each other better – true to our vision to create profound connections.

I really appreciate your willingness to spend these moments in relationship with someone new; maybe someone you would like to get to know even better after today. If you are hungry for more, we will have an in-depth opportunity to connect later today before Afternoon Services begins as we launch our “Belonging Project.”

Now I want to briefly shift gears to a completely different topic – but one that’s equally important and close to my heart.

“When Moses’ father-in-law Yitro saw all that Moses did for the people, he said:  What is this thing that you do for the people? The thing that you are doing is not good. You will surely wear away, both you, and this people that is with you; for this work is too heavy for one person; you are not able to perform it alone.” (Exodus, 18)

We are blessed to have a deep and talented group of leaders in this congregation. While the congregation president may be most visible, one person cannot do it alone. As I complete my final Yom Kippur message to you, I want to lift up and recognize the leaders of this congregation without whom we could not maintain this sacred community. If you’re an officer of the congregation please stand, if you’re a member of the Board of Directors, please stand, if you are a member of our Board of Advisors, please stand up, and if you lead any of our many engagement groups please rise. Please look around at these hard working, often unrecognized leaders and thank them. I personally can’t thank all of you enough for supporting me these past few years and for the visionary work you do.

The Hebrew word for ‘thank you,’ ‘todah,’ is rooted in lehodot — ‘to acknowledge.’ A true thank you is never perfunctory; it is a humble admission: I could not have done this without you. Thankfulness requires humility. It acknowledges that we are not self-sufficient, that our lives are interwoven with the care and support of others. In admitting limitation, we begin to experience a deeper sense of wholeness…We discover that the very boundaries of our strength and control are what create the space for others to enter our lives.”

You renew and uplift me by your presence, your ideas and care, and maybe even some occasional kvetching. I still have 8 months left in my term, and there is much work to do. We are so fortunate to be part of this amazing place. Looking ahead, I will be succeeded by one of our extraordinary long-term leaders, Marsha Weinraub, who I am confident will do an incredible job. Please support her as you have supported me.

May we all go from strength to strength, together, in community, and in relationship. Shana tova.