Rabbis share professional advice with each other. There are “tricks of the trade” and received wisdom that we pass to each other from rabbi to rabbi, from year to year. One such professional rule of thumb is that we should wait five years before repeating any joke that we tell as part of a sermon. We should wait three years before repeating any anecdote that we tell as part of a sermon. The Torah content of our sermons, however, we can repeat the following week because nobody will remember.
I find myself, this Rosh Hashanah in a position that probably none of you have had – serving in my second year in this rabbinic position, and making my way through the Jewish liturgical calendar, seeking relevant and compelling Torah messages to share with you, messages that speak to my own interests, that I believe are relevant to you, and… that are different from what I said last year. One of the rabbis at one of the other Lakeview congregations, told me that he runs into trouble when he looks at the weekly Torah portion, is struck by what – to him – is obviously the most compelling idea to speak about, and then realizes that he spoke about that same idea last year. The reason that idea was so compelling to him, made that same idea compelling to him the year before too.
As a second-year-in-my-pulpit rabbi I find myself facing that challenge as well.
But not today.
As the curtain rises on 5775, תשע״ה circumstances have changed in real and dramatic ways from Rosh Hashanah 5774 that I cannot imagine delivering the sermon that I shared with you last year. Do you remember what I said? (And it’s all on ASBI’s great new website, after the holiday ends, you can check and read for yourself).
I told you, one year ago, about my favorite midrash about Avraham, the hero of Rosh Hashannah. The midrash tells us that Avraham’s discovery of God – the most important event in the history of the world about which the Torah says nothing – can be compared to a man wandering in the wilderness who encounters a birah doleket, a glowing palace and asks, “is it possible that this palace is without a master? At that point, the owner of the palace, looked out at him and said, “I am the master of the palace.” So too Avraham said, “is it possible that this world has no master? God then looked out at him and said, “I am the master, I am the leader, of the world.”
Last year, I explained that the phrase birah doleket can mean one of two things, and each meaning of the phrase birah doleket speaks to a different basis for faith. Birah Doleket can be an illuminated palace – there are fires lit in the hearth – someone must be home tending to this palace. According to this understanding, the beauty and order and coherence of the universe was the basis for Avraham’s faith, and can be a sustaining force in our own religious lives. I devoted most of my drasha last year towards developing that idea.
But, there is another possible meaning of “birah doleket.” And it is this second way to understand the midrash which has captured my attention this year. Birah Doleket can mean a palace that is engulfed by flames. Avraham saw a world with pain and chaos and at risk of being engulfed by destruction. Avraham asked, “Where is the master of the palace – where is the one responsible for this palace who must be concerned at the destruction, cruelty, injustice that threaten to consume all?” And God, responds, I am the Master, I am responsible. Despite the destruction and despite the chaos, this burning palace has an owner.
Throughout the weeks leading up to Rosh Hashanah – I have had that image in my mind “birah doleket” the palace is on fire. That phrase, has echoed in my ears, birah doleket, the palace is burning.
The summer began with the kidnapping and murder of three teenagers, who could have been our brothers, or our sons. Their deaths proved to us how vulnerable we are and how much pain can be unleashed upon three beautiful and noble families, and how much pain the entire Jewish world can experience, as our collective heart breaks. Birah Doleket – the palace is on fire.
We watched with fear and concern as Israel braced under a barrage of rockets, and mourned the casualties as Israeli soldiers entered Gaza. Birah Doleket – the palace is on fire.
Our mouths gaped open in shock as the cynicism and nihilism of Hamas was overlooked. And our outrage was tinged with fear as antisemitic riots erupted in major European cities and hatred of Israel was revealed to be hatred of Jews. Birah Doleket – the palace is on fire.
In recent weeks, when listening to the hourly news reports, from the NPR studio in Washington, or the WBEZ studio here in Chicago, I’ve found myself muttering “Birah Doleket” – the palace is on fire.
As I carry the Sunday Times from my doorstep to my kitchen table, I scan the headlines and say to myself “Birah Doleket” – the palace is on fire.
The whole world is burning; smoldering war in Ukraine, with the threat of nuclear anhiliation just over the horizon, staggering bloodshed in Syria featuring a cast of characters, each more frightening then the next. Birah Doleket – the palace is on fire.
Terrifying viruses spread in Africa – striking communities suffering under such severe poverty that children are left to die in the streets for the lack of a public health system that could care for the sick and contain the spread of disease. Birah Doleket – the palace is on fire.
Here at home, those much older than I am have said that they cannot remember a time when American politics filled them with such despair. Our politics seems incapable of responding to the very real challenges facing us. Instead of uniting in the face of threats and challenges, we turn on one another in strident struggles for short-term partisan advantage. Birah Doleket.
What is the purpose of our coming to shul today in the midst of this destruction? What unique significance is there to our avodah – our prayers and rituals – on Rosh Hashanah 5775? What is the meaning of reciting Malchiyot, Zichronot, and Shofarot in a world on fire? These three blessings, the heart of the Rosh Hashanah service and the most distinctive part of the day’s liturgy, are our challenge back at the world.
Rabbi Aaron Shmuel Tamares, the 20th century Lithuanian pacifist rabbi, wrote that standing up for truth, and thereby denying the legitimacy of a false, violent, or destructive world-order, is itself a small victory for truth. Celebrating Passover, he explained, and declaring our freedom, and affirming that God hates slavery, takes away from our oppressors the power they hold over our thoughts and denies them any legitimacy in their oppression.
So too, reciting Malchiot, Zichronot, and Shofarot, in a world that is on fire, our avodah today, is a radical assertion that the corrupt values that are consuming the world are wrong. By asserting and affirming a different way to see and experience the world, we raise those values to prominence and pledge our allegiance to them in the lives of our families and in our community.
Our avodah today is a challenge back to the world and a demonstration that there is another path.
Malchiot – The first of the three special Rosh Hashanah blessings declares that there is a melekh – there is a King. God as king is a challenging metaphor for citizens of a nation that rejecting kings centuries ago. In 5775, malkhiot is not a yearning for monarchy as a political system, it’s a rejection of a world of hefker, where there is no moral order, where violence is unchecked and there is no consequence for oppression. We say “no!” There is a melekh – there is a sovereign of the universe, this burning palace does have an owner, and it is not only our world that is on fire, but God’s palace too that is being burned. Everything we do to extinguish those destructive flames, whether or not it is successful in the short-term, is appreciated by the owner of the palace. God shares our concern for this world.
Zichronot, the second additional blessing in Mussaf, declares that the Jewish people has an enduring and unique relationship with God. In the face of a resurgence of global antisemitism, when the most vicious lies are spread about Jews – and those lies are believed, we assert,
הֲבֵן יַקִּיר לִי אֶפְרַיִם אִם יֶלֶד שַׁעֲשֻׁעִים כִּי מִדֵּי דַבְּרִי בּוֹ זָכֹר אֶזְכְּרֶנּוּ עוֹד עַל כֵּן הָמוּ מֵעַי לוֹ רַחֵם אֲרַחֲמֶנּוּ נְאֻם ה׳
“Is not Ephraim my favorite son. Is he a child that is played with? For each time I speak of him, I do earnestly remember him still…”
כֹּה אָמַר ה׳ זָכַרְתִּי לָךְ חֶסֶד נְעוּרַיִךְ אַהֲבַת כְּלוּלֹתָיִךְ לֶכְתֵּךְ אַחֲרַי בַּמִּדְבָּר בְּאֶרֶץ לֹא זְרוּעָה….
“Thus saith the LORD: I remember the affection of your youth, The love of your newlywed days; How you followed me in the wilderness, In a land that was not sown.”
Each act of Jewish pride at a time of rising antisemitism is an assertion that zacharti lakh hessed ne’urayikh – God remembers us and endures in His concern and love for us. I used to cringe and feel a sense of embarrassment whenever I saw someone obviously Jewish in a religiously compromised situation, like someone wearing a kippah, or a Star of David necklace eating in a non-kosher restaurant or driving a car on Shabbat.
I’ve had a complete change of heart. There is no minimum threshold of religious observance needed in order to feel Jewish pride. Every Jew has the right to take pride in his or her Jewish identity and to share that with the world. On the contrary, I wish there were more Jews in this neighborhood, Jews of all kinds, who were identifiable as Jews. I cannot remember the last time I have had an unpleasant interaction with someone because I wear a kippah in public. Even so, I would feel so much safer for myself and for my family, if more of you joined us dressing in an identifiably Jewish way on the streets of our neighborhood, in our coffee shops, in the park, and elsewhere. Thank God, being identifiable as a Jew is a safe thing in Chicago, but it takes more courage today than it did a year or two ago. But doing so is needed more today than it was a year or two ago.
Shofarot, the third special blessing for Rosh Hashanah, reminds us that history has a happy ending and that we must never give up our yearning for redemption. There have been times when a messianic faith in a radically better world just over the horizon was easy. But in the midst of so much destruction, in the midst of a world on fire, both secular messianism and religious messianism seem delusional.
Shofarot is not meant to encourage us to indulge a fantasy that conditions are better than they are, but we can find courage in the faith that our beliefs and values and way of life will ultimately prevail over the violence, fear, and greed that is consuming the world.
For several years I’ve wanted to teach a class on the “History of Modern Israel Through Popular Music.” I’ve never taught that class, but I’ve thought a lot about the curriculum. Songs like Tzena Tzena would illustrate the heroic days of the fight for Israel’s Independence. The Six Day War and the exuberant optimism of the post-war years would be exemplified by Yerushalayim Shel Zahav and Machar.
The recent challenging years in the aftermath of the Second Intifada, when the easy political answers of the Left and Right have been discredited to many, and with the failure of the Zionist dream to create a new Israeli identity separate and distinct from Judaism, would be highlighted by the return to the siddur and the Jewish bookshelf for inspiration and lyrics. Shlomo Gronikh, Ehud Banai, and Kobi Oz, three accomplished secular musicians all have released albums in the past decade with lyrics taken from Tanakh, or from the siddur, or inspired by Jewish tradition. Instead of singing about the heroism of politicians and generals “Nasser Waits for Rabin ai yai yai”, we now sing:
אין לנו מי להשען אלא על אבינו שבשמים
We have no one to rely upon other than our Father in Heaven.
This past summer, as the world burned, a new hit emerged, first among Hasidim, but then among other Jewish groups. There are dozens of recordings of this song on YouTube being sung at weddings, in concerts, in recording studies, and around kitchen tables. The words are taken from the teachings of Rav Nachman of Bratslav, the tortured Hassidic master:
Der Abishter Zogt – the Good Lord says, “haster astir panai – I will surely hide my face from you” – we read those words just this past Shabbat. “But the Rebbe explains,” the song continues, “even in the most hidden times imaginable –
אפילו בהסתרה שבתוך ההסתרה וודאי גם שם נמצא ה׳׳י
Certainly God is there too, saying to us, ‘even in the midst of the most challenging things that can occur to you, I am standing.’”
This is what God said to Avraham when he saw a burning palace and wondered how its owner could leave it abandoned. God is present, even in this burning world and by asserting Malchiyot, Zichronot, and Shofarot, we indicate that we operate with a different set of priorities, and in that way we begin to change the world.
It isn’t enough to assert these different truths through prayer. We also have to do what we can to put out the fire. Each of us has to do whatever we can to extinguish the destructive flames that threaten our world.
If we are successful, then the Owner of the palace will be grateful. But until we are successful in putting out those flames, today on Rosh Hashanah, we remind ourselves that when are are concerned about this fire, we aren’t alone in our concern. When we care about this world on fire, we are sharing the concerns of the Owner of the palace.
Shannah Tovah.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 