High Holy Days Sermons 5785

By Rabbi Ari Margolis

Friday, October 11, 2024

 

Over the past two weeks, we have borne witness to the destructive force of nature descending upon the west coast of Florida in the form of hurricanes that brought devastation to communities in our southern peninsula, in Georgia, Tennessee, and especially Western North Carolina in the mountain communities. We pray today for all those impacted by the storms, for those who are still missing and for those without power; for those unable to return to their homes and for those who must now rebuild. 

 

Growing up in South Florida, we were schooled in hurricanes. Each year, we were reminded to prepare our survival kits - flashlights and batteries and candles, because once it comes upon us, a hurricane is a force that is bigger than we are. We can shelter from it, we can evacuate from it, we can ride out the storm and pray. And then, when the winds calm, the water recedes, we recover. Neighbors come out and check on one another, we help one another clear our debris, we make sure we have what we need, and we rebuild. The hurricane moves us, it pushes us around, but it does not take away who we are.

 

We do not get to choose when such a storm comes - so we do what we can to live around them. We know when it comes, it will cause pain and disruption and loss. But we also know that if we weather the storm, we can bounce back as long as we take care of one another. 

 

As Jewish people, we have inherited thousands of years of generational experiences that have helped us understand that we live under the constant threat of metaphorical storms - not nature-caused, but human-made storms. The journeys of our people have swirled with hatred and antisemitism that erupts into violence, following us everywhere we’ve settled. The storms are not constant - we have lived in times of peace and hope, times when we have thrived and soared. But we know that threat is always there, lurking somewhere, prompting us to always be prepared with our own Jewish survival kits, filled with the light of our values. These historical challenges have moved us, but they have not changed us, they have not broken us, time and time again, we have emerged, rekindling our Jewish values, taking care of one another.

 

[Underscore begins]

Last year, October 7th, on Simchat Torah, the exact day when we switch the language in our Amidah prayer to shift from praying for mild summer weather to asking for the October Rain to fall, our people once again had to weather a storm. By now, we have all heard harrowing tales of the terror attack brought by Hamas on the people of Israel, our people - an attack that took over 1,200 souls from this earth in unspeakable ways, that kidnapped over 200 people into captivity in a fearful place from which over 101 people are still suffering, a lightning strike that, in a flash, took from us the sense that the modern state of Israel would be the safe shelter that could end the cycle of violence towards Jewish people just because we are Jews. On that day we were reminded once again to pack up our metaphorical Jewish survival bags. 

 

That October Rain took our breath - it caused unbelievable pain, even for those of us who didn’t know we could be so impacted by what happens to Jewish people half a world away. The stories of terror are sickening, and the tales of survival are heartbreaking. That October Rain, fueled by hatred, flooded our hearts with agony. We have had to hunker down and weather this storm that has taken so much from us. And we have cried for the victims and for the hostages. 

 

[Cantor Laurie sings first two verses of 'October Rain' by Eden Golan]

[Verse 1]

Writers of the history

Stand with me

Look into my eyes and see

People go away but never say goodbye

 

[Verse 2]

Someone stole the moon tonight

Took my light

Everything is black and white

Who's the fool who told you boys don't cry?

 

[Pre-Chorus]

Hours and hours and flowers

Life is no game for the cowards

Why does time go wild

Every day I'm losing my mind

Holding on in this mysterious ride

 

[Chorus]

Dancing in the storm

We got nothing to hide

Take me home

And leave the world behind

Baby, promise me that never again

 

I'm still wet from this October rain

October rain

[Singing ends]

 

[Underscore continues]

Many of us are still wet from that October Rain.

 

These were the original lyrics to the song that Israeli artist Eden Golan wrote in response to what happened last October 7th, and they express what many of us felt. She set out to represent Israel with this song in the Eurovision Song Contest this past spring. Under pressure from the leaders of the competition to make the song less of a political statement, she changed the words from "October Rain" to "Hurricane," and became a finalist for the competition, a small source of light for the people of Israel during such a difficult year. In many ways, her switch was apt. The October Rain started by Hamas has turned into a Hurricane - engulfing us all, leaving a wake of destruction and pain for so many. It has spread into a war that continues to swirl broader and broader, one that has burst the levies of the geopolitical space of the Middle East, unleashing a fury of worldwide reactions that have blown into our own experiences of being Jewish in our own country, in our own cities, in our own homes. 

[Underscore fades out]

 

We have been consumed by confusion about what to hope for. Confusion as to how Israel should respond - do we hope for destruction of Hamas? But what about the people living in Gaza? What can bring the hostages home? Perhaps the best, most pithy explanation of the quandary we face when wrestling with what Israel should be doing came from Father Esequiel Sanchez, who leads the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Des Plaines and has joined me as a member of a Catholic-Hispanic Priest and Jewish Rabbinic dialogue group (yes, who knew we needed such a thing?). Father Sanchez shared with us that he used the following metaphor with members of his church: If you tried to kill me, and I stopped you and held you down - when I then ask, “If I let you go, will you try to kill me again?” And you say, “Yes,” what am I supposed to do? There are no easy answers to such questions, especially when they involve children and elderly civilians being used as human shields, and hostages that we so desperately want to bring home being leveraged as pawns in negotiations.

 

The Hurricane that has come upon us since October 7th has brought waves of antisemitism that have swept over us through social media, across our news, on college campuses, in the hallways of our local high schools.

 

Each of us has experienced this hurricane differently, but none of us have been unscathed. And this is where we need to take out the survival kits of our people and remember who we are.

 

On Yom Kippur, we reflect and repent and make changes to what we will do, not by changing who we are, but rather by coming closer to what we’ve always needed to be, which is the true essence of teshuvah - return. This is the choice that confronts each of us this year - how do we maintain ourselves in the face of such a storm? How do we take care of one another through this hurricane - one that is incredulously ongoing? How do we fight the urge to harden our hearts - to only feel our own pain or to want to lash back against those responsible, to succumb to hating back?

 

A few months ago, we had the opportunity to hear from a survivor of the Nova music festival, Shalev Biton, whose harrowing story of the horrors he and so many endured has haunted him and us. The storm of terrorists that surrounded him on all sides. He found shelter at an Arab-Israeli’s farm, protection from the storm - his Hashkiveinu prayer. And because of the bravery of a righteous Muslim, Shalev has survived the storm.

 

There are thousands of stories like his. The impact of a hurricane is broad.

 

And in the aftermath, what is he left with? He’s left with choices - does he fall into a pit of despair and hatred? Does he sit every day with the weight of the memories of friends who were not lucky enough to make it to safety? Does he seethe with a desire for vengeance? As he shared with us - he has his moments. It is not easy to recover from his October Rain, especially while still swirling in a hurricane of ongoing grief. But he gathers with other survivors in Tel Aviv, weekly, and they throw a party in the spirit of the fateful Nova festival they had attended, and they keep on dancing. They refuse to give up on the ideals of love, of hope, of art, of freedom and expression.

 

Bound by history and our shared peoplehood, we face the same challenges half a world away. How will we choose to respond to this moment? And I’m not talking about what we each might think Israel should be doing in this moment, or what America should be doing to respond to the haters of Israel - it is unlikely we will all agree on those specifics... More importantly, how are we going to choose to respond in our hearts? Are we going to cower in fear, hide our Jewishness in public spaces? Are we going to continue to hope and pray for peace? Are we going to remember the hostages and not allow ourselves to forget their plight? Are we going to continue to love our neighbor? Are we going to remain proud of our Jewishness? The world may be different since October 7th, and some of our actions might have to be different - we certainly have taken security even more seriously here at Or Shalom, we’ve had programming that have addressed the conflict in Israel, we’ve intervened in High Schools and middle schools and elementary schools to address incidents of antisemitism - but wouldn’t we have done all of these things if called upon to do so prior to October 7th? Yes, the world may be different, but WE DO NOT HAVE TO BE. Not because we are cold and callous and we don’t let this moment into our hearts - it’s because we should always have been people who stand up for our family, who stand up for what is good and right, who feel the pain of those who are suffering, who are agents of peace, committed to the idea of oseh shalom, of making peace. Even as the winds of the hurricane try to blow us in a different direction, especially when those winds push us over, we must return, bounce back like the palm tree, stay rooted in who we are, and still respond to the world as the Jews we were before October 7th. Even when Israel’s Defense Forces triumph, the terrorists still win if we lose this aspect of ourselves, the part of ourselves that our people have carried with us in our survival kits through generations of hurricanes.

 

You are not alone in your pain, in your fear, in your confusion, in your anger, in your sadness, in your mourning - we are in this together.

 

Like those emerging after a hurricane, we are stronger if we are together in this moment. We anchor ourselves when we stick to our Jewish values, continue to find Jewish joy, show up in the world as the people we have always been.

 

One of the most impactful ways I can imagine for us to show up is for us to make a huge statement together - October 23rd will be the evening of Simchat Torah. It is the Hebrew Yahrzeit of the October 7th attack. Much like Shalev, much like our ancestors who kept our traditions and hopes and Jewish celebrations even in the face of pogroms and violence towards Jews, I implore you to show up and be a part of our Shabbat-Rishonah-style celebration. Let us make a statement together - this hurricane did not blow us away from one another - we still have our light about us, we are still who we are. I want us to make a statement - mostly to ourselves, to one another - we will dance again, we dance in solidarity with our brothers and sisters overseas who are still in the hurricane. It will not be a day of politics or sadness, it will be a night of fighting hatred with joy, destruction with hope, countering violent expressions with our symbol of creating peace, our Torah. We will celebrate the future generation of learners, offering them our light. I try not to be too pushy in inviting you to come to events here at Or Shalom, we want you to come because you enjoy being here and find meaning in being here, not because someone guilted you into coming... AND, I believe this is the most important thing we can do to respond - to show up together on Simchat Torah. I know it’s Yom Kippur, but I encourage you, if you feel comfortable: Take out your phone, put that date in your calendar - October 23rd, 6PM (5 if you want to come for dinner), after Yom Kippur ends, start making arrangements to move any conflicts you might have... It will be the most empowering way we can respond to this hurricane, to take control over something in this ongoing torrent that surrounds us. 

 

This was a sermon I never wanted to write - it’s an impossible one to deliver. Because we are still in the wake of this hurricane. The path is still shifting, even as we now see Israel responding with force to the Hezbollah threats to the north - threats that have caused over 70,000 Israelis who live in the north to have evacuated their homes - for months, now. And we have a moral obligation to acknowledge that this hurricane, started by Hamas, has engulfed the Palestinians who live in Gaza, inflicting pain and loss and suffering, as well as impacting Israeli Arabs in Israel. A hurricane plows into all of us without discernment. And in a human-made storm like this, the same is true - not one person in the region has been left unaffected, we are all suffering.

 

However, in the aftermath of a hurricane, this is where we see the best in people. People come together to help out, to clean up, to rebuild. This is what is needed of us. If we succumb to hate - if we choose to hate back, if we escalate - we keep fueling the winds of this human-made hurricane. But if we can find that way towards hope and peace in our own hearts, then I believe we can be ready to rebuild with our neighbors when this hurricane someday lifts from our midst.

 

On this evening of Yom Kippur, we sing our Kol Nidre blessing, praying that we can let go of mistaken mindsets we’ve held onto in the past year, to become unbound by the habits that prevent us from becoming the person the each one of us has the potential to become, the person our tradition demands us to be.

 

[Underscore begins]

Eden Golan gives us a wonderful example of doing this: When the Eurovision committee asked her to amend her lyrics and make it less political, she could have refused and walked away. Instead, she chose to renew her song, making shifts that, in my humble opinion, turned from the raw pain of loss in the wake of October 7th to an outlook that acknowledges our pain while also expressing hope. The original lyrics at the end of 'October Rain,' which she sang in Hebrew, translated to, “There is no air left to breathe / There is no room / I am gone day to day / They were all good children, each one of them-” a clear expression of the feeling so many of us had as we watched October 7th unfold. In her revised lyrics of the song “Hurricane,” she changed the last Hebrew verse to what I see as a more hopeful expression, that translates to, “No need for big words, only prayers. Even if it's hard to see, You will always leave me one little light.” She turned a moment of pain into a plea for hope.

 

[Cantor Laurie sings 'Hurricane' by Eden Golan]

[Verse 3]

Living in a fantasy

Ecstasy

Everything's meant to be

We shall pass but love will never die

Hours and hours and powers

Life is no game but it's ours

While the time goes wild

 

Every day I'm losing my mind

Holding on in this mysterious ride

Dancing in the storm, I got nothing to hide

Take it all and leave the world behind

Baby, promise me you'll hold me again

I'm still broken from this hurricane

This hurricane

This hurricane

 

[Underscore continues]

In the midst of this hurricane, let us find ways to commit to being that little light... A light for peace, a light for hope, a light for truth, a light for our people, a light for the complexity of this terrible situation, a light for the hostages, a light for bringing people together. Let us pack that light in our kits, because more than anything, it is light and hope that has sustained us and inspired us for generations, l’dor va’dor. This is how we survive this hurricane and inscribe for ourselves and for one another a year of goodness, wholeness and peace.

 

[Cantor Laurie sings a cappella]

לא צריך מילים גדולות.

רק תפילות

אפילו אם קש

תמיד אתה משאיר לי אור אחד קטן.

Lo tzarich milim g’dolot 

Rak t’filot 

Afilu im kasheh lirot 

Tamid atah mashir li ohr Echad katan.

[Rabbi Ari leads congregation in last line]

ALways STRIVE to BE that ONE LITTle LIGHT

[BREATHE]