The Book of Life

Elul 26

One of the most profound images of the High Holy Days that I carry with me from my childhood is God in the heavens,

pen in hand,

poised over an open ledger,

recording the deeds of every person on earth,

determining if our deeds are worthy enough so that our names might be written down in the Book of Life for the coming year.

As a child, I believed in this God, and I believed in my own power to alter my actions so that God would look favorably upon me.  Today, I do not believe that God or the universe work in this way.  I do not believe in a God who rewards or punishes or even judges.  But I do still believe in a Book of Life.  Or, to be more accurate, I believe in LOTS of Books of Life.  I believe that we each author our own, and that our deeds – the righteous and the wicked, the kind and the cruel – are recorded there.  I believe that each action leaves its imprint on the universe.  And while I do not believe we can control every plot twist in the narrative of our lives, I do believe that we are responsible for “writing” our own reactions to the world as it is constantly unfolding before us. 

In her autobiography, It’s Always Something, Gilda Radner wrote:

I wanted a perfect ending, so I sat down to write the book with the ending in place before there even was an ending.  Now I’ve learned the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  Like my life, this book has ambiguity.  Like my life, this book is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.

Our preparations for the High Holy Days, and the rituals involved in the observance of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, are designed to help us understand that none of us knows the ending to our own stories.  All we can do is meet our lives moment to moment, and do our best to make the most out of each moment we are given.  Can we meet this day with more compassion and less critique?  More generosity and less suspicion?  More warmth and less fear?

What will you record in your Book of Life this day?

Menuchat HaNefesh - Attaining Tranquility/Restful Spirit

Elul 25

  

“Rise above events that are inconsequential — both bad and good — for they are not worth

disturbing the tranquility of your spirit.” (Rabbi Menachem Mendel Lefin of Satanov, Cheshbon ha-Nefesh).

Anger, frustration, irritation, annoyance, hostility…..Life provides so many reasons to become off-balance.  Rabbi Menachem Mendel’s words encourage us to strive not to let those things that matter less make such a difference to us.  In every moment, we might ask ourselves “Does this matter?” “Is this important?” “Will the outcome really make a difference?”

When the answer is “yes,” then this event is of consequence and we are well-served to allow this challenge to disturb our complacency. Justice demands that we act to right the wrong, Compassion calls us to care for the one in pain, the Still, Small Voice calls us to heal what is broken. Responding will bring about the Menuchat HaNefesh, the restful spirit we each seek within ourselves.

And when the answer is “no,” we face a moment of profound choice.  Confronting matters that are inconsequential may well disturb the Menuchat HaNefesh, the peacefulness of our spirits and leave us the broken ones in need of justice, compassion and tikkun.

Each week, Shabbat arrives with a renewed opportunity to rededicate ourselves to this spirit of tranquility.  As the New Year approaches, may we find the Menuchat HaNefesh we seek and may our spirits be peaceful.  Shabbat Shalom.  

Rabbi Jim Bennett

What's my essence?

Are these days of Elul, this countdown to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we look inward and we ask ourselves how we can return to that true essence of the self.  What is that true essence?  What does that mean?  Is it innocence, like a baby?  Is it purity, as in being cleansed?  Innocence and purity seem a little misplaced here.  For me, I like the notion that true essence is the return (teshuvah) to the moment, to that exact place in time and space just before the yetzer tov - the good inclination gives way to the to the yetzer ha-ra -the bad inclination.

I see it frequently when watching my own children.  When we're playing together, one will look at the other and then at me and then I see it - it see it in their eyes, the inclination to do something playfully destructive to the other.  The look is usually exactly the same and totally unique and recognizable.

What I want to try to catpture within myself is that moment - that moment when my choices no longer represent my positive influence, but changes to the negative.

For us adults in everyday circumstances, I experience that exact moment as being less definitive as my children, but it is not invisible.  For sure, there is a process by which our brains process our decisions, our thoughts and our future actions - mostly at the subconscious level where we are virtually unaware of them.

Where I want to focus is right before that change happens.  Perhaps there is a way to increase my own awareness of the circumstances when my mind contemplates wavering from that yetzer tov.  I don't expect to be perfect - and neither should you - but I do expect more of myself - to not stray down the same paths, not follow old, familiar ruts in my thinking and my actions.

What are your old, familiar paths?

Can you feel your yetzer tov (good inclination) give way to your yetzer ha-ra (bad inclination)?

What is going on with you at that exact moment just before one gives way to the other?

Cantor Seth Warner

On Forgiving Others

Elul 23

Every now and then someone will speak with me about the difficulty of granting forgiveness.  Is it always right to forgive someone for hurting us?  For making us feel scared or unworthy?  For breaking our trust?  Every situation is unique, of course.  As we approach these holy days we have the obligation to seek forgiveness from others.  We also have the responsibility to grant forgiveness when we can.  In thinking about the notion of forgiveness, I have always found the words of Rabbi Lawrence Kushner to be helpful.  He writes:

To be forgiven one must first learn how to forgive.  Many of us waste years waiting to be forgiven.  But since we have never offered forgiveness ourselves, we do not know how to recognize when it is extended to us.  To “forgive” means not only to excuse someone for having committed an offense, but also to renounce the anger and claims of resentment.  Forgiving someone therefore means you are willing to endure the risk that he (or she) will hurt you in exactly the same way again, but that you trust him (or her) not to.

As Rabbi Kushner explains, forgiveness comes with an inherent risk.  There is always a chance that the other person will hurt you again.  But if there is enough love AND enough trust, the risk is worth taking.

From whom are you seeking forgiveness this year?

To whom will you grant it?

Trees and other signs of creation

Elul 22

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.       

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest           

Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;   

 

A tree that looks at God all day,     

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;    

 

A tree that may in summer wear    

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 

Who intimately lives with rain.         

 

Poems are made by fools like me,   

But only God can make a tree.

(Joyce Kilmer)

My earliest memories of poetry and of gratitude for nature live in this poem. Kilmer’s observations and simple appreciation touched mine; I have, ever since, been moved by the very presence of trees. To me trees are constant reminders and symbols of pure creation.

e.e. cummings communicates this and more when he writes:

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth

day of life and love and wings;and of the gay

great happening ilimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any - lifted from the no

of all nothing - human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

These words, themselves, and the encounter with the grandeur of creation they suggest, are a meditation for these days of Elul.  This, alone, can return us with gratitude to a sense of appreciation and gratitude for everything.

The prayer of Reb Nachman offers another lovely way to pause, reflect, and be grateful as we return - to nature, to creation, to God:

God, grant me the ability to be alone!

May it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass

among all growing things,

and there may I be alone,

and enter into prayer,

to talk with the One to whom I belong.

May I express there everything in my heart,

and may all the foliage of the field

all grasses, trees and plants awaken at my coming,

to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer

so that my prayer and speech are made whole

through the life and the spirit of all growing things,

which are made as one by their transcendent Source.

May I then pour out the words of my heart

before your Presence like water, God,

and lift up my hands to You in song,

(Adapted from Likutey Moharan, Part I, # 52)

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Teshuvah, Tefilah, Tzedakah

Elul 21

The three tenets of the High Holy Days can be described as Teshuvah (repentance), Tefillah (prayer) and Tzedakah (charity).  We know these Hebrew words are important, for they are at the center of the worship services for both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur - the two holiest days of the year.

If those ideals are at the center of our thoughts, then I'd like to challenge their English translations - for they are difficult to understand and somewhat childish, if looked at too literally, but more on that in a minute.

The place where these three words are present come at the end of Unetaneh Tokef prayer.  Unetaneh Tokef  and its surrounding liturgy discuss in pretty serious detail that "on Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: who will live and who will die; who will be rich and who will be poor..." and what method of death those who die will suffer. The end of the section exclaims: "But repentance, prayer and charity will temper judgement's severe decree," insinuating that if you repent, pray and give charity you can rest a little easier.  I don't about you, but I'm theologically and ideologically challenged by the notion of predestined fate, especially based on how much someone prayers or gives in charity.

Therefore, I'd like to suggest the following more palatable way of looking at the words Teshuvah, Tefillah and Tzedakah.

• Teshuvah means literally to return. It can be interpreted as repent as in wiping a slate clean.  Teshuvah is about recognizing your true and honest essence, without all the baggage and extra self-imposed expectations, successes and failures.  Returning to a clean, true essence of who you are is the only way to understand transgressions, fears, accomplishments and threats.  
• Tefillah literally means prayer.  In Hebrew, the verb is reflexive, indicating that it is something that has to oneself. By the very nature of the word, it's turning us inward, asking us to examine ourselves. God doesn't need our prayers, we need to offer them. 
• Tzedakah is often erroneously translated simply as charity.  The root is tzedek meaning just and right.  Completely acts of charity are surely just and right, but they don't define the word. Doing what is needed in this world for those who need it most might be charity, but it is what is commanded of us to be just. 

Who will live and who will die - this is a tough thing for us to think about.  But actually, it's fairly normal.  For better or for worse, there are people who will die between this Yom Kippur and next.  Some will be of an old age and have lived a full life.  Some will be young and taken from us way too soon.  Some will die quickly and quietly without suffering; and others, unfortunately, will see pain and suffering before their death.  There is no rhyme or reason for this - illness, for the most part is purely random.  To suggest that there is a magical Book of Life that records who's been "naughty or nice" is folklore and scary that action or inaction can predispose someone to life or death, painful or painless.  That is not the Judaism that I signed up for. 

Rather, consider that giving yourself the space to be a person that searches for your essence is an important aspect of Teshuvah. Praying inwardly for peace inside yourself and then for the world is Tefillah. And,  Tzedakah means using that true essence and prayerful/intentional space for good in the world through acts of justice and righteousness is completing a circuit of goodness in your life.  Thus, when we die - and we all will - we will not fear death, but rather reflect on a life with the dignity and courage of a life lived with true essence, prayerfulness and justice.  

The clincher for me, is that all of this possibility - every bit of it - lies completely within each of us.  

Cantor Seth Warner

Listen

Listen

The craving for distraction –

maybe you should open

four different social networks

in four adjacent tabs –

is a messenger.

Some part of you

wants to pretend

you’re not feeling tender.

Your beating heart is too big,

too vulnerable.  You've stretched

until your skin’s too thin,

your knobby places exposed.

Offer a gentle greeting

to the little girl who hopes

that if she spurs the acrobats

and keeps the sparks flashing

no one will notice

the smudges on her knees

or the circles beneath her eyes.

Let her stop performing.

Ask your aches to gather round

and teach you what they know.

Then they can go, gentle

as a hair drawn out of milk.

This poem, by Rabbi Rachel Barenblatt, has always moved me.  I think of how often we put on a façade or a smile or some sort of show for the world around us – trying to distract others and ourselves from some of the struggle and pain of living. 

What would happen instead, if we welcomed those struggles or mistakes as our teachers, reminding us that we are all vulnerable, that we all suffer, that it is OK to sometimes feel broken or lonely or scared.  Now is the time to begin dismantling the walls that we have built around our hearts.  For maybe, in doing so, we can let go of some of the anger or resentment or cynicism we feel.  And maybe, in doing so, we can create a space within …

for compassion,

for understanding,

and for forgiveness of ourselves and those we love.

Patience

Elul 19

Remember when we would call someone and leave a message on their answering machine, hoping to hear back within a few days?  Today, we send an instant message and expect a response within seconds.  If we don't hear back, we become frustrated, worried, or angry.  We live in an age of instant gratification and expectations of instantaneous communication and immediate response.  We have been conditioned to believe that we should never be out of touch, and it is increasingly unreasonable if we don't get what we want, when we want it.  When someone is going to be out of touch, out of the reach of electronic communication, we call it going "off the grid," as if they are odd, out of sync with the rest of society.

I am as guilty of this impatience as anyone, if not more.  I cannot stand getting stuck in traffic, I become frustrated when I have to stand in a line at a store, I become impatient when I have to deal with someone's incompetence or lack of concern for the time of others.

Our Jewish tradition recognizes this challenge when it holds up the virtue of "savlanut," the Hebrew word for patience, as an aspiration for us all.  To be patient is to learn to be at peace with what is, even as we hope for more.  To be patient is to be gentle, with ourselves and others.  To be patient is to forgive, to slow down, to recognize and respect the needs and time of others as much as our own.  To be patient means to be more in touch with the present and less in a rush to get to the future.

We may particularly recognize our own impatience in conversations.  It is so easy to interrupt others, to think we know how they will finish their sentences before they do, and to finish them ourselves.  I struggle with this challenge, as do many of us.  To exercise patience is to also practice self-respect, and respect for the other.

During Elul, perhaps we can become more aware of the virtue of patience, and begin to practice the gentle art of listening, waiting, respecting and being present in our relationships. We can become more patient with ourselves, forgiving ourselves our shortcomings and allowing ourselves to be conscious of each moment.  We can be more patient with others, more respectful of their strengths, and more grateful for the blessings they offer.  And we can become more patient with the Divine, more willing to see the amazing miracles around us every moment.

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Returning to True Essence

Elul 18

As you probably know, the Hebrew word for repentance is "teshuvah."  I've written about how repentance and return a little here before, but there are yet more interpretations and yes, even additions to things that I had already closed the door on.  One of the beauties of Elul for me is the reality that I'm never done, it's never enough and that there's rarely a stopping point - and that's all expected and okay! The sense of the continuation of self-discovery is critical - I wish there was a way to make it so obvious all year long. 

Teshuvah literally means RETURN - but, as I've eluded to before in this posts, I'm not sure I want to go back to where I've been - I want to move FORWARD!  In doing more reading, I am not alone.  

This is not to suggest that there is anything inappropriate in repentance.  Before you can embrace the right path, you must leave the wrong path, you must regret having taken it, you must go away from it.  

 But return is much more profound.  It's not just going away from bad behavior, it is going back to your true self, your Divine soul... it's returning to the essence that was always pure - it is returning to God.  

There are two levels of Teshuvah.  The first level involves cleaning up the mess in your room, so to speak... this is step one - making order and repairing that which was broken.  But step two, the critical step, is connecting to your essence.    [above from: 60 Days: A Spiritual Guide to the High Holidays , by Simon Jacobson. 

What is your essence? 

Where are we truly RE-turning to?  

What about who you are now is true to your essence? 

What about who you are now is not true to your essence? 


interesting tip, no extra charge :) This is the CHAI, 18th day of Elul.  As you know, chai represents the letters chet and yud which spell out the Hebrew word for LIFE.  

Cantor Seth Warner

The Sounds of Silence

Elul 17

The other night, after taking the dog out to burn off a little energy, I sat down in one of the big orange chairs in our front yard for a few moments.  It was a dark, but clear night.  I didn't see stars, but the moon, that had been growing bigger night by night, was hanging low in the sky, looming so beautiful and large.  I had this strange sensation of feeling both insignificant and small … and at the same time feeling more connected to the natural world than I had in a very long time.

It was quiet.  Even Baxter had settled down in the grass next to me, and for a moment all I could hear was his quiet panting and the rustling of the wind through the leaves in the branches above.   

For a moment, I was open to stillness.  
For a moment, I was present to the world just as it was.  
For a moment, there was peace. 

Then a car came barreling down the road, lights shining, music blaring – and the moment was gone.

For most of us, it is rare to sit in silence - open and present to whatever lies before us.  It is rare, and it is a gift.  As noted earlier, one of the traditional practices of Elul is setting aside time for silent reflection each day.  Even sitting in silence for just ten minutes on a daily basis allows our racing minds to settle a bit, and this settling of the mind allows us to see our lives more clearly.  In true silence we might finally be able to listen to what our hearts are yearning to say to us about where we are in our lives and why we sometimes feel so lost or so far from our deepest aspirations.  

These moments are actually moments of awakening.  
They are the stirrings of teshuvah.  
And they begin with silence.   

Gratitude

Have you said "thank you" today yet? During this month of Elul I have been trying to make sure to say thank you as often as I am able.  Gratitude is such a basic attribute, yet incorporating a sense of appreciation and thankfulness into our lives often eludes us.  Our Jewish tradition offers us a simple way to do so:  As the morning arrives each day, we are encouraged to say these words:

“I give thanks before Your Presence, eternal and living God who returns my soul within me with compassion. Abundant is Your faithfulness.”	מוֹדֶה אֲנִי לְפָנֶיךָ | מֶלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם | שֶׁהֶחֱזַרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי | בְּחֶמְלָה. | רַבָּה אֱמוּנָתֶךָ: |
Modeh ani lifanecha melech chai v’kayam shehechezarta bee nishmahti b’chemlah. Rabah emunatecha.

I remember having to be reminded to write thank you notes and say thanks as a child.  When I was a college student, my grandfather, of blessed memory, even resorted once to including, with a gift he and my grandmother sent me, a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a note for me to sign that said "Dear Grandma and Grandpa, Thanks so much for the gift.  Love, Jimmy."  I learned the lesson and never forgot to write them a thank you note again.  Ever since, I have striven to remember to say thank you, to be grateful, each day.  Some days it is easier than others. But there is so much, so very much, for which to be grateful.

While in Israel this summer I heard the music of an Israeli folk singer and poet named Meir Ariel, whose short life ended tragically in 1999.  The impact of his music and lyrics remains, however, and one of his most haunting melodies is entitled "Modeh Ani - I give thanks."  Discovered by a friend of Meir Ariel's on a homemade recording and in handwritten notes after his death, Ariel's words and music inspire me.  I hope they do for you as well:

 

"Modeh Ani" by Meir Ariel

מודה אני

לפניך ולך

על כל החסד והאמת

והטובה והרעה והטובה

שעשית עמדי

ועם ביתי

ועם קרובי וידידי ועם בני עמי

ועם ארצי, ועם כל העולם והאדם

אשר בראת.

בלאט, חרש חרש

אט אט, טופפות

עתידות עתידות לקראתנו,

ואת מחייכת אלי מתוך השינה.

יהיה לנו טוב, טוב מטוב, טוב מאוד,

זה מתחיל כבר בבוקר בבוקר

את צוחקת אלי

מתוך מתוך השינה.

I'm grateful

Before You

For all Your truth and grace

and the good, and the bad, and the good

That You've done with me and with my household

And with my relatives, friends and fellow citizens

And with the whole world and its people

That You've created

Slowly, and silently

Walking mincingly

Is our future to come

And You, are smiling, to me from your sleep

Things will get better, much better, you'll see

It starts early in the morning

And You, are laughing

To me, from your sleep.

Thanks for reading and listening,

Rabbi Jim Bennett

What does it mean to prepare?

What does it mean to prepare? 

When you make dinner, you need to have all the ingredients, the time, the pots and pans and the recipe.  When you go out for the evening, you might need a babysitter, a clean shirt and slacks and maybe a spouse or a date.  When you have an assignment due at work or school, you work toward it, doing research, writing, editing and proofreading.  

With the month of Elul, we are asked to prepare for the coming High Holy Days, or the Days of Awe.  What do we need to prepare for these?  What are we actually preparing for? We're not preparing for a meal or an event or even an assignment, instead, we're preparing for something of the heart and mind and even the soul.  That's a tall order to be sure.  It's utterly overwhelming.  So that I don't become overwhelmed, instead of thinking about the gestalt of the High Holy Days, I think about possibility.  

What can this new year bring?  What can this year offer me?  What can I do to make choices that are better?  Where can I find more inner peace in my increasingly busy demanding schedule? What more can I offer my wife, my kids and my friends?  How can I help myself be a better me? 

What's God Got To Do With It?

Elul 14

We are almost halfway through the month of Elul, and we have been thinking and speaking and reading a lot about teshuva.  Often we think of teshuva as a process we undertake to strengthen or repair relationships we have with others.  But the most profound form of teshuva can come when we seek to repair … or redefine … or rediscover the relationship we have with God. 

In his book, These Are the Words, Rabbi Art Green writes:

The first person to undertake teshuvah was the very first human.  Adam realized the magnitude of his sin in the Garden … and sought to be reconciled with God.  Teshuva in this case would mean re-establishing the intimacy and trust that existed between God and God’s beloved creatures before the expulsion from Eden.  Teshuva, in this key story, could not mean the re-creation of innocence.  That childlike aspect of Eden was gone forever.  But a new relationship, one more mature since it had faced and overcome the moment of doubt and betrayal, was Adam’s goal. It is this deeper faith, one that emerges from struggle with the self, that is the goal of teshuva.

God, for me, is neither judge nor King, but the force of goodness connecting all creatures and things to one another.  God is beyond me and within me.  God is my source of courage and strength, compassion and love.

For you, does God play a role in the work of teshuva?  

If you struggle with a belief in God, has the spiritual work of Elul helped at all in the struggle?

How might you use this time of Elul to nurture your understanding of or relationship to or belief in the Eternal?

Feathers in the wind

Elul 13

Remember when pillows were all made from goose or duck feathers? Back in the days before hypo-allergenic, synthetic, ergonomically-correct pillows were commonplace.  One of my favorite stories for these days before and during the High Holy Days relies on a feather pillow to teach us one of the simplest, yet most important lessons of teshuvah.

The story is told of a young child who was known for having an uncontrollable mouth!  In various versions of the story, the child is a gossip, or a slanderer, or a mean-spirited young person who regularly spouted off and used words to hurt others.  The other children, exasperated by this behavior, finally turned to their rabbi for assistance.  The rabbi calls the child in to the synagogue and begins a conversation.  "Do you see that pillow there on the sofa?" the rabbi asks.  "Yes, of course," replied the child.  "I want you to take it outside and tear it open and shake all the feathers out," instructed the rabbi.

Incredulously, the child did as the rabbi said, and returned to report in.  "Good," said the rabbi, "Now go and gather all the feathers and return them to the pillow," said the rabbi.  "Impossible!" replied the child. "The feathers have blown everywhere in the wind.  I can never get them all!"  "Exactly," taught the rabbi, "and so it is with your words.  Once you have spoken your words, they are in the wind, and you can never retrieve them.  So you must be careful to learn to think before you speak."

The simple story teaches important lessons.  Words have great power, and we can use them to help or to harm others.  Once spoken, our words, like the feathers, are "in the wind."  We can never take them back.

I must admit that I can use constant reminders of this truth.  I am often quick to speech, and know that choosing my words carefully, and listening as much as I speak, is one of my greatest challenges.  I would never deliberately hurt another with my words, yet I know that I sometimes do.  And I am well aware of how easy it is to justify simple gossip, conversations "between friends," and innocent idle chit chat, confusing it for meaningful discourse.

But the words we speak have great power, a power we must guard with great care.

This is true of speech and also of the written word.  In our age, this is particularly true of words written in email, text messages, and other social media.  It is so easy to use our words without thought, dashing off an email or other electronic message and hitting "SEND" without thought, and these words are difficult, if not impossible to retract once written or spoken.

Our Jewish tradition speaks of the power of speech.  God creates our world with words, but we can also use words to destroy.  The rabbis teach about Lashon Harah, "The Evil Tongue." When we gossip, even when we think we are just talking, when we speak ill of others, even if it is true, when we use words in an abusive or hurtful manner, when we lash out at others with our words, when we criticize incessantly, when we engage in idle talk about other people, we are sinning against God, against others, and against ourselves.

As Elul flows to the new year, we would do well to review our words, choosing them carefully, and make sure to speak gently, carefully and with wisdom. For once we release our words to the winds, they are impossible to gather again.

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Is Elul All About Me?

Elul 12

During this period of introspection, this month of preparation for the closing of one year and the opening of the next, this soul searching, this inward focus can stir up a lot of feelings. 

It sometimes makes me feel selfish, like instead of focusing so much on myself, I should turn my focus outward.  Now that this Elul is nearly half over, I realize that if my focus is only inward or only outward, then I have missed the point of the entire "Elul exercise."  Instead, the point is to be utterly aware of our own influence on our behavior and actions.  We are ultimately in control of ourselves, there is nothing narcissistic about that notion, in fact, when we are aware of how our actions can affect others, we embody the opposite of narcissism, we show humility that we are a part of a society and a community that we value.  

This inward focus business is daunting but it can be very freeing.  There is holiness in the work we're doing.  There is holiness in self-discovery.  There is holiness in every person who recognizes their life as worthwhile and worthy of improvement.  When we acknowledge that we strive to better - not perfect, but better - we acknowledge holiness as a part of who we are and as a part of our journey.  

I'm reminded of my grandmother's notion that what happens inside a person is magical.  Most of the time she was referring to the complexities of the human body and all of the mechanics that make us function.  Occasionally though, she would turn to me and say about a friend, "Now there is someone who knows who they are, isn't that something?"  What I think she meant was that people who are able to be in touch with their inner strength can harness its power and use it for good well beyond themselves.  

What is your inner strength?

What is holy within you? 

How well are you balancing the needs of self with the needs of others?

A Time to Reflect, A Time to Renew

Elul 11

Shabbat has begun, bringing with it time for rest and renewal.  Of course, we must choose to make some space for Shabbat in order to discover this kind of time:  time that moves at a slower pace, that is not hurried or rushed, that feels quiet and still, that allows us to reflect.  During Shabbat we might be able to allow the noise from a busy week to settle a bit, and in its place, if we are attentive, we might be able to hear the true yearnings of our hearts speaking to us about the kind of people we would like to become.  People, perhaps, who are less bitter and more grateful, or less judgmental and more compassionate.  

Our tradition teaches that each of us is capable of changing and growing.  Patterns can be broken, habits can evolve.  The "way things are" are not the way things have to be. If we desire change, we must begin with honest reflection - this process called cheshbon nefesh (taking account of one’s soul).  And this Shabbat might be just the right time to begin this process (if we have not done already) by asking ourselves the kinds of questions below:  

Do I judge others fairly, or am I habitually critical (both in what I say and what I think)?

Am I prone to anger? When I am angry, do I overreact and say or do things that inflict pain on others?

Do I avoid saying or doing what I believe is right because I fear how others will react or what they will think of me?

Am I stingy with my money or my time?

Am I able to ask for forgiveness?

Am I able to control my impulses, or do I give in to temptation easily?

Do I bear grudges and remain angry at others for a long time after an argument?  Can I accept a sincere apology?

When I hear of other people's sufferings or misfortunes, do I find ways to help them, or do I feel sadness in my heart but do nothing?

Do any of the questions resonate with you?  If so, focus on one or two areas of meaning and ask yourself:

Do I believe that change in this area of my life is possible?  What, if any, aspects of myself would I have to let go of in order to make this kind of change?

Have I tried to make a change like this before?  What stood in my way?  How might I avoid those same obstacles this time around?

What would my life, and the lives of those I love, look like if I could make this kind of change? *

May this Shabbat bring us rest and peace, and the quiet we need to begin to change and renew.

* Some questions taken from Rosh HaShanah Readings ed. by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins

The pebble in my shoe

A well-known story tells of a man who once walked across the continental United States.  When interviewed about his journey he was asked to identify his most difficult challenge.  Reporters posed possibilities: "The Rocky Mountains?"  "The heat of the desert?"  "Hunger or exhaustion?"

"No," he replied.  "My biggest challenge was the pebble in my shoe!"

Sometimes our greatest challenge is  one we can easily overcome, if we only take the time to acknowledge it and do what we can to resolve it.  Like the walker who could have simply removed the annoying pebble and continued his journey, we far too often refuse to face what troubles us most.  We are too busy, too harried, too distracted, too afraid.  Instead, we choose to live with those barriers we might easily overcome.

Not all challenges are easily overcome, of course.  We may face impossible odds, and sometimes accepting our limitations is another way to remove the barriers in our lives.  At times, we can best "remove the pebble" through acceptance - acknowledging the presence of realities in our life and learning to live with them.  The "pebble" may actually become a "friend" that can assist us in living more aware and real lives.

Elul's gift to us each year is the blessing of time to reflect upon those pebbles in our shoes, choosing which to remove and which to accept, and the wisdom of our tradition and the process of teshuvah to assist us in making the choice.

Consoling words, feelings...

The seven weeks leading up to Selichot (right before Rosh Hashanah) are called the Seven Weeks of Consolation.  According to Rabbi Hillel of Patrich, these seven weeks are linked to the seven emotions:

1. love
2. discipline
3. compassion
4. ambition
5. humility
6. bonding 
7. sovereignty

These are the feelings that offer us comfort and peacefulness. During these Seven Weeks of Consolation, we read the Haftarot (prophetic writings) from the writings of Isaiah, who offers words of hope and inspiration, such as, "Arise! Shine! For your light has arrived and the glory of God will be upon you." These  reassuring words could surely touch several of those emotions of R' Hillel, above.  

What words come to mind that you relate to the seven emotions?  

What instances in your life can you relate to the seven emotions? 

Is there a single event in your life that collects all or almost all of these emotions?

Understanding how we relate to the events is our lives, and knowing what makes us happy and being able to name it is a key to unlocking some of our baggage.  As Elul continues and we continue to unlock some of our pathways to self-understanding, we work in the lonely world of the self.  Know, however, that you are surrounded by a Congregation and people that embraces this discovery, and with that you are never alone. 

Extra food for thought: the first Torah portion read during Elul is Shoftim, the parashah that commands the creation of a justice system using a circuit of judges and consequences appropriate to the cause.  What do you make of Elul and a system of justice?  Interesting connections therein, for sure.

The Way We Judge

Elul 8

Here is one of my favorite stories:

One day, Gandhi was approached by a woman who was deeply concerned that her son ate too much sugar.  “I am worried about his health,” she said.  “He respects you very much.  Would you be willing to tell him about its harmful effects and suggest he stop eating it?”  After reflecting on the request, Gandhi told the woman that he would do as she requested, but asked that she bring her son back in two weeks, no sooner.  In two weeks, when the boy and his mother returned, Gandhi spoke with him and suggested that he stop eating sugar.  When the boy complied with Gandhi’s suggestion, his mother thanked Gandhi extravagantly but asked him why he had insisted on the two-week interval.  “Because,” he replied, “I needed the two weeks to stop eating sugar myself.”

-         told by Al Gore in the compilation Rosh HaShanah Readings ed. by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins

Often it is easier to see the flaws in others than to see the flaws within ourselves.  How many times in a week might we catch ourselves pointing out the shortcomings of our partners?  Our children?  Our parents?  Our friends?  As human beings we are constantly making judgments about the world around us – including judgments about others.  During these days of Elul our awareness of how quick we can be to judge is heightened.  A moment of teshuva, of turning, can come when we realize what we are doing, and choose a different path.  When the impulse to criticize or “rehabilitate” others arises, we remind ourselves to instead look within, and do our best to work on those same imperfections within our own characters.  

Is Saying "I'm sorry" enough?

Elul 7

“Don’t say you’re sorry!  Just don’t do it again!”  My father's words from my childhood haunt me still today.  When my siblings or I would do something that would infuriate our father (a frequent occurrence!), he would often refuse to accept our attempts to apologize to him.  “I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry,” he would say, or scream, depending on the moment.  “I want you to learn from your mistakes, and stop making them!” This was often accompanied by punishments of various sorts, and as you can imagine, we lived in fear of this response, and as a result, we did what we could to avoid his wrath as much as possible.

My father’s angry “wisdom,” such as it was, comes to mind during these days of Elul.  His intention was good, I am certain – he wanted his children to learn and improve our behaviors. There was nothing compassionate about his approach, however. Thankfully, our Jewish tradition suggests a much more compassionate, full and complete path to teshuvah: First, one must admit one’s errors.  Then, one must learn not to repeat the same error if presented with the same opportunity again.  Next, one is to do what is possible to repair the damage or correct the harm done by one’s actions.  This entails going to the person affected by our wrongdoing and asking forgiveness, or if one’s wrongdoing was an affront to God, we must ask God’s forgiveness.  And one must also forgive oneself. 

Saying "I'm sorry" is a great start.  But we need to say it first to ourselves, to others and to God.  And we need to effect change in ourselves that will lead to healthier, more whole lives.  

My father’s method was too harsh, too simplistic, and it ended too early in the process.  He was right, to a degree:  repentance involves learning and changing.  But repentance also involves forgiveness – from the self, from the other, and from God. The gates of forgiveness are always open, of course.

During this month of Elul, may we begin this process of Teshuvah – dedicating ourselves to change, growth and forgiveness.

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Lecha L'cha - Get going from within yourself...

We all know the verses from Genesis in which Abraham is instructed by God to "Lech L'cha," go from here, your land, your birthplace, the home of your parents and go to a land that I will show you.  When Abraham set out on the journey, he also took on great risk.  Ultimately, the "land" that God would show him wasn't just land like ground, but it was also that ability to look within and find trust and guidance.  

Abraham set out on this journey of self-discovery.  Simon Jacobson, in 60 Days: A Spiritual Guide to the High Holidays, writes: 

'Your land' represents the first level of subjectivity - the influence of society, community and peer pressure, which affect us in deep and profound ways.  We all want to be liked and accepted by others, and we adjust our behavior accordingly. 

The 'home of your parents' represents parental include, which can be so subtle that we don't even recognize it.  Often, we don't realize how deeply the attitudes of our parents permeate our own attitudes and behavior, for better and for worse. 

'Your birthplace' represents inherent self-love.  Each person is blinded by his or her selfish interests; no one is immune from that. 

Jacobson is not saying that we must ignore or reject the things that we've learned from our communities, our parents and ourselves - rather the opposite: to become aware of and in tune with these influences is the key to understanding their role in our lives in a conscious way.  

Jacobson suggests: 

Select one significant event of the past day and identify how your reactions and behaviors were shaped by the three levels of subjectivity named above.

We are all searching - for something.  Our searching is sacred, our discoveries are hopeful and healing. Elul is the time to take that sacredness and apply it to our hearts and minds. 

Return Can Mean Repair

Elul 5

This past week’s Torah portion, Shoftim, is filled with a variety of laws and commandments that will help the Israelites create a society imbued with justice. In Deuteronomy chapter 20, verses 5-8 we read that before going to war, the officers of the army must address the troops, saying: 

Who is the man who has built a new home but has not yet lived in it?  Let him return to his home, lest he die in war and another man inhabit his home. 

Who is the man who has planted a vineyard but not yet harvested it?  Let him return to his home, lest he die in war and another harvest it.

Who is the man who has been betrothed to a woman but has not yet married her?  Let him return to his home, lest he die in war and another man take her.  

About these verses, Rabbi Alan Lew has written:  “The idea of all this seems to be that if we leave something incomplete, we fall into the state of mind the rabbis call trafe da’at – a torn mind – a mind pulled in various directions.”

During Elul, this time of introspection, we might be wise to spend some quiet moments contemplating those areas in our lives we feel we have left incomplete.  Is there a kind word that went unspoken?  An apology that could have been made?  A breach that can still be mended?  Are our minds torn over these losses or missed opportunities?  Are we left feeling less than whole?

It may not be too late to try to complete that which has been left undone.  It may not be too late to repair a mind, or a heart, that has been torn.  

Practice the Art of Return

Elul 4

We arrived at the Tel Aviv airport 3 hours early for our 12:40 a.m. flight, only to find ourselves knee deep in fellow travelers, pushing and shoving “Tel Aviv style” to get through the seemingly endless stages of security: check-in, clearance, ticket counter, baggage check, passport control, security, gate control, security…..and finally, with only a few minutes to spare, boarding the plane.  Exhausted, relieved, excited, sweaty, ready to get back home, to return…..

As the plane began to taxi onto the runway, I began to think about what it really means to return.  Five weeks earlier I was on my way to an amazing summer in Israel, studying, connecting, exploring, traveling, returning to a kind of relationship with meaning and faith and ethics that often eludes me in my day to day life.  I was privileged to have the luxury of this kind of study sabbatical – to immerse myself again in ideas and questions and exploration and inquiry.  I had returned to Israel to take this journey into the heart of my faith and peoplehood, to return, again and again. 

Now I have returned, more literally, to the place I call home, where I live, where I have established myself in a community, where I work and play and strive to make meaning each day. 

It is simple, in a way, to return – all one needs to do is make the journey.  Yet, returning is also difficult.  True return, that is.  For when we return, both we and the place to which we return has surely, inevitably changed.  

I came back to a St. Louis where stories had been told without my awareness; babies born, illnesses suffered, joys celebrated, tragedies mourned in my absence.  I, too, have my own stories to tell that are foreign to those I left behind.  We return, changed, different, renewed.

Only God is unchanging.  The Rock, the Truth, the Wellspring from which all things flow, yet never changes.  A source of constancy from which we can draw the strength to bear our own change and the change of the world in which we dwell.

Elul, this month of return, bids us to accept, with peacefulness, the change all around, and to return, again and again, knowing that we return to new moments, new people, new experiences, new selves.

Pray during this Elul, for the strength to return.  To face ourselves as we are now, not as we were then.  To begin again. To believe that every moment is a beginning worth beginning.

Shabbat begins this evening at sundown.  This first shabbat during this month invites us to truly begin to practice returning.  Choose a way to practice returning:

• return to the simple ritual of shabbat - make a moment, an hour, a day, of rest.  light candles, recite the berachot of shabbat, pray, study, meditate, sing, think, rejoice
• go somewhere you enjoy being, where you have not been for a while and think about what it feels like to return
• find something that you need to return to someone or someplace a return it. return a book to the library, an object you borrowed from a friend
• return to a practice or behavior that you have abandoned but wish you had not given up - a musical instrument you once played, a diet you abandoned, an exercise routine you neglect, a hobby you miss
• return to a long neglected friendship and try and renew it by setting a time to talk, or writing a note, or making a date to meet
• read a book again that you remember loving
• listen to a favorite song, watch a favorite movie, go to a favorite restaurant
• return to Temple for a class, a service, a meeting with the clergy, a volunteer experience
• find your own way to practice the art of return

Think about what it means to return.  The month of Elul is a wonderful time to really push ourselves to explore the boundaries of  our lives and where and how we can return.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Jim Bennett

The Breath of Elul

The Jewish people love to mark time... Our calendar teaches us to - this month, the month of Elul, comes every year, spanning some part of the month of August.  I am always taken aback at how quickly it always seems to come.  Am I a last minute person?  Maybe I am.  I'm always surprised when I pass by a Hallmark store in the mall in April and see Mother's Day cards; or when shopping in the late summer to see clothes that would perfect for autumn while it's still hot out.  

Our calendar during the month of Elul is the tick-tock of our internal clocks reminding us to focus inward - on ourselves and our deeds; on our thoughts and our actions; on our troubles and problems.  Coupled with the beginning of school, this may seem link a daunting task at a terrible time of year. 

But how do we pull ourselves away from the craziness and business of everyday life - especially with all of these really important distractions?  Work, school, home, kids... these are all more than legitimate reasons for us to put off simply... being... breathing... focusing inward. 

I recommend two tactics to help give you the space for youself.  (A common phrase in financial planning courses is to "pay yourself first," as an incentive to save for retirement. I recommend the same, "give yourself space first."

1. Find the time to breathe.  Your breath is a critical part of your ability to relax.  When you are conscious of it, you can control it in such a way that allows maximum oxygenation of your blood.  If you're an iPhone user, try this app: Pranayama.  It will help you regulate your breathing and challenge you to breathe systematically.  Mediate while doing it - it's very relaxing. 
2. Listen to The Magic Mirror.  Amy Camie, harpist, makes available for a fee her CD that uses improvisatory music to inspire relaxation, deep-brain stimulation and healing.  It's proven to increase bloodflow and has been used in cancer treatment.  Amy will be with us during Yom Kippur for a meditation room and Healing service on the afternoon of Yom Kippur. 

Cantor Seth Warner

Traditions of Elul

Elul 2

Yesterday, Rabbi Bennett spoke of the essence of these days of Elul and our High Holy Days.   Teshuva, which is sometimes translated as repentance, but which is more accurately understood to be the process of turning, or returning, is the soul work in which we are to be engaged.  If we take this notion of teshuva seriously, we know that we need more than just 2 days … or 10 days … or even 40 days to do the work that needs to be done to turn away from paths that have been hurtful, and turn back toward a path that can lead us to more meaningful lives. 

Judaism, however, sets aside these 40 days (the 30 days of the Hebrew month of Elul, plus the 10 days of Rosh HaShanah through Yom Kippur) for us, as a community, to begin to focus our efforts on this task.

How do we begin?   We might choose to explore one or more of the daily traditional rituals associated with the month of Elul: 

-        * hearing the shofar blast each morning to wake us up to the preciousness and fragility of our lives (there are a number of apps one can use if you don't have a shofar in your home)

-       *  reciting Psalm 27 each day to remind us that we have no reason to fear this journey of self-discovery and renewal (see below for a copy of the text)

-        * spending some amount of time every day in silent reflection to engage in the process of cheshbon hanefesh, an accounting of our souls.

Are there other rituals or processes that are helpful to you as you prepare for the High Holy Days?  We’d love for you to share them with the community here.

* * * * * * * 

Psalm 27:  A Psalm of David

God is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear? The Eternal is the stronghold of my life; of whom should I be afraid?
When evildoers approach me to devour me, my own foes and enemies, it is they who stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me, my heart would have no fear; though war arise against me, still would I be confident.

One thing I ask of the Holy One; this is what I seek: to dwell in the house of the Eternal all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the One, to frequent God's temple.
God will shelter me in God's pavilion on an evil day, conceal me in the concealment of God's tent, raise me high upon a rock.
Now is my head raised above my enemies round about me; I worship in God's tent with shouts of joy; I sing and chant hymns to the Eternal.

Hear, O God, my voice; I call: have mercy on me, and answer me.
On Your behalf my heart says: “Seek my face!” Your face, O God, I seek.
Do not hide Your face from me; do not turn Your servant away in anger; You are my help. Do not abandon me, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation.
Though my father and mother forsake me, the Eternal will take me in.

Show me, O God, Your way, and lead me on a level path because of my watchful adversaries.
Do not subject me to the will of my foes, for false witnesses have arisen against me, breathing out violence.
Were I not to believe that I would see the goodness of the One in the land of the living….
Hope in the Eternal; be strong and of good courage! O hope in God!