RH Drasha Eddie

Who wants to be here today? I don’t mean who wants not to feel guilty for not coming, I mean who actually wants to be here today? Not because you’re out of work or school, not because you need a little gosh darn quiet, but because you want to spend your day here, in synagogue?

I used to only come out of guilt or obligation. I didn’t know if I believed in G-d, I still have conflicting ideas and notions about that. While I enjoyed having a day off, I felt it was wasted sitting in synagogue. What I did enjoy was our annual trip to Sierra Vista for Yom Kippur.

My aunt and uncle belong to a Reform synagogue in Sierra Vista, or maybe in the outskirts of that city. I’m a little hazy on that. What I do remember though was going and, while my mom, aunt, and uncle prayed, my brother and I would run around outside and play with other kids before Break the Fast.

It was one of the few times I felt less lonely as a child, when I had this transplanted temporary community I got to run around with. I was troubled as a kid here in town, and getting out was always a relief.

Today, I love High Holy Day services. I had to miss a few over the past ten years, whether due to sickness or critical secular obligations. Those days were painful, because I had the desire to be here, and the obligation to be handling affairs at work and home.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? Having a conflict of the heart? Wanting two separate things when only one is possible?

I think that’s an important bridge, today. A mutually exclusive conflict of the heart. Today’s mutually exclusive conflict: loneliness and -- and whatever the opposite of that loneliness might be. It’s hard for me to find the right counterpoint for “loneliness” because isolation can be physical, emotional, spiritual, or mental. I think, though, the closest word I can come to is “affinity.” A group of particles or beings drawn to each other.

Loneliness and affinity.

On page 100 of our Mahzor, we remember a conflict for Abraham, when he was told by the woman he loves to estrange the woman who bore his first son. He wanted to keep his son Ishmael near him yet he also wanted the mother of his other son, and the woman he loved, to be happy. Hagar and her son would be lonely, Abraham’s family unit he loved would remain close.

Of course, we all know, he banished Hagar and, thus Ishmael. He couldn’t find a way to keep both his wife happy and his son close. This is why they are mutually exclusive.

On page 103 of our Mahzor, Abraham has another famous conflict of heart: obey G-d or let his favorite son live. In the end he got both, though not without sacrifice. Even though his son’s life

was spared, he sacrificed his connection to his son. He sacrificed his son’s security in feeling safe.

What happened? Abraham took his son away from their servants and helpers -- he isolated his son, and then prepared to slay him. He removed him from the people they were with, who would check Abraham’s actions as uncouth, and then put his life in danger. Isaac was isolated from his community and he was almost killed for it. Some scholars believe the sacrifice of Isaac was punishment for Abraham for his treatment of Ishmael. I believe that it’s a rather apt view, especially since it came before the prohibition on punishing children for the sins of their parents.

I see a parallel here: community.

The people whom you share your experiences, your energy, and your life with. The people whom you trust to have your concerns at heart when you’re in distress, and the people whom you reactively take care of when they’re in trouble.

We have our own community, and I love seeing it. I love celebrating it. I love our prayerful meditation each year, now. Originally it was a time to play with other kids and then eat food I only received annually. Now it’s a time of introspective and communal reflection. I look inward during the Amidah and outward during Kaddish. I have the necessary loneliness of self reflection with the affinity of communal desire to do better.

The smell of my Mahzor and the texture of the pages, still crisp from how little it’s used is a different sensory experience from my much more used siddur, just as the conversation and catching up is a different mental and spiritual experience from the people I see more regularly. As cliche as it may seem, my mind and soul are fed in a way my stomach used to be. And I love it.

We have our own set of experiences. Experiences which are often parodied in mainstream culture now -- whether it’s High Holy Day attendance or the conflict between shomer Shabbos Jews and those who drive or conduct daily life.

There are a few other experiences that aren’t often seen, though. The internal dialogue of controversial issues -- like how we accept converts, who has the final say in community issues, and deeper issues of how we parse secular and biblical law.

There is one experience I didn’t know was exclusive to us for some time. I think it was in middle school when I learned that other major religions didn’t require armed police at their major services. My mind shifted that day when I realized that was something we needed, and why we needed it. That’s another beautiful thing about community: even when another loathes yours and would do it harm, we still come together and live.

Ishmael fully lost his community. Isaac perhaps lost his sense of security with his father.

If we go outside today’s Torah portion, we’ll remember Noah’s flood and Hashem’s promise never to extinguish humanity like that. That’s a promise we should be cognizant of as we remember the natural disasters which occurred earlier this month. We can also remember the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah who neglected and maligned their own impoverished citizens.

Here we all are, today. A community. Some excited to be here, some probably less than that. Regardless, we are here. We are still relatively safe. Some of us are healthy, and those who are help with those who aren’t. We all contribute to the good of our people and the robustness of our community.

I need to be honest. Despite my conflict with believing in G-d, what I do believe in is the Jewish people. That when push comes to shove we are stronger together, and stronger than any other group of people out there. Our bonds run deep and our bonds run ancient.

If you’ve heard me speak you’ll remember that I constantly emphasize the idea of our scholars believing sacrifices were replaced by prayer. I believe that if one is not willing to make some form of sacrifice for something, one should not pray for it.

I want us not to suffer the pains and conflicts Abraham had, not to suffer the injustices of Sodom, not to suffer the rains and labor of Noah. We should not be cut off from each other, we should not feel unsafe with each other. We should not be cut off from G-d, we should not feel unsafe with G-d.

This year I want us to appreciate our hardships as they bring us together. I want us to appreciate our blessings which were given by G-d and which we created. We plant the seed of the tree, G-d makes it sprout, and our labor helps it continue to grow. G-d creates the bees, we find the hive, only after enduring stings do we learn how to harvest the honey.

We’ve endured enough stings, yet we’ll endure more. That just makes the honey of knowledge we put on our apples of experience and labor that much sweeter. And as we take a bite of that apple with that honey we can relish how good it is to eat it.

One of my favorite podcasters closes his show by saying “Enjoy your burrito.” It’s a reminder to be present and enjoy what you have in front of you.

My prayer for 5778 is that we can look around, today and every day , and say “I am happy to be here.”