Post by Rabbi Neil on Sept 28, 2022 17:18:46 GMT
“Hashiveinu Adonai eilecha v’nashuvah, chadesh yameinu k’kedem – Bring us back to You, Eternal God, and we shall return – renew our days as of old.” We pray this line from Lamentations constantly throughout the High Holy Day liturgy. Last night, we looked at what it means to return to community and saw that it means not just returning to this physical space but, far more importantly, that it means returning to seeing ourselves as essential part of a larger living whole, k’lal yisra’el, in which everyone has infinite value. This morning, we specifically focus on this Biblical quotation, particularly the last three Hebrew words chadesh yameinu k’kedem – renew our days as of old. Why do we ask God to renew our days as of old? When in the past do we want to go back to? And why do we want to go back?
There is a concept in Judaism known as yeridat hadorot, the decline in generations. This idea comes from Talmud [Shabbat 112b], where Rabbi Ze’ira says in Raba bar Zimuna’s name, “If the earlier scholars were sons of angels, we are sons of men, but if the earlier scholars were sons of men, we are like asses.” We can see the origins of this train of thought in the ages of characters in Genesis. The patriarchs and matriarchs are extremely close to God but their ages diminish with each generation. This is then subconsciously read by Rabbi Ze’ira and others as implying that each generation deserved less time in the presence of God, meaning that each generation was worse than the previous one. For those embedded in a hierarchical religious system, there is clear motivation for thinking like this because it locks in tradition as authoritative and makes the possibility of change much harder. Yeridat hadorot maintains the status quo by ensuring that any new questions that are brought that challenge tradition can be seen as impudent, arrogant or stemming from ignorance. Although many Reform Jews are unaware of yeridat hadorot, it is still absolutely prevalent in various parts of the Jewish community. In one online discussion, someone shared Rashi’s reading of a text and I replied that I disagreed with Rashi on it. The other person was aghast – “Who are you to disagree with Rashi?!?” they asked. My answer was that I was someone living hundreds of years after him having learned from human history and developing Jewish thought ever since his time. But this person was so embedded in a system predicated on y’ridat hadorot that they could not consider disagreeing with Rashi.
Differing branches of Judaism place a different emphasis on the importance of past voices and past practices. Some believe that past voices and practices tell us how to behave and that we cannot diverge from those past ways, where others believe that past voices and practices can guide us as we ourselves decide how to behave. Reform Judaism is very much that second opinion. We embrace modernity, we include new ideas and practices into our Judaism. We see the past as informative, not authoritative. So, if that is the case, why do we, in a Reform community, want God to “renew our days as of old?” For Orthodox Jews, that’s an easy question – we return to the past because things were better in the past, but for Reform Jews praying this traditional liturgy, it’s not as easy.
So, what could “renew our days as of old” mean to us? Maybe we could say that we want to return to a time before the pandemic, or a time before we lost loved ones, or maybe just back to a simpler time? Maybe we want to return to better times or more normal times. In which case, when exactly do we want to return to? Think of a time in the past when things were supposedly better, and then ask yourself honestly what other problems existed at that time. Things may have seemed simpler or better, but was that actually just for one particular group in society, ignoring the suffering of others? And that’s not just other people - whenever we look back to the Jewish past, we find expulsions, blood libels, pogroms, mass murders… it’s fascinating that Jews so often look back to the past for validation and forget how terrible things were for us in the past.
Maybe then we could want to return not to a point in time, but to a way of behaving, but I even question that as well. Would we want to go back to a time when men and women were separated in services and in Jewish law? Or perhaps back into early Jewish history, perhaps to the Temple times when a patriarchal hierarchy determined how we drew close to God by having a chosen elite slaughter our animals? Of course, there were good things in the past, but in every generation, there have always been terrible things, too, so why would we ever want to go back to the past? Maybe, subconsciously, we want to go back to where it all started, back to the Garden of Eden itself where there was no anti-semitism, no racism, and no violence - maybe when we yearn to go back to the Eden, we yearn for a life where our souls are not totally overwhelmed by the enormity of the world’s troubles. But what do we find even there in that idyllic state of Eden? Conflict! Adam accusing Eve, Eve accusing the serpent, separation from God, and expulsion never to return. Rabbi Art Green says [These are the Words] that because the gates to Eden were blocked, there can never be a return to that childlike aspect of Eden, but that that helped create a new more mature relationship with God.
Maybe we could aspire to return to the past, not to a particular time in history but to a time in each of our lives – back to the innocence of our own youth, back to a time when most of us were sheltered and cared for and the consequences of our misdeeds were not as potentially devastating as they are today. Perhaps it’s not even a time in ourselves specifically that we yearn to return to, but to the relationships that we’ve lost, with our loves ones who are no longer with us. Perhaps yearning to return to days of old is simply expressing that we miss certain loved ones and wish they were with us now. But that wish isn’t real and it doesn’t acknowledge that in our lives we need to progress, that it’s essential to progress, however painful it may be to leave the past behind. That reminds me of a story in the Talmud in which Rab Zusya’s students look over his shoulder and see him studying a certain page of the Gemara. The next day, they notice he’s on the same page. The next week, they are shocked to find him still on the same page. “How come you are still on the same page?!?” they ask him, to which he replies, “It feels so good here, why should I go elsewhere?” What is it that so upsets Rab Zusya’s students? That he's not progressing in his learning. Similarly, the desire to return to the past is a desire not to have to grow. It’s not just a desire that undoes all the essential social progress that we have made, although it is that, but it’s particularly a desire not to have to make any more progress at all, because progress, change, is difficult.
So, we cannot return to a time earlier in history, we cannot return to Eden, we cannot return to the way we behaved in the past, and we cannot return to our youth. If that’s the case, how can we authentically say the words “renew our days as of old” while believing in progress? The answer, I believe, is in teshuvah, in repentance. Of repentance, Rabbi Jan Urbach says, “We return to who we have always been, and are meant to be, but have not yet become. We return to growth and possibility that have lain dormant within us and not yet flourished, much as a sculpture lies hidden within a block of brute stone. That is the sense in which teshuvah is a creative act. That is why the process of teshuvah, as painful and even humiliating as it can be, is in fact very joyous and hopeful. It is a creative process in which we imitate God and become partners with God in the work of creation. And what are we creating? Ourselves.” Let me repeat one sentence from that - We return to who we have always been and are meant to be but have not yet become. We return to the moment of connection with our true purpose and with our potential. But when is that?
During the High Holy Days, we appeal to God’s mercy, God’s compassion, which in Hebrew is rachamim. We pray Adonai, Adonai El rachum v’chanun (Adonai, Adonai, a God compassionate and gracious). During the yizkor service on Yom Kippur, we pray El Malei Rachamim (God, full of compassion). And Deuteronomy [Deut. 4:30-31] says that in our distress we will return to God ki el rachum Adonai elohecha (for the Eternal your God is a merciful God). Teshuvah and rachamim are connected – we cannot have return without Divine mercy. The Hebrew word for mercy, rachamim, comes from the same root as the word for a womb, rechem. During the High Holy Days, when we appeal to God’s mercy, we appeal to God Who envelops us, Who nurtures us, Who sustains us as though we were in the womb.
In Talmud [Niddah 30b], Rabbi Simlai teaches that in the womb, a fetus has a candle lit above its head and it is able to see from one end of the world to the other. The fetus is taught the entirety of Torah but once it is born, an angel slaps it, forming what we now call the frenulum, and it forgets everything. Before it is born, though, an oath is administered to the fetus. That oath says, “Be righteous and do not be wicked. And even if the entire world says to you: You are righteous, consider yourself wicked. And know that the Holy Blessed One, is pure, and God’s ministers are pure, and the soul that God gave you is pure. If you preserve it in a state of purity, all is well, but if you do not keep it pure, I, the angel, shall take it from you.” Now we find the connection with the High Holy Days. “Renew our days as of old” doesn’t mean literally return us to the womb, of course not, but it can mean return us living with the oath and the feeling of the womb. Return us to the reminder to keep ourselves humble and yet also return us to a time when we remember how wondrous we are… how we are made b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God [Gen. 1:21]. Return us to a time in which we remember that we always have a choice to do good. Return us to feeling enveloped, nurtured and sustained by God.
Reminding ourselves of the Rabbi Urbach passage - “We return to who we have always been, and are meant to be, but have not yet become. We return to growth and possibility that have lain dormant within us and not yet flourished, much as a sculpture lies hidden within a block of brute stone.” Or, I would say, much as a baby in the womb has a world of potential growth and possibility within them. “Renew our days as of old” can mean to renew us to potentiality, just as the fetus has total potentiality in the womb. Return to having our lives ahead of us, filled with moments of growth. With this reading of the metaphor of the womb, we return in order to progress, in order to grow and develop. We return not because the past was better but because it helps us to acknowledge the wondrous potentiality of the future. That’s an essential message for the High Holy Days – the future is not written in stone, the world can be better… we can be better. On Rosh Hashanah, we are born anew. We renew who we are. We open ourselves to change.
It is very easy to be skeptical of change. At first reading, the Book of Ecclesiastes seems to be skeptical that we can return to a better part of ourselves, saying [Eccl. 1:9] that “what has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; and there is nothing new under the sun.” But that verse does not necessarily deny returning to our truer selves, nor does it even deny the possibility of progress. In fact, it can be read as the inevitability of progress. Even though it may not like it, even traditional Rabbinic Judaism recognizes that Judaism progresses. This is why we find the extraordinary Talmudic story [M'nachot 29b] of Moses being transported forward in time into the classroom of Rabbi Akiva but not understanding a word of what was being taught, so much had Judaism developed since his time. Progress, renewal, is inevitable in Judaism.
Reform Judaism believes that every generation has the potential to surpass the previous one, while acknowledging that this does not always happen. Our primary focus is not back to revelation but forward to redemption. With that in mind, we can look at our quotation from Lamentations anew. “Bring us back to You, Eternal God, and we shall return – renew our days as of old.” “Days of old” do not need to be the focus of this quotation, but rather, chadesh, renew. Renew our days, O God, like You did in the past. Don’t bring us back to the past, renew us as You have always done. That’s a very different statement - it’s a statement identical to the underlying ethic of Reform Judaism. With renewal, religious reform, as a lens, we see the Jewish past differently. When the Hebrews were oppressed for hundreds of years, their Judaism was renewed through the Exodus, through the revelation at Sinai and through the building of the Tabernacle in the desert. When the Temple was built, Judaism was renewed with a more permanent dwelling place for God. When the Second Temple was destroyed, Judaism was renewed by Rabbis who said that God wanted prayer in place of sacrifice. When the mystics arose, Judaism was renewed with an anti-rational, experiential feel. When the Enlightenment occurred, Judaism was renewed with academia and with egalitarianism. When the modern state of Israel was born, Judaism was renewed with a focus of sacred place. When the Information Age started, Judaism was renewed with global and with instantaneous communication and with access to more Jewish learning than Jews had ever had before. And even when the pandemic started, Judaism was renewed by an increased focus on connection with all who could not physically be together.
So, how will our Judaism renew from here? I’ve shared the passage by Franz Kafka a number of times during previous High Holy Day services, in which he orders his horse to be saddled as he hears a bugle call in the distance. The servant asks “Where are you riding to, master?” “I don’t know,” comes the answer, “Only away from here, away from here. Always away from here, only by doing so can I reach my destination.” “And so you know your destination?" asks the servant. “Yes,” he answers, “didn’t I say so? Away-From-Here, that is my destination." That story is shared because of the journey of repentance – away-from-here meaning away from current bad behavior and into being a better person. We ask to be renewed. But is it enough to have our Judaism renewed by external events? Shouldn’t our renewal be purposeful and directed, instead of being a response to what happens to us? Away-from-here is no way to write a strategic plan!
On Rosh Hashanah morning four years ago, I asked “What if we actually listened to the voices of women in Judaism?” Since then, a small Women’s Voices group has existed in our community that has been reading feminist and womanist literature. We have encouraged our members to write their own liturgy for our High Holy Day services, and the majority of contributors have been women, but we have not yet fully transformed our liturgy, our rituals, as much as we might. Maybe our purposeful renewal could involve that liturgical transformation.
We changed the tagline of our community to “Come as you are,” which to me totally encapsulates the spirit of our community of welcoming and celebrating everyone as infinitely valuable and equally important. But we’re not always as welcoming as we hope to be – even with the best of intentions, there is still a cis, white, straight Ashkenormative mindset in our community. Deliberately renewing our days as of old could mean reflecting on and renewing the ways that we are welcoming.
We could renew our Judaism by addressing the mental health crisis that has enveloped our community and that has led to the deaths of at least three of our members in the last five years alone. If saving one life is to be considered the same as saving the entire world, [Talmud: Sanhedrin 37a] then we absolutely cannot, must not, ignore how profoundly isolated so many people are from each other, leading to an astronomical rise in rates of depression, drug use and suicidal ideation, including among our members. Purposefully renewing our days could mean bringing out Jewish teachings and practices to help our mental health, and it could mean becoming a community which openly talks about mental health issues from which most, if not all of us, suffer in some form or other at some point in our lives. In our liturgy [Mishkan T'fillah p.55] we read “May all who struggle find rest on this day. May all who suffer find solace.” Purposefully renewing our Judaism could mean ensuring that our community is truly a place where all who struggle and suffer may find rest and solace. And if you want to see Judaism renewed, we invite you to tell us how. Come and tell us some time soon, and together we will continue the process of renewal.
Chadesh yameinu k’kedem – renew our days as of old. Not because the past was better, not because future generations were superior, and not to hide from the pain of the present. Renew our days as of old not to hide from this world or to deny our progress but, rather, renew our days as of old so that we might once again feel enveloped, nurtured and sustained, so that we may live with the exciting potential of the rest of our lives ahead of us, so that we may be reminded of our own righteousness and choose to act justly in the future. Renew our days as of old by helping us to deliberately continue the eternal process of Jewish renewal. This year, as we start to return to community, let us return so that we might progress. Let us look back so that we may be empowered to look forward. Let our personal and communal renewal go hand in hand, so that we may be enveloped, nurtured and sustained by God and so that all may be enveloped, nurtured and sustained by our community. And let us say, Amen.