High Holiday Sermons 2021/5782

For anyone who was unable to join us over these past High Holidays and wondered what messages I shared, would like to review my sermons, or would like to share them with friends or family, please find them below!

Choosing a Life in Holland (delivered 1st Day of Rosh Hashanah, 2021/5782)

Challenging Ourselves, Listening to Ourselves (delivered 2nd day of Rosh Hashanah, 2021/5782)

Living a Life Worth Dying For (delivered Kol Nidre, 2021/5782)

The Complexities of Life and Tomatoes (Delivered Yom Kippur morning, 2021/5782)

The Living Dead (delivered Yom Kippur Yizkor, 2021/5782)

The Living Dead (delivered Yom Kippur Yizkor, 2021/5782)

Last January, before the world was turned upside down by COVID, I took on a new journey, daf yomi.  In daf yomi, you study one daf, one double-sided page of the Talmud, a day which, if done faithfully, takes approximately seven and a half years to complete.  So far, while I can say I have a lot left to learn in the next six-plus years, I have learned a lot of halakhah, law, regarding blessings and prayer, what you can and cannot do on Shabbat, and how to build a sukkah.  I have also learned more than I ever thought I would about the intricacies of how the sacrificial system in the Temple worked, particularly on Passover and our holiday today, Yom Kippur. 

The Complexities of Life and Tomatoes (Delivered Yom Kippur morning, 2021/5782)

Over the course of this pandemic, with all of the newly found time at home, many of us started picking up new hobbies.  There have been various phases of hip new hobbies that have trended through the last 18 months, as varied as doing puzzles, taking off and putting on a shirt while doing a handstand, making sourdough bread, gardening, exercising, reading, and everything in between.  Particularly in the early days of the pandemic, we all grasped at anything that would keep us entertained and help us stave off the intense feelings of loneliness and isolation with which we were struggling.

One of the hobbies I picked up is an old standby—watching TV.  In the years BC (before Coronavirus), I watched very little TV, as whatever work I didn’t finish during the day would be done after my kids went to bed.  But with some of those commitments suspended or evolving while I was working from home, I found that I had time that I hadn’t had before.  Orly and I would carve out time with our children to watch movies, some classic ones such as Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Indiana Jones that we had grown up with; some newer ones, like Soul, Onward, and The Mitchells vs. the Machines that were entertaining but also offered opportunities for deeper conversations; and some shows that were ridiculous but entertaining, like Floor is Lava, Nailed It, and Running Wild.  Sometimes, Orly and I sat down and cuddled on the couch late in the evening and would catch up on shows we were behind on, ones that we always wanted to see but never got around to, and ones that we found for the first time.

Living a Life Worth Dying For (delivered Kol Nidre, 2021/5782)

We are told in polite company, there are two topics that we are supposed to avoid discussing: politics and religion.  Y’all know me well enough by now to know I’m not going to dive into something as divisive as politics (especially not today), and me being a rabbi and this being Yom Kippur, I can’t help but talk religion.  I’ll add another subject, though, that many of us avoid talking about in polite company—the idea of death. 

There are two general approaches to discussing the topic of death.  One approach is to treat it like my father does: he has made his do not resuscitate orders VERY clear, recently sent my brothers and I an updated copy of his will, and has made clear what he wants to happen upon his passing (although, a few years ago when some of us tried to start going through his packed-to-the-brim storage room, he was more than happy to pass it off and say, “When I die, figure this out on your own”).  The other is an approach I call, “the ostrich approach:” let’s ignore the topic and hope it goes away.

Challenging Ourselves, Listening to Ourselves (delivered 2nd day of Rosh Hashanah, 2021/5782)

A little more than a month ago, the world tuned in to the Olympics in Tokyo.  In some ways, it was one of the strangest Olympics games I can remember—due to COVID, the games were delayed from last year, but still retained their 2020 signage and advertising, creating a weird feeling that we were watching last year’s games (a concept that we struggled to explain to Noah, who was confused why they didn’t just change all the signs to 2021).  There were no fans or spectators in the stands, creating new experiences for the athletes of the more popular sports and who thrive on the adrenaline of a cheering crowd as well as for us at home, who were hearing crickets and cicadas during outdoor events. 

At the same time, it felt like there was a lot of normalcy to these Olympics.  There were the negatives—charges of corruption and bribery against members of the International Olympic Committee, protests by Japanese citizens who didn’t want the games amidst a resurgence of the pandemic, athletes forfeiting matches for political reasons, athletes being condemned for making political statements, even at least one who had to seek asylum after she feared for her life after criticizing her coaches.  There were also many positives—seeing elite athletes performing at their best on a world stage, inspirational stories of athletes who overcame great obstacles to win medals, athletes from different countries who bonded and celebrated each other.  Like any Olympics, it featured some of the worst and the best of our world.

Choosing a Life in Holland (delivered 1st Day of Rosh Hashanah, 2021/5782)

In 1974, Emily Perl Kingsley gave birth to a baby boy, whom she named Jason.  While that may not seem like a major event to us, it was to Kingsley.  It was made even more significant by the fact that Jason was born with Down Syndrome at a time when services for children with disabilities were more difficult to obtain and inclusion was not yet considered a value in many communities.  A writer for Sesame Street, Kingsley used her experience raising Jason to advocate for and write in the show people with disabilities, including Jason, who appeared in 55 episodes as well as guest starring on other shows (he also completed high school, post-secondary school, and has co-written a book). 

I recently learned about Kingsley through a reference to her well-known essay, Welcome to Holland, which she published in 1987 and describes her experience raising her son.  For those who may not have heard or seen it, I’ll share it with you today:

Recognizing, Reflecting, Rebuilding: On the First Anniversary of COVID-19 (delivered Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei, 3/13/21)

For better or for worse, I remember it well.  For weeks, I had been feeling worn out—I was tired, cranky, suffering from a lack of energy and motivation, and, in short, burned out.  At Orly’s strong suggestion, we planned a weekend away.  We would get a hotel outside Stone Mountain Park near Atlanta, walking distance to the park itself, and spending the weekend outside, relaxing, enjoying nature, and resting a little bit.  It worked out that the kids had an early release from school, so we packed the car, picked them up and hit the road.

We drove along to Atlanta, excited by the prospect of rest and relaxation.  We tried to minimize our stops so we could make better time and start our weekend, me driving while Orly checked conditions at the park regularly for the weekend.  As we got closer, just 15 minutes from the hotel, Orly did one last check—Stone Mountain Park had just announced they were closing indefinitely due to COVID-19. 

That was exactly one year ago today.  The following Monday, we as a congregation went virtual for all services, classes, and programming.  We tried to introduce new programs early on to help stay connected, give people things to do, and ease the burden we were all feeling.  Two days later (if I remember correctly), the school system announced they were moving all classes virtually.  The city of Savannah progressively closed itself down in response to the global pandemic and our lives were turned upside down.

The Attributes of Leadership (delivered Parashat Shemot, 1/9/21)

When I was in rabbinical school, one of our teachers (they’ll have to forgive me that I can’t remember which one) taught us that as long as we are rabbis, there should always be one piece of text, one teaching, which should help anchor us.  It might not always be the same text throughout our rabbinate, but there should always be some teaching from our tradition we hold on to which helps inform who we are at our core as rabbis.  While we might not look at the entire teaching today, I would like to share one of my core teachings—a teaching I think which speaks to us as invaluable after the events of this week.

High Holiday Sermons 2020/5781

For anyone who was unable to be hear my sermons that I shared over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, would like to review my messages, or share them with friends and family, please find them below!

Physically Distant, Spiritually Connected (1st Day of Rosh Hashanah)

“Help” if You Can (2nd Day of Rosh Hashanah)

Making the Broken Beautiful (Kol Nidre)

More vs. Enough (Yom Kippur Morning)

One More Phone Call (Yom Kippur Yizkor)

Physically Distant, Spiritually Connected (delivered 1st Day of Rosh Hashanah, 2020/5781)

Three years ago, for my first High Holiday sermon here in Savannah, I spoke about the different names for what we call our religious community.   At the time, I tried to impress on everyone the importance of us being more than a synagogue, more than a place to gather, even more than a house of prayer or study.  I tried to share my vision that we would be a kehillah kedoshah, a “holy community,” one in which each and every member is in a covenant, a long-term, reciprocal relationship with others in the community; a community in which each and every other member has a relationship with each and every other member, so that no one is on the fringes; a community in which we are active participants, involved in the various aspects of our religious lives; a community in which we celebrate and rejoice when something good happens to one of us and we gather, support, and mourn when something bad happens to one of us. 

Three years later, I not only still believe what I said, but I believe that with everything that has been going on over the last six months—with everything we have seen, heard, and felt—it is even more important today than it was three years ago.