Shaarei Shamayim
1600 Mount Mariah
Atlanta, GA 30329
(404) 417-0472
ROSH HASHANAH 5781
ROSH HASHANAH 5781
The title of my sermon today is, “What I Did on my Summer Vacation this Year.” It was more difficult for me choosing where to go this year—as I’m sure it was for you as well—because of the restrictions of the Coronavirus. Then life itself dictated that I spend it locally, here in Atlanta. So, I wound up spending it at the most expensive per-night facility in all of Atlanta—Emory University Hospital at almost $20,000 per night! I requested a room with a view—and you would think that at that price they would look to honor my request—but somehow, I didn’t even get a room with a window!
This was only the 2nd time in my life I was taken to the emergency room. 10 years ago—also just a few weeks before Rosh Hashanah, also on a Friday afternoon—I came down with a severe case of diverticulitis. In the 31 years I have been in Atlanta, I have only missed a Shabbos in shul that was not a planned vacation these 2 times. During that diverticulitis attack, as I was waiting between tests, I got on my cell phone to make calls to insure we had a minyan Friday night. I was pretty successful because who could say no to their rabbi calling from the emergency room of a hospital? I later realized I made a serious mistake. I should have asked for money!
But there was no making calls this Friday night with my heart attack. Because it happened so close to Shabbos, we had to cancel our Zoom service.
Anyway, Emory University Hospital is a very special place and I’m really grateful that it’s here, in the neighborhood. Although you can’t get much rest there—especially at night with all the wakeups to take blood with a needle and blood with a prick of the finger, checking your temperature 3 times, a chest x-ray and a heart x-ray, 5 times waking up to take meds—3 orally and 2 shots—every night!
The worst part of the whole experience was that Cheryl was not allowed to be with me because of the Corona virus. But somehow, she did manage to smuggle in some wonderful kosher meals, and with every delicious bite I felt her presence.
Being in the hospital for me was an adventure of sorts. It brought up all kinds of new questions of Jewish law that I never thought of before—like how to gently ask the nurse how can you sleep in the room on Shabbos with the lights on because you can’t turn them off yourself? Or how do you wind your tefillin in the morning over the IV on your left arm? And as I was winding the tefillin around the IV, I couldn’t help but think of the old story of the man who was putting on his tefillin in the hospital when one nurse ask the other. “What do you think he’s doing?
The other nurse replied, “You know these Jews. They’re so smart and careful. I bet he’s taking his own blood pressure!”
What I did feel was terribly humble. When you’re well you think you can accomplish anything. It never occurs to you that in a minute it all can change, and you can find yourself hardly able to move—lying on a gurney wearing a hospital gown open at the back. What a scary experience it is to be in a hospital. They don’t mean to, but they treat you like a child. They put you in a bed that has sides—like a crib. They determine when you go to sleep and when you wake up and when and what you eat.
And you lie there, flat on your back, looking up at them—these men and women in white coats, who have the power to decide your fate, in whose hands is your well-being—who talk about you, as if you were a case, not a person. They use big words, technical words, to describe your condition that you don’t always understand.
Don’t take this as criticism of our hospitals. Believe me I’m thrilled that there are world-class hospitals in Atlanta—with the finest doctors in the world—like Emory when we need them. But it’s a scary, dehumanizing and humbling experience to be a patient. Your soul and your emotions are in turmoil, not just your body.
I admit, I was terribly frightened. At 1st I didn’t think I was having a heart attack because I had no chest pain—I just could not catch my breath. When they rushed me to the Cath Lab to put stents into my arteries, I realized how serious this was. I was all alone—but not really—I was alone with Gd—and so I prayed like I never prayed before. It was the simple prayer that I’ve done with you many times over the years. Just 3 words: “Hashem help me.” I said it over and over again—probably more than 100 times.
My friends, I suspect that some of us haven’t really prayed in a while—not deep prayer. I urge you over Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur to take the time to really pray—especially with all that has happened these past 6 months with the Coronavirus, the political animus and rioting in our country. Understand that these 10 days of Repentance through Yom Kippur is a special opportunity. Gd is waiting to hear your personal prayers.
So, let’s begin now. Let’s all say this simple prayer together, and as we do let’s have in mind that we’re asking for Gd to fulfill our prayers for the New Year. Think of what you want most in this New Year and say together with me: “Hashem help me.” Say it again, “Hashem help me!” Say it louder, “Hashem help me!” Say it with your heart, “Hashem help me!” Say it again from the deepest recesses of your soul, “Hashem help me!” Scream it out, “Hashem help me!” Once more, “Hashem help me!”
I want to revisit today a theme I spoke about on Rosh Hashanah 29 years ago—a theme that is now more personal for me. How many of you have ever had the experience like I just had of being wheeled down to the operating room and once there…going UNDER THE KNIFE? If so, raise your hand. If you’ve had that experience, then you know that life itself stands still and you’re never quite the same again—that your perception of life changes and you forever see the world differently.
That’s what happened to Isaac—my hero in the Rosh Hashanah Torah readings. I want to show you how I think he was changed forever a result of his going UNDER THE KNIFE. We’re all a bit squeamish about the story: Gd commands Abraham to take his son, whom he loves and offer him up as a sacrifice??? And he agrees??? And, at the very last moment when he’s about to lower the knife, an angel intervenes and says: “Stop! Al tishlach yadcha el hanaar. Don’t touch him. Now that I know that you are sincere, you need not sacrifice your son.”
The story is usually told as an example of the faith, love and loyalty of Abraham…or, as a story that proves that Gd does not want human sacrifices. Either way, what kind of Gd could issue this kind of a command??? And what kind of a father could obey it?
The story troubles us if we read it from the point of view of Gd, or from the point of view of Abraham, but today, let’s look at it from the point of view of Isaac. Let’s do it because you and I have never been in the position of Gd or Abraham, but most of us, at some time in our lives, will have been in the position of Isaac—UNDER THE KNIFE—and so we can identify and learn from him.
Isaac usually gets the short end. Abraham and Jacob are considered giants with Isaac’s only significance that he was the link between them. Abraham and Jacob are travelers—they go to Egypt, they go to Syria—Isaac never leaves home. Abraham and Jacob are public figures—they talk to Pharaoh and to Laban—Isaac never does. Abraham and Jacob are warriors—they fight with swords—Isaac never does. And so, it’s easy to think that they are the heroes—and he’s not.
But if you study the text carefully, you’ll see that Isaac was also a hero—a hero of a different sort—and that the central event in his life—the moment that changed him forever—was the moment he went UNDER THE KNIFE.
I think it changed Isaac in these ways: 1st, of Isaac—and only Isaac—is it written that he meditated. The Torah (Gen. 24:63) says: Vayeytzey Yitzchak lasuach basadeh (Isaac went to meditate in the field). Nowhere does the Torah say that Abraham or Jacob or Joseph meditated. They were men of action, people who ran big businesses and were always busy. Isaac was a person who walked quietly, who took time to contemplate—something no other Biblical figure ever did. And I like to think that his meditations included a simple prayer—something like our prayer, “Hashem help me,” giving him the feeling that Gd is always with him.
Somehow, when you’ve been UNDER THE KNIFE, you’re different from then on. From then on, you think in terms of, who am I? Where am I going? Why am I here? And what am I doing with my life? ... And not just about how much I have or don’t have…or how much faster can I go…or what can I win? When you’ve been UNDER THE KNIFE and recovered, you live differently—you meditate, as Isaac did.
Not everybody reacts that way. I remember visiting someone in the hospital—when visits were allowed. He had a major heart attack like I did. I walked in and caught him speaking to his secretary on his cell phone while texting at the same time. He must have guessed what I was thinking, and he grinned and said: “I’m doing this for the kids.”
No he wasn’t! He was doing this because he was addicted—because he couldn’t stop. But most of us are not like that. Most of us are like Isaac. Once you’ve been UNDER THE KNIFE you become more contemplative.
The Torah (Gen. 24:67) says of Isaac when he married Rebecca: Vayeh-ehaveha (That he loved her). That’s not a common expression in the Torah. Nowhere does it say that Abraham loved Sarah, or that Moses loved Tzipora. They probably did, but for a man of antiquity to admit it and show that he cared that much about his wife—was unusual. The Torah also tells us that he cared so much, he prayed to Gd for her and felt her pain as if it was his own. That’s unusual!
And there’s something else unique about this relationship. The Torah (Gen. 26:8) records: Yitzchat m’tzacheyk et Rivka ishto (that Isaac played with Rivkah his wife). They played together, they relaxed together—they enjoyed each other. This is not said of any other couple!
Other Biblical figures were too busy for that. Isaac wasn’t because he had been UNDER THE KNIFE. And so he knew what was important and what was not. He had time to play with his wife—to relax with her, to enjoy her—because that was important.
Isaac is different from his father and his son, in another way: He never once lifts a sword or a fist as they do. He’s a man of peace. 3 times he digs a well, and 3 times the Philistines contest his claim…and each time he gives up the well rather than wage war for it.
Why did he do that? Because Isaac did not measure his worth or his wealth by the number of wells he possessed. He felt that his life, and the life of his family, and the life and the safety of his followers were worth more than a few wells of water. Having once been nearly offered up on an altar, he was not going to sacrifice his life, or the lives of his servants, for the sake of a well.
And it worked! Because Isaac was committed to peace…the Philistines responded with peace. They were impressed by his gentleness and generosity, and they made a peace treaty with him. He ended up becoming just as powerful and prosperous as Abraham and Jacob were—even though he didn’t fight, as they did.
I think he learned UNDER THE KNIFE the importance of love. In that instant, he realized that fame, and power, and publicity, and all those things that had seemed so important were meaningless in the face of death. All of a sudden, he realized that the only possession of ultimate worth is the love and the respect of loved ones…a sense of connection to the land…and a bond with Gd. And all the rest—all the narishkeit foolishness that occupies and frustrates us…really isn’t as important as we think is.
On Rosh Hashanah the Torah bids us to study the story of a man who never made a great speech—unlike his son, Jacob. Who never led a great army—unlike his father, Abraham. All he did was meditate—to discover his true self. All he did was just love his wife—and find the time to play with her, and get along with his neighbors and win their respect. All he did was live like a mentsch from the day that he went UNDER THE KNIFE until the end. That’s all!
My question for you—my dear friends—today on Rosh Hashanah is: if this is the lesson that almost every human being learns when he goes under the knife, why can’t we learn it before we go under the knife?!
These past 6 months have been perhaps the most challenging 6 months of our lives—with quarantine, loss of income, not being able to hug or hold our loved ones, not being able to come to shul, not knowing when or if this plague will ever end. We’re all plagued with worry—so much so—that it’s almost like we’ve all now been under the knife.
What causes us the most frustration in life are the things we worry about that we have no control over: our kids’ decisions, what other people do, the Coronavirus, what Iran will do next. I have a suggestion for us that comes from Rebbetzin Chana Heller. She writes: Instead of brooding over things and making ourselves into nervous wrecks, try turning our worries into prayer. As soon as you begin to worry about something, pivot! Direct your worry to the One who can do anything, solve anything, and certainly doesn’t want you to become a nervous wreck.
If you’re worried about how you’re going to recover financially from the last few months…turn it into a prayer: “Gd please help us recover our losses. Show us the way out of this. Help us to be positive and resilient.”
If you’re worried about your mother who’s been isolated in an assisted living facility and hasn’t had visitors in months…turn it into a prayer: “Please Gd, take care of my mom. Help her to be surrounded by caretakers who are kind, and caring. May she not become depressed by the lack of family contact.”
Are you worried about what’s happening in our country? Who’s not? Turning it into a prayer is a positive way to affect the change we want to see: “Gd please help our country unite in a good way. Help us have the wisdom and the compassion to eradicate bigotry, racism, inequality, anti-Semitism peacefully. Help us learn to love and respect one another and create a good future for our children.”
What are you worrying about right now? Understand like I did with full faith on the operating table in that Cath Lab, that Gd always has our backs. So, turn your worries for the New Year into prayer: May Hashem help us. May He grant us all in the New Year health, happiness, prosperity and loving relationships. And may He write us all in the Book of Life. Amen!
