New Eyes

According to our Hebrew calendar, fourteen years ago yesterday morning I became a father. Our oldest son, Benjamin was born just hours before my first Kol Nidre service at my congregation in Jackson, Mississippi. Laura and I had gone to bed the night before Benjamin's birth, already a couple of days past her due-date, fully expecting that he (or she - we didn't know) would join us after the Holy Day. Rather, he decided to begin his entrance some 30 minutes after sleep arrived, thus keeping us up all night and then finally arriving shortly before noon the next day. By the time I stepped onto the pulpit later that evening I was truly running on an incredible burst of adrenalin. I took a deep breath as I fought to contain my emotions, opened my prayer book and announced the page. It was surely not the first Yom Kippur service wherein I led a congregation in prayer from our Gates of Repentance. But as I looked down at the page, my eyes set upon words that looked wholly unfamiliar to me. That experience persisted throughout that long Yom Kippur eve as well the entirety of the next day. As the hours went by, I realized that I was seeing the world, and experiencing it with a different set of eyes - all because of an everyday, yet miraculous event called birth. Benjamin's arrival forced me to look upon life, the world, people and so much more differently.

I know the same is true for each of us - for some it may also have been the birth of a child. For others it may have been a brush with death - illness, an accident. As different as we are, so too are the moments which awaken us to viewing our world differently - to seeing things with new eyes. Sometimes this new sight - or insight - is lasting. It can cause us to alter our behaviors, our words, our actions. At other times, it is fleeting, as we drift back to older patterns, the power of a moment receding into the background as life settles into its routine.

Indeed, Yom Kippur, our annual date with introspection and soul-searching undoubtedly causes many of us to reflect upon our lives. We read the words of our prayers, and silently promise ourselves - and God - that this year will be different. We're really going to make it different - through our words, our deeds, and in our relationships. This year I'll volunteer in my community, this year I'll spend less time at work and more time with my family, this year I'll set aside some time to learn something new, this year I'll be more patient, less angry, I'll guard my words more cautiously. We all make our vows - and then the days become weeks, and the weeks months and more often than we'd like, life more or less resumes its usual course as another year flies by.

In the days following September 11th, as the magnitude of the tragedy set in, I believe we all began to see our world and our lives through new eyes. In one long day our sense of security was shattered, our openness as a society seemed threatened, our hearts and minds turned to fear and anger. As I said last night, it has been a challenge reading some of the words of our prayers this High Holy Day season. Even as my eyes set upon words I know so well, my mind, and heart, challenged me as I recited them. Yet some of the passages seem far more powerful than in years past. I, like you, am looking at our world, and my life through new eyes. How do we live in this new era that began on September 11th, a mere 16 days ago? How do we face the challenges that will undoubtedly come as we adjust to the reality that we are not invincible? Seventeen days ago the sky was clear and bright - a new school year had begun, though the economy seemed rocky, life in general seemed good, safe, and secure. Fresh from some summer respite we were a nation busy with our lives. Certainly not everything was perfect, but the big picture looked relatively good. But September 11th stopped us in our tracks. It forced us to step back from the bigger picture - and take stock. Some people now stay home - fearful of venturing out, uncertain that we have seen the last act of this tragic real life drama. Our airlines fly less frequently and largely empty. City streets once bustling are empty as are restaurants and shops. The performing arts play - especially in NYC to empty houses.

As a nation, we brace for a new war. Rallied round the flag, we stand united, prepared to root out the evil that threatens our way of life and our high ideals. The nations of the world have raced to our side, aligning themselves against the largely mysterious enemy whose will to evil and perversion of good offends, but even more threatens. We pray, we hug, we donate - we light candles, we congregate, and then slowly we resume living. Not as easily nor as fully as prior to September 11th. But each day we breathe just a tiny bit more easily. Tidbits of normalcy begin to appear in our days. There is a catch in our throats as we inhale, and a tinge as we exhale...and there is anger. We are angry at those nameless, faceless villains who robbed us of our innocence, who've threatened the safety of our cities, prevented us from sound sleep and who may lurk even now in the shadows, we know not where. Our eyes dart around a bit more, we flinch at what were previously background noises - a siren, a loud pop, a plane overhead. We gaze upon our world, our lives, through new eyes. How do we live in this new era that began on September 11th? What do we see? How do we understand what we see before us? How do we help our children understand - and live in this new era?

In our Torah reading this morning, we read: "See, I set before you this day life and blessing, death and curse. I command you this day, to love your God, to walk in [God's] ways, and to keep [God's] commandments, [God's] laws, and [God's] rules, that you may thrive and increase, and that your God may bless you . . . But if your heart turns away and you give no heed . . .I declare to you this day that you shall certainly perish; you shall not long endure ... I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life-if you and your offspring would live-by loving Adonai your God, heeding [God's] commands, and holding fast to [God.] For thereby you shall have life and shall long endure ..." (Deut. 30:15-20)

The author of our portion reminds us that good and evil, blessing and curse, life and death are always before us. Yet the events of September 11th remind us that not all is in our hands. How do we reconcile the message of our portion and the reality of our world? How do we keep despair, a part of our natural human response in the face of such devastation and uncertainty, from overwhelming us, immobilizing us and consuming us. We hear our portion: In ways large and small, good and evil are still arrayed before us. Blessing and curse still surround us. The voice of God still beckons from our sacred Torah - Choose life ... that you may live, you and your offspring.

As we awaken to the realities of our new era, the challenges it presents are real. So too are the many blessings which are still a part of our world, and our lives. They may be shrouded behind the thick, acrid smoke of the destruction, or buried in the rubble with the thousands of bodies as yet unrecovered. How do we live in this era? What do we see before us? We must focus our vision to see that the choice of which our portion speaks still lies before us, more or less as much as it was on September 10th. In our grief and our anger, we must not ignore those choices - between good and evil, blessing and curse, life and death, which are arrayed before us in myriad ways each day, each week.

Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, better known as the Baal Shem Tov, founder of the modern Hasidic movement, faced a world of despair and joylessness amongst his followers in the early part of the 18th century. He led a Jewish community devastated by the destruction and evil of the Chmielnicki rebellion which saw the murder of tens of thousands of Jews and the destruction of hundreds of Jewish villages. Rabbi Israel sought to remind his followers that life still held good and blessing for them if they could find a way to look beyond the suffering, grief and anguish that was their lot as a community in the impoverished and devastated villages of Poland. He directed his followers attention to the words we read in Genesis chapter 1 as the story of creation is completed: "And God saw all that [God] had made, and behold, it was very good." (Gen 1:31). The Rebbe taught, "It may be asked why the Torah says, about the Creation of the world, 'Behold it was very good,' and elsewhere (6 times), 'It is good.' (Gen 1:4, 10, 13, 18, 21, 25), yet later, in Deuteronomy it says, 'See, I have set before you this day life and good, death and evil.' (Deut 30:15) Where did this evil come from?"

Rabbi Israel goes on to teach, based on a passage from the Zohar, that "When one does good, evil itself is transformed into good. However, when one sins, actual evil occurs. He offers the example of a broom used to sweep the house which was made for the purpose of cleaning the house. It has a partial measure of good, but on the lowest level. Nevertheless, it is good. But when the handle of that broom is used to strike another human being, the broom becomes completely evil, as it is used violently." So much of what fills are our lives can be viewed the same way - objects, words, acts - which represent potential good but which also have the potential to be used for evil. The choice remains in human hands. Think of the airplanes, vehicles we are accustomed to using for good purposes - vacations, business trips, visiting friends and family. They have been so much a part of our lives, yet now we are reminded of the evil that can be wrought by using something which can afford us so much good.

There is nothing good about the violence and devastation of September 11th in and of itself. However, even in the darkness of that black day, with all its horrors and evil, we saw the power of human choices for good as it faces the dark abyss and draws forth light. Our prophets teach us "Hate evil and love what is good." But we humans are prone to confusing what we should hate and what we should love. On most days of our lives, the distinction is not as stark as it was on September 11th. We must take care that in our anger, disgust and response, we do not become what we detest. We must not mistake good for evil, nor evil for good.

Our family spent part of this summer on a trip back to Jackson, Mississippi to visit our former congregation, and our friends. On the long drive to and from Jackson we took advantage of the opportunity to visit a huge part of our country. Three of the sites we visited stand out among the many wonderful things we saw and did. In Memphis, TN, we visited the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, now the site of the National Civil Rights Museum. We had been there during our years in Jackson but felt that our three older children were now at a point in their lives where it would have meaning for them. We watched the videos, read the displays, listened and spoke about an era they've studied in school. Somehow this seemed to strike them differently. Later in our journey we were in Atlanta. Once again we returned to a site we'd visited years ago - the Martin Luther King Birthplace, Burial Site and now a new National Park Service Museum honoring Dr. King. More films, more reading, more talking. At both museums the children wondered aloud what it must like for African-Americans to visit these sites. Was it harder for them? Did it make them sad, or angry? How differently they must be looking at everything. We saw the same exhibits, read the same words, watched the same videos, but through different eyes. On the next to last day of our trip, we were in our nation's capital. While it had not originally been our plan, we visited the US Holocaust Museum. Walking through Daniel's Story, the children's exhibit, it was our children who noted that we were seeing and hearing things similar to some of what they'd seen and heard in Memphis and Atlanta. Whereas a week before we had seen exhibits of drinking fountains, lunch counters and bus seats marked "colored only,"now we were looking at exhibits depicting places marked for Jews and places from Jews were prohibited. Without our prodding, they themselves noted the parallels between the discrimination which Blacks faced in our country and that faced by Jews under Nazism in Europe. They themselves recognized the similarities between these two sad periods in recent world history. They wondered aloud what it must be like for non-Jews to visit the Holocaust Museum. They realized that their Jewish eyes were seeing the same types of exhibits and situations, the same evils but now through different eyes.

Somehow that moment with our children, as they connected the dots of our travels, sticks with me with incredible power as I look at the new era in which we now live through the eyes that have seen the horrors of September 11th. How do we face our anger and our despair? How do we speak and act in the shadow of September 11th? How do we channel our feelings into living and acting as we face the choices set before us? Where do we go from here? On this day of introspection, when we assess our lives, and utter our promises, let us pause in the face of the darkness and the evil we have seen. Let us not allow it to obliterate the good in our world, and the good that resides in and emanates from the vast majority of human beings with whom we share this fragile planet of ours. We must strengthen our resolve to fight evil. Extremism is dangerous. Fundamentalism and extremism encourage people to say and do things which to the vast majority of the civilized world are abhorrent. This, too, we have seen in recent days. We must stand firm against such extremism and fundamentalism - but my friends, let us not forget that these dangerous strains are to be found in all religions - ours included. We must work together, and with people of other faith communities, our neighbors, our fellow citizens so that the blessings of religious faith and religious community may never be turned into curse, nor be allowed to rob innocent people of their lives. We must work to enhance life but not only for ourselves, and our families. We must remember that every day there are those who are victimized and brutalized because of their looks, their sexual orientation, their beliefs, because they live in poverty. Our true response to the horrors of the nightmare from which we yearn to awaken must be firm commitment to true and vigilant efforts at pursuing justice and engagement in acts of tikkun olam. Let our acts of repairing our world be an affirmation of our hearing and heeding the call to choose life. In the face of the thousands of deaths - let us choose life, and by so doing, honor the lives of those who died. Our eyes will never look upon the world - our world - in the same ways we did before that dark day. But we can honor the memories of those who died by our choices and our actions, and in so doing emerge from this time stronger and better. We cannot change what occurred. And there is no doubt these events will change us. They already have. But we have a say in how we are affected. We can choose how we look at our world, through our eyes, which have changed as a result of what we have witnessed. Our vision is blurred but let us strain to see the good. Let us not turn aside from the evil, nor the curses. Let us work to correct them. Let us not allow our anger, and our angry eyes to lead us down the paths of bigotry and injustice. Let us recognize that the choices are still ours to make. Let them be for the good, the blessing and for life.