Loree Farrar
Yom Kippur 5769
October 9, 2008

I’d like to be able to say    that the God I believe in is a greater power – a natural order, a creative spirit, an amorphous spark of goodness that suffuses the world.  A greater power - that would be much easier.  It’s hard for anyone to disagree with something so broad.  And it would certainly be more socially acceptable, at least in my circles, which are filled with intellectuals and scientists.

But that wouldn’t be honest – it would only be part of my God.  As much as I’ve resisted it, the God I believe in is an active one – a god who is still taking a hand in what happens to this earth, and to me.  It’s almost embarrassing to admit it.    It certainly isn’t logical.  As much as my logical side would like to deny it, an active God has been my experience, and I have to own that.

It’s not like I’m flying solo here.  Our Torah is filled with God’s actions.  Every week when we sing Mi Chamocha we praise god as a maker of miracles –long ago at the Reed Sea , but, by extension, also into the present.  We pray as though we think someone’s listening.  But when we talk to each other, we rarely admit to thinking that there might be some power that is actively influencing us. 

I see God’s hand at many crossroads, large and small. 

How fortunate,   that on the day 10 years ago when we first met Rabbi Marder, we happened to meet outside, and Lisa Langer happened upon us, with her enthusastic explanation of Shabbaton.  A small thing, perhaps, but joining Shabbaton made a big difference to us.

And how remarkable that when we lived in Colorado and were preparing to move here, our California realtor sent us a video about this Jewish Day School, even though private schools were definitely NOT on our agenda.  Years later, my husband Russ spontaneously dropped by that school, beginning our 8-year relationship with Gideon Hausner.

And how mysterious that when my mother was sick and in a coma, the strength somehow came to me, so that I could sit by her bedside, singing to her, month by month by month, with my baby in my belly and later in my arms.

Eleven years ago, when we moved to our new house in California , we were greeted with hellos and balloons and casseroles.  Our new neighbors had children exactly the same age as our three… plus 2 teenage girls – potential babysitters!  They immediately embraced us, inviting us to potlucks and barbeques, making us feel welcome. 

Three weeks after we moved in, one of their daughters became very, very ill.  Our new friends were thrown into a maelstrom of doctors and hospitals.   It seemed like the most natural thing in the world    that we would take care of their three younger children.  The parents sent them over with sleeping bags and teddy bears,  and for a few tense weeks, I was mother to six, until finally the right treatment was found for their big sister.

The most natural thing in the world?  Hardly!  They had only known us for three weeks!  And they were entrusting their children to us – we were almost strangers!  There is nothing natural about that.     But in that chaotic time, what their kids needed more than anything was stability, and that meant staying in school, and going to soccer,  and sleeping at the house next door.  And us?  What we needed more than anything was to be needed.   And this we got.

Our new house wasn’t in a town we had been targeting.  It wasn’t in our price range.  It wasn’t even on the market - when we first saw it, it was under contract to someone else.  But somehow we ended up there.  And it turned out to be a perfect match between our needs and our neighbors.’  I could say it was coincidence – lots of people would   But it didn’t feel like a coincidence.  In my heart it felt like much, much more.

Believing in an active God is very inconvenient.  It causes me all sorts of problems and raises questions that are difficult to answer.  Why do I feel the hand of an active God at some times and not others?  Can I influence this God’s behavior with prayer, or earn intervention with good living?  How can this active God of mine stand by when any one of a million horrific tragedies befall us?

For those questions, I have no answers.  But the point is not my intellectual comfort.   I only know I must wrestle with the questions.  And I must be grateful for those moments at crossroads, when I feel the hand of my active God.