Rabbi Charles Briskin
Rosh Hashana morning 5765
September 16, 2004

What if, at the end of our lives, we had to stand before a judge and justify how we lived? This is an appropriate question to consider at this time of year. Perhaps filmmaker Albert Brooks was inspired by a High Holy Day sermon that asked this question when he wrote his 1991 film, Defending Your Life.  In it, Brooks and Meryl Streep play two people who, shortly after they die, meet in a resort-like place called Judgment City--an intermediate spot between earth and the next stage.  In Judgment City the sun always shines, the accommodations are comfortable, the food is plentiful and always delicious. Despite the cozy environment, the reason people are in Judgment City is to defend their lives.  If they mount a successful defense, they move forward, to the next stage.  If they are unsuccessful, they must return to earth to try again.  All defendants are shown several recorded episodes from their lives in which they exhibited, or didn’t, the necessary qualities that one needs to move ahead.

We showed a clip of this film at our Selichot program last Saturday night.  It is quite funny yet its premise is quite thought provoking.  Each year at the High Holy Days we ask these important questions: Am I worthy enough to be inscribed into the book of life?  Can I justify how I lived during the past year? Do I deserve to return again?    The words of the Unetaneh Tokef solemnly declare: “Let us proclaim the sacred power of this day; it is awesome and full of dread. For on this day Your dominion is exalted, Your throne established in steadfast love; there in truth You reign. In truth You are Judge and Arbiter, Counsel and Witness. . . .On Rosh Hashanah it is written, On Yom Kippur it is sealed: How many shall pass on, how many shall come to be; who shall live and who shall die. . . .But Teshuvah (Repentance) Tefilah (Prayer) and Tzedakah (righteous giving) temper judgment’s severe decree.”

Powerful words indeed.  The Unetaneh Tokef is a prayer that makes us accountable and gives us an opportunity to examine our lives and change our ways.  The Yamim Nora’im, the ten intermediary Days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are like a stop in Judgment City.  We visit each year at this time always hoping and praying that we are deemed worthy and righteous enough to continue doing our work here on earth. These days provide us with time to take an annual inventory of our lives and to examine their contents. Was I honest and ethical at work and at home?  Did I pay enough attention to my family?  Did I sustain loving relationships with my spouse, partner, children and friends?  Did I take care of my physical, emotional and spiritual health?  Did I fulfill my obligations to the world at large?  If we are deficient in any of these areas, we try to do better now, at this time of year by performing serious teshuvah—turning, repentance—for ourselves and for others as we work hard to temper one of judgments severe decrees. 

We call this comprehensive examination cheshbon hanefesh, literally, an accounting of the soul.  When we are honest and deliberate in our accounting, we become more true to ourselves.  We accept responsibility for our misdeeds.  We apologize when we were wrong or misleading and we acknowledge when we simply didn’t live up to our potential. We recognize our failings of the past year and work to rectify them.

 For some of us, this examination is akin to spiritual self-flagellation.  We’re our own toughest critics and are harder on ourselves than anyone else.  This period of reflection is not meant, however, to focus only on all the ways we came up short this past year.  True cheshbon hanefesh takes into account all of our actions and deeds—the good, the bad and the ugly. What were my proudest moments?  What brought me shame?  Were my priorities in order? Where did I succeed and where did I fail?  We ponder these questions, work to improve ourselves in preparation for the upcoming year and dedicate ourselves to making necessary adjustments that will enable us to begin the New Year on track, our account balanced, ready to meet our potential.   

Cheshbon Hanefesh is an accounting of the soul, like our personal annual report. It measures one year of our life to another—successes and disappointments, achievements and failures, all wrapped up in one report with a single bottom line. But unlike a company’s annual report, in which the bottom line is financial, the bottom line of our lives is more qualitative. Cheshbon Hanefesh is about taking stock and achieving balance: in our professional duties and aspirations; in our personal lives among family, friends and ourselves; and also in our relationship with God as we explore our deeper yearnings and our greater commitments.

 For many of us, discovering balance—at work, at home and with God remains one of our greatest challenges.  Yet the inherent difficulty of striving for wholeness, holiness, balance doesn’t mean it cannot be done.  As we consider the meaning of this time of year, think about where you are in your working life:  Are you happy with your job?  Do you find it meaningful and rewarding or monotonous?  Are you challenged or bored?   Do you work too much—at the expense of yourself and your family?  Or have you managed to find balance at the office, doing what needs to get done, feeling good about your work but not feeling overwhelmed? If you were so inclined, could you leave it all today to pursue a completely new and different calling?

Larry and Shirlee could. They used to live in Albuquerque where he had a successful ophthalmology practice and she ran the optical shop connected with his group. They were active in a number of community and arts organizations. They were comfortable and rooted when they decided to take a huge personal and professional risk. They sold their home and bought twenty-five acres of land and a house along a very rural stretch of highway 128, on the road to Mendocino, in Anderson Valley. Friends this is a far cry from the Silverado Trail. They were already wine aficionados and collectors but decided that making wine was what they truly wanted to do. They’ve learned an entirely new vocabulary, developed new skills and have adopted a completely new lifestyle.   Did Larry and Shirlee know that becoming wine makers was their calling? It may have taken them a while to realize it. 

Once they did, they turned their dream into a reality. Shirlee told me, “Our friends and family thought we were crazy.  In some ways they were right.  Sometimes we ask ourselves why are we doing this.  It is definitely more work than we ever thought it was going to be.  But we do love it and it has certainly given us an amazing sense of accomplishment to be able to produce something that we can be so proud of.” 

Larry and Shirlee took a tremendous professional, personal and financial risk to make their dream come true. I don’t know if their vineyard will be as lucrative as his former practice.  But that doesn’t matter.  Ben Zoma teaches in Pirke Avot, the Wisdom of our Ancescors:  Aizeh’hu ashir—who is rich?  The one who is happy with what he has” (Pirke Avot 4:1).  Larry and Shirlee have a hard but rewarding life and despite adjusting to the challenges of their new endeavor, they are happy and content.  Indeed their cup runneth over.  And let me tell you, their wines are fabulous.

Many of us dream of taking a risk like this; few of us act on it. But sometimes when we perform cheshbon hanefesh, and look at the bottom line, we realize that something is missing.  We feel empty or unsatisfied.  We may choose to chart a new path.  We may not.  Few of us are in a place where we can sever our roots, leave everything behind and pursue a dream whose likelihood of success is quite uncertain.  But we can redirect our energy to find meaning in our work.  If that, too, is elusive, we may voluntarily leave our job and find something we think will be more rewarding.  And if that just isn’t an option we change the way we work and devote time to focus on other pursuits, outside of work that matter more to us and make us happy.

We live in Silicon Valley for any number of reasons:  a great climate, abundant recreational opportunities, excellent education, a dynamic and creative working environment, and more.  For most of us, living here makes us happy.  But for many it also means living a life that is a constant struggle for balance.  We balance competing personal and professional obligations. We want to be completely devoted to our families, but struggle to find enough time for our partners and children.  We work hard at our demanding jobs. We push ourselves, relentlessly; Intel CEO Paul Otellini has been known to joke, “A waking hour is a working hour.” (New York Times 9/12/04)  Many of us are proud of our professional achievements, some even revel in their ability to work sixteen hour days, six or seven days a week.  We all work hard, but many of us remain remorseful about the toll this workload takes on our families. It is a constant juggling act: work, home, school, daycare, and back again.  We break our promises: to be home for dinner, to help our kids with homework, or put them to bed. We miss soccer games, little league and recitals because we are in the office. We have good intentions but too often our jobs get in the way and we often come up short. 

Having become a father this year, I am acutely aware of this challenge: I often have good intentions but still seem to miss the mark.  How do I find balance in my life? It was already tough before Ezra came into our lives.  All of us—especially those with younger children—are pulled in many directions.  Many of us wish we could live on one income so that one of us could remain home with the children, but both of us need to work so that we can afford to live here.  We want to be with our kids at all times—well, most of the time—but our jobs require frequent travel, late nights and weekends.

We work hard to be a good parent, a good spouse, a helpful partner and a caring friend but often push these relationships to their limits, and even sadly, beyond the breaking point because of the multiple demands we face each day. We care for others, but we also want to be good to ourselves, devoting time to our own individual pursuits and hobbies, without feeling selfish or guilty.

I am a new parent; Karen and I are very fortunate and greatly blessed. Ezra’s presence in our lives has also made us reexamine our priorities.  We try to be more diligent, disciplined and productive at work so that we can get home earlier.  At the end of my day, I linger less now than I did. I may run home in between afternoon and evening meetings to play with Ezra or to get him ready for bed, when before I would simply work straight through, late into the evening.   Now we’re still trying to figure out how to make everything work and meet all these new demands.

If I am writing a sermon at home, for example, God knows I can’t type it with one hand and cradle Ezra under the other. I’m pulled in two directions—I need to write, and yet I want to be entertained by my son.   These days his pull is much stronger.  All Karen and I can do right now is be the best partners to each other, and the best parents to Ezra that we can possibly be.

This is really all we can hope for; to do the best we can. There is no magic elixir that transforms us into super-workers, super-spouses or super-parents.  Yet we can work hard to control time rather than letting time control us—although Karen and I haven’t figured out how to control Ezra’s 5:30 AM wake up call. All of us yearn to manage our lives in a way that allows us to make it all balance. If we are lucky we figure out how to make it work. Some weeks we run like a finely tuned machine; other weeks we are terribly out of synch.  Finding that equilibrium—and maintaining it—remains one of our greatest challenges. At this time of year, however, we dedicate ourselves to returning to a balanced state of mind and being, thinking of the adjustments we need to make in our lives so that it can happen.

When we perform cheshbon hanefesh, we explore our relationships with our families and friends, our colleagues and with God. We examine and consider our higher callings.  We may even ask the question: “What would God want me to do?”  We ask ourselves:  “What is most important to me?”  “What qualities in myself do I want to improve?” “What must I do in order to achieve the most I can this year?”  Of course our answers may change from year to year. Often times a major event in our lives forces us to reexamine who we are, where we stand and what is truly important. The birth of a child, as I can attest, forces us reexamine priorities. Marriage or a new relationship does as well. The serious illness or death of a loved one often leads to serious introspection, reflection and even resolve.

Last year, our congregation celebrated many simchas, prayed for those who were ill and mourned the loss of many loved ones.  Many in our community faced unimaginable tragedies and crises this past year; their faith was tested—and continues to be.  They reexamined and reevaluated what is most important to them.  In times of joy and celebration, we feel God’s presence very close to us.  In times of sorrow and despair, we may feel that God is very distant.  Performing an accounting of the soul, even at our darkest times, forces us to see where we stand, to check our relationship with others and with God, and resolve, as difficult as it may be, to stand with God at our side. Life’s transitions enable us to think and ponder our higher calling and help us determine exactly what it is that we want and need to do.

When all is said and done, we look at the bottom line of our soul’s account and hope that the report is encouraging. We compare our bottom line this year to the one from last year.  We’re supposed to measure ourselves only against ourselves.  Yet, more often than not we compare ourselves to others, sometimes consciously, other times not. My co-worker seems so happy and stable in his job.  I wish I could be like him.  That family we know from pre-school seems so together, so balanced, so perfect.  Why can’t ours be like theirs?  Some of us even obsess over such comparisons.

Beth Am congregant and Stanford lecturer Denise Clark Pope wrote in her study of high school students called, Doing School, which Rabbi Zweiback referenced last year, that many of the students in the school where she performed her research calculated their grade point averages after each test and exam, always measuring themselves to their peers, always looking for that fractional edge. They obsessed over class rankings, test scores and laundry lists of extra-curricular activities.  They were so consumed with being one step ahead of their classmates that they lost their ability to do their very best simply for their own sake. High School is just one competition after another—educational, athletic, extra-curricular and social. But this behavior doesn’t end in high school.   It continues in college, in the workplace, at the local gym, on sports teams, in organizations and clubs, even at. . .Beth Am. We may not intend to act this way, however, often times we cannot but help measure our achievements and our status against others.  This constant comparison to others increases our own anxiety and may contribute to long stretches of unhappiness or despair.  Rather than being happy for our colleague’s promotion we’re instead jealous of her. Rather than complementing one’s new appearance, we intimate, privately of course, that it must be the result of plastic surgery or Botox.  It is easier to critique, kvetch, and compare than it is to praise.

Yet cheshbon hanefesh, done with integrity requires that we leave comparisons to others out of our self-evaluation.  Professional golfer Vijay Singh learned this lesson a couple of weeks ago.

For the past couple of years, Singh had climbed steadily in the rankings of the Professional Golfer’s Association.  This past spring, he realized that he was in striking distance of Tiger Woods the number one golfer—a rank Woods held for an unprecedented 264 weeks.  Once Vijay caught Tiger in his sights, he declared that his only goal was to overtake Woods.  Once he said it, he began to slump. He was so focused on catching Tiger that he lost sight of his own game and began to falter. After a couple of months of sub-par play, he decided to just go out, golf as well as he could, try to win tournaments and shift his focus away from Woods and onto himself. On Labor Day, Vijay beat Tiger to earn his sixth victory of the year.  He also surpassed Tiger to earn the title of the number one ranked golfer.  "It was a golf tournament to me. It wasn't about the ranking," said Singh after winning that weekend. "It wasn't about going out there and trying to beat Tiger and beat the number one player. I was out there trying to win the golf tournament and that was my goal starting out today.” (From an AP article found on msnbc.msn.com, 9/7/04)  Once Vijay focused on playing his game to the best of his ability he began to golf better.  He suppressed his all-consuming desire to beat Tiger Woods just for the sake of beating him.  Rather he wanted to improve his game on his own so that his ranking would improve. 

Too often we measure ourselves against the example of others.  While we want to be inspired by the way others hone their craft, and while we aspire to learn from their example, if we become so fixated with the need to manage like someone else, litigate like someone else, teach like someone else, program like someone else, market like someone else, heck, even deliver a sermon like someone else. . . then we will ultimately cease being ourselves.

Remember the lesson that Rabbi Zusya teaches us?  You may have heard it before, but at this season especially it bears repeating:  Rabbi Zusya’s disciples didn’t understand why he feared death.  They asked him: “Have you not been as righteous as Moses?  Why are you afraid of God’s judgment of you?”  Zusya answered:  “When I am judged, God will not ask me why I was not more like Moses; God will ask me why I was not more like Zusya.”

Why weren’t you Zusya?  This is the essential question. We’re not supposed to measure our lives against anyone else’s but our own.  If we fall into the trap of always comparing ourselves to someone else, we will always be disappointed and unhappy.  A poet once wrote, “In every birth, blessed is the wonder; in every hope, blessed is the potential.”  Each of us has God-given potential.  We all have unique skills, talents and interests.  If we are lucky we are able to earn a comfortable living utilizing them. An important element of cheshbon hanefesh is striving to be all that we can be.  The lesson Zusya teaches is that we should aspire to become our true selves. As we account for our lives we may set far-reaching goals that take energy and discipline to achieve.  Of course we should be inspired by the examples of others and let their models motivate us to reach our potential; but ultimately we must become the best Zusya possible.

The tram has pulled into the station.  We’ve arrived at Judgment City.  Soon we will be called to justify our lives over the past year.  Yes, we made mistakes—each and every one of us.  But we can point to many successes as well—each and every one of us. We have much to repair and much to be grateful for.  If we have the misfortune of being notified about an IRS audit, we face it with fear and trepidation.  But our self audit of the High Holy Days, our cheshbon hanefesh is truly a gift we give ourselves, for it holds the promise for a richer and more meaningful life in the year ahead.  It isn’t easy—I know. We continue to face the persistent challenge to find balance in our lives. We work hard to avoid measuring ourselves to others. We struggle to figure out how this entire enterprise of life actually works.  But in the end we know that our lives have purpose and meaning and that a life examined is indeed worth living.  May our repentance, prayer and tzedakah temper judgment’s severe decree and may we all be inscribed for a good year into the book of life.

Amen