Rabbi Micah Citrin

April 28, 2006

Letters to Ourselves

They say that no one writes a good letter anymore.  It is all email, email, email.  Well I received a good old fashioned letter in the mail a little over 4 years ago.  The author of this letter was me at age 17.  I would share it with you now:

Dear Micah,

In ten years I will hopefully be married, living in the Pacific Northwest with some sort of job I enjoying doing.  I want either 2 or 3 kids.  No more than one girl.  My wife will hopefully be Jewish.  I want to belong to a synagogue and keep up my alumni activities at Swig.

              I wrote this letter to myself during a cabin activity as Counselor-In-Training at Camp Swig .  Our CIT advisor asked us to think about where we would like to be in ten years time and to write it down.  He promised that he would send it to us in advance of our 10 year CIT reunion.  Between the time that I wrote the letter and the time that I received it in the mail, I graduated from high school, I went to college, lived in Israel , entered rabbinical school; I became engaged to Karen, and I completely forgot that I had ever written this letter.  The letter to myself included some of my dreams, intentions, ideals, and hopes for where I would be in life, the kind of person I wanted to become.  I look back at it now and smile, as I consider what has become a reality, what is yet to be, and how, perhaps, some of my priorities have changed.

            A little over six months ago, our entire community gathered to write letters to ourselves and to God about where we wanted to be during the year 5766.  During the Yamim Noraim, the High Holidays, we reflected on who we were in the year past, and we searched our souls to find the individuals we wanted to become in the year ahead.  We spoke words of promise out loud and in our hearts, to God, to our loved ones and to ourselves about who we would strive to be.  We would be better.  We would improve.  We would live with goodness in the year ahead. 

            Well, here we are and the year ahead is right now.  We are exactly half way between last Rosh Hashannah and the next.  It is time to open those letters written with love and sincerity little over half a year ago.  Are we where we thought we would be?  Have we become the people in 5766 that we said we would become?  Where have we lived up to our ideals?  What aspirations of goodness and kindness have we lost sight of and forgotten?  What promises have we yet to realize?

            I invite you to go back to the time and place that you wrote these personal letters of hope.  If you feel comfortable, I invite you to close your eyes. 

            The crisp fall air gives way as you enter the warmth of the Flynt center foyer.  You enter the great auditorium, a sea of burgundy seats abuzz with fellow congregants in holiday dress, good yonitf and New Year greetings on their lips.  The large room gives off a soft, golden, radiant glow that betrays its size and conveys a sense of intimacy.  Flowers adorn the bima, banners of vibrant cloth like the earth on its birthday flow down from above the ark.  White robes and white Torah mantles majestically remind you that these are days of holiness.  Melodies older than time and more powerful than words focus you the task at hand calling you to rise, to transcend pettiness and narrowness and to live with purpose. (Kol Nidre) And you feel like you can transcend all these things, you feel moved to ascend. 

            Al Chet Shehachatanu lefanecha, for the sin that we have committed against You in acts of greed and self centeredness.  Yes, next year I will become more generous, more thoughtful of others.  Al Chet Shehachatanu lefanecha, for the sin that we have committed against You through impatience and callousness.  Yes, next year I will be more patient with loved ones, more sensitive to their needs.  Al Chet Shehachatanu lefanecha, for the sin that we have committed against You through hurtful words and gossip.  Yes, next year I will be careful with my words and refrain from speaking ill of others.   Avineu Malkeinu-we pray for forgiveness and the strength and determination to change.

            Look back, look inside.  All of these promises that we made, all of these hopes for what we would be, what are they if we do not take a chance to look back, to open the envelope and unfold the letter?  These are our purest intentions inscribed with the ink of a contrite and willing heart. 

            Open your eyes.  What does your letter tell you about who you were 6 months ago and who you have become?  Through will and conscious effort have we become the people who we set out to be, improved from the last year?  And what are the promises we made to ourselves, to God, to love ones that have not come to be, the ones that we say we will get to later?        

            Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, the great Hasidic teacher, explained that each year the day after Yom Kippur he would listen to hear if the Jews of his town were waking up early to go to say their penitential prayers, to prepare for the next year’s High Holy Days.  For he would say that the year passes in the blink of an eye, and again we are standing at Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur facing ourselves and God.

            Situated in between the Days of Awe, half way between 5766 and 5767 there is still time to realize our dreams, hopes, and prayers of living an upright life.  We do not have to wait until next Rosh Hashannah to sound the shofar, to awaken ourselves from the slumber of indifference.  We can sound the shofar in our hearts in the middle of year, right now.   We can change the things we promised to change or be more vigilant about changes that we have let slip back into old patterns of behavior.  There is still half of a year before next Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur to feel the inspiration of the holidays, and to live with intention and purpose.  There is still time to yearn for holy living, to live out our most sacred values-cherishing loved ones and community, making time to appreciate life and blessing, replacing anger and cynicism with kindness and optimism.

            We begin each Yom Kippur solemnly standing, past presidents representing our community holding on to our Torah scrolls as if for dear life as we recite the words of Kol Nidre. These words ask God to release us from vows that we made in the year that has past, and to remind God that we are fallible even as we express our best intentions for the coming year.  Now is the time to redouble our efforts and let the words that we said half a year ago become the reality that shapes the last six months of 5766. 

            Our Torah portion this week, Tazria-Metzora, reminds us of the power of words.  The tzarat, the skin disease that this portion describes in all its vivid details is understood by the rabbis to be the consequence of La’shon ha’rah-speaking negatively about others, speaking in unholy ways.  So how could a few words cause such a horrendous skin condition?  One Hasidic commentator explains that speech is the most holy or elevated aspect of a human being.  Just as God created the world through speech, our words, what we say is a permanent part of our being.  What we say matters.  What we say creates realities.  When we use our speech for negative or unholy purposes, it is as if our bodies and souls begin to deteriorate.  Might La-shon harah also include promising to do something, and not giving our best effort to follow through?  If the words we uttered last Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur have not yet become a reality, we can give the words meaning and rescue them from lashon harah.  We can heed them anew.

            Now it may sound like this D’var Torah is about guilt.  But it is not.  Rabbi Marder reminded us last week, that Judaism is not about guilt, it is about the pleasure of living a life infused with holiness.  I hope none of us feel guilty as we hear these words.  No, I hope that this d’var torah tonight will bring pleasure.  I hope that we will be pleased to remind ourselves of our ideals.  I hope that we take pleasure in recalling the inspiration of the High Holidays and the feeling of going into the New Year as changed individuals.  I hope we all take pleasure in rededicating ourselves to this holy purpose, like opening a letter from our youth full of dreams for a wonderful future.