Rabbi Micah Citrin

March 9, 2007

We Can't Wait for the World to Change

Me and all my friends
We're all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing
There's no way we ever could
Now we see everything is going wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it

So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
Its hard to be persistent
When we're standing at a distance
So we keep waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change

These are the first two verses of the popular song, “Waiting on the World to Change” by John Mayer.  Now, if you are asking yourself, who is John Mayer, don’t feel bad, he is a new rocker to this rabbi, too.  Chances are that if you do not have a teenager in your house you are not hip to this pop star.  For those in the know, however, John Mayer’s song has become an anthem to today’s generation of youth.  When I hear this song, I find myself becoming uncomfortable.  I start to squirm with every refrain of “Waiting on the world change.” 

Now, don’t get me wrong, this is not going to be a “those darn kids and their music” sermon.  Mayer expresses a true sense of frustration with the state of the world, and a feeling of powerlessness to respond or effect change.  Many of us can identify with this sentiment.  What bothers me is the complete sense of resignation, the acceptance, and capitulation to the status quo.  It is as if, Mayer and those for whom he sings, are defeated before they even try.  Or worse yet, they feel like their efforts are in vain, so they have given up.  “We Shall Overcome” - it is not.  While we cannot be naïve in thinking that the world’s problems will merely be solved by goodwill and idealism, there must be another response than simply waiting for the world to change.

Our tradition shares Mayer’s realistic outlook on the world’s brokenness.  If anything we remind ourselves of the fractured nature of human fallibility and imperfection over and over again.  In this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tissa, the Israelites make a golden calf and commit the sin of idolatry, of all places at the foot of Mt. Sinai .  Moses becomes so angry on his way down the mountain that he hurls the tablets with the word of God to the ground, shattering the Torah into a million pieces.  That Torah, according to midrash remains broken to this day. 

We include brokenness in moments of celebration.  The groom breaks a glass at the conclusion of every Jewish wedding.  At the height of celebration the shards remind the community of the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple , exile, and a world yet to be repaired.  As the 137^th Psalm laments, “If I forget you, O Jerusalem let my right hand wither; let my tongue stick to my palate if I cease to think of you, if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour.”  Our tradition does not let us escape the more dire realities in the world.

The kabbalistic understanding of the creation of the world says that brokenness is woven into the very fabric of its existence.  When God created the world, the Holy One put all of the divine light of creation into vessels.  The vessels could not contain this light and they shattered, scattering the light and fragments of vessels everywhere.  An incomplete, imperfect world remained in its place.

Depressing!  The world itself is broken.  Jerusalem is destroyed and we remind ourselves about it even in the midst of great joy.  Our people could not even keep their paws off an idol in the heart of God country at Mt. Sinai .  It could cause even Polly Anna to be despondent.  But this is not the end of our story.  According to the mystics, the creation of the world was not over with the breaking of the vessels.  The point of humanity is to find the broken pieces of the vessels, and glue them back together so that the divine light might once again be whole.  This is not God’s task, it is ours.  The kabbalists called this process tikkun olam, repairing the world. 

This is the nechemta, our source of comfort.  The Jewish attitude and outlook differs from the sentiment of waiting for the world change.  Judaism says, the world is one messy place, but we are responsible to engage in its repair.  That is why we do mitzvot.  With each mitzvah that we do, a piece of the vessel is returned, a spark of light and goodness retrieved.  With each mitzvah that we do, we come closer to God as partners in creation.

But it is overwhelming.  The task is daunting and there are powerful forces that stand in the way:  Darfur , climate change, human trafficking, slavery, oppression, war, famine, hate, corporate greed, government lies and deception.  Where to begin? 

There is a story of man who came upon a young boy on a beach strewn with millions of starfish washed ashore.  As the man approached, he saw the boy bending down and picking up a starfish and throwing it back into the ocean.  The man looked at the boy, shook his head and said, “You cannot possibly think that you will make a difference.  There are millions of starfish dying on this beach.”  The boy bent down, picked up a starfish and threw it into the ocean.  Then he looked at the man said, “I made a difference to that one.”  He did the same with another and said, “I made a difference to that one.”

As Jews we acknowledge reality, but we do not give up on the ideal.  We list the problems, but we do not become listless to the challenge at hand.  Because to loose our hope, to let go of our ideals is to stop being Jewish.  It is to admit that Torah is ineffective and that mitzvot are meaningless gestures.  Instead, we teach our children that the world will not change unless we start to change it.  And at times, we need to stop to remind ourselves of this, too. 

The midrash on this week’s Torah portion asks what happened to those broken pieces of the tablet that Moses shattered.  The sages answered, that the Israelites placed the broken pieces inside the ark alongside the new set of tablets.  The shards continued to serve as a reminder of the brokenness, yet they were placed next to what was whole.  Together inside the ark, reality coexists with the ideal. 

We can also be bolstered by the familiar teaching in Mishna Pirke Avot, “Lo Alecha hamlacha ligmor, v’lo alecha ben horin l’hibatel mimenah - It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”  We may not see the world perfected in our day, but we can hold onto the faith that we have done our part and that another generation of Jews will come after us bringing Torah and healing to the world. 

I hope when our kids groove to this catchy John Mayer tune that some part of their Jewish souls will remember that there is another way to see the world.  I hope they will remember that our tradition says that we cannot wait.