Rabbi Josh Zweiback

Yom Kippur 5766

A World of Meaning

          It’s a beautiful thing to stand on this bimah and look out and see you, this kehilah k’dosha, this sacred congregation on this sacred day of Yom Kippur. It is an honor to stand here before you.

          You know it really wasn’t that long ago that I was experiencing the High Holy Days on the other side of the bimah.

          And I remember the deep thoughts I pondered as I sat in the sanctuary back in Omaha with the liturgy for these Days of Awe unfolding.  I recall thinking, “I wonder how many separate panes of glass there are in that stained glass window over there.  There’s gotta be over fifty.  What am I thinking, there’s a hundred.  I know, why don’t I count them? One, two, three, four…”

           Sometimes my mind would drift to existential concerns and I’d find myself thinking: “OK. I’m stranded on a deserted island and can only take five record albums with me. Which ones do I take?”

          There was always time for a story problem or two:  “Let’s see here, we’re on page 312. The closing song is on page 367. I’d estimate we’re doing about 25 pages an hour. Assuming we do some skipping here and there—and please God, say we’ll do some skipping here and there—I’m guessing, unless the choir takes us on a major detour, that we’re in the parking lot in ninety minutes.  Oh, wait – the rabbi’s sermon.  Let’s recalculate.”

            I understand, of course, that this is not a widespread phenomenon.  This counting business was my problem.  I mean, none of you would be so distracted as to engage in any of the aforementioned activities.

            OK, so maybe I’m not the only one who has drifted a bit during these worship services over the years.  Maybe we all have.

          And it’s too bad really. These days are supposed to help us make meaning of our lives and of the world around us. These days are about asking the big questions, “How am I doing? What is required of me? What am I supposed to do with the time allotted me?”

          Instead of counting panes of glass or pages in the prayerbook, we should be counting our many blessings with gratitude and our many failings with regret.

          Ultimately, these yamim noraim should be the most stimulating, invigorating, awe-inspiring days of our lives.

          So why is it so hard sometimes to be fully present here? It’s a question that demands an answer.  Why do so many of us gather together at this time of year, as though nothing could be more important to us, and then all to often work our way through the experience as if it were nothing more than a chore we can’t seem to abandon?  What’s at the root of this?  Is it just a matter of being stuck on autopilot?  Or is there something about the undeniable religiosity of this day that makes us uncomfortable?

          The great majority of us, even as we sit with our congregation on days that we call High and Holy with no discomfort, feel uncomfortable counting ourselves among those who pursue the Most High and Most Holy.  “We’re not religious,” we insist.  “Religious people live in red states like Nebraska or Texas .  Religious people belong to the right kinds of churches and get appointed to the Supreme Court. We’re secularists – cultural Jews who have chosen to affiliate with a synagogue.  We wouldn’t dream of missing the High Holy Days but don’t call us religious.”

          Not religious?  Think again.  After all, we’re Americans, and for far longer than any of us can remember, being religious has been perhaps more American than apple pie.

          In 1831, when French political philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville visited our young country, he observed:  “It may be believed without unfairness that a certain number of Americans pursue…worship from habit more than from conviction.”  However, he concludes:  “In the United States , the sovereign authority is religious… By regulating domestic life, (religion) regulates the State.”  Religion is our nation’s founding political institution, says Alexis de Tocqueville – even for those who engage “from habit more than from conviction” – those so-called non-religious people who wouldn’t miss this Yom Kippur service for the world.

          Now, one might argue that while de Tocqueville’s insight can help us understand early America , he knows nothing of America today. After all, it isn’t 1831 anymore.  Perhaps modernity has helped us to get wise to religion.   People don’t buy into those beliefs like they used to, do they?  And didn’t last fall’s presidential election indicate that the pendulum has swung?  Aren’t we pretty much evenly divided these days between religionists and non-religionists?

          The truth is, while there have been moments in American history when it seemed as if religion might recede from the center of American identity, this is not one of them.  On April 8, 1966, the cover of Time magazine provocatively asked: “Is God Dead?” The vast majority of today’s Americans don’t think so. On September 5, 2005, just five weeks ago, Newsweek’s cover story was:  “Spirituality in America : What We Believe, How We Pray, Where We Find God.”  Surveys indicate that Alexis de Tocqueville’s America is alive and well—and so too, it seems, is God.  Eighty-eight percent of today’s Americans describe themselves as religious, spiritual or both.  Sixty-four percent of today’s Americans pray every day and  80% believe that the universe was created by God.

          These numbers may seem shocking to you. One might be tempted to conclude that America truly has been taken over by the Evangelicals – only the survey shows that just 33% of the respondents are evangelical Protestants, and among the evangelicals, 68% of them say that good people possessing other religious beliefs can attain salvation. This means that two-thirds of today’s self-defined evangelicals aren’t ideological evangelicals at all.  They’re just Christians who have joined an evangelical church, and who accept a multiplicity of paths to truth, just as we do.

          So ours is a country not predominantly populated by religious fundamentalists, nor is it predominantly populated by secularists.  The great, great majority of Americans are people like you and me – searching for meaning, feeling the push and pull of ancient values and truths – at once awed by the words in our prayer books, and alienated by them… counting the stained glass windows in the sanctuary, but still in the sanctuary on this holiest day of the year.

          But, lately, there is an alarming and dangerous silence that has fallen over this great, great majority in America .  For reasons that are hard to understand – possibly because of our own discomfort with seeing ourselves as religious people – we have ceded the business of defining “religion” in the marketplace of ideas and public policy to those who accept only their own path to truth, and are willing to wage war for that path.  Religion in the public sphere today is synonymous with fundamentalism, whether its Sunnis in Iraq or ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel .  And in our country, religion in the public sphere is defined by the “culture of life” – a moniker that instantly invalidates any alternate opinion as the voice of the “culture of death.”

          It’s critically important now—given what’s happening in our country, in Israel, and in the world—for us to speak up loudly with a different definition of religion… a definition that includes and embraces the great, great majority of this land.  So let us consider what it means to be a religious person, and how religion in general and our brand of religion in particular – Reform Judaism – can make our world a better place.

          Perhaps most broadly and most basically, to be religious is to see meaning in a world of chaos – and even the most affirming among us must concede that ours is a world of chaos.  In the face of violence, famine, war, floods, mudslides, and earthquakes, in a time when human life seems to be afforded less value than ever, one might justifiably descend into existential despair.  Religion offers us a way out.

          In the words of the great sociologist Peter Berger, “Religion is the audacious attempt to conceive of the entire universe as being humanly significant.”[1] Religious belief enables us to say “no” to the nihilist who claims that ultimately nothing matters, that the world is empty of meaning.

          Berger argues that “every human society is, in the last resort, (people) banded together in the face of death. The power of religion,” he asserts, “depends, in the last resort, upon the credibility of the banners it puts in the hands of (human beings) as they stand before death, or more accurately, as they walk, inevitably, toward it.”

          And so here we are, praying – perhaps ambivalently – but praying from books filled with those banners, marching uncertainly towards the only thing in life that is 100% certain—our own demise.  Religion helps us face death bravely by inspiring us to believe that there is meaning in the cosmos, that our deeds do amount to something, that we can make a difference. In the face of the chaos and destruction all around, religion calls us to believe that justice and righteousness are intrinsically good and that the pursuit of these ideals is more than just an act of charity – it is a mitzvah, a sacred duty.

          There is a mystery at the very core of our being that religion seeks to understand. We gaze up into the heavens or into the great depths of the sea or into the eyes of a total stranger, and we wonder: “What is being asked of me?” “What am I required to do?”  Or, as the question is asked by the prophet Micah, animating this most Holy Day and, arguably, our entire Jewish tradition: “What does God demand of me?”

          To be religious is to believe that the fate of humanity, the very fate of our world, depends on our responding to that question wisely, compassionately, and justly.

          And I think that it’s a beautiful thing that in attempting to answer this question, our particular religious tradition, Judaism, doesn’t require us to abandon this world by secluding ourselves on some mountaintop somewhere.  I mean, can you imagine a more impossible task for a Jew? To search for the meaning of life without talking to anyone?  Actually, quite to the contrary, Jews are called to contemplate that fundamental question by engaging all the more fully in this world. Judaism is not a tradition of allowing someone else with a louder, more strident voice to fashion the message of religion in the public sphere.  We’re commanded to speak up and to take action.  As the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas puts it: “The knowledge of God comes to us like a commandment, like a mitzvah. To know God is to know what must be done.”  For Levinas, we know God, we experience the ultimate religious moment when we welcome the stranger, when we visit the sick, when we honor mother and father, when we fight to protect the dignity of the most vulnerable, here at home, and in every corner of our fractured globe.

          And to be a liberal religious person—a Reform or Conservative Jew for example—is to respond to this question with real humility. We do not believe that we have a lock on the truth. We do not believe that ours is the only way, that we have all the answers, that the totality of human wisdom is contained in our precious texts. But we are serious about the wisdom we do have to offer from our precious texts.  And we are serious about responding to that question, “What is being asked of me?”

          To be a liberal Jew is to have faith that, despite our doubts, there is indeed meaning in the cosmos. To be a liberal Jew is to accept a divine imperative to be a light unto the nations even as we admit that we are not the only light that offers guidance. To be a liberal Jew is to believe deeply that our tradition can help show us the way even as we open ourselves to the light that shines from all those others in the great, great majority—non-Jews, those who believe differently, those who don’t believe at all.

          As leading Reform Rabbi Sam Karff puts it, if we do religion well, it can help us “…discover the purpose and meaning of our world and our place in it.”[2]  No small task. And when you look around our world these days, it’s hard to think of one that’s quite as important either.

          The truth is, we need religion in general and liberal religion in particular. We need liberal religion in our people’s ancient home.  And we need it in this land we call home today.

          If we value democracy and pluralism, if we believe that all people have a fundamental right to ask those big questions and then search for meaning in their own, unique ways, we have got to care about the state of liberal Judaism in Israel . The survival of our people’s homeland depends not only on the security of its borders but also on the quality and diversity of its answers to the big questions that religion addresses.

          But unfortunately, liberal religious voices are being stifled in Israel today. The Orthodox rabbinate exerts enormous control over Jewish religious life and, as a result, the authority of Reform and Conservative rabbis is not recognized by the state. It’s both ironic and obscene that a marriage at which I officiate in Germany would be recognized by the German government but the Jewish State does not consider marriages presided over by Reform rabbis as valid. And Reform and Conservative synagogues and institutions—unlike Orthodox institutions—receive no funding from the ministry of religious affairs.

          Now don’t misunderstand—I believe that a vibrant Judaism must include the voices of our Orthodox brothers and sisters. I am not here to delegitimize their interpretation of our shared heritage. I am, after all, a religious pluralist and believe that there are many valid answers to those big questions. But I must insist that the same courtesy be extended to us. Our voices need to be a part of the religious conversation in Israel today.

          We are religious Jews who care about Israel and we cannot allow ourselves to be sidelined by those who disagree with our understanding of our shared heritage. Let me give you an example of both how we are marginalized and how this marginalization negatively affects Israeli attitudes about religion itself. The Hebrew word dati – which literally means “religious” – has long been used as a synonym in Israel for the ultra-Orthodox minority. So most Israelis see religiosity as a binary thing: either you’re ultra-Orthdox, dati, or you’re secular. Many Israeli Jews turn their back on Judaism because they think that a rigid Orthodoxy is their only choice. What a shame. For we know that there is more than one way to be religious, and we know that being dati can entail a commitment to egalitarianism, inclusivity and equal rights for all Jews.

          And yet, despite all this, there are reasons for us to be hopeful.

          On my sabbatical last spring, I had the wonderful opportunity to witness liberal Judaism blossoming. I visited a number of vibrant Reform synagogues. My daughters all attended pre-schools sponsored by the Reform movement which were teeming with Israeli kids learning first-hand that there is more than one way to be Jewish. I spent time with some of the 35 students enrolled in the Israeli rabbinical program at the Hebrew Union College . Almost all of them are Sabras—native born Israelis. When I studied in that program in 1993, there were only 5 students.

          This bodes extremely well for Israel ’s future.

          Fortunately, we have a golden opportunity right now to do our part to support liberal Judaism in Israel so that a diversity of religious voices can be heard, so that the richest variety of Jewish answers to the big questions can offered.

          As Rabbi Marder mentioned last night, the World Zionist Organization elections are back. Every four years since it was founded in 1897 by Theodor Herzl, the World Zionist Organization elects a “congress” of the Jewish people which advocates on behalf of Israel and makes funding and policy decisions that affect Jewish life in Israel and around the world.

          Every Jew, anywhere in the world, 18 years and older can participate by registering and then voting in these elections. And here’s why your vote matters. By supporting the Reform Movement slate – ARZA – you can directly strengthen the Reform movement in Israel and around the world. Your vote will insure funding to train Reform Rabbis and support our legal advocacy efforts on behalf of Reform Jews and Jews from the Former Soviet Union and Ethiopia .

          In the last election, in 2002, ARZA earned 42% of the delegates to the World Zionist Congress, with just 37,000 of America ’s 1.5 million Reform Jews voting.  Imagine the impact we could have upon the religious voice of Israel if just 10%, just 150,000, Reform Jews registered.

          So today as you leave the sanctuary, please take home an election registration form from the lobby or simply visit votereformjudaism.com. It costs $7 to register and you can do it online—it takes about 5 minutes. This will give you the opportunity to send Israeli legislators, judges, and policy-makers a clear message… that we liberal Jews are dati, religious, and our pluralistic understanding of Judaism offers a voice of moderation, tolerance, and compassion much needed in today’s world.

          Do we want this voice to be heard?  Israel and the world are depending upon us – upon all of us – to register and then to vote, to employ our religion as an implement of peace, justice, and tolerance. This is the moment – we can hear what is being asked of us – how will we respond?

          Now, it seems that we liberal Jews have some work to do here in America , as well.  We always have.  After all, in 1915, Louis Brandeis, just one year before becoming the first Jewish Justice on the U.S. Supreme Court, wrote: “The 20^th Century ideals of America have been the ideals of the Jew for more than twenty centuries.”

          And indeed they were.  Justice Brandeis was talking about the values of truth, freedom, duty, community, and democracy.  Brandeis believed that the Jewish religious tradition had a critical part to play in the formation of a just and good America .

          And Jews have indeed played an important role.  Our influence has been disproportionate to our numbers.  From civil rights to workers’ rights to public education, the Jewish community has consistently endeavored to make real the prophetic vision of a society founded on the values of compassion, justice, and concern for the most vulnerable.

          And, most significantly, we have done so largely from a religious position.  Our leaders and activists drew inspiration and courage from the great religious teachings of our tradition.  When Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched with Dr. Martin Luther King for racial equality, it was not John Locke, but the prophet Amos who was quoted, saying, “Let justice roll down like waters, righteousness like a mighty stream.”

          That was the 20^th century.  Now, Rabbi David Saperstein, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, raises a challenging question about 21^st century America .  Do the values of 21^st century America “also mirror Jewish hopes for freedom of religion and conscience, for social and economic justice, for a society of compassion and mercy?”

          His response?  “According to the well-laid plans of the Christian Evangelical right,” Saperstein asserts, “the answer is a resounding ‘NO.’ Posing as an aggrieved minority that suffers religious persecution at the hands of ‘secular elitists’ and ‘activist judges,’ they are attempting to build a 21^st Century America—dollar by dollar, policy by policy, appointment by appointment—in which their particular gospel becomes law.”

          Exit polls after last November’s presidential election indicated that, for many Americans, “moral values” were the deciding factor in the votes they cast. Trouble is, there was only one set of moral values being discussed.

          And what were those “moral values”?  Voters defined them as follows:  opposition to abortion, opposition to gay marriage, opposition to stem-cell research.  A morality of opposition.

          Of course, Reform Judaism has a religious perspective on all of these issues as well.  Guided by our tradition, our understanding of morality, and the principles of egalitarianism and pluralism that we hold dear, our movement publicly supports a woman’s right to choose, recommends full recognition of gay and lesbian unions, and sees stem-cell research as a matter of pikuach nefesh—not merely allowed, but because of the life-saving possibilities it holds, actually a mitzvah, a moral obligation.

          What’s more, if you were to ask the religious leaders of our movement to create a list of its top “moral values,” it would surely include issues like racial equality, economic justice, equal access for all, educational opportunity, and the pursuit of peace.  So it’s not merely where we stand on certain issues that distinguishes our religious perspective from that of the noisy evangelical minority, it’s which issues we’re even talking about.

          Our Reform Jewish “culture of life” – it cares very deeply about the plight of the poor.  For us, it is the widow, the orphan, the stranger—the powerless in our society—who need our protection.  Our Torah reminds us 36 times to remember the stranger.  We were strangers in the Land of Egypt . We who have known terrible oppression have a religious obligation to protect the rights of the oppressed, to make their concerns ours, whether they live in a slum in New Orleans or a hut in Darfur .  This is religion to us, not politics, and our religion must be heard.

          Just as in the past, Liberal Judaism has something of value to say about the important issues of our time. From the teaching of the pseudo-science known as “Intelligent Design,” to end-of-life questions raised by the Terri Schiavo affair… from how terrorism suspects should be treated, to the morality of the war in Iraq, to stopping the genocide in the Sudan, Reform Judaism – relying on the texts of our tradition interpreted through contemporary lenses – has something to say.  Will we step forward to say it?  Or will we forfeit our place at the table, where the conversation will most definitely go on without us?

          We can ensure that our voice is heard by supporting Rabbi David Saperstein and the work of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism – the RAC. Visit www.rac.org or pick up some information on your way out of Flint Center today to learn more about what the RAC does and how you can help.

          Will our Reform Jewish values have the power to sculpt America in the 21^st century, as they did in the 20^th?  Our nation is depending on us—all of us—to raise our voices and be heard, to employ our religion as an implement of justice and compassion.  This is the moment – we can hear what is being asked of us – how will we respond?

          Here we are, in a world of chaos… counting blessings, counting sins, counting pages… a people banded together against death, alternately spiritual and skeptical.  What brought you here today?  Was it faith?  Was it habit?  Was it guilt?  Or was it that somewhere, in the deep, deep well of an ambivalent, but seeking heart, your religious soul knew that this place is reliable.  Here, we will ask the relevant questions – what is the purpose and meaning of our world?  What is being asked of us?

          These days are High and Holy.  We choose to make them so.  We know what is being asked of us.  May our lives provide the answers.

This sermon was written collaboratively with my chavruta partner, Rabbi Ken Chasen of Leo Baeck Temple in Los Angeles , California .