Rabbi Josh Zweiback
Shabbat Shuva 5769
October 3, 2008

Family Reunion

            Shabbat Shuva. The Sabbath of return. It's called that because of the first words of the haftarah portion that is chanted tomorrow: Shuva Yisrael ad Adonai Eloheicha—return O Israel to the Eternal your God.

            This is the time of t'shuva, the time of turning and returning. Returning to purity, to our best selves. Returning to the type of people we know we can be.

            And of course, these days themselves represent a type of return. A return to the High Holy Day season. Its ritual. Its feel. Here we are, once again welcoming the New Year. Once again preparing for the most awesome day of all, Yom Kippur.

            Shabbat Shuva is a reminder as well that we need to prepare ourselves for a difficult task: the task of remembrance. Here at Beth Am, it has become our custom over the years on Shabbat Shuva to dedicate our memorial plaques in our outdoor chapel. And just a few days after Shabbat Shuva, we will find ourselves at Yizkor.

             Remembering our dead is an inescapable part of this season. For those of us who have experienced loss recently, it's just plain inescapable. Forget the season—we carry the pain of those memories with us every day, every hour, every moment.

             And the fact that this is a time of the year for us Jews that is drenched in memory makes the hard work of t'shuva even harder. Just trying to be the person you know you can be, is hard. Just saying "sorry" for all the times and ways you've fallen short is hard. Just looking into your own soul and taking responsibility for the darkest parts of it, is plenty hard.

             But those memorial plaques, those words of Yizkor, those yahrtzeit candles make it even more difficult.

             Last Shabbat I was in Boston to celebrate a family simcha. As is often the case with events like these, it was a mini-family reunion. Grandparents and cousins and in-laws gathered from around the country to celebrate.

            Family reunions, even mini ones, are fun. It's great to see everyone. It's great to see the younger set play together and enjoy each other's company even though they don't get to spend that much time together. There's a closeness that comes with being part of a family.

            But family reunions can be complicated, too. Sometimes old family tensions emerge and feelings can be hurt and pain can be caused.

            One of my friends and teachers, Rabbi Norman Mirsky, of blessed memory, once delivered a Yom Kippur sermon about a special reunion in his family. In Rabbi Mirsky's case, this reunion was rather extraordinary because his family was filled with tension and bitterness, pain and disappointment. His mom and dad had divorced and this split tore the family apart. These are Rabbi Mirsky's words, describing this special "family reunion":

            "It involves, at least in my case, people who did not want to be together—people who did everything possible to keep away from one another. And to keep their children divided in loyalty, so that if they were with one of them, they would feel guilty for betraying the other. I don't have to travel to get to this reunion. In fact, it is remarkable how inexpensive it is! There is no money spent for meals. There is no need to rent cars or to make sleeping arrangements. The whole reunion lasts 24 hours. This reunion takes place in only one area—indoors, in our kitchen-and all of them are there. But, they are in the form of candles—yahrzheit candles…"

            "When I leave here," continued Rabbi Mirsky, "I will go home to them. I will go home to parents and grandparents and borthers and sisters, who at times only spoke through lawyers.

            What life has rendered asunder, you and I are enjoyed by our tradition to join together. What life did imperfectly, dead does with perfection. It reconciles the irreconcilable."

            It's a powerful and beautiful image. A reunion where family members who were no longer on speaking terms come together in peace and harmony. It is a beautiful vision of teshuvah—a return to the kinds of relationships we once had, to the kinds of relationship we know we should have.

            But it's pathetic and tragic and heartbreaking too. The family members can only get together in peace and in quiet when they're dead.

             Traditionally, on Shabbat Shuva, the rabbi is supposed to exhort people to turn—like the prophet Hosea does in tomorrow morning's haftarah portion. "Turn, return O Israel to your God! To your best selves! To the menschen that God knows you can be, that you know you can be."       

            So here's Rabbi Mirsky's exhortation and teaching about memory and repentance. He explains that on Yom Kippur when we traditionally wear a kittel, a burial shroud, and when we traditionally refrain from eating or drinking, we are symbolically acting as though we are "already dead, and standing at the gates of heaven waiting to see if we will get in." And the question relating to memory is, based on our behavior, based on how we remember our loved ones who are departed and based on how we treat our family members who are very much alive, would we deserve heaven? Would we merit, some day, God willing a long time from now, when we are gone, to be invited to the great family reunion in the sky.

            Here are some questions Rabbi Mirsky asks that can help us think about memory and repentance before Yom Kippur:

            Do your children wish you and your spouse would get along better?

            Do your friends see any redeeming characteristics in your parents after you have represented your parents to your friends? How do you think your parents regard you? Do you feel you have been treated unfairly by a parent, a spouse, a child, a friend, a lover? Do  you have the nerve to tell them how you feel? Are there people in your family whom you love? Do you have the nerve to tell them before they are candles burning in your's or someone else's kitchen?

           This is the time of year when we remember. We remember the goodness of our loved ones. And we also remember their faults, the hard lessons they taught us. And we remember, too, the ways in which we let them down. The times when we left important things unsaid.

            On Wednesday evening we'll light those candles and we'll have that family reunion in our kitchen.

            Maybe the single best way to honor those candles, to honor those souls who came before us, is to behave in a way that would cause us to merit, some day in the distant future, to join our beloved ones in Olam Ha-Ba, in the world to come.

            May we have the strength to forgive family members and friends—alive and dead—for the ways they let us down. And may we have the courage to ask forgiveness for the ways we let them down. And may this season of repentance help us to be worthy of a grand reunion.