I conducted a wedding recently where the bride and groom decided to give away all their gifts.
They were not an affluent couple. They could have used the utensils, china and other household items. They simply wanted to start their marriage off with a feeling of abundance.
Nothing demonstrates our abundance more than generosity. By giving away their gifts, they reminded themselves of the gifts of love and companionship that are more valuable than all the others.
The late great Yogi Berra famously said, “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.”
The not-so-subtle point of Yogi’s saying was that we sometimes overthink our decision. Sometimes when just need to make a choice and stick with it.
Unfortunately, making the wrong choice can get us in trouble. And the more trouble it causes, the harder it is to turn back.
Abraham and Lot
Amongst the most searing biblical illustration of this truth is Lot. In Genesis 13, he and his uncle Abraham come to a fork in the road. They have decided to go their separate ways.
With the passage of time, the extraordinary can become ordinary. The revolutionary can seem normal.
Take trial by jury. When introduced in England, jury trail was a monumental development, and it spurned great resistance. Now we are so accustomed with the practice that we feel inconvenienced when we have to show up to serve on a jury.
Such is the case with the Ten Commandments. We tend to take them for granted. Even pastors or rabbis who teach and preach about them can forget how revolutionary they once were.
On July 31st 1492, under threat of death and forced conversion, the last Jews left Spain. Three days later Christopher Columbus set forth for America. Coincidence? Perhaps.
Yet, some scholars suggest there is more to Christopher Columbus’s story than we have been led to believe. At least three arguments have been put forth suggesting he was not only a Jew, but that his faith motivated his voyage.
Near my home is a very intimate theater. My wife and I love attending plays there because you can almost reach out and touch the performers.
We recently attended a play and had one of the seats closest to the performance area. During a particularly poignant part, my phone vibrated. I did not commit the grievous sin of interrupting another person’s experience of the show because only I could hear the vibration.
Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I glanced at the screen to check the message. I pulled my attention away from the show and missed one of the most moving and critical scenes.
This sermon was delivered the morning of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.
If we took a big white board and made a black dot, what would we focus on? The dot. That’s what we would notice. But the board would still be 99.99 percent white. But the dot would draw our attention.
We often live our lives in a similar way. Things can be going well. We can have stable jobs, good food to eat, a nice house, yet something happens—maybe a stock goes down, or our child or grandchild does poorly on a test, and we get worked up. We focus on our energies on that.
It’s like when we get a report card from school, and it would have all A’s and then maybe a B, and your parents would focus on the B.
In fact, sometimes the better things are, the more we notice what may not be perfect. Have you ever stayed at a nice hotel, and then one little thing that you would normally tolerate somewhere else—say, the towels are not thick enough—and we get upset over that?
Okay, there are far worse problems in the world, but we have a tendency to focus on the negative in context. It seems sometimes we are wired for negativity. Or as Lily Tomlin once put it, “Man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain.”
Much has been written about #uberfails. But how about an Uber miracle?
The New York Times recently featured a story about a young woman who called for an Uber to take her out to a cemetery. She was visiting the grave of her grandfather. He had been a devout Jew.
No one from her family had visited the grave since 1959. She happened to be visiting during the ten-day period between the Jewish New Year and the Day of Atonement—known as the ten Days of Awe.
This is a time when we visit the grave of loved ones. Something propelled this young woman to visit her grandfather.
This is the sermon I delivered on the eve of Yom Kippur, the Day of the Atonement, Judaism’s holiest day of the year.
My youngest child recently went through a Dr. Seuss phase. Perhaps some of your kids or grandkids did so at some point as well.
One of the books she loved was that classic, often received as graduation gift—Oh, The Places You’ll Go. Her favorite two pages—I’m not kidding—were the following: “You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race/ down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace/ and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,/ headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come/ or a plane to go or the mail to come/ or the rain to go or the phone to ring/ or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No/ or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite/ or waiting around for Friday night/ or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil/ or a Better Break or a string of pearls,/or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.”
According to an old joke, when two Jews argue you have at least three opinions. Former British Chief Rabbi recently echoed this joke when he pointed out that Jews have solved many world problems but still have not quite figured out “conflict management.”
We are a people who argue. We are a people who debate. I cherish this part of our character. But I can’t help feeling a little envy for Catholics as the celebrated Pope Francis arrives in the United States.
Whether one agrees with him or not, one cannot deny that he has spurred a new energy and enthusiasm in the Church. He has gotten people excited and engaged, so much so that the entire city of Philadelphia has to cordon itself off for the few days he is in town.
Alas, neither history nor culture suggest we can expect a Jewish pope anytime soon. Here’s why:
his is the sermon I delivered on Rosh Hashanah morning, the first day of the Jewish New Year. To hear the full audio of this sermon, click here
The story we read this morning—the binding of Isaac—is about many things. It is about the meaning of faith. It is about blind obedience. It is about the replacement of child sacrifice with animal sacrifice.
It is also about the relationship between father and son. It is a difficult relationship. How could it not be, when Abraham was prepared to slaughter Isaac because God told him to do so?
Yet, it is also a loving one. Abraham and Isaac speak tenderly to one another as they climb the mountain. We hear repeatedly of Abraham’s deep love for Isaac. And Isaac does return to bury his father at his death.
Perhaps the most accurate adjective for their relationship is complicated. And it never is really resolved. The end of the story leaves us with more questions than answers.
I read two other stories this summer about fathers and children. Both were also complicated, difficult, tender, and challenging.