Our Big Dreams

Beth Haverim Shir Shalom--Yom Kippur 5770

Rabbi Joel Mosbacher

“On your mark. Get set. Go.” I recently watched a small group of six year olds who shall remain nameless engage in one of the most amusing running races in human history. THEY didn’t think it was funny, or even PLAN on it being funny. But as they stumbled, tripped, ran in different directions, and crashed together laughing on the ground, I couldn’t help thinking about those three steps—on your mark, get set, go. When you’re six, it seemed to me, the word “go” by itself probably would have sufficed. There’s no chance that six year olds will do much readying or setting—it’s not where they are. It’s al about GO, and my child psychologist friends would tell me that that is developmentally appropriate.

But what a great metaphor for the High Holidays. This time of year, Judaism asserts we can’t just “GO” and hope we go in the right direction, hope not to crash, hope not to hurt anyone in the process. No, developmentally for us as adults, it might just be that “On your mark” and “Get Set” are what ideally makes us smarter than a first grader.

Last night I spoke of our need to make teshuvah, of our need to repent, ask forgiveness from those we’ve harmed, make amends when we can. Jewish tradition asserts that we cannot just GO, barreling into the New Year treating it the same as every New Year. We are called to take time to reflect, to contemplate where we’ve missed the mark with God and with our fellow human beings, and resolve to do better, to reach higher, in the year 5770. That’s the “On your mark” in the “On your mark, get set, go” version of Judaism. In fact, the Hebrew word for sin—chet, is also the word for hitting the mark, like the target archery. That’s what this growling stomach is about, these lengthy services, the litany of sins we collectively repented for just a few moments ago. It’s all about getting back on our marks so that we can begin the year anew, with a clean slate, aiming to hit our targets in the months to come.

But as much as I love seeing a full house these few days a year, and we REALLY DO—as much as I love the “old home week” feeling of the High Holidays, like they say in that Seismonic song “you can don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” I wish we could live in this moment—all together, safe and warm, with good friends, good music, good babysitting… It’d be great to just live at the starting line—always staying at “On your marks.”

But the sun will go down. The gates and ark doors will close. The gun will sound, and we’ll have to “go.” So if we’re taking “On your marks” so seriously, and yet we know that we will eventually have to “go,” how do we get set?

Shortly after I began contemplating this question and this sermon, I found myself watching Usain Bolt on You Tube for what may have been 25 times or more. Bolt is, of course, the Nigerian runner who recently crushed the Worlds Record in the 100 meter dash. I am just amazed by this feat, and have watched it again and again, trying to comprehend how he could be running such a different race than all of the other ridiculously fast men on the track. As I contemplated, I paused the video when the announcer said “Set” to the runners. There they all were, coiling on the ground like a spring—hands on the line, fingers spread, sweat dripping from brows, knees bent at a precise angle, heads bowed in concentration, prepared to leap into action as soon as the gun fired. Bolt had a plan—along with each of these runners. They each had a big dream—in this case, to be the fastest man in the world. What is my dream, I thought, as I pressed play and watched Usain Bolt do something truly amazing. At this time, on Yom Kippur, as we strive to match our dreams with the will of God, and the universe, I began to wonder what you dream, too.

According to the Talmud, the sages said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: The one who has a dream and is concerned about it should have it given a good meaning in the presence of three. The dreamer should gather three friends and say, “I saw a good dream,” and they should say to the dreamer: “It is good, and may it be good. May the One who is everywhere turn it to good. Seven times may it be decreed from heaven that it should be good.” And it will be good. So today, I bring my dream to you, praying that you will bless it. And I want to ask you to consider sharing with us your dream, that we might call it good, as well. In this way, we might go into the New Year both on our marks—with a whole and renewed soul, and set-- with purpose and meaning and direction

 

For me, I suppose I have more opportunities than most to articulate my dreams as a rabbi, because of the response I get when I tell strangers what I do. On those occasions, there always seems to be an awkward moment of silence. To avoid this experience altogether, I have one colleague who simply tells everyone he meets on vacation that he is a tax attorney. With al due respect to the many tax attorneys in the congregation, my colleague reports this response to be a conversation stopper.

Whether the person I’m speaking with is intimidates, perplexed, or curious, the next question is always the same: “What made you decide to be a rabbi?” It’s a complicated question. Over the years, I suppose I’ve developed a stock answer, but I think that now you deserve the fuller version.

Growing up as I did in a loving and actively Jewish family, and living in the context of a warm and vibrant synagogue—these were critical foundations. Travelling to Israel with my grandmother was powerful and transformative. Spending 15 summers at OSRUI camp, a Jewish summer camp run by the Reform Movement, was formative as well. I got up in front of people for the first time ever there as a song leader; I learned what it meant to build a community there; I learned how special it could be to fully experience Shabbat there; I met amazing rabbis who are still my role models there; I met my beautiful wife there. And then I came home to participate in NFTY youth grouping, and I went off to a University with great programming for Reform Jewish students. I wouldn’t have used this term at the time, but now that I look back, it is clear that I grew into the Jew and the person I am best when I was a part of a kehillah kedosha, a sacred community that created a strong sense of relationships and embraced the same religious values that I did.

Another facet of my formative years was my understanding that Jews had to work to repair the world. I learned at an early age the role that young Jews played in the civil rights movement, and took great pride in that part of my heritage. In the early 80’s I attended the March for Soviet Jewry in Washington, wore a wristband for the refusniks “Grigory and Valerie Mendelev” with whom I symbolically twinned at my Bar Mitzvah. It was ingrained in me that to be a Jew was to stand up for justice and speak up for change in a broken world, and that people of faith had immense power to do so.

Finally, I watched my rabbi, Leo Wolkow, actively engage and partner with local interfaith clergy on deep and serious communal issues, rooting themselves  in common sources of ethics and values. And in more recent years, I read the writings of Martin Buber, who taught richly of the power of finding God’s presence in real and honest relationships. As I reflected on my journeys through Buber’s eyes, I just knew his words to be some of the truest I’d ever read.

These elements—roots in the sacred experience of our people, a strong trunk of belief in the power that people of diverse faiths can bring to bear, and branches of witnessing the elemental and yet transformative nature of relationships—these led me down the path of becoming a rabbi, and eventually, to be your rabbi.

Now, after 5 years of rabbinical school, 3 years as an assistant rabbi, and 8 years here in Mahwah, I have been asked a question that challenged me deeply: What is my dream for my rabbinate?

It’s not a hypothetical question. It’s actually an assignment. After eleven years in the rabbinate, I was invited to apply and was accepted into a professional development program called STAR Rabbis: From Good to Great. The premise of the program is that rabbis who have been in the field for 10 to 15 years are at a turning point in their careers. Generally speaking, they are seasoned enough that no one will call them “green,” but young enough that they still have the majority of their careers ahead of them. For this turning point to be fulfilling for the rabbi and beneficial for their congregation, a rabbi has to develop a vision for their rabbinate.

So the first bit of homework I was assigned was to articulate a dream for my entire rabbinate… in one sentence. Seriously—no joke. It is simultaneously a tremendous opportunity and an intimidating assignment. And as my peers and I began to play with ideas for our Big Dreams at the retreat this past June, I think we must have looked a lot like the 6 year olds in that race, stumblin’, bumblin’, fumblin’ around, not sure where the start or finish line was.

I have had a few months to reflect on this question, asking myself the same question asked by strangers about my calling, “Why did I want to be a rabbi?” After this time of reflection, I think I have a draft of a statement that just might work.

So here goes: I want to transform the power of sacred story to make systemic change in the world.

Over the course of this year, and, if it’s a good Dream, over the course of many years to come, I will be unpacking and evaluating and testing this dream, and I look forward to doing that here at Beth Haverim Shir Shalom for many years to come.

Now that I’ve thought about it and said it, I can already see the fulfillment of aspects of my dream in what we have begun to create in these years together. Through our life-long learning projects, many adults and young people have immersed themselves in our Jewish texts. Through the efforts of the Michelle Mitzvah group, Sisterhood, Brotherhood, Youth Group, and Community Organizing, we are able to have an impact on many lives for the good, able to partner with Jews, Christians, and Muslims to act powerfully to address systemic problems in our communities. And we are, more and more, speaking the language of sacred story, taking the time—at services, at the oneg, in meetings, to hear each other’s story as if it were sacred text. I believe that these things make us unique.

My Big Dream is to transform the power of sacred story into systemic change in the world. That’s my big dream, and I hope that it feels like a dream you’d like to join in with, in some way.

But now it’s your turn. Having worked and reflected and apologized, having annulled vows and made amends, we begin again with a new slate. You stand “on your mark,” knowing that “go” will come, perhaps too soon. In order to be set, poised for a new year, wound like a spring, ready to leap into motion for a new year when the gates close, you, too, must be set with your Big Dream.

What are the Jewish experiences that have made you who you are? What are the texts that resonate with you every time you read them? What are the rituals that truly elevate your spirit? And what is your Big Jewish Dream?

Between now and Simchat Torah, October ___, I’d like to give you an assignment. It’s essentially the same assignment I’ve been given, and I believe that if we are engaged in the same process of visioning and dreaming, we will grow together as clergy and congregation.

Dreaming isn’t easy, but it is the Jewish “get set” in “on your mark, set, go”. Without our dreams, we are stuck at the starting line. When you don’t know where you’re going, any direction is good. And that’s hardly a prescription for a meaningful life. We come from a long line of dreamers—dreamers like Theodore Herzl, who dreamed the ludicrous dream in 1899 of a Jewish state in Palestine within 50 years. Dreamers like Helen Suzeman, a Jewish South African member of Parliament who dreamed of abolishing the racist Apartheid system.

The assignment? Think about what your Big Dream is. And just for fun, see if you can do it in one sentence. It can be a big dream for changing the world, or a smaller scale dream, like the legacy you dream of leaving as a person, a parent or a partner.

But don’t stop there. I’d love for you to share your dream with other members of the congregation, and today I am offering you two ways to do that.

In the coming months, we will be furthering our new habit of what we call one-to-one conversations. We’ve held some 125 of these conversations over the past 2 years—30 minute, face to face conversations with members of the congregation—talking about their fears, their hopes, what they’d like to see change about their communities, and what they are willing to do about it. Approximately fifteen members of the congregation have committed to holding five one to one conversations each in the coming months with members of the congregation. If you want to be sure you are called for a one-to-one, please contact the synagogue office. If you’d be willing to join this great team in initiating one to ones, please also let us know; we will be having a training session on October 11 and will give you more details when you call the synagogue office. I’m warning you—these conversations are wonderfully addictive—when you learn to begin listening honestly to the public stories of others, listening to their dreams, it will become habit forming wherever you find yourself and a powerful tool in whatever you do.

The second way you can share your Big Dream is on line. I have started a new group on Google called Our Big Dreams. It is my hope that members of the congregation will post their Jewish dreams on-line. This will give us another way to learn from one another, another way to deepen our relationships. We can offer helpful comments on the dreams of others, and offer suggestions and stories about how to reach our dreams. And we can revise and refine our dreams, too. You can e-mail your Jewish dream to our-big-dreams@googlegroups.com. We’ll send out an email to the congregation later this week so that you can share your dream and read and respond to the dreams of others.

With a new beginning, the New Year is a time to consider the limitless possibilities and endless and variegated goals we might set for our futures. But we cannot make sense of those possibilities, we cannot know where we are headed, and cannot prepare ourselves without envisioning and enunciating our dreams. And on the other hand, when we as a community share our dreams, we can bless each other, nudge each other, build our dreams together, lift our dreams up to heaven. So on this Yom Kippur morning I say to you:

On your mark, get set, dream!

Shana tova!