PARDON ME…

Sermon given by Cantor Robert Scherr for Rosh Hashanah 2005

When our children were raising us, there was the all-important lesson on saying “I’m sorry”. The effects of bumping someone accidentally or breaking something or saying something hurtful could be mitigated by sincerely spoken words to let the offended know that the offender didn’t mean to cause that action.

What we never did was force them to say “I’m sorry” when, at the moment of one offense or another, they clearly were not “sorry”. We never liked the idea of diluting the opportunity to sincerely express regret by having to say it as a meaningless ritual.

So what to make of our ritual confession that fills this last half of the Kol Nidre service, where over and over we say, “I’m sorry.” In one liturgical list of prayers, we say “We’ve done wrong” to a complete paragraph using every letter of the alphabet. In another, the acrostic poem in its original form actually uses two sins for each letter. What’s the point of saying a prepared list like this, that we have to say out loud? Wouldn’t my apology be more sincere if I could go off in a quiet corner somewhere, just me & God, and I could honestly list all the things I’d done and we could square things between us. Maybe we should do as the Catholics do in their confession, just one on one, or at least with the mediation of a confessor?

Without being partisan, I think the way of penitence that we are initiating on this occasion of Yom Kippur actually works better, because “I’m Sorry” is such a complicated human response. For one thing, for most of us, or maybe I should just speak for myself, it’s hard to remember ALL of the things I’ve done wrong since last Yom Kippur. If you asked me on Friday to list all my sins since Thursday, I probably could count most, but I don’t think I could list everything. Most of you are better equipped than an old person like me to summon long lists with your young memories; yet it’s probably too hard for you, as well. But you know that confession is not trivia game. We’re not makin’ a list and checkin’ it twice. We are taking a good hard look into our hearts and souls, using the list of the Al Chet as a guide.

More important than sheer volume, there are a lot of things we would not remember on our lists because we would not allow ourselves to remember. Repression can be a protective mechanism through which we spare ourselves certain emotional discomforts. Left to our own devices, with even the most optimistic attitude, there are a lot of things we’ve done in this last year that we would have a difficult time remembering. The liturgical structure of the machzor is designed to help us create an intellectual and emotional flow for our confession. We recite these lists, over and over tonight and all day tomorrow. The intended effect is that sooner or later, from repetition, you’re going to start to see yourself somewhere in those lists. You’ll remember an incident, you’ll remember your friend’s reaction, accusing you of not treating her fairly; you’ll remember your defensiveness; you’ll remember she was right…You’ll not just remember it—you’ll feel it.

We need these lists to challenge us to remember and reflect on the hidden recesses of our behavior. Then we ask ourselves, “Do I trust God enough to recognize my fallibility, my imperfections and shortcomings.?” When we call God, AVINU MALKENU, we try to reassure ourselves that the God in whom we are in awe—MALKENU--also can be approached with the intimacy of a parent—AVINU—whose unconditional love is part of the bedrock of our world. And so the next question, “Do I love myself enough to admit I was wrong, and accept responsibility for what I have done?” Doing wrong to someone doesn’t need to break a relationship. Confession and reconciliation are bonds that strengthen a relationship.

Why is confession so important? Someone asked me recently, half joking: since we say the same list year after year, it implies that we keep going back and repeating the same less-than-good behaviors? So what’s the point? We do the bad things, say we’re sorry, do the bad things, say we’re sorry…Aren’t we like unthinking children, repeating the I’m sorry mantra, without intention or feeling? The point of the repetition is to start the flow of forgiveness, in order to create a motivated behavior that calls us to measure our actions by moral intentions.

All of Jewish life is organized around moral motivation. All our behaviors call us to be mindfull that we are in the presence of God. We eat some foods and not others in order to proclaim our self-control and moral judgment. We are commanded to stop and think about what we eat, how we have a sexual relationship, how we do business--- not based on our perception of immediate desires, but rather because of how it will affect our godliness. It takes a lot of practice, but the goal is to get to where your instinctive urges are subordinate to your moral intentions. This also is how love works, by the way: we hope there are lots of actions that we take because of how it affects our relationship. So it is with our lover; so it is with God.

We owe it to God to say that it is NOT God alone who affects the universe. As much as we thank God for the beautiful sunsets, for the food we eat, for the miracles of our bodies and wisdom of Torah, we owe allegiance and thankfulness to God for more than … intelligent design. In Jewish Tradition, we have to be attentive as well to what I’ll call the unintelligent design, the things that we do that have real consequences for the earth every day. We are responsible for the selfish over-use of fossil fuels. We are responsible for the unkind remark about our classmate or co-worker. We are responsible for not calling our parents often enough, and not telling our children often enough how much we love them. Weare responsible for being impatient with those who rely on us to be supportive, and too patient when we witness unkindnesses against which we should speak out. We are responsible for forgetting to vote, and we are responsible for allowing others to let their voices be heard while ours are silent. We owe these actions of confession to God. We owe these actions of confession to ourselves.

We will shortly say these lists of sins that we have committed in unison so we can support one another in our attempts to do better. Kol Yisrael arevim zeh lazeh—every Jew is responsible to one another. Your mistakes matter to me; my mistakes have to matter to you. This is the original conceptualization of how 12 step programs work. I’m not being glib when I say this, nor am I in any way characterizing the wonderful work that 12 step programs do for folks who want that group process as support for their attempts to deal with addictions of many kinds. “Hi, I’m Bob and I have committed sins of which I am ashamed.” This is what our program is tonight. You will make a difference tonight to the person sitting next to you; you will make a difference tomorrow if you support her trying to change.

We have seen an unprecedented round of natural disasters in recent months. On the highway earlier this week I saw a billboard pleading for Tsunami relief, and it seemed I hardly could remember that disastrous loss of life and property because Darfur, two hurricanes in the Southern states, and last weekend’s devastating earthquake in Pakistan have filled my mind with the fragility of life and the call for our participation in relief efforts. We hear not only of the horrifying affects of these natural disasters, but we hear heroic stories of the admirable human qualities that followed disastrous events. We hear of neighbors who rally to the aid of one another, of strangers who offer housing and clothing, of colleges like Williams who welcome students so their lives and educational goals can continue. The checks we write, the donations of food and shelter are a human expression of connectedness that embodies that profound shehecheyanu that each of us recites for the roof that still shelters us, for the full plates in front of us, and for the well-being of our family members. The fast in which we participate today seems trivial as deprivation—a lot of us will make up for lost time at Morty’s tomorrow night. But the meal points you donated mean that the fasting you are doing now will have meaning and tangible benefit to another human being. That connectedness brings further meaning to this ritual of confession. It is in the way that we come together that our expression of confession is raised to a resolve for bettering ourselves.

I told you on Rosh Hashana that we don’t have a good word for SIN in Jewish lexicon. CHET that we’ll use in our liturgy this evening means missing the target. The point is that we do many things that should get our attention that we have missed the mark. Yom Kippur is not about “punishment”. Rather, it’s about recognition and responsibility for our behavior, as a mature and free people, and then acting on that recognition. Yom Kippur is significant not just because we list and focus on our mistakes—it is significant because we do it all together, in unison, affirming that our behaviors have social consequence. What matters isn’t my behavior in isolation; what matters is how my behavior affects YOU, and how YOUR behavior affects ME. That’s why we need this day, to be sure that we understand the affects of our behaviors. That’s why our prayers aren’t the means to forgiveness. They are about establishing a pathway to change.

In the Amida that we traditionally recite every day we praise God as Chanun Hamarbe Lisloach—let me translate that as unendingly gracious in forgiving. On this day we call upon Gd to forgive us, but that’s just the beginning. We must be forgiving of others, even as we ask Gd to forgive us. And finally, we must be willing to forgive ourselves.

In the rite of forgiveness in ancient times that we’ll read tomorrow, the priest would conclude the sacred rite by declaring: Titharu—you are cleansed. Imagine, if we left here tomorrow feeling better about one another. Imagine, if you left here tomorrow night feeling better about yourself. That is what it means to be TAHOR—cleansed. Then forgiveness will be achieved.

Now is my time to raise my own pleas for forgiveness. For the glib remark that landed with sarcasm rather than humor, please forgive me. For the phone message to which I didn’t respond in a timely way, please forgive me. For forgetting your name repeatedly, please forgive me. For not remembering to ask you personally to come and talk with me so we can get to know one another better, please forgive me. Please know that I may repeat some of these mistakes, but please know, too, that I will try very hard to do it less often.

May the prayers of our hearts over the next 24 hours bring us closer to our best intentions, and closer to one another. May we support one another’s efforts to achieve holiness and wholeness. May we forgive one another, and may we forgive ourselves. Avinu Malkenu, Imenu Sh’chinatenu, may our open hearts find healing and hope, promise and courage in the New Year.

Amen.