Rosh Hashanah Morning
Sermon – 26 September 2006
I
would like to begin by sharing two vignettes:
A few weeks ago – it was an afternoon during the first
week of September as I recall – I was sitting at my desk,
eyes focussed on the PC screen before me, when, slowly, I became
aware of an unusual and unfamiliar sound, getting louder and
louder. Not a sound of traffic or people; not somebody’s
music played too loud – fortunately, a rarity on the street
where I live – but, as I began to concentrate, a sound
that was a little bit like music. And then it dawned on me:
Birds were singing – lots and lots of them. I pushed up
the blind on the velux window over my desk – closed against
the light of the sky – and I saw throngs of tiny starlings,
shooting overhead, and gathering on the roof-tops and TV aerials
and street-lamps. I got up to take a closer look, opened another
velux window, and leant out to survey the scene: starlings were
swooping down from all directions. Quickly, I descended the
stairs from my loft-study and went outside, where it became
immediately apparent that the starlings were heading straight
for my street and not settling anywhere else in the vicinity.
It was a thrilling moment, and I felt like a shy visitor to
a glorious new country as my heart filled with wonder and joy.
Just over a week later, I was driving in my car to visit a
congregant, listening to Radio 4, when a programme started about
the lives of three female rats and their families, narrated
by the actor, Jane Lapotaire. Telling the tales of each rat
in turn, the second tale really caught my attention. It was
about a sewer rat – that’s right, a rat that lives
in a sewer – except that she was just about to discover
the big wide world above her head. I will try to tell it, more
or less as I heard it – albeit in an abridged version:
The story opens with a group of pest controllers making their
descent into the sewer, armed with their deadly poison. Sensing
the danger, the central rat character immediately makes a dash
for freedom. But as soon as she is on the pavement, she realises
that she’s in an unknown, noisy, menacing landscape, full
of large creatures on the move – and so, she scurries
into a market-crate that has been left open on its side. Safe
in the straw, she begins to settle down, but not for long: Suddenly,
she is jostled out of her new-found security, when the crate
is closed, lifted up, carried and set down again – the
shock of this disturbance compounded by a loud slamming sound.
But then there’s a continuous low rumbling noise and a
feeling of motion, which eventually sooths her to sleep. But
her adventure isn’t over yet: A few hours later, she is
shocked into wakefulness by more slamming and lifting and carrying,
and when the crate is opened, she takes flight, at the first
opportunity, into another unfamiliar terrain.
Starlings and rats – our hearts lift as we see those
tiny creatures soar and dart above us; and most of us shrink
in horror at the thought of all those sharp-toothed rodents
running riot just a few yards beneath our feet. But gazing at
those starlings and listening to those rat tales, I was caught
by the same, simple, banal recognition: Just like us, starlings
and rats – and all the other myriad species that inhabit
this planet – experience the world from their own, unique,
singular perspective, and inhabit the world in their own particular
ways.
Hayyom Harat Olam. ‘Today is the Birthday of the World’.
According to the sages, Rosh Hashanah is not just a new year
for the Jewish people – but a new year for the whole of
Creation. That’s why, the date takes us right back to
the beginning – at least as far as the years recorded
in the Torah are concerned. Of course, Earth did not come into
existence 5,766 years ago – but that’s not the point.
The point is that each New Year is the Anniversary of Creation.
So: Hayyom Harat Olam. Today is the Birthday of the World.
As Jews, we are so used to reciting our own particular story,
that we need to be reminded that the God of Israel is not only
Eloheynu, ‘our God’, but also: Melech Ha’olam,
‘the Sovereign of the Universe’. But the Birthday
of the World doesn’t just remind us that ‘the Eternal
is One’ – Adonai Echad – it also teaches us
that we are One with the rest of Creation. We are part of Creation.
Just as each animal is nefesh chayyah, a ‘living being’,
according to the narrative of Creation in the Torah (Genesis
1:24), so the first human is also described as nefesh chayyah,
a ‘living being’ (ibid. 2:7). But, nevertheless,
like each and every ‘living being’, humanity is
also distinct – in fact we are not just different from
other creatures, which are all different from one another, we
are also different from all the rest of Creation put together.
So, what makes humanity so utterly distinct?
I’m sure, we all know the answer to this question –
but we don’t always consider the implications. Of course,
humanity is not just biologically driven, governed by our instincts;
we have the capacity to think beyond the moment; to devise;
to plan; to choose between various courses of action; to evaluate;
to judge; to remember the past – and to dream of tomorrow;
to love and to hate. We know that our lives are finite and that
we are going to die. Indeed, that’s one of the central
messages of the Creation story: Humanity not only has the ‘knowledge
of good and evil’, but also the awareness of Life and
Death.
Isn’t it interesting, that the second account of the Creation,
relates that after God has created the first human, the Creator
placed this singular being into a garden – ‘to tend
it and to keep it’ – l’ovdah u’l’shomrah
(2: 15). Unlike the natural environment, a garden is a cultural
space – and humanity is a gardener. How twee and quaint
this sounds – until you begin to explore the text more
carefully: Perhaps the image of the garden and the gardener
is teaching us about what it is to be human – or at least,
given this is a story about the first human being – what
it is to be a baby human, testing our powers in a regulated
space – a bit like an over-sized play-pen. And so, when
the woman and the man that emerge from the division of the singular
human into two, are expelled from the garden by God because
they have grown up and must go out into the world, we learn
that being human involves hard-labour – ‘eating
bread by the sweat of our brows’ – until we die
(3:19).
That’s the bottom-line – that’s what it means
to be human: not only incessant hard work, but the awareness
that at the end of the day – as we say – all we
have to look forward to is death. No wonder human societies
the world over created religion – to make sense –
or, as some would say, nonsense – of it all. No wonder
the ancestors of every people created stories and myths and
legends to help them live with the harsh realities of life –
and death.
The narratives about the creation of humanity may be stories
– but that doesn’t mean they are not true in a deeper
sense of truth. If you survey the principle tales about humanity
recounted in the first eleven chapters of Genesis – in
particular, the murder of Abel by his brother, Cain, Noah’s
building of the ark to survive the flood, and the attempt of
humanity to build a tower to reach the heavens – two closely-connected
issues emerge: How is humanity going to learn to take responsibility
for our unique powers? How are human beings going to find ways
of living together, and with the rest of Creation, in peace?
It’s all there in the beginning of the Book of Genesis:
The key questions that humanity continues to face today –
and yet, unlike Noah, we haven’t even got to the point
of working out a strategy for ensuring the survival of the Earth.
The Ark – what a potent symbol for the challenges before
us: Is humanity – the only species capable of building
anything more complex than a nest – going to continue
to forge weapons of destruction and build mighty edifices to
nourish our egos, and plunder the planet’s resources,
or put our special capacities to the tasks of creating shelter,
sharing the planet’s wealth, and ensuring, not only that
each and every human being thrives, but also that whole Earth
flourishes and survives?
That is one of the questions before us today on the Birthday
of the World. Of course, we have gathered together to celebrate
the New Year and to pray that the coming year will be good –
for us, for our community, for our people, for our world –
but that is not all we have to do today: The Birthday of the
World is also a summons to action. If you check the biblical
references in Leviticus chapter 23 and Numbers chapter 29, you
will see that the first day of the seventh month is simply designated
as a ‘Memorial of Blasting’ – Zichron T’ru’ah
(Lev. 23:24) and Yom T’ru’ah – ‘A Day
of Blasting’ (Num. 29:1) – in preparation for the
tenth day of the seventh month, known as Yom Hakippurim in the
Torah (Leviticus 23:27). The early rabbis, who designated the
first day of the seventh month as Rosh Hashanah, the New Year,
spelt out the main purpose of the ‘Memorial’ ‘Day
of Blasting’ by calling this special day: Yom Hazikaron,
‘The Day of Memorial’, and formulating another name:
Yom Hadin, ‘The Day of Judgement’. Taken together,
these names are very instructive: On the first day of the seventh
month, that is, at Rosh Hashanah, at the ‘head of the
year’ – as the year passes the half way point –
the shofar is blasted, summoning us to remember the past year
and reach a judgement.
Although we gather together as Jews, just like our Hebrew ancestors
before us, this day of memorial and judgement is not primarily
concerned with how we lead our lives as Jews: On the Anniversary
of Creation, we are summoned to consider and to judge how we
live our lives as human beings – both individually and
collectively: How are we relating to the other people around
us, and to the planet as a whole? What are we doing and not
doing to others? Are we behaving with compassion and concern
in our daily lives towards those beyond our immediate circle,
or are we ignoring their needs? Are we doing what we can to
ensure that we don’t enjoy our prosperity at the expense
of others, by – our personal disposable incomes permitting
– buying and consuming as many Fairtrade goods as possible?
Are we doing what we can to avoid harm to other creatures by
purchasing as many free-range animal products as we can afford
and not buying cosmetics and other items that have been tested
on animals? Are we doing what we can to ensure the survival
of the Earth by seeking out organically produced goods, recycling
as much as possible, walking rather than driving short distances,
using public transport – and fuel-efficient cars when
we do drive – and saving electricity?
Only a few weeks ago, we witnessed the devastating impact of
global warming in the form of Hurricane Katrina – and
then, slightly less dramatically, Hurricane Rita – and
saw the richest, most wasteful nation on earth, the United States
of America, reaping the gruesome reward for its cavalier, irresponsible,
energy-guzzling policies and life-style, at the expense of the
poorest members of its society. Of course, our deeds as a nation
are not as bad and we don’t inhabit the same hurricane-prone
part of the globe. We face smaller challenges on the home-front.
But still, we have our own national case to answer and also
we know that our little island is not alone: we are part of
the world around us and, just as what we do as individuals makes
a difference, so what we do as a nation makes a difference.
In fact, each and every deed has the potential of making a difference,
either way – for good or for evil – to the world.
As we read in the Talmud – in tractate Kiddushin (40b):
Rabbi Eleazar ben Rabbi Simeon says: Because the world is judged
by the majority of its people, and an individual is judged by
the majority of their deeds, happy is the one who performs a
good deed: that may tip the scales for themselves and for the
world.
Humanity is part of Creation and we also have a distinct and
unique role to play – as the Creation narratives in Genesis
teach us, we are the guardians of the Earth. Unlike the swooping
starlings above and the scurrying rats below, we are charged
with the responsibility to look after the planet. Today, the
Birthday of Creation, is our annual wake-up call – a wake-up
call delivered, as we shall experience in a short while, not
by a siren, nor by a trumpet, nor by any device, ancient or
modern, conceived and created by human hands, but rather by
a ram’s horn – the Shofar. That’s how the
summons to ‘awake’ from our ‘slumbers’
– as the mediaeval scholar, Maimonides put it in his code,
the Mishneh Torah (Hilchot T’shuvah III, 4)– will
be delivered today. Taking us back to the binding of Isaac recounted
in Genesis chapter 22, the ram’s horn calls us to remember
that unlike other living creatures that only kill for food,
humanity has created a culture of killing. Taking us back to
the binding of Isaac, the ram’s horn calls us to remember
that like other living creatures, we live and we die, but unlike
other living creatures, we have the power to choose life or
death.
The Eternal One does not demand the sacrifice of anybody’s
children; the Eternal One summons us to take responsibility
for the world, the Earth, even the ground beneath our feet.
That’s why, perhaps, the second Creation narrative relates
that the first human being – ha’adam – was
formed out of the dust of the ground – ha’adamah
– (Genesis 2:7): to remind us that we are part of Creation
and not apart from it. That’s why, perhaps, the Torah
relates that compelling image of humanity as a ruddy chunk of
the stuff of the ground, animated with nishmat chayyim - the
‘breath of life’ (:7). The ram’s horn cannot
call out on its own. Taking us back to the binding of Isaac,
and reminding us of that ram ‘caught in the thicket by
its horns’ (Genesis 22:13), the Shofar summons us to exercise
our power as a species wisely, and to use the ‘breath
of life’ within us to call for Tikkun Olam, the Repair
of the World. May the Anniversary of Creation inspire each one
of us to respond to that call. And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah
Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom
Verei’ut
Rosh Hashanah Morning 5766
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