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Rabbi Karp's Sermons ... JUDAISM BEYOND THE HOLY
DAYS Believe
it or not, I always look forward to this Shabbat - the first Shabbat that
we are together after all our holiday celebrations.
Of course, “this Shabbat” should have been last Shabbat, but
last Shabbat, Duane, Joanne, and I were in St. Louis, for the UAHC
Regional Biennial convention. So this Shabbat will have to be “this Shabbat,” if you
know what I mean. What
is it about this Shabbat that I look forward to?
It is its normalcy. I
know that many of our people look forward to the High Holy Days, with all
its drama. They look forward
to coming into a sanctuary that is filled with people.
They look forward to that intensity that is part and parcel of the
High Holy Day services. And I
freely admit that there is a special sense of excitement about the High
Holy Days; an excitement which is unlike any other time of the Jewish
year. I understand all that
and I appreciate all that, but I like this Shabbat more. To
be quite honest with you, as wonderful as the High Holy Days are - and
they are wonderful - I find them to be a bit contrived and something less
than real. I find them to be somewhat of an exercise in “make believe
Judaism.” I know that
sounds harsh, and some - or many - of you may find those statements
disturbing. But as harsh as
they may sound, I am not meaning to diminish the High Holy Day experience. I realize that there are those for whom the High Holy Days
are a powerful spiritual experience, and that there are many for whom the
High Holy Days may not necessarily be a spiritual experience, but are a
powerful experience nonetheless. I
understand that. I accept
that. I support that. And I am grateful that so many Jews find such depth of
meaning in the observances of those day. Bur
for me, I have found that with the passage of years, my truly powerful
experience is not to be found on the High Holy Days, but rather on any
given typical Shabbat. It
used to be that as a rabbi, I was obsessed with numbers.
The more people who were in the sanctuary, the better the worship
experience. The thrill of
standing before a packed house. The
self affirmation that such an audience provided me.
But somewhere along the line, I came to realize that the power of a
worship experience is not a function of quantity, but rather of quality. That
is not to say that the liturgy and the music and the worship experience
that we provide on the High Holy Days is not a quality experience.
My ego would never admit to that!
In fact, countless are the number of hours that I personally pour
into the creation of that experience.
But if we think that the quality of our worship experience is
solely, or primarily, dependent upon what comes forth from the bimah, then
we are simply fooling ourselves. As
important as is what happens on the bimah, more important for determining
the quality of any given worship experience is what happens in the pew.
I believe it was Soren Kirkegaard - and if it wasn’t him, it was
another equally famous Protestant theologian - who said that many people
think that in a worship service, the people on the pulpit are the actors
and the people in the pews are the audience.
But that is not the case. The
fact of the matter is that the people on the pulpit are but the prompters. It is the people in the pews who are the actors.
And who is the audience? God
is the audience. So
what determines the quality of what happens in the pew?
It is determined by what people bring with them into the sanctuary.
By “bring with them,” I am not talking about physical
accessories, like purses or books, or even talitot and kippot.
I am talking about what they carry within themselves; the feelings,
the emotions; the desires; the very openness to the influences of the
worship experience. That
is really what makes a typical Shabbat so very, very special!
For we know that there are many reason why people come to High Holy
Day services, and I will not catalogue them for you now. But what motivates some one to come to a standard Shabbat
service? For most people, it
is a love of Shabbat; a love of God; a love of the company of fellow Jews.
Many of the people who come to the High Holy Days, they possess
much of that as well. But
they only possess enough to bring them to the synagogue occasionally - and
many, just biennially. But
for those who come to the synagogue for Shabbat regularly, they possess
all of that, and they possess it in abundance. Perhaps
that is why I consider the High Holy Days a bit contrived, a bit unreal,
and somewhat make believe. For
the room is filled with people whose sense of connectedness to Judaism and
to God fuels them enough to show up when everybody shows up; fuels them
enough to engage in worship when everybody engages in worship.
And in doing so they create a momentary worship community. It is sustained for a few days, and they may check in at a
couple of spiritual way stations during the course of the year - Hanukkah
& Pesach. But for them,
that is sufficient. It meets
their needs. But whether or
not it meets their needs, it also makes of them spiritual sojourners,
spiritual tourists, merely passing through the worship world, but never
choosing to actually dwell there. But
those of us who come to this sanctuary, if not week in and week out, then
more often on Shabbat than not, we are the ones who have chosen to inhabit
that world of worship. We are
its true citizens. While
others need an excuse to come to schul, our excuse is, “it’s
Shabbat.” We are lovers of
Shabbat, and as such, lovers of God, Torah, Judaism, and the Jewish
people. And it shows.
It cannot help but show. When
we enter this sanctuary, we enter it with open hearts.
When we pray, we do not merely read or sing the words, but we offer
them up, with our souls, heavenward.
We reach out, to each other, and to God. One
of my favorite Hasidic stories - I have probably told this to you a
thousand times before - is one of the stories of the Baal Shem Tov.
In his wanderings, the Baal Shem Tov entered a town, and it was
time for MaAriv - the evening service.
So he and his disciples went to the local synagogue.
As they were about to enter the doors of the sanctuary, the Baal
Shem Tov stopped cold. His
students were anxious, and said, “Rabbi, it’s time to pray!
Let’s go in!” “I
can’t!” he replied. “For
the room is full and there is no space for me.”
Well, his students stuck their heads in the door and, like most
sanctuaries when it isn’t a special occasion, there were plenty of empty
seats. “What are you talking about, Rabbi? There are plenty of seats in there!” they implored the Baal
Shem. “You do not
understand,” he responded. “In
this sanctuary, the people who pray here do not open their hearts to God. They just utter the words, and the words, being empty words,
have no wings with which to carry them to heaven.
Therefore, they fall to the floor.
And this room is filled with empty words, from wall to wall, from
floor to ceiling. And because
of that, there is not space left here for me.” When
our sanctuary fills up with people who we probably will not see again, at
least in worship, until the next Fall, I often wonder how it could be
possible for the words of their prayers to grow wings. But
when we gather on Shabbat - we lovers of Shabbat, we seekers of God; when
we gather on Shabbat, not because it is some special Shabbat, but simply
because it is Shabbat, there is no question but that our words do grow
wings - mighty wings; wings that stir a virtual spiritual whirlwind as
they soar heavenward. I feel
it, and I believe that many of you feel it as well. There
are many Jews who think us crazy. For
what could possess us to give up a perfectly good Friday night to come to
services? Actually they think
you crazy, as for me, they think that it’s my job.
They simply do not understand us.
For them, observing Shabbat is a burden.
Yet for us, Shabbat is a gift, a treasured gift.
And that makes all the difference in the world between us.
And it is precisely that difference which fuels the wonder and the
beauty and the warmth of this Shabbat; of every Shabbat. Personally,
I have not given up on those people.
For by and large, they are good people with good hearts, who just
have not yet found what we have found.
I know that some of them consider us losers; that our lives are so
dull that services seem interesting to us.
But I also know that in actuality, they are the losers, for they
have not found what we have found in observing Shabbat.
It is not something that we can easily explain to them, for it is
such a deep seated emotion that it simply defies adequate description.
It is so unlike anything else we experience in our lives - and I
know each and every one of you, and your lives indeed are full and varied. I
pray that one day they may find in Shabbat even but a fraction of what we
have found - the peace, the beauty, the nearness to God, the closeness
with each other, the sense of greater purpose, the fire of justice, the
warmth of compassion - you know what I am talking about.
All those elements which transform this room into a profoundly holy
place each and every Friday night; all those factors which transform us
into a true worshiping and worshipful community. But
what about the numbers? Sure,
numbers are important, but not the numbers on the High Holy Days.
If we wish to grow our numbers, we need to grow them here, from
Shabbat to Shabbat. Ken
yehi ratson - Be this
God’s will. |
