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Click here. Rabbi Karp's Sermons ... YOM KIPPUR MORNING 2006 THERE’S ALWAYS NEXT YEAR - NOT! We humans beings are fragile creatures. We are fragile in body and we are fragile in spirit. Unlike God’s other living creations, without such devises as clothing and housing, our bodies could never survive exposure to the elements. And all too often, when the ill wind of circumstances blows through our lives, it is our spirit which has trouble surviving. This holy day of Yom Kippur calls upon us to focus our attention on our fragility, both our spiritual and our physical fragility. It calls upon us to acknowledge how easily we can shatter; how bodies we thought to be healthy can, sometimes without warning, so easily shatter into disease and death; how actions and words, no matter how well intended they may have been, can sometimes so easily shatter into sin. This holy day seeks to shake us out of our lethargy; out of our illusions of invulnerability, both in spirit and in body. This holy day, more than any other, strives to teach us that the fragility of our body and the fragility of our spirit are intimately intertwined. For as long as we refuse to accept the fragility of the body, it is hard to fully appreciate the fragility of the spirit. In PIRKE AVOT, Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus is quoted as saying, "Repent one day before your death."1 He understood that spirit-body connection. For what he was trying to say was that if we are honest with ourselves, then we have to admit that no one knows the day of their death. Therefore it is only in our foolishness that we put off repenting. Since every day could very well be the day before our death, everyday should be our day of repentance. Likewise, in the Torah portion we will read this afternoon, it states, "The wages of a laborer should not remain with you overnight until morning."2 There are no debts which can assuredly wait until tomorrow. For tomorrow may never come. The future, even the immediate future, is not a promise, but just a hope. Therefore it is incumbent upon us to make the most of today in repaying our debts - our material debts and our spiritual debts - and to do the best we can to balance the book of our lives. In traditional synagogues, on Yom Kippur the worshipers wear their kittels, their white burial shrouds. It is in this garment that a traditional Jew is buried. What a powerful experience to worship, repent, and seek forgiveness while wearing the clothing you will wear to the grave. What a powerful image to view a congregation clad in such a manner; a room full of those who are traveling toward the grave. How must it feel to put on one’s burial shroud? Does a chill run up and down the spine? Does the mind glimpse a vision of what it would be like to repose in one’s casket? As gruesome and as macabre as that might seem to us, the rabbis required this to make a point. We should never be complacent about our own mortality, and especially not on this day. Life is a precious gift, to which we have no inherent right or claim. Literally every moment of life is a gift in and of itself, and should be viewed and treated as such. Only then will we truly understand that our unfinished business may be left so forever. Every year, during our Yizkor service, when I recite the names of those in our congregation who have passed away during the past year, I cannot help but recall whether or not they were with us in this sanctuary during the previous year’s High Holy Days. Of course there were those who were not. There were those who had moved out of town and had only returned for burial. There were those who could not be with us because they were at home or in the hospital, struggling with a prolonged illness. But there were also those who were with us, perhaps sitting in the very seat that you are sitting in this morning. They sat there, never dreaming that this might be their last High Holy Days. They fully expected to be here with us this year and for many High Holy Days to come. They expected it. I expected it. And so did all those who knew and loved them. But, for whatever reasons, that was not to be and today they are gone. Likewise, on the High Holy Days, I cannot help but look out at the congregation, look into your faces, and wonder to myself, for who among us is this the last High Holy Days. Next year, whose seat will be empty or occupied by another? And will I be here, or will another occupy this pulpit? Is this my last High Holy Days? I know that sounds gruesome but after 31 years in the rabbinate - after 31 years of praying over graves and then on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah counting the faces that are missing - it is a hard and difficult reality I have had to face. The brutal fact is that for some of us, this is our last Yom Kippur. Whether or not we know it or expect it, it is. And that is why traditional Jews wear kittels on this day. I know that to talk of death is morbid and unnerving. We, the living, squirm at it. Some even resent it. It is only natural. I remember how, when my father wanted to discuss with me his and my mother’s funeral plans, I put him off as long as I could because I simply did not want to deal with that eventuality. But as they say, the two things in life we cannot avoid are death and taxes, and there are many people who actively question the taxes part. Talk of death makes us uncomfortable because we refuse to confront the fact that someday those we love will die, and someday we will die as well. But Yom Kippur demands of us that we confront those facts. Because until we confront those facts and realize that death - whether it be of others or our own - is an ever present possibility, we can never truly value whatever time we have nor can we truly adopt a sense of urgency in our lives. Now is the time. We need to make the most of it. The prophet Isaiah, said, "Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we shall die!"3 But Yom Kippur says that there is more to it than that. If upon recognizing that our lives could end at any moment only evokes of us a feeding frenzy for our appetites; an abandonment to self-indulgence, eating and drinking and pursuing all sorts of pleasures, then we have missed the point. The message of Yom Kippur is not "Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die" but rather "Let us make peace with the world and those who inhabit it; for tomorrow we die. Let us seek to heal the wounds we have inflicted upon others; for tomorrow we die. Let us forgive those who have wronged us; for tomorrow we die. Let us tell those we love how much we love them; for tomorrow we die. Let us do what we can to make this a better world for all those we leave behind; for tomorrow we die. Let us repay our debts - not just our monetary debts but our spiritual debts as well; for tomorrow we die. Let us secure a living legacy of love, selflessness, and justice; for tomorrow we die." We have to ask ourselves - seriously ask ourselves - if this is the last day of my life, how can I best use what precious little time is left me to repair that which I have broken; to heal wounds left untreated far too long; to let others know how deeply I love them; to finish my unfinished business and to place a seal of decency and righteousness upon my life. This is probably the shortest Yom Kippur sermon I have ever delivered. Consider it a gift. Perhaps, just perhaps, each of us can use that extra time to make the most of this day; to make the most of our lives. For if we can do that, then whether or not we have fasted this day, we can sincerely claim that this year, we truly observed Yom Kippur. AMEN
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