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Archive for the ‘Personal Growth’ Category

If you had to come up with the musical soundtrack for your life, what songs would you select?  What melodies would capture the happy and sad moments?  What tunes would capture the things you wrestle with?  Would there be a theme to your soundtrack?

One of the first songs on my soundtrack would be “Cats In the Cradle” by Harry Chapin.  It is a song I remember singing in the back of my parents’ cars as I was growing up.

 

My child arrived just the other day

He came to the world in the usual way

But there were planes to catch and bills to pay

He learned to walk while I was away

And he was talkin’ ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew

He’d say “I’m gonna be like you dad

You know I’m gonna be like you”

 

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin’ home dad?

I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son

You know we’ll have a good time then

 

I’ve long since retired, my son’s moved away

I called him up just the other day

I said, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind”

He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I can find the time

You see my new job’s a hassle and kids have the flu

But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad

It’s been sure nice talking to you”

 

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me

He’d grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

 

Whenever this song came on the radio, my father would get very emotional.  He would cry.  I used to tease him about it.  I never really understood what upset him so much about this song.  That is – until I became a father myself.

If we were to actually create a soundtrack of our life, we’d probably be amazed at how  songs we know so well have taken on new meaning as we grow and change.

I learned many important lessons from my father.  He was incredibly successful professionally.  His work ethic, commitment to his career, talents and intelligence were things I was blessed to have as part of my life growing up.  But, despite having these “things” of his in my life, I rarely had him.  He was, like many men of his generation, a self-professed work-a-holic, rarely around and when he was, he was busy working – advancing his career.  I now understand why the lyrics to Harry Chapin’s song got to him.  It is as if he knew his professional drive was interfering with his role as a father but he couldn’t change.

Today, I too get emotional when I hear Cats in the Cradle – particularly the line where the little boy says: “I’m gonna be like him…you know I’m gonna be like him.”  What little boy doesn’t want to be just like his dad?  And what grown man doesn’t find a lot of his father in him, especially when he himself becomes a father?

It is so easy to become just like your parents.  Sometimes this is a really good thing.  I like to think that I have my father’s work ethic and his professional commitment.  But, at the same time, many of us struggle not to behave like our parents did – because we lived the effects of such behavior.  I could easily be a workaholic.  But, I know the emptiness that a missing father can bring into his children’s lives.  And while I am far from perfect and in a career that can make being an involved parent a challenge, I am committed to taming my inner-workaholic so that I can be as involved in my children’s lives as possible.  I enjoy “Daddy camp” over the summer.  I take my kids to school, pick them up most afternoons.  Spend real, quality time with them.  I go biking with Abby and play ball with Jonah.  I am there for homework, class performances and just hang out time.

Harry Chapin’s lyrics get to me today because they remind me of the time I didn’t get to have with my father.  And they remind me how easily I could have become the little boy in the song and grown too busy to find time for my own kids.

 

________

We read this morning about Abraham – probably one of the most important characters in the Torah.  He is best known as the father of Judaism.  He was the first person to embrace monotheism – the belief in one G-d.  He was so committed to G-d, that he was willing to do things that make us scratch our head and say “really”!?

Abraham might be known and looked up to as the father of our faith – but as the father of his boys, Ishmael and Isaac, he was not exactly a role model.  He was more interested in pleasing G-d than he was in loving and protecting his sons.

For those of us who whine about having a father who was a work-a-holic – we had it easy compared to Ishmael and Isaac!  We read today how Abraham threw his first son, Ishmael, out of the house because Sarah, his wife, wanted Ishmael gone.  Abraham consults G-d on the matter.  G-d tells him to appease his wife.  So, Abraham, always willing to listen to G-d, evicts his child – sending him and his mother, Hagar, to wander alone in the desert.  Loyalty to G-d trumps commitment to son.

Tomorrow, we will read how Abraham destroys his relationship with his second son, Isaac.  Wanting again to listen to G-d and be G-d’s faithful servant, Abraham, without hesitation, heeds G-d’s request to sacrifice Isaac on the top of Mount Moriah.  We know how this story ends.  Isaac was not sacrificed – although it was close.  Abraham goes so far as to bind his son and lift the knife to slaughter him before G-d stops him.  Again, Abraham shows no concern for his child.  Instead, he places G-d before the life of his boy.

Isaac survives the ordeal – but, his relationship with his father does not.  The Torah teaches us that Isaac leaves Mt. Moriah, the scene of the almost-sacrifice, without his father and never speaks with him again.

Isaac might very well have grown up, married and, following in the footsteps of his own father, developed unhealthy relationships with his children.  If he did this and if they had self-help books in ancient times, Isaac would have learned that his poor parenting skills were a result of his abuse at his father’s hands.  And he could have played the “victim”, blaming his parents for his own personal flaws.

Isaac is often seen as a much weaker character than his father Abraham.  He is nowhere near as powerful and prominent as his father was.  Isaac’s relationship with G-d does not appear to be as deep as the relationship that Abraham had with G-d.  But, on the other hand, Isaac did not develop poor relationships with his sons.  He somehow learned that when it came to the parent-child relationship – as with many things in our lives – we get a second chance.  While Isaac’s relationship with this father might have been less than desirable – as a father himself, Isaac knew that he had second chance to create a good father-son relationship with his twin boys – and this is exactly what he tries to do.

Before his sons were born, G-d tells Isaac’s wife, Rebekah, that the younger twin would  mess with the logical order of things and wind up ruling over the older twin.  If Isaac was like his father, this divine prophecy would have set the stage for the way Isaac treated his boys.  Isaac might very well have kicked his older son, Esau, out of the house, just like Abraham did to his eldest son, Ishmael.  This is not what happens, however.

The Torah tells us that Isaac loved Esau and appreciated his talents and skills as a hunter and man of the fields.  Betrayal and trickery at the hands of Isaac’s wife, Rebekah, who wanted Jacob to be the more powerful son, would insure that the prophecy concerning her twins would come true.  Thanks to Rebekah’s conniving ways, Jacob, the younger twin, would receive his father’s blessing.  As a result, Jacob would “replace” Esau as the firstborn son and rule over his older brother.  But, after Isaac learned that he had been duped into giving his younger son the blessing meant for his older son and, ultimately making the prophecy a reality, Isaac acts with compassion and love by improvising a blessing for Esau.  He did not need to do this.  Remember, he could have just tossed Esau out of the house and said, “sorry, your brother got my blessing…you are out of luck kid!”  But, Isaac is not his father.  And, so, he manages to bless both sons.

G-d and Rebekah wanted Jacob to be the powerful son.  But, Isaac insures that their desires did not leave either son feeling betrayed or unloved by their father (Certainly Esau felt unloved and betrayed by his mother and brother – that is a whole different story!).  Isaac, unlike his father, was willing to stand up to the wishes of G-d and bless both of his sons.  In the end, Esau still gets the short end of the stick, but he was never thrown under the bus by his father, like Isaac was by Abraham.  As a father, Isaac goes out of his way to comfort his victimized son.  In doing so, Isaac rebuilds for himself and his sons the father-son relationship that failed to protect him as a child.  In doing so, Isaac teaches us about the power of second chances.

One of the reasons we read about Isaac on Rosh HaShanah is to teach us that this day – this new beginning – is a day for second chances.  It is not a day that allows us to step into a time machine and be transported to a previous time in our lives so that we get a “re-do”!   This is not the Jewish idea of a second chance.  In Judaism, we call a second chance – teshuvah.   Teshuvah means turn.  When we do teshuvah, we reach back into the past and turn the negative consequences of something that already took place into positive, life changing lessons.  The goal of teshuvah is to insure that the result of a previous action is better than what would have been had it not occurred.   Teshuvah is not about erasing the past but, rather allowing the past to transform our present in a meaningful way.

As a result of being the son of Abraham – a man who rejected his first son and almost killed his second son all because G-d told him to do so – Isaac knew firsthand how a father can crush the souls of his sons.  He learned from his experiences and transformed the past, insuring that he did not follow his father’s footsteps.  This is teshuvah!

The story of Isaac the father, despite the deception of Rebekah and Jacob and the animosity between the brothers, does contain an optimistic spark. Isaac reminds us that we have the ability to avail ourselves of a second chance. Our past experiences, fate, destiny, God – none of these are the final arbiter of what we do with our lives.  If we act, we can turn a bad or unfortunate situation into something good.

Today is a day for second chances.  Today is a day to commit to breaking old habits, unlearning bad lessons, dropping the victim mentality and embracing the role of survivor.  Today is a day to work on teshuvah.

_________

 

It was during a recent game of catch with Jonah that it hit me – when it comes to the parent-child relationship – I have been given a second chance.  As I tossed the ball to Jonah and he threw it back to me, I suddenly found myself feeling emotional – simultaneously happy and sad.  Sad, because I had no memories of playing ball with my father.  Happy because I was lucky enough to be creating such memories with my boy.

This mix of happiness and sadness is what teshuvah is all about.  Many people get stuck in the sadness.  Regret of what happened in the past can overtake us.  We can become all consumed with being the “victim” of some bad relationship or traumatic experience.  Some of us beat ourselves up endlessly for our failings. But, this is not the Jewish way.  Judaism tells us to acknowledge those moments and events in our lives that left us hurt.  We should “feel” the emotions associated with these moments and events.  We must learn from these emotions.  And we must ACT in a way that insures that we and the people we share our lives with don’t have to repeat history – with hard work and dedication these emotions can be a thing of the past.  When we act and grow from our past – we get a second chance and this second chance is what we Jews call teshuvah.

You can’t ignore your past.  To try to do so is foolish and unhealthy.  We all have our “issues” – bad relationships, personal struggles and failures – that have the potential to define us if we let them.   The story of Isaac “the good father” reminds us that we don’t have to become the little boy in the Harry Chapin song.  We can change.  We all have a second chance.  In order to take advantage of our second chance, we must embrace the past.  We must learn from it and grow from it.  Teshuvah reminds us that our past is something that is simply a platform on which we can build the rest of our lives.  We can choose to stop growing and live our life on that platform – or we can use our past experiences as lessons that allow us to grow in new and exciting ways – rising high, rising strong.

The sadness that I felt as I played ball with Jonah was part of my process of teshuvah – part of accepting the past – accepting the fact that I was and still am sad that my dad and I didn’t have moments like I now have with my own kids.  If I only felt the sadness of the past – that would not be good.  That would be a sign that I was stuck and unable to change. Fortunately, the overwhelming feeling I had while playing ball with Jonah was happiness.  Happy to have this time with my son.  Happy to have this time for myself – to redefine the parent-child relationship for me.  Happy to be able to give this time to my kid.  Happy to have this blessing – this second chance to create a bond between father and son.

Today, this new year, is your time to embrace your second chances.  Today is the day to ask yourself: what parts of my past leave me empty, confused, sad, frustrated, embarrassed?  What parts of my life do I wish never happened? Ah, you can’t change the past!  But you can learn from it.  What can you learn from the darker moments of your past?  Don’t waste time feeling sorry for yourself or feeling guilty about your personal history.  Instead, do teshuvah, embrace your second chance.  Do so by first, promising yourself not to repeat the bad times in your personal history (and get the help needed to live up to this promise).  Second, learn from your bad experiences and mistakes, discover the wisdom that they contain.  Third, live the wisdom of your past.  When you allow your past to make your present and future richer, better, brighter, you have done teshuvah.

Once you have done teshuvah, once your discover that the challenging moments in our past are often our best lessons – you discover the meaning of the lyrics of another song on my personal soundtrack, lyrics by Rascall Flatts: “This much I know is true, That God blessed the broken road, That led me straight to you.”

This year, embrace your broken road, for it contains the lessons that will help guide you to your most precious blessings.

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So Moses came and told the people all the words of the Lord and all the ordinances, and all the people answered in unison and said, “All the words that the Lord has spoken we will do.” Exodus 23:3

Last week, we read the Ten Commandments that were given to our ancestors by G-d at Mount Sinai. This week we read the additional laws, rules and ordinances that were given at Mt. Sinai. We also read the verse above which captures the moment our ancestors committed themselves to G-d’s laws. Certainly there have been times when we have questioned and challenged this commitment. Yet, we have continued to honor it for thousands of years.

In today’s world, commitments are easily broken. If promises and obligations that we were once morally and/or legally responsible to fulfill become too challenging, we often find excuses to back out of these promises and obligations. Certainly, there are times when doing so is valid. Sadly, most of the time, we do so simply because we are selfish: living up to our responsibilities requires us to behave in a manner that benefits the commitments we have made as opposed to benefiting ourselves. When it comes to committing ourselves to someone or something, selfishness has no place. Commitment requires placing a relationship above individual needs and wants. Commitment requires us to ask, “what is best for us” as opposed to “what is best for me”.

Given all of this, I was inspired by a rather unlikely source of inspiration – American Idol. If you haven’t seen this, you must take a moment to watch it. It reminds us what true commitment is all about.

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Sermon given October 15th, 2010

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Sermon given October 8th, 2010

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Why were Adam and Eve banished from the Garden of Eden?

Usually, the answer is: “because they ate from the Tree of Knowledge”.  Indeed, the first humans did eat from this tree – a tree that God told the couple not to eat from.  After being enticed by the serpent, Eve disobeys God and eats the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and has Adam do the same.  Once they do so, the Torah tells us that their eyes were opened.

Prior to this point. Adam and Eve were pretty much clueless about the world around them.  They were God’s puppets.  They had no concept of right and wrong.  But, upon eating from the Tree of Knowledge – they gained the ability to discern between good and bad.  They immediately developed a sense of morality.  This is why the very first thing that Adam and Eve do after eating the fruit is sew together fig leaves to cover their nakedness.

God was certainly angry with the first couple for violating His orders and eating from Tree of Knowledge.  Adam and Eve were no longer clueless.  Given that they could determine between right and wrong, they now had the ability to make their own decisions and did not need to rely upon God.  In essence, they cut the puppet strings that were controlled by God.  And this filled God with rage.  But, this is not the reason He banishes the couple from the Garden of Eden.

God banishes them because His supreme authority was now threatened by the couple.  There was, according to the Torah, just one thing that separated Adam and Eve from God: immortality.  Their ability to know good and bad made Adam and Eve god-like.  If they were to live forever, they could become gods themselves.  And the problem was that in the Garden of Eden stood the Tree of Life.  If they were to eat from this tree, like they did from the Tree of Knowledge, well, they would gain immortality.  They had to be kept from that tree.  And so, God banishes them from the Garden of Eden insuring that His sovereignty would remain intact.

Despite the fact that Adam and Eve didn’t get us immortality, they still gave us all a tremendous gift.  By eating from the Tree of Knowledge, they gave us the skills needed to use the brain in our head.  They gave us the ability to make decision and, thus, the ability to act.  By breaking God’s rule, Adam and Eve gave us free will.  God does not control our actions – says the Torah.  The idea that our lives are controlled by God – that we are God’s tools – put here for a Divine purpose – this is not what this week’s parasha teaches us.  On the contrary, this week’s story teaches us that we have to make our own decisions.

All too often, I hear God get blamed for our poor choices.  Whether it be something huge and catastrophic like the Holocaust or something much smaller like a personal financial crisis – God is easy to blame.  “Why God!  Why are you doing this to me!?  Maybe You are testing me God!  Please God get me out of this!”  The story we read in the Torah this week makes it explicitly clear that with the exception of many illnesses, we are the masters of our destiny.  We are the ones who get ourselves into most of the situations we find ourselves in.  Poor choices – choices we had the power to make – present us with many of the challenges we have to face today.  (And we can make choices that get us out of these challenging times!) The current economic situation is a perfect example of this.  In this way, Adam and Eve’s gift of freewill has the potential to be a curse.  Our ability to make our own choices comes with ups and downs.

We learn this week that we are created in the image of God.  What this means is not totally clear.  Somehow we were created as a representation of God.  We know from the story of Adam and Eve – we were not created originally with knowledge or immortality.  Within the first generation of our existence – we gained that knowledge.  We are left with our own mortality.

While some would say we are left with the curse mortality, I prefer to think of it as being left with the blessing of a finite life.  Unfortunately, I believe that many of the problems we find ourselves facing today – personal and global problems – are the result of the fact that we fail to comprehend that we are mortal.  We go about our days thinking that we are, indeed, immortal.  And, thus, we don’t think about the ramifications of our actions.

We say things to people without giving a thought to the possibility that the words we shared might very well be the last words we ever share with these people.  We don’t ask ourselves: will my words accurately reflect how I feel about these people?

We do things that foster our own egos and advance our own selfish interests.  But we often do these things without thinking about the effects of our actions and the legacy that our actions will leave when we are gone.  We don’t ask ourselves: what will my actions tell the world about who I really was?

If we were immortal, perhaps it wouldn’t matter what we said or what we did.  We would always have tomorrow to fix things and try again.  We wouldn’t have to worry about the harm our actions might bring us.  But, we never got a chance to eat from that Tree of Life.  And, for that, we have to thank God – because, by keeping us from becoming gods ourselves, God has insured that our lives are finite.  A life with a beginning and an end should force us to make each and every single day the best day that it can be.  Our mortality urges us to make goals and aspire for great things.  It pleads with us to use our knowledge and free will to make the most out of our days and maximize each moment.

But, most of us don’t do this.  We think we know it all.  And, this week’s Torah portion, in some ways, supports this.  We do know it all or at least have the potential to know it all, thanks to Adam and Eve eating from the Tree of Knowledge.  But that’s not why we were kicked out of the Garden of Eden.  We were kicked out to keep us mortal.  We know that we are – but we don’t like to admit it.  This week’s Torah portion is a very important reminder that we, unlike God, have a beginning and an ending – just like the year we have now started. This week’s portion tosses our mortality in our face.  But not in a spiteful way.  Rather as a gentle reminder to appreciate this temporary gift we have each been given.  May we all learn to appreciate our life and make each day a blessing.

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As you read last week, BlogShalom will be attempting and yearlong, on-line Torah study project that I hope you will take part in. And the project starts right here, right now!  We start at the beginning of the Torah, in the parasha (weekly Torah portion) known as Bereisheet.  This parasha contains the Jewish creation story.  In six days, Gd created the heavens and the earth.  If you try to read this story from a rational/scientific point of view, you might find yourself getting frustrated.  This is a spiritual story. Do not look at the literal meaning.  Look deeper, beneath the words and you will discover the powerful lessons of Torah – lessons we can apply to our own lives today.

The most important lesson contained in this week’s parasha is the idea that on the 7th day, we must rest.  Gd rested after spending six busy days creating. In our tradition, the 7th day, the Sabbath, is Saturday.  The week starts again on Sunday.  As the Torah portion tells us, God declared Saturday to be a holy day – a day of rest for us all.  But, how many of us take advantage of this holy day – a day on which our tradition teaches us that we are to rest?  A day on which we are to stop working, stop “creating”, stop rushing around and simply “be” – be with our family/freinds, be with a good book, be by the pool/beach, be at the synagogue…It is a day that most of us fail to observe.  Saturday has become errand day or get the kids to soccer day.  Our challenge is to make Saturday Shabbat.  Start simple.  Perhaps begin with Friday night dinner (remember, Jewish days start at night – so Shabbat begins Friday at sundown).  Maybe you can make Saturday a cellphone free day.  Or commit to giving yourself 1 hour every Shabbat to spend on the couch with a good book.  Some of us are craving this time, we just need permission to take it. You have permission!  Some of us do not know how to sit still.  We feel like resting is a waste of time.  And we are so wrong! When Gd rested on the first Shabbat, Gd was able to appreciate all that He had created during the first six days.  When we follow Gd’s lead and rest on Shabbat, when we act godly and take the time to appreciate our work and our blessings, we come to realize that resting is not wasting time – it is giving thanks for the time we have.

As we start reading the Torah together, I challenge each of you to live the words of Torah.  Try giving yourself Shabbat – time to rest and appreciate all that you have.  Feel free to share your thoughts and experiences here on the Blog.  I look forward to learning from you.

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On Thursday evening, as part of our incredible Simchat Torah celebration, we begin reading the Torah all over again – starting with the Book of Genesis.  This is the perfect time for you to begin reading our story – especially if you have never done so.  This week, we read about the creation of the world and the tale of Adam and Eve.  You can find the parasha (weekly Torah reading) here: http://www.jtsa.edu/PreBuilt/ParashahArchives/jpstext/bereshit.shtml.
Starting this Friday, here on BlogShalom, I will be posting some issues and questions pertaining to the weekly parasha.  At the beginning of each week, I will send out a link that will direct you to the parasha.  I encourage you to read it and join the weekly discussion on the blog.
The stories in the Torah are ancient, but still teach us lessons that are so very relevant to our lives today.  I look forward to studying Torah with you!
Don’t forget to gather your friends and family – put on your dancing shoes and join us for Simchat Torah, Thursday at 7:00PM.  Yizkor at 6:30.

O

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Sukkot is known as Z’man Simchateinu – the time of our great joy.  A time to move away from the heavy prayers, guilt and repentance associated with Yom Kippur and move outdoors – into our Sukkot where we are surrounded by nature and all things beautiful – all creations of God.  We are urged to spend as much time as possible in our sukkah – eating, laughing, talking – even sleeping.  We decorate our sukkot so that they are cheerful places.  The sounds of the birds, the blueness of the sky (unless it rains), the twinkling of the stars through the roof of the sukkah – all of these things make the holiday so special – so joyful.  I know Sukkot in South Florida is often difficult to appreciate with the heat and the rain – but when you allow yourself to celebrate it and surround yourself in nature, it is pretty incredible.

For some of us, unfortunately – no matter how beautiful nature can be, Sukkot is torture.  No, I am not talking about the people who don’t like to sweat as they sit in a hot sukkah.  And I am not talking about people who hate when their hair frizzes if they spend too much time outside.  Nor am I talking about those who have allergies to pollen and plants.  I am talking about control freaks – those of us who spend our lives doing everything we can to insure that life goes exactly as we plan it.  For us control freaks – Sukkot can be hell.

Control freaks might get nervous on Yom Kippur.  There is a lot to do.  We have to go to the synagogue.  Say the required prayers.  Control our hunger pangs as we fast.  Apologize.  Forgive.  Do everything required of us so that we will be written in the Book of Life.  But control freaks – we thrive on this kind of stuff.  Yes, it is a lot of work – a lot of pressure – but we can control it by doing it.

The morning after Yom Kippur – the control freaks – we are happy to wake up and realize that we have successfully gotten ourselves written in the Book of Life for another year.  We go about our day – controlling our lives.  We’ve got our Blackberries or IPhones attached to our hip.  We can’t miss anything.  We expect that our employees or colleagues do things just so.  Anything else could lead to disaster.  We adhere to a tight schedule – and expect our families to follow that schedule.  We don’t like things out of place – that is chaos.

A few days after Yom Kippur – we pull out our sukkah.  We know where it is.  We packed it away nice and neatly last year along with the decorations.  Each decoration is hung in the same place every year.  We love the kids to help us decorate – but not too much – because, while they mean well, the sukkah won’t look just so.  When they get tired of decorating – we go and put things in the proper place.  We move our table in the sukkah – prepare the dinner.  The guests arrive – most of them on time – but a few are late (that drives us control freaks crazy!).

As we wait for everyone to arrive, the wind picks up.  “Oy vey!”  A decoration falls from the sukkah.  As you rush outside to fix it – the rain starts.  And not just rain – a downpour.  And the control freak begins to freak out.  Plans have to change – no eating in the sukkah.  The indoor table is not set!  Crisis!!!

Sukkot is torture for control freaks.  Nothing about this holiday is permanent.  Nothing about it can be controlled.  A sukkah is not supposed to stand up to a strong wind.  It should fall over.  The roof of a sukkah is not supposed to keep rain out and the walls of a sukkah should not prevent the elements from coming in.  The wobbly nature of the sukkah does nothing to prevent decorations from falling down.  Meals that are scheduled to take place in the sukkah – might very well have to be rescheduled or canceled if the rain comes pouring down.  For those who sleep in the sukkah – a barking dog or an annoying mosquito can easily keep you from having a good night’s sleep.  Life in the sukkah is uncontrollable.

And for control freaks – this makes Sukkot anything but a time of joy.  As a control freak myself, I wrestle with the uncontrollable nature of this holiday every year.  But, having wrestled with it for enough years, I have come to realize that every control freak needs Sukkot.  We need to go through the turmoil of losing control…of living on God’s schedule and not our own schedule.  We need to understand that it can rain and our dinner might have to move inside and we will survive.  We need to realize that a beautiful sukkah is one with decorations that fall down – this is proof that God ultimately controls how our sukkah looks – not us.  We need to appreciate that no matter how hard we work to build our sukkah – the wind might blow it down and, in doing so, say to us “Ha!  You thought you were the boss!!!”

Control freaks need to observe Sukkot.  It is a great way to realize that, really, we don’t have control.  This is a hard message for us control freaks.

Fortunately this is not the only message of Sukkot.  There is a much more important message for control freaks (and for all of us) on this holiday – a message that teaches us what joy really is.

So we are supposed to sit in the sukkah.  We are supposed to invite our friends and loved ones into the sukkah for meals.   When we do so, our sukkah is filled with conversation, stories, laughter, learning, music…As we sit together, enjoying each other’s company – a huge burst of wind comes along.  It blows our sukkah away and with it the decorations.  What are we left with?  Some might say nothing.  Some might say a mess.  But, Sukkot teaches us that the answer should be that we are left with everything.  Nothing took the family and friends.  And because of this, nothing took the conversation, stories, laughter, learning, music.  We can move inside – or even sit where the sukkah was and continue enjoying our time together.

You see Sukkot is not about the sukkah or the decorations.  It is really about who fills our sukkah – the people.  They bring with them the conversation, stories, laughter, learning, music.  They bring with them the joy that they share with us.  So many of us (especially the control freaks) need this holiday – need this odd ritual of moving in the sukkah – to shake up our routine and force us into a situation where the only thing that we control is who we surround ourselves with.  Everything else is beyond our control.  Nothing else really matters.

Sukkot is our time of great joy because we have a great excuse to invite our family and friends over for a good time in a flimsy hut that leaks when it rains, gets hot in the sun and might very well blow over if it gets too windy.  But who cares – because we can spend some quality time together.

Sukkot makes us live in an uncontrollable environment for a few days.  If you have the courage to live in this environment – if you have the courage to stop worrying about the details and the schedule and the time and the weather and the decorations….Sukkot puts everything into focus and you realize that within this uncontrollable environment – the stuff we worry about when we sit in the a/c under  a real roof is not all that important.  The people we usually don’t have the time to hang out with – the people we sweat with and get wet with in the sukkah – they are what matters.  They are our sources of joy.  They are what Sukkot is all about.

Go spend some time in the sukkah.  And try really hard to bring the joy of this holiday back inside when Sukkot comes to a close.

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On Rosh HaShanah, we are supposed to take some time to reflect upon the year that has come to a close – specifically the moments in our lives that, when we look back, contained within them incredible bits of knowledge.

These moments are not always the joyful moments that are captured by photographs, video, or scrapbooks. While they can be wonderful experiences, they can be challenging – or even seemingly insignificant at the time.

If you really give yourself time to reflect on the year that has come to a close – you quickly realize just how many teaching moments you have lived through.  Most of these moments come and go and we fail to grasp the lessons they contain.  But, they forever remain a part of our own personal “Book of Days”.  A book that is available to us year round – but one that we rarely flip through except during these Days of Awe.

Rosh HaShanah gives us the encouragement and the time to flip through our “Book of Days” and mull over where we have been, what we have seen and heard and who we have been in contact with these past 12 Jewish months.  And, of course, on Rosh HaShanah, we are not limited to moments that took place in the closing year.  Our entire life is fair game.  Every year we get a chance to examine every one of our days and grab a lesson we might have missed along the way.

On Rosh HaShanah (Day 2), five members of Ramat Shalom were courageous enough to share a lesson with us from their “Book of Days”.  Their stories are below.

SHIRLEY WEISSMAN

When Rabbi asked me to share with you a life-altering event and the lessons learned therefrom, there was no second thought in my mind about the topic.   Yet, when one has lived as long as I – three quarters of a century – many events both happy and sad are recalled.  I learned when I was very young that the losses can be  challenging, but are the maturing occasions of one’s life. The joys must be savored; they are the sustenance of survival.

The date was March 11, 2006, and Rabbi  was theresharing it  with my daughter (your President), my son, and me. After  eight months of our watching, supporting, tending to, and hiding the pain in all four of us, by smiles and encouragement for my husband in his battle with pancreatic cancer, his final 23 hours were difficult.

Stu and I were alone for the first 13, as I saw to his needs, never leaving his side but to prepare him for his next bout.  Those precious hours of talking, planning and waiting for the children sustained him; and in a very unique way, although the situation was tragic, it was an extremely significantly personal time for us, and I felt  honored to be able to help.  Then, in the morning, Bretta  picked Seth up at the airport; and shortly after both entered our bedroom, our son called me out to tell me that the end of life would come in a matter of hours.  He then lay down next to his dad and took his hand, just as Stu had done when Seth was small and ill. When we were later alone, I shared with Stu what the children had assessed:  (as I probably need not mention, Bretta is an RNand Seth, an MD) and Stu’s incredible response was… “Good, I can hardly wait.”

In late afternoon Rabbi  arrived, unheralded, but because something drew him to us–one of his unique characteristics.  Heremained, and experienced sights and events that no one but loving family needed  to endure, but he never flinched and led us in a service and the chanting of Ose Shalom, to which Stu joined in…smiling.

I thought each of us needed alone time with Stu; and during Bretta’s, he required the use of the bathroom, and when she took him, he joked about her strength.   Since this had not been a need of his for over 24 hours, I felt a chill when I found them.  Although she and I supported each side of him as he slowly walked back to the bed, he was physically unable to get onto it.  Miraculously, at that moment Seth rushed into the room and lifted his father.And it was just seconds after that, that Stu’s words no longer came, but his suddenly wide open, crystal clear eyes looked at me and into me with his continued, complete awareness, those eyes now set in a suddenly wrinkle-free face—an amazing pre-death change—and we all knew that it was time.

Bretta, Seth and I  held on to him, never letting go, telling him goodbye, thanking him, loving him.   I heard my voice coming from somewhere repeating over and over, I love you, Stu;I love you, Stu.

In minutes, the Nashoma came to get him ;  I know this,  because Stu slowly, almost reluctantly, turned his eyes from mine toward the wall beside our bed, responded with his eyes to the presence of someone or something, then just as slowly returned his eyes to mine, now with a tear under one…and peacefully expired….I always felt that I was the voice of reason and my head agreed totally that death was a gift; it was my heart that got inthe way.  We had had no sleep for 48 hours and had the chance to complete things, to say everything that we could think of thatneeded to be said.  But all the logic in the world failed to compensate for my selfishness of wanting him with me.So the emotions of the  next several months were physically painful with daily anxiety upon waking, and my sense of seeing that final wall.  But each day, week, month, year  became easier and I was where I needed to be.

Then…35 months after March 11, 2006, love came back into my life… So that is  my story; that life-altering day, 70 days short of 50 years of marriage…the survival of the loss of one magnificent man…and the joy of being able to create a new life with another.  The lessons, which I share with you that I learned from Stu: Live the best of life!  Smile!  Remember the past–but don’t dwell in it!     As he always used to say:  Just do it and “Never  sweat the small stuff!”

L’Shana Tova Tikatevu.

ALISON DOLBERG

Having a best friend that loves you unconditionally should NEVER be taken for granted.  Instead, we should treasure each moment and share our lives to the fullest.  Although I always believed this, I am not sure I lived it.  My dear friend, Candace was always ready for fun and adventure – she was constantly there for me to vent to, share with, question,  laugh with, cry around, or simply be with.  Not only was she my precious gift, she had a major connection with my children too.  She stayed with them when Jeffrey and I went out of town and made an impact on both Andrew and Jessica’s lives.  Her enthusiasm for life was contagious.  Candace worked hard and played hard.

Saturday evening, October 16, 2004 , we had plans to see the Princess Diana exhibit at the Art Museum in Ft. Lauderdale.  Candace, Deanna and I met at the museum and as we wandered through, our conversation was about Princess Diana, and how her life was devestatingly too short.  We admired her clothing, gauked at her jewelry and cried together when realizing the major loss her children encountered caused by her death.  We had a wonderful dinner together and reminisced about many experiences we shared – both positive and negative.  Of course we had delicious desserts – Candace would NOT complete a meal without her dessert!  As we said our good-byes, I never thought that this would be the last time I would see Candace alive.

Candace was murdered that evening as she entered her home.  She never had the opportunity to do many things that she had on her “Bucket List” although she had been skydiving and traveled the world.  My life has been profoundly changed though this horrific experience.  In Candace’s memory,  I must laugh each day, push myself a bit passed my comfort zone, and always remember her zest for life!  Life is way to short to sweat the small stuff, focus on the negative, or just survive.  Although this experience has been devestating to me, I have learned from it as well.  Take the time to smile and share your life.  Be there for your friends and family no matter what and don’t just be – use these moments to truly share yourself – be passionate for life.  We should ALL have a tremendous impact on others as Candace did for me and all those who’s lives she touched.

LUKE KATLER

I stand before you today completely and totally humbled. Humbled by the vast support base and love that sits in this congregation. Humbled by the smiling faces radiating positive energy as I stand before you. But most of all, humbled by the way that nearly every one of you reached out to my family during the period of my mother’s passing.

A real mood-killer, I know, but last December, I had my first real experience with death. I had always thought my mother to be invincible, a sort of rock in every storm, so when she told me she was permanently suspending her chemotherapy treatment it hit me with an unexpected brute force. I mean, she was always reassuring me that things were a-okay and, being the naiive sixteen-year old that I was, I had no choice but to believe her. So when she dropped the bomb that she was going to embrace death as an inevitability, everything just felt off-balance and foreign, as if her entire nature had been a cover-up for some larger reality. Not only was I losing my mother, but I was also losing the security I felt that my immediate world was nothing but sunshine and rainbows. However negative this circumstance, deep within it I found a beautiful message that transformed the way I looked at the world.

People are essentially good. It’s as simple as that. I remember reading “Lord of the Flies” in eighth grade and discussing how the book argues that babies are born inherently evil. Now, while much of our human nature oftentimes moves us to immorality and poor judgement, after my mother’s death and the outpouring of love and support that followed, I find that my friends and family (hey, if I can’t speak for the entire human race, at least I can hone in on them) are all genuinely wonderful people and I am blessed every day to be surrounded by them. Over those two days surrounding her passing, I received upwards of 150 text messages and Facebook inboxes (for you older folks just imagine that those things are the equivalent of real-life interactions to teenagers) from people who I both loved and felt close to as well as friends that I never knew I had or hadn’t spoken to for years. It absolutely blew me away how quickly things were looking up.

I now make a conscious daily decision to think of my mother’s passing from a positive perspective, attempting to harbor her love of life and the cumulative love that my family received on that fateful day and turn it back on my friends, family and this congregation. I have also refused to think of the grieving process as a pity party, but rather a time for laughter and memories, as my mom would have preferred. During this time of change, what with Senior year and college applications and many of my friends going off to far-off places to begin the next chapter in their lives, I think back to that span of two days and smile, knowing that aside from making my own lunches and being my own personal secretary, my mother’s passing transformed me in another way entirely, by teaching me so much more about my loved ones than I had ever imagined. All of them, and you, are just so…good.

DAVID KINGSLEY

When I got the letter from Rabbi Andrew, asking me to speak today about an event or day that had an impact on my life, for good or bad, my first thought was that I didn’t really want to share my personal thoughts “with the whole world”.  But you don’t say “no” to Rabbi Andrew, and  I realized that in one aspect of my life, I have been doing that for almost 20 years.

Nearly 20 years ago, after exercising, I massaged my sore chest and felt a small lump under my nipple.  Knowing that men could get breast cancer, my wife and I agreed that I should go to my doctor.  The day that changed my life was the day when the biopsy results confirmed our fears: I had breast cancer.

Throughout the treatment ordeal, my wife Louise, our children Michael and Linda, and the whole family was supportive.  Friends and family, of all religions, said prayers for me.  Louise especially was there for me every step of the way.

The treatments for breast cancer in men are similar to those for women, and I had a modified radical mastectomy, followed by chemotherapy.  I learned that in the United States, approximately 2000 men are diagnosed with breast cancer each year, but in going through my treatment, with the obvious side effects such as loss of hair, I became acutely aware that even highly educated people often don’t know that men can get breast cancer, and that there was a lack of information and notice about men having breast cancer in the research, charity and medical communities.

Of course, early diagnosis in breast cancer is very important for both women and men.  But, unfortunately, because men are often unaware that they can contract breast cancer, they tend to disregard lumps in their breasts.  This is particularly bad because breast cancer can be more insidious in men than in women, since owing to the minimal tissue in the breast area of men, breast cancer in men often spreads more rapidly outside the breast tissue to the bones and vital organs of men than it does in women.

I decided that as a result of what had happened to me that day, I would do two things: first, spread  the word that, “men can get breast cancer too” , and second, dedicate time in helping to raise funds for breast cancer research.

As part of my new combined goal of raising awareness of breast cancer in men and raising funds for breast cancer research, whenever I read about fundraising efforts for research to cure breast cancer, I would contact the sponsoring charity, such as the American Cancer Society, the Koman Foundation, and the City of Hope hospital and research center in California, and ask that they put in their literature words to the effect that men who find a lump in their breast should also see a doctor.

Although it took years for some charities to change their literature, the City of Hope, upon hearing my request, immediately­ took steps to get the word out, changing their fund raising literature before their next series of Walks for Hope.  Because of their outstanding responsiveness, Louise and I organized a walk team to raise money for the City of Hope, and in doing so, one year I happened to raise the most money of any individual in Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties.  We had our team for several years, and the money we raised went to fund all kinds of research at the City of Hope.

At this point, the story takes an even more interesting turn.

Three years ago, which was 17 years after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Louise was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Fortunately, she is now in remission.  The primary drug used in her treatment was Rituxan, WHICH WAS DEVELOPED AT THE CITY OF HOPE, in the 5 or 6 years during and after I raised the money for Walks for Hope.

Finally, you may be aware that for almost 60 years, The American Cancer Society has had the “Reach to Recovery” peer counseling program, in which trained female volunteers visit with female breast cancer patients referred to the ACS by their medical providers.  When I had my surgery, I learned that there were no counselors to talk to men with breast cancer.  In order to further help men with breast cancer, I became trained as a volunteer, and I am one of the few, or maybe the only, male Reach to Recovery counselor in the U.S.  Although most volunteers only counsel patients in their immediate vicinity, in addition to getting many calls each year to talk to men in Broward County, I often get calls for assistance from all around the country.

Fortunately, I have remained cancer free since my early diagnosis and aggressive treatment.  And I continue to tell everyone that if you, or your significant other, whether male or female, finds a lump in the breast, they should see a doctor.

So that day which I will never forget, when I got BAD news, actually had a profound effect for GOOD, not only for me, but also for others.

DANETTE MARKS

Twenty years ago, i had what I considered a pretty “periect” life. My husband and I had just moved to South Florida after he finished his medical training and we were busy building our life together. I was a very happy full-time mom to our children Marissa and Jordan and Jeff was working hard at developing his new practice. When Jordan was around 2, my mother’s intuition began telling me that something wasn’t right, even though I was repeatedly reassured by everyone that he was fine.

By the time Jordan was 2 1/2, he spoke only a few words and made poor eye contact. He was very affectionate towards me, but wasn’t particularly interested in playing with other children. Most troubling, when frustrated, he would bang his head on the tile floor so severely that he had an omnipresent goose egg on his forehead. It took an extremely courageous pre-school teacher and a very dear friend to finally say to me that we needed to see a specialiSt. The next day, I was sitting across from a pediatric neurologist receiving the most devastating news of my life: Your son has autism.

There are no words to describe the despair I felt. That evening, our closest friends came to our home. We cried together and sat shivah for the life we had imagined
for our son. For the next week or two, I walked around in a fog of depression and disbelief. Finally, I realized that I had to get to work and find someone who would tell me
what I needed to do to help my son. I know that today it seems that every time we pick up a newspaper or turn on the tv there is a story about autism, but in 1993 the
services for children with autism in South Florida were extremely scarce.

Luckily, even though Jordan couldn’t talk, I could. I began cold-calling complete strangers begging for information and help. Even though I had no patience to sit around and whine about my problems, I went to a support group to try to network. It was at that group that I met the group of other mother’s of children with autism who would teach me how to save my son. They told me about a researcher who had shown that with extremely intensive early-intervention, a small percentage of children with autism had recovered. That was all I needed to hear.

Our home was transformed into a therapy center. Jordan was bombarded during every waking hour with behavioral therapy, speech and occupational therapy. Jeff and I made
the practical decision that I would manage Jordan’s intervention and Jeff would concentrate on making the money necessary to pay for it. Luckily we did not know at the time that 80% of marriages of parents of children with autism end in divorce. I’m happy to tell you that we are in the 20%.

After two years of intensive home therapy, we believed Jordan needed to be around typical children, so I turned to our local Jewish community. In those days, DPHDS had a pre-school. Accompanied by Jordan’s team of therapists, I made an appointment with the headmaster and literally begged him to give my son a chance. He agreed to let Jordan attend the school with a full-time “shadow.”

Very, very slowly, Jordan began to learn to play like the other children. He learned the prayers and songs. Oddly enough, Hebrew was a breeze for him. By middle school, Jordan was doing exceptionally well and this spring he graduated from high school with honors. He is currently a freshman in college studying biology and neuroscience. Jordan became a Bar Mitzvah at Ramat Shalom during Rabbi Andrew’s first year here. Jordan developed an instant rapport with Andrew. Jordan told him he wasn’t’ sure he should have a Bar Mitzvah because he didn’t know if he believed in God and didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Rabbi Andrew assured him that it was ok and I can tell you that many tissues were used that day as there wasn’t a dry eye in the house!

I’m not sure what to call what I believe. I believe it’s bershert that when I came to Florida I moved next door to the person who pushed me so hard to get a diagnosis for Jordan when no one else would. I also believe that it’s bershert that we were able to put together the remarkable, talented team responsible for Jordan’s recovery. I don’t know if it was God, or fate, or karma, but I know that it’s not a coincidence and that I cannot explain it.

This past summer, Jordan worked as a counselor at a camp for children with autism. Jordan was assigned a camper who was functionally non-verbal and happened to be the son of a rabbi. One day, everyone was dozing on the bus on the way back to camp after an exhausting day of white-water rafting. Much to Jordan’s surprise, his camper, who could not answer a simple yes/no question, suddenly began singing Oseh Shalom. Jordan said his Bar Mitzvah training kicked in and he sang along with his camper, much to everyone’s amazement. I’m not sure if they were more amazed at the boy with autism singing in Hebrew or his counselor with the mohawk who no one realized was Jewish? Needless to say, I had a lump in my throat that night when Jordan called to share his story.

I used to ask myself “why us?” As the years passed, I would ask myself “why are we the lucky ones?”and was reluctant to talk about Jordan’s progress. Finally a friend of
mine whose son remains very challenged by autism, said to me, “do not ever feel guilty about Jordan’s success. Your story is what keeps me going day after day and
gives me hope for my son.”

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On Rosh HaShanah, we are supposed to take some time to reflect upon the year that has come to a close – specifically the moments in our lives that, when we look back, contained within them incredible bits of knowledge.

These moments are not always the joyful moments that are captured by photographs, video, or scrapbooks.  While they can be wonderful experiences, they can be challenging – or even seemingly insignificant at the time.

If you really give yourself time to reflect on the year that has come to a close – you quickly realize just how many teaching moments you have lived through.  Most of these moments come and go and we fail to grasp the lessons they contain.  But, they forever remain a part of our own personal “Book of Days”.  A book that is available to us year round – but one that we rarely flip through except during these Days of Awe.

Rosh HaShanah gives us the encouragement and the time to flip through our “Book of Days” and mull over where we have been, what we have seen and heard and who we have been in contact with these past 12 Jewish months.  And, of course, on Rosh HaShanah, we are not limited to moments that took place in the closing year.  Our entire life is fair game.  Every year we get a chance to examine every one of our days and grab a lesson we might have missed along the way.

Tonight, I share with you a moment of mine from the past year – a moment that is perhaps obvious, but one that I let fly by because I did not want to deal with it.

As you might know, I turned 40 on August 1. Turning the big 4-0 is, for many of us, a big deal.  With all due respect to those older than me – 40 has always been the age you turn when you are officially “old”.  Silly I know.  Wrong, I know – especially now that I am 40.

But, I dreaded turning 40 because, in many ways it marked a milestone that I did not want to reach…an end of my “young” years and the beginning of something more serious and something “old”.  And what did I have to show for my 40 years?  Have I wasted this time?  Certainly, I have a beautiful family, a wonderful congregation – but I am 40!

Moses had already taken his first stand against Pharaoh at 40.  John Glen orbited the earth at 40. By the time he was 39, Thomas Edison invented a speaker diaphragm that made the telephone commercially practical, provided NY city with electricity and invented a wireless telegraph system. Bill Gates was a billionaire by 30!  What have I done that has come close to any of this over the past 40 years!?  Have I used my time wisely?  Or have I wasted my 40 years?  These are the types of questions that ran through my head late at night the closer I got to the big 4-0.

Certainly, the anticipation leading up to the birthday was worse than the actual day.  And given that we were in Israel on my birthday – I had little time to focus on the day.  But, after turning 40, the late night questions did not stop.  In fact, they got worse and I started to feel kind of down – simply because of the number 40.

Just days after my birthday, the Jewish month of Elul began, the time when we are to begin preparing for Rosh HaShanah by examining our lives and determining if we are happy where we are. Elul came at a perfect time for me as I was spending too much time “reflecting” on this number 40 and how it defines me and makes me feel.

Elul encouraged me to look at the number 40 from a Jewish lens.  It is a number that appears over and over again in our tradition.

Noah was trapped on the ark with his family and the animals for 40 days and nights as the earth was flooded.

Before he received the 10 Commandments, Moses spent 40 days on top of Mount Sinai with God.

The Jews wandered the desert for 40 years prior to entering Israel.

A mikveh, a spiritual pool used to cleanse the body and soul must contain 40 se’ah (200 gallons) of water.

In Judaism, the number 40 has the power to raise up a person or thing’s spiritual state.  Just as FORTY measures of water purifies a person, FORTY days of rain purified the world during Noah’s time.  Moses being on Mt. Sinai for FORTY days had a purifying effect in that the Jews arrived at Mt. Sinai as a nation of Egyptian slaves, but after forty days they were G-d’s nation – having received the 10 Commandments.  It took our ancestors 40 years to prepare themselves to enter the land of Israel – 40 years during which they wandered, lost in the wilderness.  It was during these 40 years that our ancestors evolved and matured and were  - at the 40th year mark – able to cross into Israel.

The Talmud points out, that it takes 40 days for an embryo to form inside its mother – prior to this point, the embryo is described by the sages as merely a “liquid”.

In this way, 40 marks the beginning of life – everything before it is seen as the preparation.  40 marks renewal.  40 marks maturity.  Once you have matured, you are ready for the next step.  You are ready for life.

Judaism teaches us that Torah study should begin at age five. At 13 it is time to study the Commandments.  At 15 one is ready to begin Talmud study.  A wedding is in store for an 18 year old.  When one turns 30 – he is ready to gain authority. And at 40 one should pursue binah, that is, deep understanding. The rabbis state that it is “only at the age of 40 that the student is fit to understand properly the thought of his teacher,” for “40 years is the age of wisdom.”

Related to this, the Kabbalists teach us that at 40, the human soul becomes spiritually mature. This is why it is taught that 40 is the year when one can begin to study Kabbalah – Jewish mysticism.

It took Moses 40 days to receive the 10 Commandments, the Jewish people 40 years to return to Israel – and us – 40 years to spiritually grow into ourselves.

This concept resonated with me.  Instead of turning the big 4-0 and focusing on age, instead of obsessing upon what I have yet to do, rather than seeing 40 as a milestone that marked the end of my youth, Judaism was urging me to see forty as a beginning: a doorway; a time of transition.

Nine years ago, as I began my time here at Ramat Shalom, I found myself, as many new rabbis do, being compared to the previous rabbi.  And it seemed that nothing I did – no matter how hard I tried – allowed me  to do my job like the previous rabbi did.  It seemed that many in the congregation were not happy with me simply because I was not the previous rabbi.  I tried so hard and, while I received many complements, I focused on the complaints that I received.  Some of these complaints were constructive.  And then there were the mean ones.  While I have learned that this is par for the course, in my early 30’s – such criticism was hard.  I took it very personally and no matter how hard I tried to overcome what some saw as my weaknesses, I could not succeed.

At one point, a member of the congregation came to visit me.  She came into my office, placed a bottle of wine on my desk and told me what my problem was:  “you’re a kid” she said.  “One day, you will grow up and you will understand what is going on.  You just can’t get it now.  Go and get drunk.”

Her words did not sit too well with me.  While perhaps her intentions were good, she came across as patronizing and condescending.  I told her so as I handed her back her wine bottle, telling her that I could not accept her “gift”.

As I enter my 5th decade and look back on that moment, I can now say that despite her really bad communication skills and her lack of sensitivity and respect – this woman was speaking a very Jewish lesson.  With time and age come understanding, maturity and growth.  Things make more sense – you gain perspective the older you get.  This being said, I really don’t suggest you go to your rabbi or doctor or lawyer and tell him that he is just young and immature….trust me – it really won’t go over well.

I would certainly handle many of the challenges that I went through as a new rabbi, a new husband, a new father, a new half-marathon runner – a new anything – differently today.  But, the bumps and the bruises and even the joyful moments I had while living these challenges – these were my desert wanderings.  We mature by wandering in our desert – making the wrong turns, the u-turns, the right turns and taking time to reach the promised land, our destination.  It is the turns and twists on the journey and the slow, often arduous trek that allows us to gain spiritual insight into ourselves and the world around us.

I can tell you that after that woman came into my office, I was ready to toss in the towel.  I called a mentor of mine, who told me that I could walk away.  I could easily get another congregation.  But, he assured me that no matter where I went, it would be hard.  “Any rabbi can leave a congregation,” he said.  “Not every rabbi can stay at one.”  Too many rabbis, he said, want it easy.  They just want to be accepted.  “It doesn’t work that way,” he told me. “I would be disappointed with myself if I gave in, “  my mentor explained.

These were not the words I wanted to hear.  I wanted a quick fix.  An easy transition.  But I trusted my mentor.  And I stuck it out.  And the journey through my wilderness continued.  I made some more wrong turns.  But, within time, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel – much like the Israelites could see that the land of Israel was not too far away.  And here I am, many years later, a 40 year-old rabbi – who considers himself the luckiest rabbi in the world to be serving as the spiritual leader of the best congregation there is.

Yes, it would have been easier to quit way back when.  But I would have missed all of this.  A lesson we should apply to all of our challenges and struggles in life – whether we are turning 40 or not.

Mind you, as we become 40 – we do not suddenly become the wisest of souls.  Far from it! Just as we are taught by the rabbis that at 40 we are ready to pursue wisdom – at 50 they teach us that we are ready to give counsel, at 60 we are worthy of being a communal elder – someone deserving of great respect – and at 80 we gain special strength. At 40, we simply become more aware of our role in this world and the spiritual responsibilities we must face.

40 does not mean I have arrived at wisdom. 40 means, that I am capable of searching for wisdom, of taking everything to the next level – my studies, my relationships, my role as a husband and father and son.  Forty means that I have the ability to take a step back and look at where I have come from and where I want to go.  Forty is a transition –and a good one.  It is not the end of anything – but rather the beginning.

The Torah that we will read tomorrow morning reminds us that age should not stop us from doing incredible things.  We will read about the birth of Isaac and the challenging consequences of this birth. Isaac’s mother, Sarah, who tried for years and years to get pregnant, gave birth to Isaac at the ripe old age of 90.  Some become millionaires at 30.  Others orbit the moon at 40.  And our matriarch, Sarah, learns that she is going to be a mother at 90.  And what does she do?  She laughs.  In fact, the name Isaac – means laughter – laughter that reflects Sarah’s shock and awe that at 90 she finally got what she had wanted all along – a child.  This child, Isaac, is a reminder to all of us that the laughter and joy associated with accomplishing something wonderful can occur even very late in life.

As I begin a new year, at the beginning of my 40th year, I look back upon my life and give thanks for all of the journeys – great ones and challenging ones – all the wonderful memories and all the bumps and bruises and scars and count each and every single one as a blessing – for they make up not simply my “Book of Days” – but my own personal desert, my own wilderness.  I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am and talking to you today from this bimah if I had never traveled through that wilderness.

My hope for us all tonight – no matter what our age – is that we begin the new year by realizing that the years we spend in the wilderness lead us to great places.  Don’t be afraid to get lost.  Don’t be afraid to journey.  Yeah it can be hot and sandy and uncomfortable.  But 40 years in the desert can lead you to Israel.  It led me to Ramat Shalom.  And it will lead you to great places.

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