Whole, Broken, and Then Whole Again ©
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester Unitarian Universalist Church
September 20, 2020
First Reflection: Born and Reborn Again
The lyrics of one of the songs in our turquoise hymnal keep going through my mind these days: “Return again, return to the home of your soul.
Return to who you are, return to what you are, return to where you are,
Born and reborn again.” (Shlomo Carlebach, Return Again, in Singing the Journey, #1011)
Born and reborn again. With the beginning of Rosh Hashanah on Friday evening, we have entered the Jewish Days of Awe, the period between the two high holy days of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the birthday of the world; and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. It is a time for turning: the turning of the season, from the bright heat of summer and all our outdoor pursuits, to the crisp and shortening days of autumn. We turn to other activities – school, preparing for the coming of winter.
In Jewish tradition, the Days of Awe are also a time of turning inward, a time of introspection, and assessment. Jews are taught to ask themselves: are their actions contributing to the sustaining and renewing of life? Rabbi Irving Greenberg puts it this way: “The concept of creation teaches that this is a world of divine purpose, a universe of value and meaning. Human beings can be judged by the standard of creation. Are they acting in consonance with the fact that this is a universe of value, purpose, and meaning?” (Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way, p. 186.). To act in a way that nurtures that value, purpose and meaning, is life-giving. To act otherwise tips the balance toward the death of the world.
This is a time of judgment. The blowing of the shofar represents the beginning of a trial, when every person stands before the judge, who weighs their lives. Jews ask, “Is my life contributing to the balance of life?” (Greenberg, p. 186).
Let’s pause for just a moment to consider those words; the weight of that concept. (pause)
How is my life contributing to life itself, to wholeness, to growth, and repair and renewal? (pause)
There is no hiding from the judge now seated on the bench. All are being asked, will you correct your mistakes, try to make amends, and turn again toward Love? That decision to turn toward Love will renew our hold on life. “To turn is to be reborn.” (Greenberg, p. 187)
We live our lives in vast cycles, often not fully of our understanding. Cycles of the seasons, of the tides, of the sun and the moon. Cycles of life and death and rebirth. I love the story that Lucille told this morning, of the cycle of a live lizard turned into a jewel, and then returned to life once again by the touch of loving hands. We can begin our lives whole, healthy, and natural. In the course of almost every human life there are periods of illness, injury, despair, and grief. We break. The circumstances of life can break us; loss, betrayal, mistakes. Perhaps a loving force comes along, that, as in our story, can help us turn again, return us to life.
The blowing of the shofar is intended to interrupt our daily lives, to call us to stop, to reflect, to stand before the Judge and hold ourselves to account.
But the pattern of the blasts of the shofar represent the cycle of life: a whole note, then broken notes, and ending with a whole note again.
In the words of Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, spoken in our opening video: “Each group of sounds begins with a tekiah, whole note, proceeds to shevarim, a ‘broken’ note divided into three parts, or even to a teruah, an entirely fragmented sound. But each broken note is followed by a whole note, another tekiah. This is the message of Rosh HaShanah: “I started off whole, I became broken, even splintered into fragments, but I shall become whole again! I shall become whole again!”
In this time of turning, may you turn once again toward Love and Wholeness. May your turning bring you renewal, new life, and new hope for the future. May the year ahead be full of sweetness.
Repairing the World: Tikkun Olam
Judaism has multiple creation stories. This one comes from the Kabbalah of Rabbi Isaac Luria, who lived in 16th century Europe. In this creation story God sought to withdraw God’s overwhelming presence to create space for creation. As God withdrew, God began to store divine light in clay vessels. But the vessels were not strong enough to hold the energy of the divine light, and they shattered, spreading divine sparks throughout the universe. Forever after, the human work of tikkun – repair – has been to gather up the divine sparks.
Tikkun olam – repairing the world. In the 20th century this phrase evolved into a social justice philosophy but also into an emphasis on searching for the divine sparks within ourselves, nurturing them, recognizing our own light, in order to heal ourselves.
Tikkun olam feels so important to think about right now. We are experiencing so much suffering these days. The losses, both worldwide and personal, are huge. Illness and death seem to be everywhere. People are losing jobs, and with that their identities as contributors, as creators. We are losing our forests, and our shorelines. We are losing our way of life, and so much that we have always taken for granted. We worry, for the first time in our lifetimes, that we might literally lose our democracy and all that we hold dear as Americans. There is pain, and rage, and sorrow. How can we find a path toward healing for ourselves, let alone for the world? Can we see the divine light within ourselves, and within each other?
Marge Piercy asks, in her poem “How much have I put on the line for freedom?” Our country is crying out for more justice: economic justice, racial justice, climate justice. Are we contributing?
Perhaps we are struggling to find inspiration right now, and understandably so. Just figuring out how to get to the grocery store and back safely can eat up most of our creativity and energy. And so, this weekend, this Rosh Hashanah, my thoughts turn repeatedly to Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. During her long life, which ended Friday evening, she endured great discrimination as a woman entering the law. She lost her mother to cancer when she was in high school, and almost lost her husband to cancer as well. When she died on Friday, it was as a result of her fifth bout of cancer. Over the years, during her tenure on the Supreme Court, she underwent repeated surgeries and other treatments, and, it is said, hardly ever missed time from the bench. Her clear voice demanded justice for an ever-expanding number of Americans. Despite everything; illness, pain, the death of her husband after 56 years, she never wavered. She became a cultural icon: the Notorious RBG. Bouquets of flowers are piling up outside the Supreme Court. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, despite great odds, practiced tikkun olam – repairing the world – for 87 years.
“How much have I put on the line for freedom? As these freedoms are pared,
sliced and diced, where have I spoken out?” (Marge Piercy, “The Birthday of the World”)
According to Jewish tradition, it is said that to die in the hours before sundown at the beginning of Rosh Hashanah is to be recognized as a tzaddik – a person of great righteousness. Legal reporter Nina Totenberg put it this way on Twitter: “Jewish teaching says those who die just before the Jewish New Year are the ones God has held back until the last moment because they were needed most and were the most righteous.”
We have lost one of our most righteous. How will we honor her memory? What can we do to help heal this broken, hurting world? There is no wrong way, except to do nothing. We too have divine energy that can shatter vessels. How can we direct our energy into the creation to repair the world?
On this Rosh Hashanah, and every day, may we hold the memory and inspiration of Ruth Bader Ginsburg close. May her memory be a blessing. May her memory be a revolution. May our words turn into sparks.
Blessed Be.
Amen.
