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Rosh Hashanah 5767-2006 - Steering without a Rudder
by Rabbi Yael B. Ridberg

In the last five years since assuming this pulpit as the solo rabbi, approaching the yamim noraim has always meant thinking about these days as an entrée to the year as a whole.

Of course, the last five years have also brought dramatic events and experiences both personally and communally that have leant themselves well

to the deeper meaning of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  As I think about it, whether responding to the events of the day or reflecting on the challenges we have faced, I have often felt that my words on these days will have the potential and the opportunity to echo again and again in the months to come.

This year, I have felt the task of sermon writing particularly difficult.

Although I never want tragedies or other unforeseen and unwelcome events to come our way, in the last 5 years I have felt my responses to September 11th, breast cancer, the war in Iraq, extreme poverty, Hurricane Katrina, genocide in Darfur, and the need for global teshuvah, to be on the tip of my tongue.  Yom Kippur is usually the time I respond to world events, since in many ways, if we don’t use the personal work we have done in Elul and Rosh Hashanah to translate into how we act in the world at large then we are missing something big.

But Rosh Hashanah comes first, and while my Yom Kippur sermon topics

came easily this year, six weeks after I give this sermon today, I will embark on a wholly different path of that of this kehillah kedoshah – this sacred community, as I begin a nine month sabbatical.

And so I have been torn.  Is the tone I am to set today for you or for me?

If I am successful, then the message will apply to all of us in some way,

because what will unfold over the next 9 months will be something new and different for us all.

Initially, I was drawn to a sermon on happiness and contentment.  What is this often fleeting feeling and what does it have to teach us about our lives?

In preparation for that sermon, I started to read a new book by Harvard Psychologist, Daniel Gilbert, called Stumbling on Happiness.  And while the happiness sermon soon faltered, the book offered me an important insight.

Gilbert’s premise is that the human being is the only animal that thinks about the future, and therefore has some idea about how to feel about that future – which of course leads us into a discussion of whether “happiness” in the future is something we can actually obtain.

But as I was reading this book, I realized that what is really on my mind this Rosh Hashanah is the future.  I am thinking a lot about the immediate future in ways that I haven’t done so before.

It will be such a privilege to be able to step away from the sacred work of being a congregational rabbi and invest in my own spiritual life, seek a renewed understanding of myself, and remember and reconnect with experiences, interests and passions that existed before I became Rabbi Ridberg.  It is such a blessing to approach this time with the intention to examine who I have become, and more importantly, who I am yet to be.

Of course, this is exactly what these Yamim noraim are all about anyway.

We are taking time to examine our lives, what we are yet to become,

how to find some comfort and rest amidst the ferment and agitation of our daily lives.  These 10 days of teshuvah – of return – which begin today, are a very challenging time.  We step out of our routine, at the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, and when we emerge at neilah at the conclusion of yom kippur,

We try to embrace what could be, but at the moment, we don’t actually know what “the in between days” will offer.

It is a little anxiety producing.

When we wish each other a shanah tova, we are hoping that the coming year will unfold for the good.  It doesn’t mean that the year will be without its

challenges – we will encounter them to be sure – but how can we be open to what those experiences will have to teach us?

I feel as though I am living in the Rabbinic time of “bein hashmashot” – literally between the suns – twilight – actually.  In Pirke Avot the rabbis

teach us that 10 things were created bein hashmashot – at twilight on the sixth day of creation, and each was created for a specific purpose and appeared only when the time for that purpose was at hand.

What comes before sundown is clear – it is day.  And what comes after is also fairly clear – we call it night.  But in between, well, that’s an interesting question.  Last year has come to a close, and the new one is just unfolding --

So where are we exactly?

On this day I want to share with you my thoughts on this rather tentative position I find myself in as a frame for all of us in some way, to be open to what is to come this year, leaving some things to chance even while we plan, and plan, and plan.

I have been working as a congregational rabbi for almost a decade.  In that time I have gotten married, become a mother, confronted serious illness, and lived like all of you through tragedy, heartache, disappointment, and uncertainty.

What will it mean to step into the unknown?  How will I prepare?  Will I be disappointed?  What are my expectations?  What will I need to take this trip?

And what will I need on the other side to come back home?

These are questions not just relevant to me at this time of my life, but I believe they can mean something wherever we find ourselves at times of transition.

I have long been intrigued by the story of Noah, and have often used his story on these days because of the rich layers of meaning to be found in his story.  But I discovered something recently that I never noticed before that has been helpful in thinking about life in general and my sabbatical in particular.

Noah gets his directions for building the ark – how to make it, with whom to fill it, how they will enter it, and with what it is sealed.  But it seems that there is a part missing from the instructions.  There seems not to be a “rudder” on the ark.  There is no mention as to how the ark will be steered

or controlled during the flood.  In other words, once Noah and his clan

are safe in the ark, they have no idea where they are going, and more importantly, no control over the journey much less where they will land,

or how the trip will be.  There is no control mechanism and yet, they venture forth.

One could certainly argue that the ark didn’t need a means of propulsion or steering.  Because it was a global flood after all, there was no particular place that it needed to go, and whatever anxiety resided in the ark, eventually the inhabitants understood that the water would subside, land would reemerge, and they would disembark from the ark to a new world.

In addition, after exposing the land to the incredible Flood waters, it is unlikely that Noah's family could have recognized any landmarks after the Flood.  The Ark came to rest where it to come to rest.  End of story.

But not really.

While we don’t know what it was like on the ark, we can spin any number of scenarios. We can attribute anxiety or calm, control or chaos.  But whatever we imagine, there is no question that when Noah emerges from the ark, he is surely changed.  The world that he knew is gone, and when he disembarks to a new “reality” there are adjustments to be made.

Maybe that is another reason why he got drunk.  Noah had no real preparation for this experience, and he had to acclimate to a new world without the benefit of forethought, planning, anticipation, and control.

Now let me be clear – I do not think that taking a sabbatical is akin to surviving a flood.  But it is a time where changes both great and small

might happen, and the point is, there is time to prepare.  Life doesn’t always offer us the opportunity to anticipate transformation, but these ten days of teshuva can be like that for all of us on a larger scale, and the sabbatical can represent it on a smaller one.

What awaits each of us in the coming year?  None of us has a crystal ball,

but we take comfort in that which we know even while we might be unsure of what we don’t.

By asking this question I am inviting all of us to imagine what kind of shabbaton – what kind of rest/transformation will you seek this year?  What new depth of learning, praying, celebration, and communing will you aspire to?

I can tell you that one of the things I hope to regain over the next nine months is the experience of Shabbat.  Since becoming a congregational rabbi, I have found practicing what I preach about Shabbat to be increasingly elusive.  I can say that I am going to shul on Shabbat mornings, but actually, I am going to work.  Over time, it has become harder to distinguish between

leading a service and doing other things I might also characterize as work.

What I want to recapture is the sense of rest and contemplation.  I want to recapture the distinction between the work week and Shabbat.

At the same time, one of the things I plan to do on sabbatical is a yoga teacher training course.  This experience will most certainly constitute

new discoveries, spiritually and physically, that I know will inform my perspective on myself and my world.

So there are things I want to regain and things I want to discover.

We all have the desire to control our future.  We put in all kinds of mechanisms to enable smooth transitions.  For the synagogue there will be an interim rabbi, strong lay leadership, financial considerations and the like.

from my end, there are “plans” for how I will spend my time, but I don’t really know what it will be like day to day.  And I certainly don’t know what it will be like looking back.  It seems like a contradiction, but I want assurance that this experience will be a good one and I want the joy of spontaneity that comes with openness.

We all want security and control – even if, and especially if – we don’t seem to have a rudder at our disposal to navigate the whole way.  As Gilbert writes in Stumbling on Happiness: “We insist on steering our boats because we think we have a pretty good idea of where we should go, but the truth is that much of steering is in vain – not because the boat won’t respond, and not because we can’t find our destination, but because the future is fundamentally different than it appears through the prospectiscope.” p. 23

We can know what the big story is of our lives, but the specifics, the unknown is what is interesting and what we want to plan for ourselves.

So when we look back over the previous year, we can assign meaning to certain events and experiences based on hindsight, and a learned appreciation for our growth and development.  And when we anticipate the future, we can hope for our experiences to be all that we want, even while we know that the very nature of them is still open to discovery.

The rabbis teach in Pirke Avot, Ayzeh hu ashir, hasameach b’chelko:  Who is rich, one who is satisfied with her portion.  We say these words and we look at our lives, past, present, and future, and we wonder, are we content with who we are and what we have?  If it does not ring true for us, what are our needs and desires?  Ashir here – rich – is not only about financial means

of course.  It is referring to those things which energize, enrich, and perhaps

enlighten our lives in order to find greater meaning.

Let’s think about the last year for a moment, was there something that you discovered in the past year – about yourself, about your life?  Was there something you were searching for and you found it?  Was there something you were seeking and it remained hidden or unattainable?

These questions are easier to ask and answer about the past then they are about the future.  I could ask you – is there something you are searching for?

Is there something you are seeking?

I am drawing a distinction between searching and seeking based on a teaching of the Sefat Emet – Rabbi Yehuda Leib Alter of Ger – a Chasidic rabbi of the 19^th century.  He explains the difference like this: bakashah – seeking – is like a person who wants to acquire something he or she does not have.  Chipus – searching – is usually a matter of getting back something one has lost.

The searcher is more upset while in the process of searching, but when he finds it, his joy is not so great, because that which he finds was, after all, already his.  The seeker, however, is just the opposite.  Her sorrow is not so great but when she finds what she was looking for, her joy is even greater,

as if she happened upon a tremendous treasure.

And so, when imagining the future, with what kavannah – with what intention – will you do it?  Are you in a place of despair because what was once is not now?  Are you prepared to be open to what you might discover

in the coming year and seek out some kind of encounter or experience you might grow to treasure?  Do you experience both feelings?  As the Sefat Emet teaches:  The potential within each of us to search out the lost treasure within our soul is often coupled with seeking something new.

What I hope most of all is that meaning can be created as well as discovered over this time.

This process requires some degree of courage.  I would think that each of you right now can imagine a place you’d like to go – emotionally, spiritually, psychologically maybe even physically in the coming year.

You may be afraid to embark on one or both kinds of exploration, out of apprehension that you might not find what you are looking for, out of fear that when you find it, you might be disappointed.

I believe that the challenge is in the recognition that that kind of emotion can be triggered and that would stop us in our tracks.  It is important not be “flooded” by the reality that we don’t necessarily have a rudder to guide us where we want to go.

This coming year of bein hashmashot – of an in-between time for our communityand ourselves has the potential for incredible growth and discovery.  It will take courage to travel internally / externally. To take the risk, anticipate change, and remember the capacity each of us has to be surprised.  We don’t know where we will be a year from now, what new elements of ourselves will emerge.  What I do know is that they will emerge.

What an experience it will be when we come together next Rosh Hashanah!

There will be excitement to share as to where we have been and then, where we want to go together.

In his remarkable book "The Mind of the Traveller”, Eric J. Leed writes: “Journeying assumes a return to the home, and a change of attitude towards it, in which the home becomes chosen rather than a fate, and is seen from the outside rather than from the inside...we are a new person who has gone through a re-creation, and if we do not feel renewed, the whole point of the journey has been missed.”

May the journey on which we embark today carry us in safety and security

to places of perspective, discovery, and blessing, and may it lead each of us

to the place we long to be.

Shanah Tovah u’Metukah – A sweet New Year for us all!