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Rosh Hashanah 5768-2007: Ay mi zeh bat v’anah telchi: Where have you come from and were are you going? Reflections from my Sabbatical
by Rabbi Yael B. Ridberg

It is so nice to see all of you again!  I must say, everyone looks so rapt in your seats! I think know what you’re thinking.  It’s a little like those t-shirts you can pick up in beach towns, but this one says: “My rabbi went on sabbatical and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”

What did she do?  You’re wondering.  Where did she go?  You’re wondering.  What did she learn? You might ask,  and perhaps most importantly, how can we benefit?

Although I am kidding of course, you would be completely on target to be thinking these thoughts.  Really, I understand.  So let me tell you a little of what I did on my sabbatical, and hopefully you will leave with more than a tshirt.

As I look back on the sabbatical, confronting the powerful question “who am I” was really the central focus and core struggle of the experience.  Who am I?  What is my community?  How do I relate to the larger world?  Were the three questions that came up again and again.

When I left you last year, I did not know what it would mean to step into the unknown.  I didn’t really know how to prepare.  I was worried I might be disappointed.  What if my expectations were too high?  What would I need to take this trip?  And what would I need on the other side to come back home?

Last year, from this pulpit on this day, I called the time we were about to embark upon as bein hashmashot – an in-between time.  Not quite easily defined, where the light of day and the approaching dark of night casts a different color to our world.

At the end of that sermon, I said:  “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.”

In the aftermath of the sabbatical, I feel a little like Jacob, our ancestor after he ran away from his brother Esau.  Having stolen the birthright, Jacob came to a place and laid down for the night. With a rock for a pillow, he dreamt of a ladder reaching the heavens and angels ascending and descending.

When he awakens from the dream he exclaims: Achen yesh adonai bamakom hazeh,v’anochi lo yadati -- surely, God is in this place, and I, I did not know.

Like Jacob, over the last nine months I have awakened to a newfound awareness about myself, my community, and the world.  I have been challenged, surprised, delighted, and humbled by this awareness.

The feeling is not unlike this experience coming together on the yamim noraim.  Year after year, it is on these Days of Awe when we can re-commit ourselves to bringing our attention to the present, examining who we are

and who we are yet to be.  It is on this Day when we say: Hayom Harat Olam – on this day the world was created – and don’t have to only think mythically of the story of creation,we can mean the world that is unfolding

day to day for us personally and communally.

Today I want to share 3 snapshots from my sabbatical as a way to understand this kind of awareness that I experienced again and again awareness of self, of community, and of the world.

In January, I participated in a Yoga Teacher Training program at a studio here in Manhattan called Yogaworks.  On the very first day of the training,

I had a very simple yet overwhelming realization and newfound awareness.

The teacher began by asking us to introduce ourselves.  She invited us to say our name, where we were from, wnd what our injuries were.

I was sitting about halfway in the circle, and as I was listening to my classmates introduce themselves, I noticed tha none of them were adding/saying what they did”…I thought, hmmm, I guess I won’t tell them that I am a rabbi…I guess it doesn’t really matter here.  And that was when it hit me between the eyes.

I        am     not     my     job.

Now that may sound like the most obvious thing you have ever heard, but for me, it was pretty shocking.  It was a very unsettling feeling – even unpleasant and a little anxiety producing because of course, if I am not my job, then who am I?

Of course, my job and the work I do as a rabbi shapes who I am, identifies me in the world, but in the absence of the actual work of being a rabbi,

I wondered how to describe and identify myself.  Wife? Mother? Sister? Daughter? Friend?  “Rabbi on sabbatical’ just didn’t have that weight, or significance, and most importantly, I didn’t know yet what it meant.

I realized sitting in that yoga studio, that sometime over the last 10 years,

my life, my work, everything about my world just kind of flowed together –

there was no separation, no awareness of identity.  Admittedly, I thought that was a good thing.  To me, being a rabbi is indeed, as Kaplan taught, a vocation, a calling to a way of life not just to a career.

But now in this new environment, my “work” was being identified not by what I did in the world, but by who I am in the world.  My work as a rabbi is indeed a calling – it is a privilege to serve God and the Jewish people.  But somewhere along the way, I had lost a little bit of who I was, separate from the work I love to do.

During that intensive month of yoga training, my knowledge of Torah was pretty meaningless.  It was my emerging knowledge of self that rose to the top, and made me take notice.

The word Yoga in Sanskrit means union of opposites.  Yoga is when the opposing forces or directions in our bodies and minds have reached a kind of equanimity, and we have achieved some balance that did not exist before.

So yoga is not just about what the body physically does on the mat.  It is also about what happens off the mat when the yogi or yogini interacts with the world.  Can that equanimity be maintained?

The training was the most non-judgmental, non-competitive, encouraging, and open experience of my life.  It was about my practice, what was possible for my body and my mind to do.  It wasn’t about the end result – waiting for the teacher to say, “good job” Yael.  It was about how each moment was an opportunity to be present in the pose.  In other words, it was about the spiritual practice of being a human being.

In Genesis 16 when Hagar runs away from Sarai, an angel finds her by a spring of water in the wilderness and says,  Ay mi zeh vat, v’ana telchi Where have you come from? And where are you going?  It is the first time in biblical literature that an angel of God comes to speak with a character in the Torah.  Angels are generally nameless, they are without mythological

qualities – their sole function is to be an emissary of God, bringing some message for the individual alone.

That moment when I realized that my job could not and should not define me entirely, I felt that message being delivered to me directly, as if to say, Yael, your equanimity is off balance.  Do something about it.

Although I was shaken to the core by my realization that I wasn’t ONLY who or what I thought I was, I was able to shift my focus in order to experience my own identity, and presence in the world.  How often do we really ask ourselves where we have come from and indeed – where are we going?

Rosh Hashanah is indeed our time to examine who we are and where we would like to go as individuals.  Who are you? Where have you come from since last year?  Where might you like to go in the year to come?

The second picture I want to share with you is about awareness of community.  I had really grand plans about how I would spend Shabbat on my sabbatical.  I would return to my more personal observant life, experience what the rest of the Jewish world does by not working on Shabbat, and I wondered what it would be like to go to shul all over the city

so as to enjoy the plethora of choices that Manhattan has to offer the Jewish seeker.

I completely underestimated how difficult both well meaning intentions would be.  First, I realized that being the rabbi of this community had in many ways supplanted my own need and even desire for Jewish observance.

I knew what the weekly parshiot of the Torah were because I was learning them and sharing them with you.  I knew when the holidays fell long in advance because I was preparing programs and observances for WES.

This was a lonely and difficult realization, because I understood in new ways my connection and dependence on community.  While I went to shul in different places, I wasn’t a member of one community, where people knew really knew me, not just my title or place in the Jewish world.  I missed very much the bond I have with this congregation, and I felt displaced in my Jewish core and practice.

I understand more than ever something I say to students studying for conversion: You cannot be a Jew by yourself.  Without communal structure, one’s Jewish identity can be a heavy burden, while sharing it with fellow travelers makes the challenges of living a Jewish life so much easier to bear,

and the opportunities of living a Jewish life so much more enjoyable.

This past summer, I had knee surgery to repair a shredded ligament. I developed a staph infection after the surgery and ended up in the hospital

for 5 days in a lot of pain and discomfort.

On Shabbat afternoon while I was in the hospital, there came a knock at my door.  Two young women entered, clearly dressed for Shabbat.  They entered my room because they assumed that my name – printed on the door – was Jewish.  They were from Congregation Ohab Tzedek, an orthodox congregation on the west side, and they said that several times a month they walk across the park on Shabbat to Mt Sinai Hospital -- where I was -- and make bikkur holim visits to sick Jews in the hospital, even if, and especially if, they didn’t know them.

I was moved to tears.  I had been alone for most of the day, even the hospital staff was pretty skeletal.  But these young women were not on a schedule except one that said, when someone is sick, Jews are commanded to visit and comfort them.  They offered to take me for a walk if I wanted (I couldn’t really walk), or down to the garden to sit outside (it was too hot).  It was such a beautiful gesture, and I understood anew the powerful meaning of obligation, of community, and of acts of loving kindness.

But I was also struck in a powerful way that those young women were orthodox, and they wore their love and devotion for Jewish observance and practice on their sleeve – for all to see.  I wondered if I would willingly volunteer to interrupt my Shabbat rest to go and visit someone I didn’t know.  I was humbled when I realized – probably not.

Judaism can be something that infuses all of our lives.  These young women were coming to the hospital because it was a mitzvah.  What does that mean for us?  Can we and do we live Judaism with as much love even if we are not orthodox?

On some level, you all understand this idea since here you are – on the holiest days of the year.  Many of you have certainly experienced the comfort of community at times of distress or loss, and at times of celebration.

You come to share in the experience of beginning again.  What will your renewed connection to WES be this year?  Whether you are members of WES, come every week on only once a year, whether you are visitors with us, and are searching for a Jewish communal home, or spending time in NY with family.

Being a part of a Jewish community makes so much of what we live through

meaningful and relevant.  Being part of a synagogue is a mutually supportive

endeavor, and I really do have a newfound awareness of this truth.

Rosh Hashanah is indeed our time to examine who we are in relation to community and where we would like to go as a congregation.

Who are we? Where have we come from since last year? Where might we like to go in the year to come?

The final snapshot I want to share with you is really from the last third of my sabbatical.  It is about my growing awareness of the world  as I was anticipating coming back to work.

Many of you know I have long been inspired like so many – by Oprah Winfrey.  I know it sounds lightheaded, but really, I think she is one of the most inspiring, meaning makers out there today. So I tivo her program

and when I get a chance I catch up on the programs that interest me.

Over the last few months, I have watched a number of programs that made me acutely aware of how insulated my world has been, and how I am committed to making the changes necessary to connect in more meaningful ways.

Over the years, Oprah has given away cars, homes and much more to deserving people. So on one program every member of Oprah's audience went home with $1,000 and a Sony DVD Handycam.  She challenged each of the 300 people in the audience to give away that thousand dollars.

She said: "You're going to open your hearts, you're going to be really creative, and you're going to spend it all at once on one stranger or spend a dollar on every person," she said. "Imagine the love and kindness you can spread with $1,000."

The audience members couldn’t spend their money on family members or themselves, and they were to videotape their stories.  I cannot even begin to tell you the amazing things that people did.  One woman stood outside a grocery store in an impoverished neighborhood and gave $25 to any person who passed by. Another turned the 1k into 75K to raise supplies and materials for a battered women’s shelter.  I could go on and on.

I know that I could rise to Oprah’s challenge if given 1K to work with.

I just wondered how to challenge myself – and not just wait for long awaited, much desired, tickets to the oprah show.

The point is I sat watching this program and thought to myself – how can I use what I have, what I do to make someone’s life better?  How do I fulfill my potential here on earth which really is to serve humanity?  This realization was not startling like the “I am not my job moment,” nor was it isolating, like the “how to reconnect with Shabbat moment”.  This awareness and realization was energizing and compelling, and I continue to find ways to actualize it.

In the days to come, what will be your ways to consider greater awareness

of the issues and challenges of our world?  Will it be environmental?  Economic?  Social?  Political?  How will this year truly be different from last year?

In the traditional morning liturgy, we find the sentence: “mah anachnu, meh chayeinu, who are we and what are our lives?; meh hasdeinu mah tzidkenu, what is our compassion, what is our righteousness?  mah kocheinu, may gevurateinu, what is our power, what is our strength?

Who are we?  What are the areas of Jewish life that really matter to us?   What are the driving questions of identity and community that define who we are as a individuals, as a congregation, as members of humanity.

May the New Year bring us meaningful answers to the questions we raise.

May the words of our mouths, the meditations of our hearts, the actions of our hands, bring awareness, healing, and redemption to the world.

L’shanah tovah u’metukah!