CBI Blogs

Dear Ones,

As you can imagine, rabbis all over the world do a lot of stressing out over their Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur sermons, for at least two obvious reasons.

First, because the themes of the Days of Awe are so big and important.

Second, because the sanctuary is full! It’s the only time of the year you get to connect in this way with so many members of the community. So, sermon wise, the heat is on.

Many years ago, CBI's first Associate Rabbi, Elizabeth Dunsker and I were chatting about our High Holy Day sermons when she said, "Don't you just wish you could get up on the bimah and yell, 'Repent!’ and then just sit down?" I laughed so hard that I nearly choked on the can of Coke I was drinking at the time.

If any rabbi actually got up on the bimah at sermon time on Yom Kippur and simply shouted, "Repent," and then sat down, that synagogue would likely hasten to activate its Rabbinic Search Committee! And yet, the idea behind Rabbi Dunsker's quip is a sound one. After all, Maimonides famously teaches us that the sound of the shofar is a spiritual wake-up call. It urges us toward teshuvah, coaxing us: "There's no time like the present to return to your highest values and especially, to forgive others who have hurt you, and seek forgiveness from those you've hurt."

A quick story.

An old and dear friend of mine, someone I admire and whose opinion of me matters quite a bit, had not reached out at a time in my life when I was going through a personal crisis. They knew what was going on, but never got in touch. Of course, "it takes two to tango," and I ought to have directly sought their support. But I didn't, and their lack of attention was painful.

Years passed, and I rarely thought about this episode, and would have thought that I was over it. But then, something happened that stirred up some old feelings, and I found myself once again very upset.

I reached out to my friend and invited them to lunch.

At a certain point I said something like, "There's a thing that’s bothering me, something that happened years ago. I'm no longer angry about it, but I thought I was over it, until I recently found that it's still eating at me. I'm thinking it would help me to let go if I could just tell you about it. Because I want to move past it.”

From the way my friend put their elbows on the restaurant table and leaned forward and said, "Of course, Steve, what is it," I immediately felt relieved I had taken this risk.

I explained what was bothering me, and how I was surprised that, even after all these years, my heart still hurt over it.

My friend said, "Oh, God, Steve, I'm so, so sorry. I can see how that must've felt terrible. To be honest, reaching out to people in a crisis situation isn't something that I've ever been particularly good at. But I want you to know that I hear you and again, I'm truly sorry."

Here's the thing: being listened to in the way that my friend listened to me that day was a moment of true grace and healing. I had never experienced anything like that before, and I'm not sure I've experienced quite that same thing since then. But that moment of connection, compassion and understanding has healed the emotional wounds that were once there.

Who needs the chance to apologize to you?

With whom do you need to make amends?

Teshuvah is hard work. If it were easy, we wouldn’t return every year to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But, as Moses said, “This is very near to you, in your heart and in your mouth, and you can do it.”

Wishing you a New Year of peace, blessing, reconciliation and hope,

With love, as always,
Rabbi Steven Folberg