Sermons

Only one month ago, we stood on this beautiful bimah and celebrated the first Shabbat in our newly renovated Smith Auditorium. Now our transitional sanctuary, we’ve experienced many joyful moments, even in such a short period of time. In fact, the very first simcha, or joyful moment, occurred the first Saturday morning when we returned to Smith. On that bright and lovely day, we called one of our brilliant students to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah.

I have had the privilege of working with many of our students to help them prepare a D’var Torah for their B’nai Mitzvah. While it’s not always easy or straightforward for all our students, I am always blown away by their ability to persevere through this process, even when they don’t want to do it, or especially when they don’t want to. And, I am often thrilled with the outcome of their remarks, how they manage to connect with our ancestors and ancient traditions and make it relevant to today.

As we celebrated our student one month ago, I was once again amazed at the depths of his d’var Torah. He took a seemingly dry and challenging parasha and brought it to life. He connected with the text. And then, he taught us something significant, something that will stick with me for many years to come.

You see, this amazing student had already lived a lot of lives in his short 13 years. In addition to seeing much of the world while traveling with his parents and meeting a plethora of inspirational people, he had the unbearable task of burying his beloved older brother this past February.

But despite his pain, this student was able to keep his brother’s memory alive and continue his legacy of kindness and love for the world by quoting his favorite shirt. Dorian loved to wear a plain, white T-shirt with words in large, black letters across the front. It simply said, “Give A Damn.”

I’ve thought quite a bit about this shirt. It was mentioned at Dorian’s funeral. His brother talked about it in relation to his Torah portion at his Bar Mitzvah. And now, I find myself pondering this terse yet extremely relevant sentence. How do we find the motivation to help, to keep giving back, to make choices that elevate the world, all while feeling and perhaps knowing that our actions don’t really make a difference?

We’ve all had those moments in which it feels as though solving the problems of the world is akin to plugging the hole in a large dam with just a finger. And then, as soon as another hole emerges, we plug that one with our thumb. And then, the holes continue to appear, further apart, larger, and far more numerous than we have digits on our hands. Soon, we are awash with the problems of the world, covering us completely, drenching us in the challenges and fatigue of everything. It is as though we have tried to take a small sip from a fire hydrant, while it blasts water in our faces, making it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone drink.

So how do we make the decision to help others, to do the right thing, even when we know it seems futile? How do we find the strength to move from a place of despair and depression to a place of invigoration and determination? What can we do to find that strength? How do we continue to give a damn? And even more so, why do we continue to work towards building a world of peace and love?

I know I have been looking for an answer to those questions for a long time. Specifically, the questions of how and why. I looked inward for my personal answer and came up empty. I looked outward and found some compelling stories. I’ll share one of them with you:

There was a road in a kingdom that went from-- well, it really went from this place to that as roads do. It was a little bit bumpy in some places. And in some places, it was flat. And in still other places, the road was hilly and smooth at the very same time.

Many different people used the road. Some needed it to get places quickly, and some would just walk along, and some would carry their wares from one town to the next. Some would be on their way somewhere, and then they would stop and just look out at the view that was available to them. But most people came across it at one point or another. And it helped them get everywhere they needed to go-- to the market or to their homes or their farms or to the palace.

However, one day, seemingly out of nowhere, a boulder ended up in the middle of the road. And the people that came upon it were not sure where it came from, and nor were they sure what to do. They had to get where they were going-- this one, well, to the market and that one to the palace and this one to her house.

And so, each of them squeezed by. They yelled about the king's staff who should have moved it, or they yelled about the king. But each on their own found a way to get around the boulder, or they turned and went a different way until a farmer came along. She knew that she needed to get by. She knew that there was no other way for her to go. And she was laden with crops that needed to be delivered.

And so she did the one thing she knew that needed doing. She took time, and she moved the boulder. It wasn't easy. It took a while, and it took her energy and took a lot of effort. And a few people who came along helped her when she asked. But some did not.

And then to her surprise, when she had moved it off the road and was just about to get going, she found a bag full of gold with a note. The note said that it was a gift from the king, that he had placed that boulder there on the road as a bit of a test. He wanted people to encounter it and then to see what could be done, to see if they might help.

He knew that someone eventually would see it and say, well, if this is a challenge for me, it must be hard for others, so maybe it would be me that would do what needed doing. I'll fix it for all of us, he figured someone might say. And the person that helped the king believed, as was written in the note, should then also be helped.

The farmer smiled. And she shared some of the gold with the others who had helped her. And she even gave some of it away to others who were in need. And then she took the rest, and she continued on her way.

This story begins to answer the question, “How do we keep moving forward?” The simplified answer: You just move the boulder. You see that there is something causing a major problem, not just for you as an individual, but for others as well. You see that there is a solution, even though the solution requires a great deal of work, an immense amount of struggle. By jumping in to help, you also inspire those around you to offer assistance. You work together and fix the problem! You move the boulder.

You could easily travel on the road again. And, as a special bonus, you were given an unexpected reward.

Yet, it’s still hard to make that choice, especially not knowing if there will be a reward at the end of your strife, or even moreso, if the problem will be solved. Sometimes we make the choice, purely because it seems like the right thing to do. Maybe we make the choice because it benefits us, and hopefully others. Or maybe it gives us something to do when it feels like otherwise, we have nothing to contribute. Maybe we keep taking action because it is the only thing to do.

There is a story, told by Rabbi Israel Friedman about a small Jewish town. It was far off from the main roads of the land, but it had all the necessary municipal institutions: a mikvah, a cemetery, a hospital, and a law court, as well as all sorts of craftsmen: tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, and masons. One trade, however, was lacking: There was no watchmaker.

Over the course of years, many of the clocks became so annoyingly inaccurate that their owners just decided to let them run down and ignore them altogether. There were others, however, who maintained that as long as the clocks ran, they should not be abandoned. So, they wound their clocks day after day though they knew that they were not accurate.

One day the news spread through the town that a watchmaker had arrived, and everyone rushed to him with their clocks. But the only ones he could repair were those that had been kept running. The abandoned clocks had grown too rusty!1

And so, we keep going. We keep winding those clocks, even though it feels useless. We keep winding the clocks, even without knowing if someone else will come along and help make the situation better. We keep winding the clocks, perhaps out of habit, but really, perhaps out of the hope that doing this one small thing will make a difference.

For many of us, we have to find the reason, the “why” to keep moving, even if it doesn’t benefit us, even when it feels like all hope may be lost. We also have to find motivation to keep going, something that will help us to keep caring about the world. One final story:

There were once two frogs. They were best friends, Sam and Samantha. And the two of them would often talk and jump and spend time together. One day, the two of them were jumping through the grass having a great time trying to see if they could catch flies when Sam and Samantha both fell into a deep hole.

Well, being frogs, logically the first thing they did was try to jump. And they tried. And they jumped, and they jumped, and they jumped. And their legs started to get sore.

And as they were jumping, other frogs began to gather around the edge of the hole. They looked down, and they saw these two frogs jumping and jumping. And they wanted to help. So, they lowered a stick into the hole, but the stick just fell. And there seemed to be nothing that those watching could do to help.

One of the onlookers said to another, “I can barely look.” And the others said to the first one, “Yes, this is making me sick to my stomach. Oh, I wish they would just stop. I wish they would just give up. All of their trying, and it's so futile.”

The frogs began to shout down to Sam and Samantha, saying “There's no use. Just give up. Please, stop jumping. Save your energy. It's so horrible to watch. There's nothing you can do. Just give up. Give up.

Give up.”

Sam was looking up and heard those frogs. Sam kept jumping, but the jumps got smaller and smaller as they kept yelling give up, give up.

And Sam eventually did give up and just lay on the ground and died in the morning sun.

But Samantha was also looking up at the frogs lining the edge of the hole. She was jumping as hard as she could. And she closed her eyes, and she flexed her muscles. And she jumped, and she jumped, and she jumped, and she jumped. And finally, she made it out of the hole.

The frogs that had been watching turned to her in shock, in astonishment, and said, “How did you do that?” She turned to them and said, “What? I'm sorry. I can't hear you. When I was jumping, I must have got mud in my ears, and I couldn't hear a thing you were saying. But I saw how you were yelling down, and I just want to say thank you. There's no way I ever would've made it out of that hole if it hadn't been for all your encouragement.”