If I Have No Story to Tell, Then Who Am I? By Rabbi Jon Hanish Kol Nidre 5774 Until I was six years old, I always thought my father was just a lawyer. I remember his office -- reception area, desk, law library, diplomas on the wall.... I knew his partners -- his brother and a couple cousins. I even remember how proud I felt when people would say to me, "Your dad, he's my lawyer and he's a good one." It was all so convincing. But then I learned the truth. Maybe it was the way the adults started whispering every time I entered the room. Maybe it was because of the way my mom choked out the words, "Your father has gone to his greater reward" -- a phrase I didn't comprehend. Maybe it was because I just didn't understand why my father wasn't coming home. I decided that this must be a cover for something. It took me awhile to figure it out -- My father wasn't a lawyer. My father was a spy. I started to go over the clues and this is what I came up with -- He was based in Fort Knox, just about an hour from my home in Louisville so that he could secretly watch over us when he wasn't being flown all over the world. Of course, if he came home it would be too dangerous for my mom, my sister and me. The "bad" spies would know where we lived. But, he was around between missions even if I couldn't see him. I was so proud of him. There was only one problem with the story -- it wasn't true. I knew he had died but my soul wanted more. I needed a story to replace all the memorable moments that would never happen from camping trips to Otter Creek Park to basketball games in the driveway to him saying to me in a heavy southern drawl "here are the keys, bring the car back in one piece." Most importantly, I didn't have someone to share the all the stories that are passed l'dor V'dor , from generation to generation. I never heard the story of his parents' love. I never heard about the memories they brought with them from Europe. I never learned about what his parents gave to him that he needed to give to me. I needed to connect to something bigger than myself, I needed memories which I could tell to my children. I needed a story so I created one, that's how my father became a spy. *** Baruti Kafele dropped out of high school in 1974. As a male African-American teenager, he couldn't see what he would gain by spending four years sitting at a desk and listening to someone from outside his neighborhood tell him about life. After being sent back and forth between his parents' homes, he finally re-enrolled. He didn't want to, but he did. It wasn't a success story. After five years he graduated with a 1.5 gpa. Yes, a 1.5 gpa. I’ve never heard of anyone getting a diploma wiht a gpa that low. A guidance counselor said to him, "Young man, you're going to become nothing, nothing at all." So he spent the next four years being nothing just as the counselor had predicted. 1 At age 23, he wasn't dead and he didn't have anything else to do so he decided to go to college. He was searching for something, he just wasn't sure what it was. Then, one day, he stumbled upon a book written in 1933 called The Mis-Education of the Negro. The quote from the book that changed his life -- "When you control a man's thinking you do not have to worry about his actions. You do not have to tell him not to stand here or go yonder. He will find his 'proper place' and will stay in it. You do not need to send him to the back door. He will go without being told. In fact, if there is no back door, he will cut one for his special benefit. His education makes it necessary." He realized that his thinking was being controlled by a society that left him in a community filled with poverty and violence, and no history but the present moment. He needed to change. So he did. He graduated suma cum laude. He became an educator, a principal. He was sent to the broken schools, the dysfunctional schools, those filled with children from broken families... surrounded by drugs and guns and poverty... schools where children had given up. He had changed but how was he going to change the students with whom he worked? He began to ask his students to answer the question: "Who am I?" He found that most students' answers focused on the boundaries of their neighborhood. Their answers to "Who am I" were filled with the specific moment in which they lived. He thought about the book that changed his life. He realized that they were zombies. His word, not mine. Zombies have no idea who they are. A zombie just reacts to what is within the realm of their senses. As he looked at his students he realized that they had no connection to a multi-generational story. He began to ask another question: What stories can we share with our students that speak to their lives; that intrigue them? He decided to focus on two goals: Introducing the students to their past and then introducing them to the face they see in the mirror every morning. For his African American and the Latino students he found books that spoke to their cultural past. He taught them their history. He made them proud of their past and showed them that they were part of something bigger than just their neighborhood. By placing their lives in the context of a bigger picture, he showed them their worth. He developed a workshop for his students, one that has become the model for workshops across the country. Today, he travels the country speaking about ways to retain high-risk students, thereby giving them greater chances for success. His primary focus: telling educators to create a timeline for their students that is greater than the moment. Foundations are built upon stories, multi-generation stories. *** I've got an uncle... a great, great, great.... I can't even begin to count the number of generations he goes back. This uncle, he was an amazing man. We still talk about him all the time. He was a bit flawed .... aren't we all?... He lived to be over a hundred and died after hiking up a mountain. He spent the days prior to his death speaking to his relatives about the past and the future. 2 Early in life he was rich and powerful, yet, he gave it up to defend those who were unable to defend themselves. He said goodbye to riches and an easy life because he felt so strongly about helping the helpless. He was actually chased out of his country because of his work. He moved to a foreign land where he knew no one. Even without knowing the language of his new homeland, he met a young woman, fell in love, got married, even found a career. He worked as a herder of sheep and goats. Talk about a lonely job. After 40 years of hard work, it was time to retire. Just as he was about relax, he heard the call. Something inside of soul... spoke to him and said, you need to aid society, you need to improve this world. He spent the last third of his life helping others. He is my relative. He's your relative, too. If you don't recognize the story -- which I hope many of you do -- it just proves the point I'm attempting to make. He's Moses. How many of us have internalized his story into our own? A few generations ago, our ancestors, as they sat around their shabbat tables in their shtetls, told stories about the heroes of our people. Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, Rachel and Leah.... Joseph and his brothers.... Moses and Miriam and Aaron.... Joshua... All the judges who ruled before the time of kings.... King Saul and King David and King Solomon.... and the rabbis and leaders who followed.... and I could go on and on and on.... I could actually create a genealogy that would reach everyone in this room. Everyone. Because if you're not Jewish then you're like the spouses of Joseph and Moses who weren't Jewish either.... or you're like the erev rav, the masses, who departed Egypt with us after the tenth plague. You are like the countless number of non-Jews who are part of our story, because you have decided to join us on our journey. Our journey is now yours. Our story is now part of your story. If I asked you to tell me stories about your ancestry where would you start? Would you go back to Abraham and Sarah? Or does your connection to your history begin with your parents? Have you ever told a story about any of your Biblical ancestors like you meant it? We will only survive as a people if we begin to understand that our story is becoming lost become we choose to no longer internalize it. We need to tell these stories like we're talking about events that occurred just a generation ago, or better yet, like they happened yesterday. We need to be able to cry and laugh and scream at the stories. We need these stories to be as important as the stories that we experience every day of our lives. Without a greater story, a story of our journey, a story that began before us and will continue long after us, then how do we define ourselves as individuals outside of "I'm nice person who likes his kids and his possessions"? Our problems might not be as pronounced as the students of Principal's Kafele, but our problems exist none-the-less. In some ways our lack of connection to our past is more insidious than his students'. We live comfortable lives. Some of us probably feel that our biblical story has no connection to who we are today. But it does. What will it take for you to give respect to the stories of our journey and to realize that they matter? *** I am sure many of you are saying, "These stories are just myths." I could share 3 archaeological data with you that would prove Jewish history beginning in the time of King David but I have a feeling it wouldn't adequately answer your question. So, let me ask you, "What is wrong with a little myth?" My father wasn't a spy but if I decided to live with that myth would it hurt anyone? More importantly would it fulfill my need for a story upon which I could build my ethics? If I went three or four generations into the future, would I hear my great-great grandchildren talking about an ancestor who gave his life to his country working as a spy? This myth could teach them that loving your country is a virtue; that life is not about ones' personal needs but about a greater mission; that sacrifice makes one stronger. Joseph Campbell once wrote, “Myth is much more important and true than history. History is just journalism and you know how reliable that is.” *** I watched my daughter's car slam into a wall at a indoor grand prix race course. The wall literally flew up into the air and landed on her. I watched the racers stop their cars. The world stopped for a moment. And then I went running out onto the track. A worker at the track was already at the car, pulling the wall off of her. I helped her out of the car. She pulled off her helmet. Blood streaming down her face from a laceration above her eye. She shook her long hair and I imagined Danika Patrick stepping from a car wreck. She took a step and almost fell. Her words to me, "I want to finish the race." While I respected her enthusiasm, I took her to a plastic surgeon instead. He sewed up her eyebrow. I have pictures on my iphone of the before and after. It was the day prior to the start of fifth grade. I though the incident was going to upset her. Instead, it became a story that she told to everyone... and so did I. The story keeps growing and growing as does the wall that fell upon her. It grows because there are so many lessons to learn from it. *** Michael Gurian, psychologist, philosopher and scientist, writes, "It is the conversation with purpose-givers who tell their own magical stories through which ... [the child]... can learn how weakness is turned into strength." (Gurian, Purpose, page 41) Who are purpose givers? Parents, teachers, mentors, coaches, clergy.... everyone in this room.... It our job to give our children, our grandchildren, our nieces, our nephews, our fellow community members who depend on us, a story that is part of our journey so that it can become part of their journey. Our problem as a community is that our stories have become about the moment. They have no historical past nor eye to the future. A few weeks ago, I sat with Cantor Fox Winer and discussed the lack of internalization of our story. I, because of my age, remember the Six Day War, the Yom Kippur War, the Massacre at Munich, the return of Sinai to Egypt, and so many other events... so many other stories.... I remember the early Zionist leaders. I remember how the stories came to life when I first traveled to Israel. Cantor Fox, who is not of my generation, internalized the stories of the Jewish people because of her day school education, her upbringing as a daughter of two cantors and her professional life. She then related to me her experience as a spiritual counselor at Beit T'Shuvah, the Jewish Halfway House located in Culver City. One of the exercises she would do with her patients would focus on discovering which Biblical character they 4 were most like. After getting to know the patient, she would spend many hours reflecting on which character to choose. She would then enter into study with the patient. They would learn all they could about this ancestor --strengths and weaknesses. Cantor Fox said that there was always a moment of realization for the patient, a moment when they realized that this ancestor had something to offer them. At that moment, they connected to their past thereby becoming part of the continuum of the story. *** Abraham Lincoln once wrote, "A child is a person who is going to carry on what you have started. He is going to sit where you are sitting, and when you are gone, attend to those things which you think are most important. He will assume control of your cities, states, and nations. .... the fate of humanity is in his hands." The fate of Humanity is in his or her hands.... They are going to carry on what we have started.... For generations we've been carrying on what our parents and those who have come before us have started. We have a greater story, but once it is forgotten, we are zombies. I have come to realize that the progressive Jewish community is suffering because its only focus has become ritual. We have integrated ourselves so seamlessly into American society. But even as we have become part of society, we haven't wanted to give up our Jewish identities. So, we have decided to hold onto specific rituals. We want "Jewish" when we are born, when we turn 13, when we marry and when we die. We selectively pick our holidays because of the rituals we associate with them -- Rosh HaShanah when we hear the shofar, Yom Kippur when we reflect and fast, Chanukkah when we give our presents and Passover when we gather the family together for the longest dinner of the year. In no way am I denigrating these important moments. But, rituals are not enough. We need a story. Our new Temple Kol Tikvah T-Shirt -- olive green and grey -- selling for $5... see our membership director Cynthia Deculus if you'd like to purchase one.... uses three words to describe this community. Judaism. Joy. Journey. Between our adult education classes, our fabulous early childhood center, our spectacular religious school, our Tikkun Olam activities, and our programs for all ages, we are overflowing with Judaism and with Joy. My concern is the journey. Our journey will only continue if we remember that we did not start it. Our journey will only continue if we internalize those who came before us as our ancestors, as our mentors, and as our life coaches. Our journey will only continue if we remember that we are just a chapter of the story. Our journey will only continue if we realize that our chapter is based on all that occurred before us. Our journey will only continue if our goal is to write the best chapter of this story with the actions of our lives. I challenge you to tell the story of our people from your heart and to believe every word. May your fast be an easy one.... and may your stories span the scope of Jewish history.... Shana Tova. 5