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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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.
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