Yom Kippur Morning Dvar Torah1
September 24, 2015
Congregation Beth Evergreen
Rabbi Jamie Arnold
“Investing in Imperfection: Where There’s a Wall, There’s a Will,
And if We’re Willing [to redefine our relationship to the wall], There’s a Way”
On the handout prepared for today, I wrote out three questions as prompts, questions we can
ask one another, as we walk the talk of a shared future that weaves together the threads of our
individual stories. So what’s your story? I am looking for a handful of volunteers to stand,
respond from the heart to this set of three questions. Don’t overthink it.
Share your Story:
1) What were you like before? ____________
2) What happened? _______________________________
What are you like now? _________________________________________
Meanwhile the rest of us will practice listening, and then respond with the words, “YES,
shama’ti,” shamati from Shema, meaning ‘I have heard you.’ Yes Shamati. YES. Amen! And
then, perhaps another story. Let’s improvise.
[Members from the congregation share their stories of personal transformation.]
Thank you, each of you for being willing to put yourselves out there, to share and to
listen so personally and deeply. I want to speak with you will, specifically about this courage to
be willing and its role in personal, and collective transformation.
And why speak about will? Here’s how one author put it:
“Seeing, feeling and willing –
the three essential elements of spirituality.”2
Last night, in presenting a new vision for CBE, I addressed the first two elements: seeing
(or sensing) and feeling. This morning, let’s discuss explore what it means to be ‘willing!’
Given the Torah reading today, let’s began with Aaron. Imagine how he would tell his
story using those three questions: Where was I? What happened? Where am I now?
1
This text is not by any means a transcription of what was delivered at the service. I did not use my notes during
the dvar torah, so this represents a combination of my reflections and intentions beforehand and my memory of
what actually transpired in the interactive process. The heart of the experience was in the testimonies offered by
attendees that I did not record.
2
The Spirituality of Imperfection, p. 69.
“Yesterday, my two sons, Nadav and Avihu, pulled out Your incense pans, and You
killed them, You God, took their lives! And now, now you are asking me to stand before the
people, with goats and firepans, and request forgiveness from You. Really? Shouldn’t it be the
other way around! No wonder you couldn’t make the request yourself. Am I angry? Azazel
yea, I am! And, I am also willing, because there is a greater good at work here, and this is not
just about me. As it says, “[Aaron] did as God Commanded to Moses.”
When I hear Aaron’s story, I am astounded by his willingness, his willingness to go
perform his duties as the high priest, seeking forgiveness and atonement from the very One that,
according to the Torah, took the lives of his sons. After the death of two of his four sons, Aaron
shows a willingness that is above and beyond the call of duty. He performs the elaborate Yom
Kippur rituals, represents himself, his family, his tribe, the sanctuary, the Israelites, and those
who, from other places, families or faiths, joined the community. He changes his clothes and
preforms the public service – publically confessing his sins before the people; burning incense
before the altar (which is what his sons were doing when they got killed). He enters the holy of
holies alone. So much for a quiet, reflective shiva, surrounded by the loving support of family a
friends!
Aaron was a priest, the high priest. Jewish civilization let the title lay dormant like the
stones of the ancient temple two-thousand years ago. In Reconstructionist congregations, we do
not even reserve an Aliyah for those who cite a priestly lineage, Cohens and Levis, Katz and
Levine. Sorry guys. But while the title and status has fallen by the wayside, the function the
priests used to fulfill has not been forgotten. The priests were the healers, doctors, therapists,
bridge-builders and peacemakers, and yes, actors and musicians. And according to rabbinic
tradition, since the destruction of the temple, we are all priests, a nation of priests, the Aarons
(and Miriams) of our time, willing representatives and atonement seekers despite the obstacles.
And we are the ones addressed by Isaiah in the haftarah. Today, even as we fast and face
loss and misgivings, we are called on to “clear the way, remove the stumbling blocks before the
people,” Isaiah begins, as we all should, by acknowledging, the obstacles to peace and healing,
and to this willingness to serve. He mentions sadness and depression, quarrelsome habits and
seething rage, wrath and foolishness, and grief. (If you want to see it for yourself, turn to page
569 in the mahzor.) Aaron was certainly familiar with these, and so are we. For simplicitiessake, let’s condense them into three: sadness, anger and fear. These are the three essential
stumbling blocks obstructing the paths of shalom, peace and healing, “near and far.”
And the thing about stumbling blocks, as every hiker knows, is that if we don’t make a
regular practice of clearing them out of the way, they accumulate. And pretty soon the rocks
turn to walls!
And then those walls get larger and thicker. And pretty soon, we start to think about
them as permanent, as necessary evils. And we begin to justify these walls – made out of
sadness, anger, and fear – as our siblings and cousins in the lands of Israel and Palestine know
too well. So there they stay, blocking the way to personal healing, communal connections and
2
peace between peoples of different nationalities, races and faith. And a sense of helplessness and
hopelessness pervades, overwhelming our senses and our feelings, and stripping us of options, of
freedom, of will. In the face of these walls, we begin to see ourselves as occupying a small slice
of territory surrounded by enemies on three sides and sea on the other. All boxed in like that,
behind protective walls built of stones of sadness, anger and fear, our sense of choice, the power
of our will eludes us, and with it the healing, atonement and peace we seek.
So I have two questions for us today: What is will? And how do we reclaim it in the face
of the protective walls around us?
Will is, simply put, the power to choose, the root of a personal and collective sense of
freedom. It is, according to our tradition, a uniquely human endowment, a divine quality not
even granted to the angels. And it flows in one of two directions: we can either be willful, or
willing.3 Each has its appointed time and place. There are times when willfulness is the right
choice, when it is necessary to impose my will. And left unchecked, as it often is, the imposition
of will, is the building bloc of the worst kind of walls and great evil. Today, on Yom Kippur,
especially if we are going to adopt those improv principles I spoke about last night, than we’ll
need to practice the other expression of will, willingness, and reclaim the strength and
transformative power inherent in it.
Think of the walls in our lives. Maybe an illness, or financial struggles, or a conflict at
work. Think about the walls of tension in our personal relationships, between races, and socioeconomic classes, between political parties, between nations – the US and Mexico, between
Israel and her neighbors.
We have very little if any control over theses large international and domestic conflicts.
We have a hard enough time trying to control our kids, run orderly households, make ends meet,
find and hold satisfying employment.
The walls are there, some of them predetermined, others, self-imposed. No matter. They
are there now. And what we get to choose is our relationship to these walls. It’s the only real
choice we have, one could argue. It is a small piece of land to which many others will lay claim.
And yet, on this narrow land bridge, all things are possible, and our experience of life is shaped.
The Promised Land is the locus of choice.
A few months ago, I heard Rabbi Brad Hirshfield speak about this. He suggested that in
our relationships to the walls in our lives, we basically have four choices. What we choose
reveals a great deal about who we are and how we choose to live. There is no perfect option.
What we can do is strive for a healthy balance as we choose from among these options. So what
are they? They are the 1) watchman, 2) the missionary, 3) the bridge builder, and 4) the scout.
To those four, I think we can add a fifth, 5) the battering ram (or shofar). Five postures to
choose from. So which are you more likely to assume when you encounter a conflict, struggle
with change, or any kind of confining wall?
3
See The Spirituality of Imperfection for more on this important distinction.
3
Options #1 is the watchman, the gate keeper standing guard, honoring and protecting
what is, preserving the safe status quo. We all have vigilant watchmen within us, especially at
night, when it gets scary. And fear can motivate skillful witnessing – heightened senses. Ideally
the watchman, acquires the ability to just notice, being mindful without judgment or analysis,
without the instinctual reactive responses of avoidance and denial, aggression and defensiveness,
deflection and blame. Just watching, listening, smelling, tasting, touching life, as witnesses
especially of the inner life. Attuned to events within, the watchman is also less aware (and
usually more fearful of) the happenings outside the wall. Different is dangerous. Same is safe.
Several presidential candidates have chosen this post.
Options #2 and #3, the missionary and the bridge builder, are related. Both want to
connect, to open a door in the wall, to share and help. As a missionary I am also still on guard,
content to stay within the safety of my walls. The missionary wants you to join him, here, on this
side of the wall, to share his safety and bounty, and his perspective on life. The missionary
opens a one-way door in the wall and invites you in, and is quite content to keep the walls in
place.
Option #3 is the bridge-builder. Like the missionary, the bridge-builder looks beyond the
wall and seeks a connection to those on the other side. She differs from the missionary in that
she is willing to venture beyond the walls herself, to meet you somewhere in the middle,
constructing a middle-ground where she can share her experience and learn about yours. She’s
interested in an expanded, open doorway, a two-way gateway. Who are the bridge builders in
our world? Who are the missionaries? Who are the watchmen?
Option #4 is the scout. The scout is fueled by curiosity and a sense of adventure, and
perhaps a discontent with the status quo. What’s out there? For the scout, the wall can feel more
like an obstacle than aid. The adult bnei mitzvah class this last year, each of whom pushed
against the walls of their respective comfort zones, appropriately read and taught about the
twelve scouts send to explore the land. The scout finds a way around the walls and meets those
of us on the others side where we are at, as God met Ishmael in the desert.
And finally the bulldozer, the ram’s horn that barrels through the wall, which I suppose is
self-explanatory.
So that’s the framework, the paradigm. When we encounter a wall, every time we
encounter a wall, we get to choose. What relationship will I choose? Will I hunker down? Will I
aggress? Will I greet?4 Will I choose the watchman, the missionary, the bridge-builder,
bulldozer or scout? So I’ve been working with this. When I am able to notice my stumbling
blocks and walls of anger, of fear, of sadness, I try to create space, a choice point, to willingly
step into one of those chosen walls. And when I am able to choose, I try to remember how
different it feels to me when I am approached by someone in, let’s say, bulldozer mode, or
missionary mode. And how much I prefer to engage with scouts and bridge-builders. And I
4
There is a theory that the in human relations there are essentially three modes: 1) defend, 2) attack, and 3) meet and
greet. I believe I read this in a book about attachment styles simply called Attachment. This trio pairs well with the
Hirshfield’s modes.
4
think about how much willingness is required to step fully into scout and bridge-builder. And I
think about service. And I think about Aaron, who in the face of legitimate anger and fear and
grief, publically declared his own imperfections and regrettable actions, and was willing to step
outside his comfort zone, explore this new rite and serve a greater good.
And I think about Isaiah, who in the face of all our stumbling blocks urged us to do the
same. He says,
“Cry from the throat, do not relent,
Raise up your voices like a shofar,
Tell my people of their transgression,
The house of Jacob of their mistakes.”
Really, that’s what we need to do to clear the way for peace, to be willing to tell each
other, tell the world what we’re doing wrong? In fear of what Iran might do with nuclear
weapons, declare our failings as Israelis and Americans? Grieving the senseless shootings and
disproportionate incarceration of young black, we should decry the shortcomings in ourselves,
our law enforcement, and our justice system. Angry about the misguided beliefs, rhetoric, and
actions of those on the other side of the political wall –from local school boards to Congress –
we should admit the fallacies and foibles we have been defending? Yea, that’s not so popular.
Shouldn’t we be defending our friends and attacking our enemies. Surely Israel already has
enough critics. Won’t adding my concerns about Israeli policy just further weaken Israel? If so,
why does Isaiah want us to be willing to point out our failings, our transgressions?
This quandary has forced me to rethink my positions – not so much my personal and
political convictions, but my relationships to my anger, my fear, my sadness, and the anger and
fear and sadness of those with whom I co-constructed the wall between us. The differences are
there, and are not likely to change. And, I do have choice in the matter if I am willing to rethink
my relationship to them, to choose to be both watchman and scout, and perhaps more bridgebuilding and less missionizing, more Aaron and Isaiah.
Thank you for your willingness to improvise this learning with me. Together, may we
grow, soften, and deepen our capacity to see, feel and will. Ceyn yehi ratzon. And may your fast
be fast, your ease come easily, and your will be willing.
5