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Komemiyut: Upright Dignity

10/13/2024

 
PictureDavid Ben-Gurion giving the first public reading of Israel's Declaration of Independence on May 14, 1948, in Tel Aviv.
This is the sermon I delivered on Yom Kippur 5785 at Temple Sinai in Cranston, Rhode Island, October 12, 2024.

On November 29, 1947, the United Nations approved Resolution 181 calling for the division of the British Mandate for Palestine into two nations – one for Jews and one for Arabs. The leadership of the Jewish community in Palestine, led by David Ben-Gurion, decided that they would declare the establishment of the Jewish state one day before the British finalized their withdrawal. They also appointed a committee to write a proclamation of independence. Ben-Gurion would be among the last to make final edits on the document, which was completed just a few hours before its presentation in Tel Aviv on May 14, 1948.

One of the most significant changes Ben-Gurion made to the document was the insertion of a new opening phrase. Israel’s Declaration of Independence begins by saying, “In the Land of Israel, the Jewish people was born.”

Now, you may notice that there is something odd about that opening. Was the Jewish people born in the Land of Israel? In the Torah, the first time that Abraham’s descendants are first referred to as a “people” is in the opening chapter of the book of Exodus while the Israelites were slaves in Egypt. Why did Ben-Gurion begin the Declaration of Independence with a statement that appears to be false?

It was not out of ignorance. Ben-Gurion was not a religious Jew in the sense of traditional observance, but he was a lifelong student and great admirer of Jewish sacred texts. His choice to call the land of Israel the place where the Jewish people was born was quite deliberate, and, to his understanding, it was quite correct.

To see what Ben-Gurion was really trying to say, you have to look at the full opening of the Declaration. You also have to look at it in the Hebrew, not the English translation. In his preamble, the Declaration says of the Land of Israel, “bah chai chayei komemiyut mamlachtit.” It’s a difficult phrase to translate, but it means something close to, “In [that land] they lived a life of sovereign upright dignity and independence.”

The really hard part to get right in English is that idea of “upright dignity and independence,” which is actually a single word in Hebrew: komemiyut. On Rosh Hashanah morning, I gave you a Hebrew word to get to know – katonti, “I am made small.” If you remember only one thing from this sermon, I want you to remember the Hebrew word komemiyut, for the very identity of the state of Israel may rest on that word.

Komemiyut. Ben-Gurion chose that word with deep intentionality. It appears in one verse in the book of Leviticus and nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible. The Torah says, “I Adonai am your God who brought you out of the land of the Egyptians so you would be their slaves no more, and I broke the bars of your yoke and made you walk komemiyut” (Lev 26:13).

Looking at the word in this context, we see something of what Ben-Gurion envisioned for the state of Israel. The word komemiyut comes from the root that means “to arise” and it is connected in this biblical verse to the idea of breaking free from slavery and being strong, independent, and self-reliant. God did not just bring us to the land of Israel to exchange servitude to Pharaoh for servitude to a new king. God brought us to our land to allow us to be reborn in a state of dignity where no one would be able to lord over us in any way. That is what it means to be komemiyut.

The historian and scholar Daniel Gordis says that the word komemiyut contains the essence of Ben-Gurion’s dream for the Jewish state. For Ben Gurion, “Merely surviving in Egypt did not constitute genuine peoplehood,” writes Gordis. “Meandering in the desert is not what peoplehood is meant to be. Being across the river, not yet in their promised land and still desperate for God’s protection, is not peoplehood. Peoplehood, believed Ben-Gurion, requires independence.”

From Ben-Gurion’s perspective, the Jewish people were not really born until we arose into that state of dignity that is evoked by the word komemiyut. In Ben-Gurion’s mind there was no mistake in saying that the Jewish people were truly born in the Land of Israel, the place where they could walk upright as a free people.

That understanding of komemiyut is further amplified by the way the word is used in the siddur, the Jewish prayerbook. In the blessing before we recite the Shema in the morning service, we pray these words, “Bring us in peace from the four corners of the earth and lead us to our land komemiyut.” The rabbis who wrote the prayerbook pulled this word from the Torah to state our longing for the day when we return to our land, not as subordinates to anyone, but as a free people in control of our destiny.

You better believe that David Ben-Gurion was thinking about that line from the siddur, too, when he included komemiyut in the opening words of Israel’s Declaration of Independence. To Ben-Gurion, using the word was not just about the romance of using biblical or prayerbook language. It was about the way he saw the Jewish world in his own time.

After the experience of European antisemitism, and its most horrible manifestation in the Shoah, Ben-Gurion believed that the Jewish people needed to shed their identity as victims, just as the ancient Israelites needed to shed their self-image as slaves when they emerged from Egypt. The idea of returning “upright,” “sovereign,” “dignified,” and “independent” to the land of our ancestors was Ben-Gurion’s ideal of how we should live in our land. He saw Israel as the fulfillment of the Jewish people’s long-dreamed return to freedom, independence and self-sufficiency after the humiliations we had endured from the Middle Ages and until the Shoah. To Ben-Gurion, komemiyut meant Israel would be a state that would restore the Jewish people’s dignity – no longer merely tolerated outsiders in our own land, and no longer dependent on the good intentions of others.

And this, I think, brings us to the present moment in understanding what is happening in Israeli society today. It also gives us a framework for imagining Israel’s future.

Israelis in 2024, now 76 years after their Declaration of Independence, see their nation as the fulfillment of a promise that the Jewish people should have a nation in which they can live in safety and determine their own destiny. To Israelis of all political perspectives, the heinous attacks of October 7, 2023, were a direct assault on the idea of komemiyut. They see the war that has raged on for a year now as an existential threat to their ability to live their lives with upright dignity and independence.

Do not believe, as some do, that divisions in Israeli society today are about justifying the war against Hamas. There are deep differences in Israel about the government’s priorities in fighting this war – whether to prioritize defeating Hamas or prioritize the release of the hostages – but Israelis are quite united in their belief that Israel must be a nation that can stand up for itself. For Israelis, that is all part of what it means to be komemiyut,

Yet, it is possible for Israelis and for us to explore and discuss what now serves Israel’s long-term interest in maintaining its integrity and its dignity. After October 7, we should investigate komemiyut through a different lens. We should ask, what does it mean for Israel and for the Jewish people today to maintain their dignity, to be upright, after what we have seen in the war against Hamas?

Remember that the word komemiyut originates in a text that proclaims God’s determination that the Israelites should be “slaves no more” and that the yoke of slavery should be broken. How can we build a foundation for our independence by depriving others of their freedom and independence? How can pursue our upright dignity by denying the dignity of others?

The siddur has us recite a morning blessing that asks God to “Bring us in peace from the four corners of the earth and lead us upright to our land.” We cannot ask God to do that for us if we force other people from that same land to live lives bent over from oppression.

Today, we the Jewish people, need a reminder of what we built Israel for. In 1948, Israel declared its independence in the aftermath of the Shoah, not, as some will claim, out of racist or colonialist motives – that is not dignity, and it never was. Rather, Israel was founded, as its Declaration of Independence states, to “foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants,” to “be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel,” and to “ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion…”

We remain committed to those ideals, in part because to go back to the Jewish situation of pre-1948 would mean going back to a time when we had no security, no way to defend ourselves, and no way to be a dignified and upright people. We also remain committed to those ideals because they are right. They make us worthy of dignity and worthy of being a people in partnership and covenant with God.

Komemiyut today is being a nation that fights its enemies, but also fights for the rights of the innocent. It means being scrupulous in holding fast to the international laws that defend human rights. It means being tolerant of dissent and protecting the right to demonstrate against the government. It also means grieving the loss of not just Israeli lives, but also of Palestinian lives.

Komemiyut does mean taking arms against our enemies when that is  needed, but it also means making peace when it is possible. It means fighting to make possible in the future what now seems impossible.

My hope for 5785 is that the war in Gaza and the war in Lebanon will come to an end – as quickly as possible and with as little additional suffering by innocent people as possible. And that we will then move to creating a sustainable future in which Israel will reach out to its neighbors – those who are willing to receive it – with an offer of peace. It is my hope that we will make the turn toward a future of healing, peace-making, and true komemiyut – peace, independence and dignity – for all people.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah. May you be sealed for a good year.

The High Priest's Journey

10/11/2024

 
Picture
This is the sermon I delivered on Kol Nidrei night at Temple Sinai in Cranston, Rhode Island, on October 11, 2024.

We are standing near the top of the hill that crowns the city of Jerusalem. Before us, we see a tall, gleaming white building with gold leaf and blue accents of lapis lazuli. This was the Temple. It was called one of the most beautiful buildings in the world by ancient historians who saw it with their own eyes.

We are standing here amidst a throng of tens of thousands of people to witness one of the great spectacles in the ancient world. It is Yom HaKippurim, the Day of Atonements, and at the center of the spectacle is one man – the High Priest of Israel.

He appears before the crowd wearing marvelous white linen clothes especially created for this occasion – worn only on this day. This was his day, for it is his duty today to cleanse the Temple and make it free of any impurity. He must do this to assure that the sacrifices offered on the coming festival of Sukkot will be acceptable to God, thus assuring that God will make the rains fall in their appointed time, grain will grow in the fields, cows and sheep will give birth to their young, and, in total, that the entire nation will continue to live. No duty could be more weighty; no responsibility could be more daunting.

Seven days prior, he was sequestered in a special chamber of the Temple to study the precise details of the ritual he will now perform. The slightest error or confusion would render the entire ritual ineffective. He also had special waters of purification sprinkled on his body during the seven days to assure that he himself will bring no impurity into the Temple.

When he emerges from his chamber, he places his hands upon a specially designated bull for sacrifice and offers a confessional prayer seeking forgiveness of his sins and the sins of his family. In offering the prayer, he speaks out loud the Name of God that only he is allowed to utter, and only on this day. When the multitude hears the Name, each of us falls to the ground in humble prostration and declares, Baruch Shem kavod l’olam va’ed, “Blessed is the Divine Name forever and ever!”

Next, he performs the Lottery of the Two Goats. He reaches his hand into a closed box and pulls out one lot for each goat. One goat is thus designated as a holy sacrifice to God. The other goat is set aside for later.

He then places his hands on a second sacrificial bull and makes a confession of the sins of the entire tribe of Levi, the tribe of priests, of which he is the chief. This prayer again includes the Name of God and, again, we fall to the ground upon hearing it and declare, “Blessed is the Divine Name forever and ever.”

Then the High Priest climbs the twelve steps to the top of the altar, each step eighteen inches tall. He carries with him a metal pan to collect coals from the eternal flame at the top of the altar. He pushes aside the fiery embers to one side and then to the other in order to reach the hottest glowing coals at the center of the fire. He scoops up the coals in the pan and holds it in his right hand. In his left hand, he holds a large laver filled with powdered incense. He must carry both the coals and the incense down from the altar, step by step, and then into the inner sanctum of the Temple without spilling a single ember or a single grain of incense along the way. Once he reaches the Holy of Holies, he combines the incense with the coals and billows of sweet smelling smoke fill the chamber and pour out of the Temple, indicating to us that the cleansing ritual has been successfully completed.

The blood from all of the animal sacrifices in the ritual, the two bulls and the goat, are collected and the High Priest sprinkles the blood according to a precise plan on the corners of the altar and in the Holy of Holies.

Finally, the goat remaining from the lottery ritual is presented before the High Priest. He recites a third confessional prayer to place the sins of the entire nation on the goat. For the third time, he utters God’s Name and, for the third and final time, we hear and respond, “Blessed is the Divine Name forever and ever!” The goat is driven into the wilderness and destroyed along with our sins.

It was a spectacle. For one day each year, this ritual and the man at the center of it was the central focus of an entire nation, an entire civilization. The ritual was practiced every year for more than 500 years – about the same amount of time between Columbus’ first landing in the New World and today. For all those centuries, Yom Kippur (as we now call it) was a day of national purification. The scapegoat ritual in which one animal was used to remove the sins of the entire nation was the perfect symbol for that idea.

Needless to say, this is not how we think of Yom Kippur today. We have no High Priest, no animal sacrifices, no idea that our sins can be driven away by a goat. Yom Kippur has changed – actually many times – in Jewish history. Our duty is not to maintain it as it ever was (unless you really like the idea of sprinkling blood), rather, our duty is to honor our past, find new ideas within it, and make it meaningful for our own time and our own lives.

The Yom Kippur observed in the Temple by the High Priest came to a sudden end, never to be repeated again, when the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans in the year 70 CE. No scapegoat has been sent into the wilderness since. No one has prostrated themselves upon hearing the Name of God spoken since then.

There is no doubt that many, probably most, of the ancient Jews who saw the Temple go up in flames in 70 CE gave up any hope that their relationship with God would continue. Most of them probably thought that the Romans had defeated them once and for all. Most of the priests could not be persuaded that anything but their holy Temple could ever be a pathway to reach God. Once it was gone, they thought that nothing could ever replace it.

But there were a few who thought otherwise. A group of leaders imagined a new way. For the most part, they were not the priests. This was a different group, the men that we now call the rabbis, who transformed the way we observe Yom Kippur and the way that we reach out to God.

The rabbis began their transformation of Judaism more than a hundred years before the destruction of the Temple. Even before that calamity, they recognized that burning animals on an altar to maintain the natural cycle of rain, crops, and animals was no longer a sustainable belief. Judaism had to be about something more than keeping the fire going on the top of the altar and maintaining the cycle of animal sacrifices.

Their concept of Judaism was a radical departure from tradition when they introduced it. For the rabbis, the sacrifices were replaced primarily by two things – worshipping God through spoken prayers offered with intention and a fixed form, and, even more importantly, the study of Torah.

From the Torah the rabbis gleaned the mitzvot, the commandments God has proclaimed, like a king on a throne, that keep us aligned with God, not only through ritual, but also through ethical behavior, teachings about how people should treat each other and make good choices in life, and how to repair our lives and our relationship with God when things go wrong.

For the rabbis, atonement was a personal matter – not a national spectacle. They believed that it was accomplished through real changes in behavior, through heartfelt and sincere prayer, and by each person weighing his or her shortcomings and mistakes, the people they had hurt, the people they need to apologize to, and the ways in which they needed to become a better person on their own. It was a huge change.

The Yom Kippur of the rabbis is in the prayers we recite today. It’s in the Avinu Malkeinu, when we acknowledge our smallness before God and plead for God to accept our confession of wrongdoing and forgive us. It’s in the Unetane Tokef prayer, in which we envision God as a shepherd who tends the flock and measures the actions of each individual human being. The Yom Kippur of the rabbis is in the way each of us has been encouraged over the Ten Days of Repentance to look deeply within ourselves, consider our actions, and make a firm commitment to change.

But – and I think it’s important to remember this – the rabbis did not reject or disdain the ritual of the High Priest on Yom Kippur. In fact, they carefully preserved the memory of the ritual, for they saw it as a part of the heritage of our people. The journey of the High Priest was a first step on the path that we are still walking today to reach God and to know ourselves.

And this was not the last time that Judaism changed, and the meaning of Yom Kippur changed with it. One thousand years after the early rabbis, in the medieval era, Judaism changed again with the introduction of Kabbalah and mystical ideas about how the universe itself was broken from the moment of its creation and how human beings play a vital role in tikkun olam, the repair of our broken world. To the Kabbalists, Yom Kippur was a gateway in that repair, a moment in which each Jew purifies him or herself to receive the divine light that will repair the world.

That change, like the change in meaning that the early rabbis brought, was a response to the needs of the time. The Kabbalists wanted to reenergize Judaism by showing how performing the mitzvot was not just a way to be a good person, but a way that an individual played a vital role in bringing God’s presence directly into their lives and into the world. They wanted each Jew to see the world as being filled with enchantment and to see how their actions could kindle a spiritual flame to transform reality itself.

Yom Kippur has had many meanings, starting from the days of the Temple – with its ornate and spectacular rituals – to the days of the early rabbis – with their focus on introspection and individual change – to the days of the Kabbalists – with their focus on repairing the cosmos. Yet, in all that change, the basic idea has stayed the same. We recognize our imperfections as human beings, yet we have the audacity to look toward something beyond ourselves to bring wholeness, healing and life into our world. That is what Yom Kippur is about.

Now, we can ask ourselves how Yom Kippur is still changing. We can begin to imagine how it continues to address the needs of the present and how we make it more meaningful for us in our times.

We, too, like the rabbis of the Talmud, are living in a time when our outlook on the world is changing rapidly and old institutions do not meet our needs. Like the Kabbalists, we are living in a time when people feel that religion has become lifeless and the way people view their lives has become meaningless. How does our Yom Kippur address those challenges?

Well, for one thing, we need to expand and extend our metaphors. We are much less likely today than our ancestors to think of God as a king sitting on a throne in the sky. That’s an empty metaphor for us. We live in a world where kings are figureheads, if they exist at all. We also live in a world where we have far more choices in life than ancient or medieval people could possibly have imagined. We are far less able to accept the idea that God prescribes one correct path for everyone. We no longer see God as shepherding us like sheep in a flock. We don’t want to be sheep.

Our Yom Kippur needs to be one in which we see God, instead, as a spirit within us and all around us that represents our highest values – justice, freedom, peace, human dignity, and human rights. When we seek t’shuvah, returning to God, on Yom Kippur, we are returning to our own best selves – using our autonomy and free will to make the choices that connect us with what is godly within us. When we offer confessions on Yom Kippur, we are seeking the courage to live up to our values and to turn away from the egotism, materialism, and worship of self that the modern world promotes, but which poisons our lives.

Where our society encourages us to think about how to become rich and comfortable, our Yom Kippur can be a day to ask ourselves what are we doing to enrich our community and bring comfort to people who are living on the edge. Where our society praises people for striving after material things, power, pleasure and prestige, our Yom Kippur can refocus our attention toward the values of family, kindness, peace and justice.

Our Yom Kippur can be a turning point. It can be the day on which we examine ourselves and decide to choose to live in ways that truly reflect our values, ideals, and our vision of the kind of world we all deserve to live in.

So, on this Yom Kippur, I want to offer you this challenge: Use this time – this day of days – as an opportunity to examine the beautiful and individual choices you have made in life – the ones you picked intentionally, and the ones that have fallen upon you. See the beauty in the story you have lived and will continue to live. Also see the places where you have fallen short from your own highest aspirations and make the course corrections you need to be the best version of yourself you can be. Be the champion of your own life by being unafraid to admit the mistakes you’ve made and doing something about them.

We are still walking the journey of the ancient High Priest on our Yom Kippur. When, on this day, you hear the echoes of the High Priest’s service performed so long ago in a culture that can seem quite distant from us, consider that we are still standing in that throng outside of the gleaming white Temple in Jerusalem. We are still striving to locate God’s presence in our lives. We are still seeking out the divine beyond us, all around us, and within us.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah. May you be sealed for a good year.

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