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September 27, 2024 - 24 Elul 5784 Parasha Nitavim+Vayelech - The Hardest Thing
Dear Friends, With each passing day, I'm convinced that my theory is true. I have been a rabbi and husband for 16 years, a parent for 14, and I figure I have met, supported, worked with, and served thousands of people, from all walks of life and backgrounds, by now. One thing I keep coming back to, and something I'm positive is universal is this: Being "in the moment," being fully, truly present in the time and place in which we find ourselves, is one of the most - if not the most - difficult things for us to do. In my collegiate acappella group at Colgate, a game we would play required you to say "in but in" when you joined, and "in but out" when you exited. I'm afraid that, for too many of us, too much of the time in our lives, we are "in but out." Yes, we are "in but out" because of our smartphones, because we have both a personal and general encyclopedia in our pockets; the ability to do work, watch sports, movies, and TV, and communicate instantly with friends and family, from literally anywhere in the world. Yes, we are constantly interrupted by the notifications we have set for ourselves, like those, this week, alerting us to news of New York Mayor Eric Adams being indicted for corruption charges, Hurricane Helene strengthening as it made landfall, and the House of Representatives at least momentarily averting a government shutdown. But, well we know that this challenge is uniquely human and has presumably been with us for as long as we have roamed the earth. Smartphones have only exacerbated and played upon the problem of being present - with our family, our friends, our colleagues, and even ourselves. Our collective attention deficit is not at all a new one. We are "in but out" because we are mentally somewhere in the past. Perhaps reminiscing over joyful, funny, meaningful moments in our lives, longing for the "good old days" to magically return. Perhaps torturing ourselves, replaying in our minds the times of regret. Times we were silent or inactive when we should have spoken up or done something. Times we misspoke, or uttered hurtful words, when we should have kept silent. Or we are "in but out" because we are mentally somewhere in the indeterminate future. We are excited and planning for, counting down to, worried or anxious about, or dreading what hasn't happened yet, what is yet to be. We are in conversations with people, either thinking about these things, or planning the next thing we are going to say, to the point where we are simply not listening to each other. The world being the crazy place that it is, we can't help but think about what it will all look like in 10, 20, 30 years, for our children and grandchildren. It feels like we should all probably read Ram Dass' 1971 book on spirituality, yoga, and meditation whose title has become a motto for me: "Be Here Now. But who has time for that? I'll either do the audiobook on my commute, or I'll find the Cliff's Notes." It is because I think about this struggle entirely too much that I am always deeply struck by the opening verses of this week's double Torah portion, Nitzavim-Vayelekh: "You stand this day, all of you, before your God יי —your tribal heads, your elders, and your officials, every householder in Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer—to enter into the covenant of your God יי, which your God יי is concluding with you this day, with its sanctions; in order to establish you this day as God’s people and in order to be your God, as promised you and as sworn to your fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before our God יי and with those who are not with us here this day." The Hebrew word Hayom (היום), meaning both "this day" and literally "today," appears five distinct times in just these first six verses. Hayom is when significant events occur in our lives, when we are here, now, in the moment. Hayom is when we are open to, listening to, and accepting of, what our friends, family, and colleagues share with us, that helps us learn, grow, and become better people. Hayom is when we put down our phones, have a baseball catch with our children, a spontaneous dance party with our grandchildren, or an impromptu song session with old friends. The most wonderful and important moments we carry with us throughout our lives, that leave an indelible mark on our souls and spirits, these are the moments we came to, and remained in, Hayom. This is, for me, the greatest message of this Parasha. In some congregations, this portion is read for the second time within just a couple of weeks, on the morning of Yom Kippur. As if to say the repentance and atonement you seek on this holiest of days can only truly happen if you are present and in the moment, applying your Cheshbon Hanefesh (חשבון הנפש), the accounting of your soul, to your life in real time. And, at the end of the Rosh HaShanah morning service, we sing a prayer that is really only known to most of us by that same word: Hayom. No matter how many melodies exist for this prayer - and there are many! - the word is repeated, both in the liturgy itself, as well as the individual musical arrangements, sometimes dozens of times. The Piyyut, or ancient poem from which the prayer comes, contains the word Hayom 25 times, including one for each letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Hayom T'amtzeinu (היום תאמצנו), "On this day, may You strengthen us." Hayom T'varcheinu (היום תברכנו), "On this day, may You bless us." And so on. As we come nearer to Rosh HaShanah 5785, let us resolve to be here now, to do the best we can to get rid of that which distracts us, that which keeps us from being really, truly present. Let us strive, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, to be human beings, rather than human "doings." And, may we begin this most holy and sacred work Hayom, this very day. I look forward to seeing you next week and to welcoming in the New Year with you at Fort Lee High School. Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joshua Strom
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