Rosh HaShanah First Morning: Listening to All Our Voices
(Delivered by Student Rabbi Maayan Lev on September 26, 2022)
It’s so wonderful to be with all of you in this new year, the year 5783. This is my first time being at Congregation Am HaYam for Rosh HaShanah, and it’s so wonderful to start the year off by seeing so many people in our building, and knowing that many more are with us online. If you’re with us online today, know that even though we do not see you, we still hear you. We hear you every time you say “Amen.”
During the High Holy Days, many congregations recite a prayer called Sh’ma Koleinu, “Hear our voice.” It is done on Yom Kippur, but as I hope to explain, it can be just as relevant today, on Rosh HaShanah. With that text in mind, I want to tell you a story. Perhaps some of you have heard it before.
Long ago, in a European village, there lived a father and daughter. The father ran a small tea shop, and his daughter, who had not yet married, would help him with the family business. But the father was in terrible debt. One day, the father’s creditor decided to collect on the debt, but the father was unable to pay. The creditor offered the father a deal he couldn’t refuse. In exchange for wiping away the debt, the creditor would get to marry the daughter. The father was slightly uncomfortable with this, and wanted his daughter to have some say in the matter. So the creditor, a crafty man, replied: “We will let your daughter choose her own fate. I will place two stones in a sack: a white one, and a black one. I will ask your daughter to pull out a stone at random, and if she chooses the white one, she will not have to marry me after all. Either way, your debt would be wiped clean.” The father agreed.
The news about this spread very quickly, and the next day, the whole town gathered in a field to watch the daughter pick a stone out of the creditor’s bag. The daughter did not trust the creditor, and thought it was out of character for him to wipe away their family’s debt and get nothing in return. She correctly assumed that both stones in the sack were black. She asked the townspeople, “Will nobody go and check the bag for me, to make sure I am not being cheated?” The townspeople, though, ignored her. They were afraid to question the creditor, for they, too, depended on him for their loans.
Sensing that she had no choice, she reached her hand into the bag, and picked out a stone, but she kept her fists shut very tight, so nobody could see what she picked. Then, she allowed herself to trip and fall on the grassy field, which was full of other stones of similar size. As she pushed off the ground to return to her feet, she made sure to release her stone and shuffle it amongst the others so that it was indistinguishable from the rest of the stones on the ground.
“Clumsy me,” she said. “I guess we’ll never be able to tell which stone was the one I dropped. Let me pick from the creditor’s bag a second time. Whatever I pull out, the first stone I picked must have been the opposite color.” The daughter reached into the sack a second time, and pulled out a black stone. The creditor, who was unwilling to admit that he cheated in front of all the townspeople, agreed that she would not have to marry him.
This story seems like a wonderful tale that praises the ingenuity of a feminist hero who takes her fate into her own hands. And, certainly, the daughter in this story was very clever. But people focus so much on the daughter and the creditor, that they forget about the father. If it weren’t for the father, the daughter would not have had to act the way she did. No matter how bad the creditor acted in this story, the father’s actions, to me, are the hardest to swallow. The story could have been so much shorter! But in thinking only of himself and his debt, the father allowed himself to bet something that should never have been his to bet: his daughter’s future. He never asked her. He had a feeling it was wrong, but he swallowed his misgivings.
In hearing this story, I see parallels to the Rosh HaShanah Torah readings. The daughter in this story felt voiceless. Sure, things turned out ok for her in the end, but she had no seat at the table.
In today’s Torah reading, Sarah tells Abraham to “cast out” Hagar and Ishmael, who were part of the family. How did Abraham feel about this? The Torah states, “וַיֵּרַע הַדָּבָר מְאֹד בְּעֵינֵי אַבְרָהָם עַל אוֹדֹת בְּנוֹ, And this was highly displeasing in Abraham’s eyes, for it concerned his son, (Ishmael).” Abraham knew that it was wrong to abandon Ishmael and Hagar, for without Abraham, they had nothing! Abraham was only convinced to do this when G!d told him not to worry, for HaShem would “make a nation out of [Ishmael] too. In the Torah, if HaShem commands it, then fulfilling the wishes of HaShem is the right thing to do. But that still doesn’t mean it’s your choice to make. You’d still have someone else to convince! Ishmael and Hagar!
In our haftarah reading today, the pattern repeats itself. Chanah, who like Abraham and Sarah, is a person of great virtue, makes a promise that wasn’t really hers to make. She dedicates her son Samuel’s life to G!d out of thanks, promising that a razor will never touch his head. It seems that Samuel’s destiny was decided for him by his mother.
And in tomorrow’s reading of the Akedah story, when Abraham is asked to sacrifice his son Isaac to G!d, Abraham doesn’t say to HaShem, “Take me instead.” He listens, with no explicit sign of hesitation. We understand and sympathize with Abraham, because Abraham was a very righteous man. He wanted to follow G!d’s instructions to the letter, even if he had misgivings about it. But I have to imagine that Abraham was conflicted in this story, a story that is often framed as the ultimate test of faith. Since we know that Abraham was distressed for his son Ishmael in today’s reading, why would he not also be distressed for his other son, Isaac, in tomorrow’s reading? Abraham must have been upset. It’s just that the Torah just doesn’t show it. Then again, there’s actually quite a lot that these stories seem to leave out. The Torah gives us things that nag at us, so that we are forced to ask ourselves important questions. To listen to what’s missing, as well as what’s explicitly stated.
What do these stories have to do with the text of Sh’ma Koleinu, “Hear our voices?” In the story of the father and his daughter, we heard the voice of the father and the creditor, but they never tried to hear the voice of the daughter. In the two Torah stories we read on Rosh HaShanah, we hear the voices of HaShem, Abraham, and Sarah, but not the voices of Hagar, Ishmael, and Isaac, and definitely not of Samuel, who wasn’t born yet. Surely though, they would have something to say. We just didn’t hear it.
Let’s think back on our past year. Did you ever make a choice, or a commitment, without stopping to think about how it might affect others? Maybe we forgot to check with them. Maybe we assumed they’d be ok with it. Or maybe, we didn’t even realize that they would be affected by it. If they were part of the process, what would they have said? How might things have changed?
The story of the Akedah ends with a ram, reminding us of the shofar, whose blessing tells us to not to blow it, but to listen to it. The call of the shofar gives voice to those whom we might be overlooking. It reminds us to consider the needs of others.
In the last few weeks alone, the global community has seen examples of large communities where people are making their voices heard, even though others are trying very hard to silence them. In Iran, the death of Mahsa Amini has brought the people together to protest gender inequality laws that they did not consent to. In Russia, Putin is trying to call up 300,000 reserve troops, but the people aren’t agreeing to this, and are refusing to report. Instead, they are fleeing or protesting. A protester was recently arrested saying, “We will not die for Putin.” As for the voices of the people of Ukraine, we have heard their voices for many months now. We hope and pray that hearing these voices lead us to acts of justice, so their voices don’t have to be so loud anymore. So they no longer have to scream.
When we don’t listen to each other’s voices, we get places like Iran and Russia. When we DO listen, we get a place like Am HaYam.
Time and time again, I have seen that people here are selfless, thinking not about what is best for them, but about what is best for the entire community. Even though most of us now gather in our sanctuary, we continue to livestream our services. After all, there was little to lose by doing so. If you preferred to come in person, you still could. But we also got a request to have occasional Shabbat services only on Zoom, so that those who can’t make it in person were able to feel more connected to the rest of the community. And even though the people who could not come in person were a minority, their voices were heard, and their request was granted.
And that’s not the only time that I’ve seen people listen to the voices of others. Sometimes people listen to the needs of others without them even having to voice those needs. I remember very vividly that during one day after services, a member of our community fell. Someone immediately left to go home and bring him a wheelchair. While the congregant waited for the wheelchair, others waited with him, making sure he was not alone while he waited.
Again, this was not an isolated event. I’ve seen how people here arrange bikkur cholim shifts, making sure that those who are sick are always checked on and visited. I’ve seen people flock to sit next to new congregants during onegs after services, and I’ve seen mourners with no shortage of people waiting to comfort them. I’ve seen so many members here volunteer their time, and yes, also their money, to benefit the community. It was my privilege to be on the By-Laws Committee this past spring, where we worked to reconsider our values and procedures, to better reflect the community we have today, and the age we live in now. I haven’t mentioned names, because I would rather emphasize the deeds and the community. But these people know who they are, and I thank them.
The Talmud[1] tells of how Rabban Gamliel was shocked to find out that his colleague, Rabbi Y’hoshua, was actually a poor charcoal-maker. Rabbi Y’hoshua replied harshly, “You are unaware of the difficulties of Torah scholars, how they make a living, and how they feed themselves.” In other words, “You thought only of yourself, and never bothered to ask how I was doing. It wasn’t that the signs weren’t there! You just weren’t looking for them!
Who in our community might be struggling to make ends meet? Who might be on the Mi Shebeirach list? Who might be in mourning? Even if they prefer to be some solitude, we should try to be aware of what’s going on in our own community. Let’s try to be aware of the voices, even if they’re silent.
Our new mission statement asserts that we are a community of Chesed, which our website and new by-laws define as “kindness, hospitality, and generosity to others.” But in order to be generous to others, we have to truly listen to what they need. Thank you to the entire Am HaYam congregation, for being a community that listens to the voices and needs of others.
In the year to come, let us be ever aware of people in our own small communities whose voices might be suppressed. People like the teashop owner’s daughter. People like Hagar, Ishmael, and Isaac. Or maybe it’s a family member, a friend, or a neighbor.
Maybe we are even the ones who are suppressing them, without even realizing it! We all do this to our friends and family sometimes, even if we don’t mean to. Our actions, even if we do them for good reasons, have consequences for others that we aren’t always mindful of.
Proverbs 31 states: “Be a voice for the voiceless. Speak up, judge righteously. Champion the poor and the needy.” It’s a great thing to champion those who are not being heard. But why can’t we let them speak for themselves? In the year to come, let us encourage them to speak. Maybe they’ve been speaking all along. In the year to come, let us reassure them that we will listen. That we didn’t mean to overlook them, and that we’re not selfish people. We simply didn’t think about what it is they needed. We were not aware, because we did not think to stop and listen.
On this day, Sh’ma Koleinu. G!d, let all our voices be heard. In the year to come, let us listen carefully for the still, small voices of others. The ones that were always there, though we did not notice.
T’kiah!
May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life.
Shanah tovah.
[1] BT, B’rachot 28a.