This past Sukkot, shortly after last Yom Kippur, a member of our family had a health-related issue that, thankfully, reached a positive resolution. The experience, as you might imagine, caused a considerable amount of anxiety at the time.
There’s a well-known Jewish song which begins כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאד kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od. The world is a very narrow bridge. והעקר לא לפחד כלל Ve’ha'ikar lo l’fahed klal. And the essential thing is not to be afraid at all.
The song is sung at Jewish summer camps and youth group gatherings and we often sing it here at Temple Israel
I’ve always liked the song, but at the same time, it always bothered me. The essential thing is not to be afraid at all.
Does that mean that if we or a loved one are facing a danger and we are afraid, we are somehow missing the mark? Somehow not strong enough or brave enough?
The words of the song are attributed to a certain rabbi, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav. I was intrigued by him years ago and decided to read a biography about him called Tormented Master, by Professor Art Green. The title alone might tell you something, and I dove right in.
Rabbi Nachman, or Rav Nachman, was descended from the Baal Shem Tov, considered the founder of Hasidism, and Rav Nachman is credited with having revived Hasidism in a variety of important ways.
He was known for being incredibly intense emotionally and apparently he was an extremely anxious person. He thought things through to the point that he worried about them incessantly. He had profound personal conflicts that lasted his entire life.
I imagine that when he wrote these words - the essential thing is not to be afraid - he was writing them as much for himself as for anyone else, kind of like when Dori, the fish in Finding Nemo, kept reminding herself to “just keep swimming.”
When you are worried about something, you know that the fear is real and cannot be denied or ignored.
If you have ever worried about the well-being of someone you love, or about your own well-being, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever stepped into a new situation - a new job, a new relationship - and doubted if you are adequate to the task, or worthy of the relationship, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever faced a bully - someone in your life who is making you and others miserable - and you wonder if you should say something or do something and it’s not so easy cause if it were easy you or someone else would have done it already, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever felt endangered as a Jew - ever felt that you are exposed to the anger and hate of others because you are a Jew - you know that the fear is real.
Today is the climax of the days that we call ימים נוראים Yamim Nora’im, the days of awe. The word נורא Nora in Hebrew is connected to יראה Yir’ah - fear.
What are we afraid of? You name it. It might include:
Our health.
Our mortality.
Our finances.
Rising dangers to Jews here and elsewhere.
And so many other things.
So what do we do about all of this?
The truth is, I don’t really know. I have as much fear as the next person.
When I was in high school I learned about the concept of inheritance and I went home that night and I asked my mother, with intentional chutzpah, what kind of inheritance my sisters and can look forward to.
And she said, you know how you and your sisters get anxious about things and sometimes it makes it hard for you to go about your lives?
I said, yeah. She said, Mazel tov. That’s your inheritance.
I’ve thought about fear in my own life and I know what I’ve tried to do. I have some thoughts it and about how Yom Kippur can help that I'd like to share.
During our family’s situation, I didn’t find it helpful just to try not to be afraid. I found it helpful to focus on the details of the situation, which were constantly changing, in ways that allowed me to be appropriately supportive.
I found it helpful to calm my nerves by listening to music or taking walks or praying for a favorable outcome.
The fear didn’t fully disappear.
Not to be afraid at all? Sorry, Rav Nachman, I don’t buy it - not for you, and not for me. But to find ways to be productive, positive, supportive, along with the inevitable fear? Sometimes despite it, sometimes channeling it? That I could do, that I can do. That, I imagine, we all can do to some degree or another.
The family situation I referred to is one over which I had very little control. But the areas in which I have had more control are complicated in their own ways. I’ll reflect briefly on a personal circumstance in the hope that you can relate.
I stepped into a challenging situation when I became senior rabbi of this congregation 15 years ago. Temple Israel is a glorious place, but it’s not a simple place.
I was apprehensive about coming here altogether and once I arrived, I initially felt daunted by the extent of the responsibility and by the range of expectations which confronted me.
I’ve found two things helpful. One is my own self-differentiation, namely clarifying and articulating where I stand, what I believe is right, how I understand the ultimate mandate of our sacred community. The other is the support and collaboration of the many capable, well-meaning people who have been my partners in helping our community reach its potential.
If you have navigated new professional or personal situations that have been off-putting or worse, perhaps it has helped you to think about who you are, where you stand, what you think is right. Perhaps it has helped you to try to transcend your fears or possibly to use them as activation energy to do the important work you need to do.
In these past few years, the American Jewish community has been feeling the intense sting of antisemitism. We are still reeling from the murders in Pittsburgh and Poway and a rising number of Jews have recently been attacked in Brooklyn and elsewhere.
The fear that we feel in response is real and understandable and it is not new for our people.
In our congregation alone, several people have spoken to me about the fear of living in small villages in Iran and never knowing when someone will attack you and try to push you into a ditch or worse; some have spoken to me about fearing attacks in Poland, Hungary and Germany before World War II and of course the experience of the Shoah was terrifying for those who suffered through it.
In Australia this past week, a 12-year old boy was intimidated into kissing the shoes of a student who was tormenting him and a 5 year old was routinely tormented by fellow students.
Do we say to those who have witnessed or withstood this kind of torment decades or weeks ago that the essential thing is not to be afraid at all?
It is natural to be afraid when you are being singled out for hateful treatment because of who you are.
The recent antisemitic events in the United States removed the feeling of safety that many of us have felt here for quite some time.
To be sure, people above a certain age who grew up in the United States likely experienced the sting of antisemitism firsthand, but for many younger people, the United States has largely been a place of comfort and safety. And recent events threw a wrench into all of that.
Should we say to one another, post-Pittsburgh, post-Poway, mid-attacks on Jews in Brooklyn and elsewhere - the essential thing is not to be afraid at all?
I don’t think so. Fear is the normal reaction to danger. Now the same way that individually we acknowledge our fear and possibly try to channel it in productive ways, we should be doing that communally and we are doing that, through increased security measures in synagogues and JCC’s, wherever Jews congregate.
We also are doing that through concerted, systematic efforts to fight antisemitism regardless of the victim, regardless of the perpetrator. What a noble goal it is for us to fight discrimination against our people, against all people, so that slowly, gradually, we have less reason to be afraid.
But for all of us who experience antisemitism or who witness it or hear of it, the fear is real.
Today is the day that we stand before our Creator in the most unvarnished way.
We say over and over in our prayers that God knows us best, that God can see into our hearts, that God knows our secrets.
This implies that God knows our hopes and our dreams. And our fears.
Personally I find it comforting to believe that God knows me intimately in these ways.
But I’m not looking to convince you of my theology. Whatever your beliefs, I invite you to use the hours of Yom Kippur to accept that your fears, like your hopes and your dreams, are part of you. Your fears are real. You don’t have to deny them. You don’t have to be ashamed of them. You don’t have to get rid of them.
Rather you can acknowledge them, work around them, work though them, try because of them or despite them to achieve good outcomes for yourself and for others.
I’m going to continue to sing the words of Rav Nachman, but on occasion, I’ll be thinking something like this as I sing them:
The world is a narrow bridge. We carry our hopes, our dreams AND our fears with us on that narrow bridge. The ikar, the essential thing, is to just keep walking. Just keep walking.
And hope that those who love us are walking nearby.
Originally shared with the Temple Israel of Great Neck community on Yom Kippur 5780
There’s a well-known Jewish song which begins כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאד kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od. The world is a very narrow bridge. והעקר לא לפחד כלל Ve’ha'ikar lo l’fahed klal. And the essential thing is not to be afraid at all.
The song is sung at Jewish summer camps and youth group gatherings and we often sing it here at Temple Israel
I’ve always liked the song, but at the same time, it always bothered me. The essential thing is not to be afraid at all.
Does that mean that if we or a loved one are facing a danger and we are afraid, we are somehow missing the mark? Somehow not strong enough or brave enough?
The words of the song are attributed to a certain rabbi, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav. I was intrigued by him years ago and decided to read a biography about him called Tormented Master, by Professor Art Green. The title alone might tell you something, and I dove right in.
Rabbi Nachman, or Rav Nachman, was descended from the Baal Shem Tov, considered the founder of Hasidism, and Rav Nachman is credited with having revived Hasidism in a variety of important ways.
He was known for being incredibly intense emotionally and apparently he was an extremely anxious person. He thought things through to the point that he worried about them incessantly. He had profound personal conflicts that lasted his entire life.
I imagine that when he wrote these words - the essential thing is not to be afraid - he was writing them as much for himself as for anyone else, kind of like when Dori, the fish in Finding Nemo, kept reminding herself to “just keep swimming.”
When you are worried about something, you know that the fear is real and cannot be denied or ignored.
If you have ever worried about the well-being of someone you love, or about your own well-being, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever stepped into a new situation - a new job, a new relationship - and doubted if you are adequate to the task, or worthy of the relationship, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever faced a bully - someone in your life who is making you and others miserable - and you wonder if you should say something or do something and it’s not so easy cause if it were easy you or someone else would have done it already, you know that the fear is real.
If you have ever felt endangered as a Jew - ever felt that you are exposed to the anger and hate of others because you are a Jew - you know that the fear is real.
Today is the climax of the days that we call ימים נוראים Yamim Nora’im, the days of awe. The word נורא Nora in Hebrew is connected to יראה Yir’ah - fear.
What are we afraid of? You name it. It might include:
Our health.
Our mortality.
Our finances.
Rising dangers to Jews here and elsewhere.
And so many other things.
So what do we do about all of this?
The truth is, I don’t really know. I have as much fear as the next person.
When I was in high school I learned about the concept of inheritance and I went home that night and I asked my mother, with intentional chutzpah, what kind of inheritance my sisters and can look forward to.
And she said, you know how you and your sisters get anxious about things and sometimes it makes it hard for you to go about your lives?
I said, yeah. She said, Mazel tov. That’s your inheritance.
I’ve thought about fear in my own life and I know what I’ve tried to do. I have some thoughts it and about how Yom Kippur can help that I'd like to share.
During our family’s situation, I didn’t find it helpful just to try not to be afraid. I found it helpful to focus on the details of the situation, which were constantly changing, in ways that allowed me to be appropriately supportive.
I found it helpful to calm my nerves by listening to music or taking walks or praying for a favorable outcome.
The fear didn’t fully disappear.
Not to be afraid at all? Sorry, Rav Nachman, I don’t buy it - not for you, and not for me. But to find ways to be productive, positive, supportive, along with the inevitable fear? Sometimes despite it, sometimes channeling it? That I could do, that I can do. That, I imagine, we all can do to some degree or another.
The family situation I referred to is one over which I had very little control. But the areas in which I have had more control are complicated in their own ways. I’ll reflect briefly on a personal circumstance in the hope that you can relate.
I stepped into a challenging situation when I became senior rabbi of this congregation 15 years ago. Temple Israel is a glorious place, but it’s not a simple place.
I was apprehensive about coming here altogether and once I arrived, I initially felt daunted by the extent of the responsibility and by the range of expectations which confronted me.
I’ve found two things helpful. One is my own self-differentiation, namely clarifying and articulating where I stand, what I believe is right, how I understand the ultimate mandate of our sacred community. The other is the support and collaboration of the many capable, well-meaning people who have been my partners in helping our community reach its potential.
If you have navigated new professional or personal situations that have been off-putting or worse, perhaps it has helped you to think about who you are, where you stand, what you think is right. Perhaps it has helped you to try to transcend your fears or possibly to use them as activation energy to do the important work you need to do.
In these past few years, the American Jewish community has been feeling the intense sting of antisemitism. We are still reeling from the murders in Pittsburgh and Poway and a rising number of Jews have recently been attacked in Brooklyn and elsewhere.
The fear that we feel in response is real and understandable and it is not new for our people.
In our congregation alone, several people have spoken to me about the fear of living in small villages in Iran and never knowing when someone will attack you and try to push you into a ditch or worse; some have spoken to me about fearing attacks in Poland, Hungary and Germany before World War II and of course the experience of the Shoah was terrifying for those who suffered through it.
In Australia this past week, a 12-year old boy was intimidated into kissing the shoes of a student who was tormenting him and a 5 year old was routinely tormented by fellow students.
Do we say to those who have witnessed or withstood this kind of torment decades or weeks ago that the essential thing is not to be afraid at all?
It is natural to be afraid when you are being singled out for hateful treatment because of who you are.
The recent antisemitic events in the United States removed the feeling of safety that many of us have felt here for quite some time.
To be sure, people above a certain age who grew up in the United States likely experienced the sting of antisemitism firsthand, but for many younger people, the United States has largely been a place of comfort and safety. And recent events threw a wrench into all of that.
Should we say to one another, post-Pittsburgh, post-Poway, mid-attacks on Jews in Brooklyn and elsewhere - the essential thing is not to be afraid at all?
I don’t think so. Fear is the normal reaction to danger. Now the same way that individually we acknowledge our fear and possibly try to channel it in productive ways, we should be doing that communally and we are doing that, through increased security measures in synagogues and JCC’s, wherever Jews congregate.
We also are doing that through concerted, systematic efforts to fight antisemitism regardless of the victim, regardless of the perpetrator. What a noble goal it is for us to fight discrimination against our people, against all people, so that slowly, gradually, we have less reason to be afraid.
But for all of us who experience antisemitism or who witness it or hear of it, the fear is real.
Today is the day that we stand before our Creator in the most unvarnished way.
We say over and over in our prayers that God knows us best, that God can see into our hearts, that God knows our secrets.
This implies that God knows our hopes and our dreams. And our fears.
Personally I find it comforting to believe that God knows me intimately in these ways.
But I’m not looking to convince you of my theology. Whatever your beliefs, I invite you to use the hours of Yom Kippur to accept that your fears, like your hopes and your dreams, are part of you. Your fears are real. You don’t have to deny them. You don’t have to be ashamed of them. You don’t have to get rid of them.
Rather you can acknowledge them, work around them, work though them, try because of them or despite them to achieve good outcomes for yourself and for others.
I’m going to continue to sing the words of Rav Nachman, but on occasion, I’ll be thinking something like this as I sing them:
The world is a narrow bridge. We carry our hopes, our dreams AND our fears with us on that narrow bridge. The ikar, the essential thing, is to just keep walking. Just keep walking.
And hope that those who love us are walking nearby.
Originally shared with the Temple Israel of Great Neck community on Yom Kippur 5780
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