Shanah Tovah

           

            I want to do something a little different this morning. I want to tell you a story. It is a story I heard from a colleague of mine, Rabbi Robin Damsky, who heard it from her father.

            Her father recounts how when she was a little girl, her extended family was vacationing at the summer home of one of her aunts or uncles. She was outside in the front yard and there were lots of rocks in the yard. She wanted to get them out of the way, so she started picking them up and moving them. With the small rocks, she was just fine, picking them up one at a time and walking them across the yard to dump into a pile. With the slightly larger rocks, she was tested but managing. One at a time, she would lift a rock, walk across the yard and dump it with its friends. The problem came when she got to a large rock, or at least, a rock that was large for a four-year-old. She tried to lift it but it wouldn't budge. She tried again, then again. No luck. Her father was watching this whole time and finally said to her, “You're not using all of your strength.” She looked at him, bent down, and tried once again to lift the rock, putting more mmmph into it. Still no luck.

            When she looked up at her father, he repeated, “You're not using all of your strength.” She looked down at the rock, bent down, grabbed with both hands, pulled with her arms, made all kinds of groaning sounds …to no avail. She looked up once again to her father's patient face. He merely said, yet one more time, “You're not using all of your strength.” Of course, she gave it all she had this time and still couldn't move the rock.

            Her father then got up off of his chair and walked over to her. He bent down and lifted the rock with little to no effort. Then he said, “I am part of your strength. When something is too big for you, use me as your strength.” And then he went about helping her move all of the rocks that were too big for her.

 

            I share this story with you today on our holiest day of the year for three reasons: The first is because it is a story about family, particularly about parents, and many of us here this morning will be remembering our parents in a little while during the Yizkor service.

           The second reason is because it is a story that reminds us our strength is not limited to what we ourselves can do on our own. Others are part of our strength.

            And the third reason is because the story itself teaches us something important about how those closest to us, those we most rely upon, can remain with us, and how their strength can continue to be part of our strength, even long after they are gone.

           

            In a little while many of us here will be remembering our parents during Yizkor.

            Some of us will remember how we relied on their strength when we were young and how we continued to rely on their strength even as adults. As we grew, we may not have needed the assistance of their physical strength any longer to carry the rocks that were too large for us. Indeed, they may have come to require our physical strength as time passed. Nevertheless, we still relied on them to help lift off of our hearts the heavy rocks that life dealt us, the heavy rocks we could not lift ourselves. They helped lift those rocks by helping out when we or a family member were sick or by offering encouragement when things were hard or frightening. They came to the rescue by being handy or just by being present in a pinch.

            We remember how our parents were part of our strength, how we could count on them. As they faded, we wondered what we would do without them. When they were gone, we not only missed them terribly, we feared we would never again know from whence our strength would come.  

            Others of us may have more complex memories and feelings. We may have yearned to draw such strength from our parents, deserved to be able to draw such strength from our parents, but could not. They were unable to offer it, perhaps because they were already gone or perhaps because they were so overwhelmed with their own rocks they had no strength left to notice ours, let alone lend any of their strength to us to help us move them.

            When we lose a parent under such circumstances, their memories often remain painful. We may be left holding the heavy rocks of a different kind of mourning, the kind that can disrupt our life’s journey unless and until we can find it in our hearts to forgive them for failing us.

            My friends, regardless of whether our parents are with us or gone; regardless of whether they were attentive or not; regardless of whether they were kind or not, each of us has had at least two parents who were, and continue to be, part of both our strengths and our weaknesses. We more likely than not blame them for all they did wrong and usually don't acknowledge nearly enough, even for the worst of them, what they did right. They may have been wrong or right, weak or strong, but we would not be here today without them. And if for no other reason than this, they thus deserve our appreciation, for carrying us when we were too young to carry ourselves, and our forgiveness, if they were unable to move the rocks we really needed their help with.

           

            There are times in life when we will need to use all of our strength. If we no longer, or never had, our parents’ strength to rely on, if even with their strength our own strength falters, how will we move the inevitable rocks we will face that are too heavy for us to move on our own?

 

            This is the second reason I have shared this story with you today: because it is a story about how our strength is not limited to what we ourselves can do on our own. Other people are part of our strength. Not just our parents, but our extended family, our family of friends, our community, and our God.

 

            Certainly, there is value to being independent. Just as we hope our children will grow to become confident, self-sufficient, and responsible adults, our parents raised us to become responsible for ourselves, to make our own, hopefully sensible, decisions and be willing to take responsibility for the consequences thereof. However, being self-sufficient is not the same as being autonomous, an independent being isolated from others.

            While we are responsible for the rocks that we come upon on our road through life, moving those rocks is not just a question of our own personal strength, whether physical, mental or emotional. Our strength extends beyond us to others. When our own personal strength is exhausted or seemingly has reached its limit, our parents, our family, our friends and our community can provide a reservoir of strength which can help us clear away the heavy rocks that we could not budge on our own.

            Others are part of our strength.

            That is why Jewish tradition requires the community to care for mourners. Just when a mourner feels most alone, most bereft of strength, friends, family, and community members are to show up with food and an arm to lean on until the mourner can get back up on his or her own feet. That is why Jewish tradition requires that the community visit and care for the ill, which is why we have a Hesed Committee which provides meals for those who do not have the strength to provide meals for themselves and who do not have parents or family to provide for them.

            Our strength is not limited to what we ourselves can do on our own. Our strength is not even limited to how our parents can help us, for at some point even the most devoted parents leave us for the next world. Friends and community can extend our reach and muscle so together we can move even the heaviest rocks that stand in our way.

            This is as true of overcoming a personal challenge as a communal one. The strength we gain when we rely on each other is not the simple sum of our combined efforts. Our strength multiplies geometrically when we combine our efforts together with others.

            Our strength is not even limited to what we can do together. For we have Another, greater Other who is part of our strength, God.

            The Psalmist writes, Esa einai el haharim, mei-ayin yavo ezri? “I lift my eyes to the mountains. From where will come my help? Ezri mei-im Adon-ai, Oseh shamayim va-aretz. “My help comes from the Lord, Creator of heaven and earth.”[i] Our help comes from God, our Creator who we call upon as Avinu, Our Parent. God is also part of our strength.

            The most articulate expression of this comes from Rabbi Harold Kushner in his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Rabbi Kushner struggled for ten long years as he and his wife cared for their beloved son who was diagnosed with an incurable, terminal disease. Then his son died. No parent should have to go through such pain. Rabbi Kushner, a rabbi and Judaic scholar, could find no answer in traditional explanations for why such a terrible thing should happen to such a wonderful young man. Rabbi Kushner finally came to the realization that God does not cause illness or pain and that therefore we cannot expect God to answer our prayers for health or wealth. Those are not the prayers God answers. The kinds of prayers God answers, Rabbi Kushner realized, are the ones asking for courage, for hope, for the strength to bear the unbearable.

            He writes, people who pray these prayers “discover that they have more strength, more courage than they ever knew themselves to have. Where did they get it? …Where do you get the strength to go on when you have used up all your strength? …I believe that God gives us strength and patience and hope, renewing our spiritual resources when they run dry. How else do sick people manage to find more strength and more good humor over the course of a prolonged illness than any one person could possibly have, unless God was constantly replenishing their souls?...We don’t have to beg or bribe God to give us strength or hope or patience. We need only turn to [God and] admit that we can’t do this on our own…”[ii]

            We are to use all of our strength. God is part of our strength. When something is just too big for us alone, God, our Parent and Creator, is there for us to turn to. God is waiting for us to use God as part of our strength.

 

             There is a third reason I began with this story today. That is because we can find strength in the story itself.

            The story I began with, about a little girl moving rocks in the yard, is a story a father told his adult daughter about something he observed about her when she was young. It is a story that will now be with her forever, now while her father is still in this world and certainly after he is gone. When he is gone, the story will remain, continuing to offer her the strength of her father’s love and wisdom.

            This is part of the legacy our parents leave us: their stories, the stories they told us and the story of their lives we witnessed and were part of. These stories tell us how they shared their strength with others and where they found the parts of all their strength that helped them move the rocks that were too heavy for them to move on their own. Through their stories, they live on as part of our strength. Through their stories, their wisdom, humor, and guidance remain present for us long after they are gone. Their tenacity and courage in the face of challenge or peril continues to strengthen us as we confront our own challenges and peril. Their stories are part of our strength, helping us move the heavy rocks we face. Even after they are gone, they remain part of our strength through the stories they bequeathed us.

           

            What is true of the stories our parents told us is also true about the stories our People recounted from generation to generation down through the millennia.  

            As I mentioned last week, we are the People of the Book, and that Book, the Bible, is filled with stories. Stories that give us strength. That is why we keep reading and rereading each year the stories of our ancestors, the founders of our People, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. These stories, about sibling rivalry, marital tensions, fear and loss, danger and moral conflict, are all part of our own strength, comforting us, guiding us, inspiring us, to survive and surmount these same challenges, move these same rocks, when we face them.

           

            If we are to use all of our strength, we must draw on the stories we have, from our parents and from our tradition. While our Bible can always be with us, our parents will not. But even after they are gone, they remain part of our strength as long as we have their stories.

            The stories they leave us are part of our strength, a strength that can help us lift the rocks that are too heavy for us to lift alone. That is why it is so important to tell their stories, and our own stories, to our children and grandchildren, our nieces and nephews: so that they will have the same yerusha, the same rich inheritance to draw on, the same strength to rely on, when we ourselves are gone from this world.

 

            Each of us will come across small and large rocks in our life’s paths, some of which will be too heavy for us to move on our own. When that happens, we will be able to move even the heaviest rocks if we use all of our strength:  If we draw on the strength of others to help us.

            Our strength is not limited to what we ourselves can do on our own. Others are part of our strength: Our parents, our family and family of friends, our community, our God. Their strength added to our own helps us move rocks we could never move on our own. And when the time comes for our loved ones to leave us, their stories remain with us, guiding us, inspiring us, comforting us, strengthening us so we can lift even the heaviest rocks that we never could imagine moving alone.

 

            That is why I shared this story with you today, on our holiest day of the year. Because it is a story about family, particularly about the parents many of us will be remembering in a moment during Yizkor. Because it is a story that reminds us our strength is not limited to what we ourselves can do on our own. Others are part of our strength, if we include them. And because it is a story that reminds us of the power of stories: that when we may most feel our loved ones gone from our lives, their stories remind us that we are not alone. They remain forever part of our lives through their stories. When we face something that is too big for us on our own, we can forever rely on their stories as part of our strength.

 

Shanah Tovah

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