Finding our own purpose
by Rabbi Shoshana Kaminsky
I’d like to introduce you to one of my very favorite parts of the world. These photos were taken along the Great Australian Bight. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a bight is a bend in a coast which forms a bay. That would actually mean that this particular geological formation should be called the Great Australian Bights, since there is a line of bays formed by recessed coastline that runs for hundreds of miles down the western coast of South Australia. This photo was taken just outside the town of Venus Bay, which lies approximately 400 miles to the west of my former home town of Adelaide. I have walked these cliffs dozens of times during my five vacations to this area, and many of those times I have not encountered another person. It has just been me and the roar of the surf.
If I was going to feel really good about my place in the universe, this isn’t where I would choose to go. When I stand overlooking the sea, I’m completely lost in the vastness of this world. The waves flow in and out, the sandstone cliffs are inexorably worn away by the water over millennia, and neither water nor cliffs have the slightest interest in my puny existence. I’m sure many of you have had the same experience at other places: the Grand Canyon, Glacier National Park, Yosemite. These are all sites where we are reduced to the size of grasshoppers. As the solemn High Holy Day prayer U’netaneh Tokef intones, “We wear out our lives to get bread—like broken vessels, like withered grass, like a flower that must face, a shadow moving, on, a cloud passing by, mere dust on the wind, a dream that flies away.” Standing on a cliff side, I am forced to confront the reality that in the great scheme of things, my life doesn’t actually matter. Were I to disappear tomorrow, it would make no difference at all to the mountains or the sea, and certainly not to the billions upon billions of galaxies spread out across the universe.
At its heart, Rosh Hashanah is about the idea that God is sovereign, and we are all passing shadows. The traditional morning service features three sets of shofar blasts connected to three main themes: God reigns now, God has reigned since before the universe was created, and God will reign forever. The aleynu, which speaks of God’s sovereignty and our allegiance to God, was originally written for Rosh Hashanah. We will sing it shortly, acclaiming God as the author of creation.
But the truth is that many of us will instead tend to think of Rosh Hashanah as a warm-up for Yom Kippur. That is mostly because the idea of God’s sovereignty in the universe is so theologically problematic that it may actually get in the way of prayer. Because after all, if God has absolute power in the world, couldn’t God do just a bit more to make the world a little less broken? So instead we concentrate on the idea that we are now only ten days away from Yom Kippur, when the real spiritual work is done.
I personally reject the concept of a God who is all powerful and could do much to improve the world but chooses not to. Along with Rabbi Harold Kushner in his classic work When bad things happen to good people, I experience God in those sacred moments between us. But I also experience God in the overwhelming majesty of nature. Awe—which is a combination of wonder and fear. An appreciation of how tiny my one little life is in the midst of the unimaginable vastness of the universe.
And yet, I believe deeply that my life matters. As I stood on the cliffs in May this last year, I had a sudden realization: my life matters exactly as much as I make it matter. It is entirely up to me to shape a life that leaves an impression upon the world. That challenge is all the more urgent to me now that I appreciate that I’m in the last third of my life. What can I still do that will leave the world a better place than when I entered it?
In the very short time that I have served Temple Beth-El, I have been astounded by just how much you all do that really matters. I keep finding out about more, whether it’s the meal trains to those who are temporarily in need of some extra TLC, the holiday deliveries to those in nursing homes, or just the way many of you keep an eye on each other to make sure all is well. You all make a difference in other ways too: Temple Beth-El and its Tzedek Seekers are a core part of Faiths in St. Joe County. The organization has now been re-branded as We Make Indiana, but it continues the crucial and powerful work of fighting for justice in our region. We are currently surrounded by amazing artwork by the late Harold Zisla. I can’t even begin to imagine how many hours went into borrowing, organizing, labelling and hanging these paintings for our enjoyment. Others make a difference through studying, teaching, creating, cooking, mentoring, and guiding. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve met anyone who is just sitting around twiddling their thumbs. The combined might of Temple Beth-El volunteers is extraordinary. The world is a much better place for all that you have done and continue to do.
Tomorrow, we will offer the prayer U’netaneh Tokef, which is both famous and infamous. It includes the words, “On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.” This is exactly the time of year to reflect on what we hope to accomplish in the next twelve months, as well as over the course of our whole lives. Rabbi Joseph Metzler wrote an alternative version of this prayer, which I offer to you here:
On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed:
That this year people will live and die,
some more gently than others
and nothing lives forever.
But amidst overwhelming forces
of nature and humankind,
we still write our own Book of Life,
and our actions are the words in it,
and the stages of our lives are the chapters,
and nothing goes unrecorded, ever.
Every deed counts.
Everything you do matters.
And we never know what act or word
will leave an impression or tip the scale.
So if not now, then when?
For the things that we can change, there is teshuva, realignment,
For the things we cannot change, there is tefilah, prayer,
For the help we can give, there is tzedakah, justice.
Together, let us write a beautiful Book of Life
for the Holy One to read.
May we continue to be surprised by moments of awe in our lives. May we continue to be a force for goodness and for healing on this precious earth. May we, our loved ones, and the whole world be inscribed and sealed for a year of sweetness and joy, hope and peace. Amen.
