Movement

Learning through the Seasons of Our Lives

There’s a movement in the souls

Some will come and some will go

To a place that no one knows

and this cycle never slows

And we’re all somewhere in the middle as these doors keep spinning ’round

We show up knowing nothing about this world of ours

And then we try to make the most of what you’ve given us

Before it’s time for you to take it back. 

Three months ago, I moved to Washington, DC and began my journey with you here at Beth El Hebrew Congregation. If you had asked me a year ago where I thought I would be today, I couldn’t have imagined what my life would look like. I knew I was on the cusp of a major transition, but I didn’t know where it would take me. And, today, here I am giving my first Rosh Hashanah sermon as a rabbi, and as Beth El’s Director of Education. As the new year begins, I am thankful for the seasons in my life which have passed and the season which is just now beginning.

Each year, Rosh Hashanah forces us to contend with the reality of our mortality. It reminds us that life is constantly changing, moving in cycles that never seem to end, except for when they do. We don’t know how many cycles around the sun we will get, and if this cycle will be the last. All we know is that we have to make this day, this season, this cycle of our lives count. On Rosh Hashanah we strike a balance between joy and sweetness on the one hand, and reflection on the brevity of life and our need to make meaning on the other. Duality is easy, but life is complicated. Life is what happens in the spaces in between in the seasons of our lives. 

“Movement,” written by Nina Tokayer and performed by the duo Yonina, brings this duality into focus. “There’s a movement in the souls. Some will come and some will go. To a place that no one knows, and the cycle never slows.” There is immense joy when a new soul joins us in this world. There are many of us in this room today who welcomed new babies into our families this year. And yet, so too, are there many of us who said goodbye to loved ones; to parents, spouses, siblings, children, and friends. Nina’s words remind us that we are always moving in and out of life, that each of us sitting here today exists somewhere in the middle between the beginnings of life and the ending of death. In the midst of life, we prefer not to think of our own mortality. We prefer to keep moving, rarely pausing to see where we’ve come from and where we’re going. We move ever forward opening new doors and pathways as we navigate the busy lives we lead.

However, each year we see our lives with different eyes as we enter Rosh Hashanah to assess who we have been and who we hope to be. Our perspectives shape what we learn about ourselves and what lessons we hope to pass on to those who come after us. 

A Sufi parable gives us one way to examine the seasons of our lives. There once was a man who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn not to judge things or people too quickly, so he sent them each on a quest, in turn, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away.

The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in summer, and the youngest son in the fall. When they had all gone and come back, he called them together to describe what they had seen.

The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted.

The second son said no it was covered with green buds and full of promise.

The third son disagreed with both of them; he said it was laden with blossoms that smelled so sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful thing he had ever seen.

The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.

The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because they had each seen but only one season in the tree’s life.

He told them that you cannot judge a tree, a person, or yourself by only one season. The essence of who you are and the pleasure, joy, and love that come from that life can only be measured at the end, when all the seasons are up.

He said, “If you give up when it’s winter, you will miss the promise of your spring, the beauty of your summer, fulfillment of your fall.”

Arguably, each of us is in a different season or cycle in our lives at this very moment in time. There are those of us who have seen and experienced so much sorrow this year and in years past that it seems as if hope is dwindling, that perhaps there is no way forward, nothing left for us to learn, no way for us to grow in the winter of our lives. Some of us, however, see the world as if everything is Spring. Everything is beginning to grow and there is promise in the air. At the same time, there are those of us who are experiencing years of plenty, when things may not be perfect, but yet there is real joy and excitement in our lives that is being fully realized. Still, there are those of us who have experienced happiness this year and who know that there is more to come, while also recognizing that nothing lasts forever, that fulfillment is fleeting. Each one of us is in a different season in our lives and that season colors how we see and experience the world. It is up to us to learn from this season and to find meaning in the movement and cycles of our lives.

Many of us, including myself, are always in motion. We’re checking things off our to-do lists, sending e-mails, schlepping kids to soccer, dance, baseball, and school. The fact is, sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. Now that we’ve taken a moment to examine this season in our lives, let’s think about the things that we might have missed this year, the things we might have overlooked, or taken for granted. 

In 1999, Harvard psychology researchers Daniel Simons and Christopher Chabris, conducted an experiment. In the experiment, participants were told to watch a video where three people wearing white shirts and three wearing black shirts passed a basketball back and forth to each other. Their goal was to count how many times players in white passed the ball. This wasn’t a particularly challenging task, and most of the participants answered correctly. The researchers then asked the participants if they had noticed anything out of the ordinary about the video, but most of them had not. However, when they watched the video a second time, and were told to look for anything unusual, the participants observed what they hadn’t seen the first time–a person in a gorilla suit walking into the center of the screen, pounding their chest, and walking away. 

Now, how is it possible that so many people could have missed something so obvious? After all, a gorilla isn’t typically present at a basketball game. The researchers concluded that quote “The viewers were dutifully focused on their counting task, and that apparently crowded out some otherwise pretty obvious visual input. They saw what they were looking for — and they missed the gorilla.” 

Learning from the things that we miss requires that we be open and aware not only to the obvious pieces of information right in front of us, aka the basketballs, but also to what we see if we stop and look a little closer. 

Susan Fendrik, the author of “The Gorilla and My U-netaneh Tokef Problem,” argues that this was Abraham’s challenge as well. As Abraham raises the knife to sacrifice his beloved son, in the Akedah, there is a ram right in front of him, and yet he only sees it when the angel cries out to him, “Abraham, Abraham! Do not raise your hand against the boy or do anything to him.” In that moment, Abraham opens his eyes wider to see what he has missed. The ram was always there, ready to be sacrificed, he just hadn’t seen it. 

Fendrick writes that  “we come to God in a place of narrowness and bounded perception, and God offers us, in response, the possibility of widening our perspective—including truly seeing the other people around us, perceiving their needs through the lens of ethics and obligation, and understanding our place in the human community, and in all of creation.” Most of the time we only see the world through our own lens. On Rosh Hashanah, we open ourselves up and expand our lens to learning from the things we missed over the course of the last year, to seeing the small ways we failed to really see and acknowledge the people in our lives who are the most important to us. How many times have we each been glued to our phones as a child, a pet, a partner, or friend, wanted our attention? How many times have we dropped the ball on something because we were moving too fast? How many times have we missed something obvious that was right in front of us? Rosh Hashanah reminds us to open our eyes to move beyond what we see with a brief look at our lives, and to dig deeper to see what we can learn from what we miss. 

But, what wakes us up to examine this season and to uncover things we may have missed in the first place? The shofar. Rosh Hashanah, according to the Torah, is called Yom Truah, the day to raise the call. In the book of Numbers, we read: 

וּבַחֹ֨דֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֜י בְּאֶחָ֣ד לַחֹ֗דֶשׁ מִֽקְרָא־קֹ֙דֶשׁ֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֔ם כָּל־מְלֶ֥אכֶת עֲבֹדָ֖ה לֹ֣א תַעֲשׂ֑וּ י֥וֹם תְּרוּעָ֖ה יִהְיֶ֥ה לָכֶֽם׃

“In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a sacred occasion: you shall not work at your occupations. You shall observe it as a day when the horn is sounded.”  

Rabbis throughout the centuries have understood the sounding of the shofar to be the literal and metaphorical call for us to awaken our souls as we take an account of our actions, as we begin the process of making teshuvah. 

However, the shofar’s physical dimensions are also symbolic, and remind us that we have to start small. Rav Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, remarked that the shofar’s shape, “it’s progression from the narrow to the wide…from a narrow mouthpiece to a wide opening” is a metaphor for the “ever expanding circles of repentance and spiritual progress, from prat (the individual) to the klal (collective).” According to Kook, the order from narrow to wide is significant because we must repent individually before it’s possible for our community, the Jewish people and the world to make teshuvah.

During the month of Elul, we are called upon to take an account of our own personal failings, to admit to ourselves and to others where we have missed the mark, to learn from these moments of failure, to ask for forgiveness, and to move forward with our lives. Rav Kook says “On Rosh Hashanah, however, we broaden our outlook. We look forward from the limited nature of our personal perspectives towards universal perfection.” In essence, we move from only seeing the season of our lives through our own lenses, to moving outside of ourselves to see how what we have or haven’t learned has affected those around us. 

In a midrash on the Song of Songs, Rabbi Yisa says, “The Holy One of Blessing said to Israel, “My children—open for me one opening of repentance the size of an eye of a needle.”  

ואני פותח לכם פתחים שיהיו עגלות וקרניות נכנסות בו

And, I will open for you circles and rays of light in which to enter. 

It’s possible to expand the meaning of the verse so that it might read, “My children, help ME to make teshuvah, and we will open circles of light in which to enter together. ” When we open our eyes to what we have missed, we are better able to ask others to help us to make teshuvah. Teshuvah is never done in isolation. It requires relationship. It requires us to ask forgiveness which we can’t do by ourselves. Some of us, although we’re loathe to admit it, need to ask forgiveness not only of the adults in our lives, but also from our children. I tend to think that this is a harder task than asking a friend, partner, or co-worker for forgiveness. But, when we do, we show our children that we too are learning, that we too are imperfect, that we too need to be forgiven. When do this, we demonstrate to them that together it is possible to become the best versions of ourselves. Together it is possible to make teshuvah. 

This is our moment. This is our chance. Life is challenging, difficult, and complicated, but we have the ability to make meaning of the messiness of life by reflecting on the seasons of our lives. No matter which season we’re in, no matter what we miss, we all have the potential to find light through teshuvah. If we review, reflect, start small, and take strides to grow, we will find light in the chaos of life. We will find light in the eyes of our children and in the eyes of those we love. 

As we embark on yet another season of our lives, may we see and experience this season more fully, may we open ourselves to see what we have missed in the past year, and may we find moments where can we teach and learn from each other as we navigate the world together. 

There’s a movement in the souls

Some will come and some will go

To a place that no one knows

and the cycle never slows

Shanah tovah! 

Citations:  

Nina Tokayer. “Movement.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPIdr3plsHw.

Susan Fendrick, “The Gorilla and My U-Netaneh Tokef Problem,” Kerem 13 (2012), 160.

Numbers 29:1.

Paraphrase of Rabbi Kook, מועדי הראי”א, adapted in Silver from the Land of Israel, 42-3.

Alternate translation of  Song of Songs Rabba 5:2.