​ROSH HASHANAH 5780: THE COMPLEXITY OF LOVE

Shana Tova, everyone.
 
This is a very, very, very special YEAR.  We enter into 5780, the turn of the decade, with hope and aspiration for renewal and a better year ahead of us.
 
I’d like to start by sharing with you a concept from R. Shimon Apisdorf, the author of the “Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur Survival Kit”.  He comments about how we may have heard that Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are the time of judgment:
 
…You have probably heard is either that [Rosh Hashanah]… is the Day of Judgment. [This concept is] very misunderstood. Let’s consider the notion of judgment. The truth is, the prospect of judgment is very uncomfortable and nobody likes to be judged. We don’t like to be judged by a boss, a teacher, and certainly not by our peers.
 
At the same time, there is a very beautiful dimension to judgment. Think about parents and children. Parents are concerned about, and judge, a whole range of items related to their children: … their grades in school, what kind of lunch they have, what kinds of friends they associate with… and a lot more. From the child’s perspective, this can seem intrusive, but the truth is, there is only one reason why parents are so interested in virtually every detail of their children’s lives: it’s because they deeply love their children.
 
Let’s think about that:  judgment as a manifestation of love & caring.  Admittedly, judgment can sometimes be a manifestation of anger or disdain.  When it comes to those we love and respect, we do not want such judgment imposed from a place of dominance and ego.  However, employed carefully (judiciously?), judgment can be an important corrective measure that can help ourselves or someone else. 
 
There are times in our lives when we judge others; think about a situation recently where you had to evaluate someone else’s (or even your own) activities & behaviour.  How do we apply judgment constructively?  We set standards, and encourage others to reach them.  We speak honestly and show clearly the improvements we seek from one another. We share our values and concerns.  We tell stories.  And we validate the person being evaluated.
 
All of a sudden, judgment is no longer so harsh or terrible: it’s an opportunity for feedback and improvement.  I know that I have benefited greatly from helpful evaluations and constructive criticisms from mentors, leaders and loved ones. 
 
Yet there is one critical factor that makes such judgment effective: Trust.  We need trusting relationships with the people we judge, or the ones judging us, in order for our outcomes to be positive.


The Challenges of Trust
Our relationships with one another are infused with challenges of trust and distrust.  As we build deeper trust, our bonds grow closer – as friends, lovers, spouses, colleagues.  When trust is violated, we pull back, we judge more critically, perhaps separate ourselves… we may even feel like a piece of us has been taken away.
Yet no relationship is flawless.  We engage in a dance with those whom we are close with: seeking to build rapport, often succeeding, sometimes failing.  Yet If we refrained from relationships with anyone who ever disappointed us in some way, we would rapidly become isolated.  An absolutely flawless, perfect person is not a person; it’s an unattainable ideal. The question is, how do we negotiate the dance of trust?
How do we do it with one another, and how do we do it with G-d?

Trust and compassion
There is one inevitable certainty:  We will screw up.  We will screw up in not doing things we’ve been asked to do, or doing something we shouldn’t have.  We misunderstand, we make bad decisions, we say or do things we regret. 
When we recognize our own fallibility, and that of the other person, that is the place where compassion can enter.  We have the choice to frame our understanding.  We can allow ourselves to say, “I screwed up.” Or “Yeah, you screwed up.”  Sometimes such incidents can be forgiven; in extreme cases, maybe not.  Yet here too, we can reframe our thinking:

• Yes, I did wrong.  I accept accountability for my actions.  I cannot control how other people will react to what I did.  Maybe the relationship can be repaired; maybe it cannot. Yet I acknowledge my own humanity and failing, and do whatever I reasonably can, to repair the situation and do better in future.

 

• Yes, a wrong was done me.  I feel angry, hurt, regretful, or perhaps ashamed.  Yet I can’t change what has happened.  Perhaps I can assert and negotiate change in this relationship.  Maybe I had a role in this which I might do different.  Maybe what was done me is unforgivable, and all I can do is learn from it and perhaps prevent its recurrence.  But ultimately, I acknowledge my own vulnerability, and will show compassion to myself and towards this situation.

Through a lens of compassion and fallibility, we can regenerate and negotiate the trust we have for others, for ourselves, and for positive change and adaptation.
 
Complexity of Love
And in our most powerful relationships, we negotiate this constantly.  Love is complex.  The Western society cliché of “falling in love” is an anomaly in Judaism.  Love is not passive, it’s not a thing you “fall into”.  It’s something we commit to, and build, and strengthen within our reasonable abilities.
As relationships evolve, they become complex.  We give and take, we share and strengthen, and sometimes – perhaps often – we do wrong & experience wrongdoing.  That’s when we’re challenged to discover how to move beyond an overwhelming sense of grief or disempowerment, and renegotiate our own strength, and connections.

Trust in G-d


Trust in G-d  can be all the more challenging.
 
For those who are full believers, there is no problem: a believer trusts in G-d implicitly in all aspects of their lives.  Even when something bad happens, a full believer will say, “Gam zu livrachah” – if this is what has been divinely ordained for me, it must be good.


For non-believers, trust in an other-worldly divine being may seem absurd.  Such people may say, “What do you mean?  Things in the world just happen. We live, we die, and there’s no meaning to it.”  I hesitate to bring up such heretical philosophies in shul, Secular society often embodies the notion of “let din v’let dayan”, that the universe is without justice or meaning, and that there is no divine hand to guide this.  And we face the ever-present temptation to turn there to make sense of or rationalize injustice.
 
The vast majority of us, I believe, lie somewhere in the middle.  We sense something transcendent in our lives, the notion of a Creator and Creation, of a universe greater than us, and a sense that there is meaning to be sought in our day-to-day lives.  Yet this faith is challenged when we witness suffering, injustice, pain, struggle.  How could these things happen, we ask, what kind of G-d would allow such grief in their world?
 
At such times, our trust in the Divine is challenged, perhaps weakened.  If we believe in a G-d that is truly all-benevolent, then why do we witness and experience suffering and grief in our world?
 
Some turn to the notion of Process Theology, which suggests that our relationship with G-d is itself an evolving one, and that the Power and Perfection we attribute to G-d is a matter of our own choice in the relationship.  Maybe it is more meaningful and helpful for us to conceive of G-d as fallible or imperfect in their relationship with us.  If so, then we are challenged to discover how to find strength and meaning in such an evolving relationship.
On the other hand, if we prefer the strength of knowing and believing in G-d’s perfection, then we may sometimes have to reframe our own understanding.  If we believe in G-d as an ever-loving parent who cares for us, according to the Maggid of Mezeritch, then we are meant to understand that a parent sometimes changes their behaviour and communication to adapt to the child.  A parent may speak differently to a child, or present certain opportunities for choice or restrict the child’s choice, in order to guide them.  Perhaps the challenges we experience are those of a larger-scale, loving learning.

Breaking down barriers
The Slonimer Rav would recount a parable in which a beloved Ruler was inside a palace surrounded by countless walls, huge and insurmountable.  A brokenhearted person who desperately needed the monarch’s help, had no way to get through these walls to reach the Ruler directly – so they chose to do the only thing that could allow them to be heard:  they blew the Shofar.  At that instant, all the walls between the subject and Ruler crumbled down, like the walls of Jericho – and the person could then enter to directly present their request to the beloved sovereign.

Once the person was actually inside with the monarch, they discovered something amazing: There were no actual walls there to begin with.
The High Holidays are a time in which we break down the imagined barriers between us and Heaven.
 
A loving relationship with G-d
 
If we believe in a G-d of love, how do we enable that love to manifest itself in our Jewish lives?  How do we imbue our lives with the presence of a caring G-d? 
 
If love is complex, the manner in which we access it is not.  We give. The loving message of Rosh Hashanah is this: give of yourself.  The Hebrew word for love, “Ahavah”, contains the word “hav” - to give. 

Give love to your families and dear ones.  Give what you have to those in need.  Provide for the stranger, the widow and the orphan.  Give of your time and energy.  Love your friends and neighbours.  Welcome others into your home.  Visit the sick.  Honour parents and elders.  Speak truth.  Learn, and learn some more.
 
When we imbue our lives with love and giving – when we surround ourselves with those who both give and accept gifts graciously – we invite the trusting, caring relationship with G-d to be made manifest in our lives.  When we are safe and open to it, the Universe may tell us what to do.  May 5780 be a time to explore this deep knowledge, to witness the benefits of the judgments that Hashem provides in our lives, and to love and give unconditionally.
 
Shana Tova!