Kol Nidrei 5780
There is a popular genre of apocalyptic literature that imagines what would happen if human beings no longer lived on this earth. Some of these stories are simple science fiction or fantasy, classic tales of alien takeovers, war and destruction. But a growing scientific consensus about the path our world is taking, has taken these myths and turned them into a much more real and horrifying possibility. Alan Weisman in his book, The World Without Us lays it out for us with shockingly clear detail what would happen if we no longer here. If we for whatever reason, through war, disease or environmental catastrophe, left this earth clear of human life, it would only take a few decades for visible signs of our centuries of civilization to begin to disappear.
Think of it, our beautiful city of Montreal, the tall skyscrapers, the tailored parks, our residential neighborhoods with our nicely painted houses and manicured lawns, all gone. First go to the sidewalks, cracking and filled with weeds and then the buildings–windows falling, the bricks and elegant curving stairs slowly turning to dust. Trees move in and wild animals begin to take over, wandering through the remnants of our human existence as if they were mere rocks in a field. Our gardens with our nicely planted flowers and vegetables, begin to go wild, and the soil which has been tilled and tailored for generations, begins to reclaim its natural balance again. Slowly over the centuries, the buildings start to crumble, the bridges fall, and the oceans, the air and delicate ecosystem reclaims its strength. Millenium pass, and all that is left to remember that we were here, are the ruins of our attempt at civilization–mounds of plastics and trash, some lingering rubble, a brief blip in the history of our planet. The heartbeat of the earth is strong, and whether we like it or not, it is clear that the earth in a very real way, would be just fine without us.
This scenario has been on my mind recently. In this year of so much deep discussion about the climate crisis, from the marches and protests and the movies and articles, this new reality has made its way to the top of my list of worries. As I have taken in all of the problems that the world has thrown at us, and all that we have brought onto our society and the environment, I have no choice but to ask some difficult questions. How many times can I explain to my children why people are so cruel to each other, why there is war and suffering, why so many are willing to care only about themselves and destroy our earth and all the precious resources we need for our survival? How often can I watch politicians and businesses, leaders and members of our society so blatantly put aside the needs of the people who need the most help, lying, manipulating, cheating and stealing, and head down the path of creating only more suffering and pain. How long can I watch the Amazonian rainforest being destroyed, to plant the crops, and use the water and resources that could feed all the worlds hungry instead be fed to animals who themselves spend their lives in torturous factory farms just so we can eat their flesh and milk, while according to a United Nations report, their methane fills the atmosphere with more chemicals than all the cars, buses, trains and airplanes on earth combined. (“Livestock’s Long Shadow: environmental issues and options”. Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. Rome 2006) The summers are becoming hotter and hotter, the storms are raging, and the ice is melting fast.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a devout optimist, and someone who finds hope and goodness in most of what I experience in people and in life. I do know that even in the midst of all of this, these facts are tempered by the reality that we do statistically at least, live in a more peaceful world, there is less violence and societies is more stable than at any time throughout our history. And I want to think that people are inherently good, and that our world is on the right track.
But recently, it has been harder to hold onto this belief. I know that at least the science is true. I see the facts in front of me, to strong to ignore. But I hope we can all do better than to head down the road of darkness, and instead stand up and search for the light. If the world would be better off without us, then on this Yom Kippur, we have no choice but to fight back and prove the world wrong.
On Yom Kippur we are told that we stand between life and death, we stand precariously before God, the mystery of life, before our family, our friends and our community, and most of all before ourselves, taking into account all that we have done, and all that we have not done in the past year. We tap our chests, and recall our sins our mistakes, for the problems we have caused, but also where we have stood by and not acted when we have seen problems in others, in our society and our world.
We fast, ridding our body of one our most humanly pleasures, and we spend the day in prayer, pushing us past our limits as a day full of words and songs confront us at our most vulnerable. Removed of many of these earthly pleasures, we try our best to bring our prayers and our thoughts heavenward, moving past our our needs and desires, yet also using these same prayers to bring us back earthward, asking us to fix the brokeness most close to home in our relationships and in ourselves. And as a final nod to the seriousness of this day, it is traditionally to wear, white, symbolizing purity, but also similar to the simple garb that we will wear after we have breathed our final breath. Between life and death. Looking back, and heading forward. While we are told that this is a day of profound opportunity, since we remember that we all have the power to change, it also is a day that when taken seriously can only lead to a bit of fear. As Harold Kushner says so succinctly, “The core teaching of the holiday is pretty straightforward: We’re all gonna die”.
This year, even as I send my prayers heavenward, with my thoughts on the earth, I have been guided back to the stories, the mythology of our Torah. In our Torah, in the story of our people, our journey as caretakers of the earth begins in the book of Genesis. From a world of tohu va vohu, without form a void to the creation of life and plants, we move to the story of the garden of eden, and onwards into the story of relationships, family and community
Of course for some, this story is the literal rendition of the first days of creation, but we often choose to see it as a story ripe with symbols and important lessons for how we choose to live in partnership with the earth.
In Genesis’s first chapter, humans are at the top of the food chain. God tells Adam:
פְּר֥וּ וּרְב֛וּ וּמִלְא֥וּ אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ וְכִבְשֻׁ֑הָ
P’ru urvu u’milu et ha aretz v’chivshuah
“Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it”(Genesis 1:28). As Rabbi Arthur Waskow humorously said during his talk just a few days ago on the Climate Crisis–done! Filled and subdued–now on to the next steps. Thankfully, in Chapter two we are given this statement:
וַיִּקַּ֛ח יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֑ם וַיַּנִּחֵ֣הוּ בְגַן־עֵ֔דֶן לְעָבְדָ֖הּ וּלְשָׁמְרָֽהּ:
God placed Adam in the garden to till it and guard it– l’ovdah u’lshomra (Genesis 2:15).
This is where the real work comes in. As any gardener knows, tending even a small patch of earth involves a delicate dance and a careful hand to hold onto the life that is planted. To till and to guard, to be Shomrei Ha Adamah, means being constantly on duty and to see in front of us what needs to happen to continue to take care of the delicate ecosystem of the earth’s symbolic garden.
It is easy to put out there all of the Jewish commandments and ethical values which call on us to care for the environment. At its core, Judaism is an earth based religion and culture, created from an agriculturally rooted world, of farmers shepherd and desert wanderers. Halachah, Jewish law gives us the basic commands of bal tashchit, to not waste, of tsar ba’alei chayim, compassion for animals, of the protection of fruit trees, of creation safe healthy spaces free of noise and smoke, and other ethical commands for a just society which clearly necessitates a deep and real compassion for the environment. In fact, it is often pointed out, that Judaism more so than the other major faiths, has been an environmental movement from its inspection–rooted in the land, and as was stated in Genesis, with people commanded to be shomrei adamai, protectors of this land.
Neal Joseph Lovinger uses the term Deep Ecology, to describe the Jewish understanding of our role in the world. He writes:
“Deep ecology often employs a language of rights, extending them to all creatures. But Judaism also speaks of responsibilities, of the individual and the community to each other, to Creation, to the Creator. We are responsible to each other for how we spend our time, how we spend our money, and how kindly we act towards each other. To creation, we owe our respect and restraint; our ethical laws teach us that this world is all that we have and that we must treat it as a treasure entrusted to us. To the Creator, whether experienced as a personal God or the deep spirit within all life (or both)we owe gratitude for the beauty and pleasure of living in a world that so amply sustains us” (Ecology and the Jewish Spirit pg. 39,40)
But today, it is not our ancient laws of reducing waste, or creating quiet spaces that should control our understanding of our place in this world. With the rate of environmental destruction that we see in front of us, it is instead the Jewish principle of pikuach nefesh, the commandment to do whatever we can to save a life that is at stake. With rising sea levels, worsening natural disasters, pollution and more deadly hot days, people’s lives are at risk. Current estimates show that millions of people and entire ecosystems around the world will not be able to survive the next century. Yes, we can joke up here in Canada that we could use a bit more warmth in our winters, but to turn aside and ignore this reality is as cruel as ignoring the death cries of a fellow human being who lies in front of us.
Taking us back to creation, the Talmud tells us that:
“Adam was created alone to teach that anyone who destroys one soul, it is as if they destroyed an entire world. And anyone who sustains one soul, it is as if they have sustained an entire world.”
(Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 37a:13)
And we can’t forget that core commandment:
לֹ֥א תַעֲמֹ֖ד עַל־דַּ֣ם רֵעֶ֑ךָ
You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. (Leviticus 19:16)
What in God’s name are we doing if not then ignoring the cries of millions?
Our tradition has ensured that we do our best to live ethical and connected lives, and so much of what we do and what we say reminds us to always work to create a more just world. We know we should care about each other, and not ignore suffering of any kind. But unfortunately, our communal story also begins with a story of the deepest of shame, an example of hearing the warnings thrown at us and ignoring them. By this point in our history we should know better.
In the mythical story of Noah, we encounter a people so sinful that God decides the only way to fix the problem, is to create a flood and destroy the world. A midrash tells us that part of the reason Noah was commanded to build the ark, an impossibly large and difficult task, was that in the 120 years it took, people would ask questions or show some concern and change their ways. Alas, the people ignore Noah and his building project, nothing happens and the flood destroys the world. The refusal to accept the need to change was so strong in fact, that one midrash says that at the beginning of the flood when the waters started rising up, the people pressed their own children upon the rising waters in order to dam them up. The story concludes with a verse from Job: “The womb did not remember it was her child.” (Job 24:20) Unable to think of the future, and refusing to accept any responsibility for their actions, they would rather throw their children to their deaths than make a change.
We have seen the ark, and for too many of us, we choose to look away. This midrash shows a people that were willing to risk the lives of their own children in order to save themselves. We have received the warnings. The science is clear and the effects–the storms, the heat, the economic and social damage is growing worse every year, and we are in a very real way throwing our children to their deaths. And what happens to the people who point out our hypocrisies, or stand up and tell us what we need to do to save our lives. Until recently, they like Noah, became the outcasts. The tree huggers, the hippies, the crazy vegans, the people who simply take things too far and don’t know how to have fun. Even in the past few weeks, the Swedish climate activist Greta Tumberg, has been confronted with endless harassment and mockery by right wing climate change deniers who called her nothing but a childish pawn of the left. We all fear truth, especially as the name of the film tells us, the inconvenient truth, but we can no longer run away with our hands over our ears if we want to pass anything on to our children. As Greta herself said in January to the adults at the World Economic Forum. “I want you to act as if the house is on fire because it is”.
All of this, is why our culture are faith is modeled after the first jew, Abraham, not Noah. Noah was an obedient follower, and he did manage to save humanity, but he was no activist. While Noah was willing to spend 120 years quietly building an ark, he never once stood his ground an argued with God about the destruction that was about to occur. He never once reached out with compassion to the masses who were going to die, or tried to speak to them to get them to change their ways. No it was Abraham who was the Jew–he fought injustice with strength and intention and ensured that each person was cared for too. Now it is our turn.
But the unfortunate fact is that, at least from an environmental perspective, the earth really does have no need for us. Not only would the plants and the animals survive, but they would thrive. If we all left this world today, if our homes did lay empty if our fields lay fallow, if our cities and streets were cleared of human life, it would take time, but the world would revert back to a more peaceful place. While much about the current state of our world can be left up to interpretation, this fact is unfortunately hard to deny.
But this is not how I want to think, and as Jews we don’t tend to hold such a pessimistic view. We are seen as partners in God’s creation, and we are here to “tend” the earth and improve it through our actions not destroy it. Through a life of ethical action, through mitzvot and intention we bring goodness and hope into the world. In fact the very notion of tikkun olam is based on the idea that the world we are given is broken, but that it can only be “completed” with our help. In the Kabbalistic understanding of creation, God contracted the divine self to make room for the universe. The divine light and power was contained in special vessels, or kelim, some were broken and scattered in this moment of creation. Our goal, through tikkun olam is to search out these broken shards, the brokenness in the world, and through ethical acts and acts of compassion and healing, we can bring these pieces, along with their light back to their original source.
But beyond this mystical idea, we are told that the world in which we live, with all its imperfections, needs us to “improve it:” It is up to us to create a just society, and sustained by peace and compassion. It is up to us not to accept the cruelty, the sadness and the pain we see in front of us, but to do all that we can to fix it. While with all that is going on in the world, the level of pessimism we might feel is real, the entirety of Judaism, from its laws to the practice of holidays, to the very words we chant tonight, remind us that we do matter. Our actions, make a difference and the world needs us for its survival.
While the news that we read each day might make me lose hope, it is new life that thankfully recalibrates my belief in humanity.
A few weeks ago, I officiated at a baby naming. Holding the baby, this new life, eyes open to the world and full of potential and possibility, I paused for a moment. Reflecting on my own three children, thinking of the world that they are inheriting, all of the problems and the suffering I hesitated for a moment. Of course this new life was a blessing, but what kind of world were we bringing this life into? A world of suffering and challenge? A hotter planet and a world of pollution and darkness? Then I looked down in my rabbis manual, at a little slip of paper with a quote that I often pull out when I need a heavy dose of hope. The words attributed to Rebbe Nachman of Breslov..
Hayom bo noladetah, Hu hayom bo hechlit ha kodosh baruch hu she haolam eino yechol lehitkayem biladeicha.
“The day you were born is the day God decided the world could not exist without you”.
Fine, biologically, scientifically, the world doesn’t really need us at all. But whether through the miracle of creation, or the millions of years of evolution, we are here, and the only way we can see it, is that the world needs us as much as we need the world. If all of the atoms, the sparks of millenia come together to create the miracle that brought us into this life, then our only choice is to hold onto the belief that yes, we really do matter. We matter and we can create hope.
The former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, Sir Jonathan Sacks, writes:
To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope in a world serially threatened by despair. Every ritual, every mitzvah, every syllable of the Jewish story, every element of Jewish law, is a protest against escapism, resignation or the blind acceptance of fate. Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against the world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet.
If we are not yet shocked into this reality of hope amid despair, the prayers of this day can bring us to that uncomfortable place.
Tonight we stay the Untehaneh tokef prayer:
On Rosh Hashanah it will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur will be sealed – how many will pass from the earth and how many will be created; who will live and who will die; who will die after a long life, and who before their time; who by water and who by fire, who by sword and who by beast, who by famine and who by thirst, who by upheaval…
To those final words of the poem, after we have seen it laid out in front of us how we will all live and die, we are told that Teshuva, Tefillah and Tzedakah, repentance, Prayer and Charity and Justice will avert the divine decree.
Un’taneh tokef reminds us above all that we are fragile, and our world is fragile and now is the time to stand up and to be accountable. For our actions and our words. For our relationships and our families, our community, and cities and country. For our air, for our trash, for the forests, and the food we eat, for the animals and the soil, and the delicate ecosystem which has been shaken beyond repair. IT IS ALL CONNECTED. Kol yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, meaning all of Israel are responsible for each other. But truly all life is responsibility for each other.
Actions have consequences, what we do stays with us, and in some very real way, becomes part of our permanent record. On Yom Kippur we are held accountable.
But Utnehah Tokef also reminds us of something much more hopeful. The same power we have within us that can cause us to destroy, gives us the power to heal. We can make simple changes in our lives that can have a very real effect on the climate crisis. It is good to recycle and bike to work, but when 14-18 percent of greenhouse gases are caused by livestock, animals raised for milk and meat, and when the rainforests are being destroyed to grow crops to feed these animals, our diet needs to change too. It is good to turn the lights off when we leave the room, but we also need to fight the government and help create better social policies for our cities and towns. Drive less, use less, and get factories and businesses to pollute less. Small acts and large ones. To survive we need it all.
We do not lose anything by making these changes, in fact we gain joy and pride in knowing that we are living as partners with creation, treading lightly and bringing Godliness into the world by bringing hope.
But Repentance, Prayer, and Justice annul the severity of the Decree.
There is a wonderful interpretive vision of Unetaneh Tokef by Jack Riemer, which puts this all in perspective:
Let us ask ourselves hard questions
For this is the time for truth.
How much time did we waste
In the year that is now gone?
Did we fill our days with life
Or were they dull and empty?
Was there love inside our home
Or were the affectionate words left unsaid?
Was there a real companionship with our children
Or was there a living together and a growing apart?
Were we a help to our mates
Or did we take them for granted?
How was it with our friends:
Were we there when they needed us or not?
The kind deed: did we perform it or postpone it?
The unnecessary gibe: did we say it or hold it back?
Did we live by false values?
Did we deceive others?
Did we deceive ourselves?
Were we sensitive to the rights and feelings
Of those who worked for us?
Did we acquire only possessions
Or did we acquire new insights as well?
Did we fear what the crowd would say
And keep quiet when we should have spoken out?
Did we mind our own business
Or did we feel the heartbreak of others?
Did we live right,
And if not,
Then have we learned, and will we change?
This year, this Yom Kippur I don’t think we can any longer think that everything in our world is clear and stable. Our own lives as usual are imperfect, and maybe our relationships needs some work, but in the big scheme of fixing this may the easy task in the year ahead.
The world truly is broken, the climate is in a crisis, and the suffering around us on all levels is real and only getting worse. We may feel, as I have at times, that our fate is sealed, that the book of life is closed, that the world is too broken to even look forward with hope. But I am not willing to give up. We need to stand up and we need to resist. We need to fight climate change, just as we need to fight poverty and violence, and we need to fight the brokenness in our own lives, and work to repair with intention all that we can. We can learn to say with strength and with pride that we are true shomrei adamah, guardians of the earth and caretakers of each other. This is a fight for survival, yet even more this is a fight to hold onto hope. We need to all step into this challenge so that we can say with confidence, that yes, the world is better off because we are here.
G’Mar Hatima Tova
