A Holy Congregation
Yom
Kippur Morning Sermon
Rabbi
Anthony D. Holz
The Talmudic word for community is Tzibbur. It is derived from the Hebrew root, meaning “to assemble, to gather together.” No community comes together naturally. It requires sustained effort and much work. And at times it requires argument and debate, even disagreement.
It is not because of fate or destiny that we have come together as a Kahal Kadosh, a sacred community. It is because of hard work. As we proceed into the future, it is vital that we do not take our community for granted. We must strengthen the bonds that hold us together as a tzibbur. We seek to build and strengthen a community in which we and all those around us are nourished.
An ancient story found in the Talmud explores some of the issues that arise when a diverse group of people come together to be a community. As we review this story, let us do so not from the perspective of Orthodox Jews who believe that we possess the truth God revealed at Mt. Sinai, but as Reform Jews who believe that we are all fellow seekers, that there is no monopoly of truth, and that all our decisions are fallible – they might be wrong.
So let us turn to the ancient Talmudic story. The early rabbis who lived some 1900 years ago did not always agree. In particular, one apparently minor topic really divided them. The topic was the Oven of Aknai. The question that they examined was: whether this particular oven was kosher or not kosher? Rabbi Eliezer son of Hyrcanus, considered the greatest scholar of his time, declared that the oven was kosher. But his fellow rabbis decided that the oven was not kosher. Rabbi Eliezer repeatedly would not accept the decision of the majority, insisting that he alone was right. But the other rabbis did not agree.
Rabbi Eliezer became very angry and said: “If I am right, let this carob tree prove it.” Miraculously, the carob tree involved was uprooted from its place and moved more than a hundred and fifty feet away. The other rabbis did not accept Eliezer’s proof saying: “You can’t prove anything from a carob tree.”
Eliezer then argued: “If I am right let this stream of water prove it.” At which, the stream of water defied gravity and flowed upwards. The other rabbis replied: “You can’t prove anything from a stream of water.”
Rabbi Eliezer then proposed: “If I am right, let the walls of this hall where we are studying, prove it.” At this, the walls began to fall in. Another leading rabbi, Joshua son of Chanina, stood up and rebuked the walls saying: “When scholars are having an argument, you have no business interfering and taking sides.” So the walls stopped falling.
In exasperation, Eliezer now cried out: “If I am right, let the heavens prove it.” A voice from heaven (a Bat Kol) called out: “Why do the rabbis argue with Eliezer, seeing that he is always right?” At this, Rabbi Joshua stood up and quoted from today’s Torah reading from Deuteronomy, saying that truth is not in the heavens. (Deuteronomy 30: 12)
In other words, once we have Torah, God gave us minds to think and the ability to discover truth for ourselves. Miracles are only a distraction.
But, again and again, Eliezer would not accept the majority position. Eventually the rabbis felt that they had no choice but to excommunicate and ostracize him, to kick him out of the community.
Sometime afterwards, we are told that Rabbi Nathan happened to meet Elijah the prophet, and asked him: “What did God do at the time of all the controversy, when Rabbi Joshua rebuked God’s own heavenly messenger by quoting the Torah and saying, “It is not in the heavens.” Elijah answered: “At that time, God laughed and said: “My children have triumphed over me.”
In this remarkable story, the Talmudic perspective is clear: Whatever is within our human reasoning and understanding is for us to decide. Yes, we have Torah, the teachings and traditions of the past and present. Yet God gave us each other so that we together might write our own Torah, our own ways of living together as a Jewish community.
This story carries messages that we should carefully consider. How many families are torn apart by arguments over small things like ovens or perhaps jewelry (mom wanted me to have that ring), or china, or invitation lists (you have to invite so and so to the wedding)? How many congregations are torn apart by arguments over small things like curtains? And how many families and communities could be held together by getting beyond the small arguments and remembering the good of the larger whole? How one argues is as important as what one argues. Rabbi Eliezer lost his place in the community because he had the chutzpah to claim that God was on his side. Ultimately, the story tells us, God is on the side of the larger community, not the self-righteous individual.
As the sage Hillel phrased it two thousand years ago, “Do not separate yourself from the community.” Do not withdraw from the community, from the group. This is true for us as families, as a community and for us as American citizens. We may disagree with one another; we may protest and debate all kinds of decisions, large and small. But, whether in Talmudic times or in a modern Reform Jewish congregation, our central focus is not always being right, but on always working on our relationships with one another. For Jews, debate and community must go hand in hand for truth to emerge.
We may remind ourselves of changes which have occurred in Reform Judaism. Examples include the use of musical instruments in our worship services, readings and sermons in English, equal participation of men and women, accepting children as Jewish when their father is the only Jewish parent, welcoming people who are gay and lesbian. We have done this not because these changes come from God, but because they have fitted in with our contemporary ways of thinking, and by discussion and debate we have arrived at some consensus.
As a Reform Jewish community we know that, because we are all fallible, our community can only exist in an atmosphere of live and let live. And, again because we are fallible, any controversy regarding shared communal practice can only be decided by a fallible majority. We do not engage in excommunication. Individuals have a right to personal beliefs and values that differ. When we are in agreement, it is very good. But ours is a community in which it is O. K. to disagree. But in a community where we strive to live and let live it is not O.K. to be disagreeable. Civility matters.
As the Rabbi of Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim, I make no claims to be a Rabbi Eliezer, I am well aware of my own fallibility. When I speak to you, you may like what I say or dislike my views. Debate them as you would any ideas that are seriously presented. That is what makes us a community. The danger always is that in our search for truth, we trample on those we love and those who love us. Let us by all means argue about matters that can make a difference in our congregation and in the world. For instance, are we doing enough to help those in need, here or elsewhere? But, as we care deeply about our family and our community, let us let go of little things.
When we are members of a community and when we strengthen that community, every joy is heightened and every sadness lessened. We Jews have endured and sometimes flourished because we have often succeeded in being a nurturing community. The secret that will enable us to continue to move forward as a holy congregation under all circumstances and stresses is that this is a community we can call home. Amen.
(This sermon is partly derived from “For the sake of heaven: The lines of community” by Rabbi Stephen Heneson Moskowitz, from The American Rabbi, High Holy Days, 2006 – 5767, pages 70 – 78.