Sermon Text:

I don’t know about you, but I’m really good at doom scrolling.

I’m good at trolling through social media and finding all the ways in which the world is imploding.
I see all the bad news, and it’s almost like an addiction.

And it’s also really bad for me–bad for my mental health, bad for my wanting to get out of bed sometimes. I know that there are a lot of difficult things going on in the world for the Jewish people and for humanity in general;

I’m not naive or pollyanish. I know that I need to know what’s going on out there, so that I can try to make sense of it for myself– so I can try to figure out what I, what we can and should do to try to make things just a little better. But every once in a while, I try to do what I’ve heard called “glee freshing,” looking for things that bring me joy in a very challenging time.

A few weeks ago, my friend and colleague Rabbi Evan Schultz posted this on Facebook:

i recently took a DNA test
it revealed that i am
80% memory and
20% hope

I just thought that was beautiful.

We Jews are all about memory and hope; more on that tomorrow from Rabbi Rubin. And, as he often does with his stunning poetry, Rabbi Schultz made me think, made me wonder. If I were to say what I was made of, what ingredients, and in what ratio, what would I say? What combination of elements
make up who I am, at least today? And to what extent have I strayed away from who I am on a DNA level?

And since it is Rosh Hashanah, and the spiritual gates are open, and Judaism provides for us the chance to return to who we are at our best, what is one thing I know I could do better in my life that I might focus on in these days?

Of course, this is not a precise exercise; we are complex creatures, and we don’t always add up neatly and precisely to 100%.

For example, I’d say that I am 100% a father and 100% a partner and 100% Jewish and 100% a Zionist
and 100% a White Sox fan. That’s way more than, you know, 100%.

I know Rabbi Schultz; he, too, in his fullness, is about other things in addition to memory and hope.

But if I were writing a poem like the one he wrote, what would I say?

I might say that in addition to all the other things that I am 100% of, I am 25% Joyful optimist, 19% this too shall pass, 18% German stubbornness, 16%: Carole King lyrics, 10% naivete, 7% Bad Dad Jokes, and 5% “Where did I leave my phone?”

What would you say? What are the essential elements that make you you?

Think about it for a minute. Unlike other moments in life, there is no right or wrong answer here, and no need to be like anyone else. Each of us is made up of a different ratio of positivity and anxiety, jazz and punk and rock and roll, menschiness and contradiction.

But take a moment to think. If you had to say what was essential to your character, what would those things be? If you were writing up the elements of your own sacred story, the mix of things that make you
uniquely you, what would those elements be?

I’m really asking you to think. Because this is the season of reflection. We get this chance to think about who we are, and who we want to be.

We have been given this opportunity to celebrate the better angels of our nature, and to notice the gaps
between who we currently are and who we aspire to be. Judaism offers us this time as a gift. And we get to do the work together which is so much better than trying to do it alone. Judaism offers us this opportunity to change if we want to, if we commit to making a change.

But first must come reflection, transparency with ourselves, honesty that might hurt a little.

So take a moment. Think about the parts of you that you’re proudest of, and the parts of you you wish you could change.

Now, I’m going to invite you to take a risk.

In a moment, I’ll ask you to turn to the person next to you– whether that’s a friend, a family member, or a person you just met when you sat down, and take a moment to share with them a few of the magic ingredients that add up to make the joyous, complicated person that you are.

Now, for just a moment, I want you to think about the combination of factors that helped make you who you are– the good, the bad and the ugly.

Don’t worry– I’m not going to ask you to share this with your neighbor, unless you choose to later on.

Think for a moment about these four questions:

1. Who have been the teachers and mentors who raised you, taught you, and helped form you?

2. What are the joyful moments that helped shape who you are?

3. What are the losses and even traumas that gave you those hard-earned scars on your soul?

And 4. How much of your story do you feel like you’ve written yourself, and how much has been written for you by the people in your life and by your life’s experiences?

Take a moment to think.

Now, take a moment to silently thank the human beings and the journeys you have found yourself on that you are grateful to for helping you write chapters in the sacred story that is your life.

Take a deep breath of appreciation.

Now take a moment, if you can, to let go of some of the anger and resentment towards people who wrote chapters in your life that you wish you could cut out of your story, even though you know that you can’t.

As you strive to release the grip that that anger and resentment has had on your soul, take a deep breath.

And lastly, take a moment to think about the opportunity in front of you, in front of all of us, to make a change in our lives– a small one or a big one– in these next ten days.Take a deep breath for the work in front of us.

Are there new ingredients you want to add this year to the mysterious potion that is you? Are there ratios you’d like to play with in your life in 5785– a little more of this, a little less of that? Are there people who you need more of or less of in your sacred story in the coming year?

There is so much opportunity for individual growth in these days, and also, I know, so much work is required to lean into that opportunity.

I know. We can’t control everything or everyone.

I know. There are choices we can make about how our lives unfold, and also other events and people that write parts of our stories for us.

And, what’s also true and important to remember, I believe, is that we each retain the rights to our own sacred stories, and that, despite the fact that we don’t write every word in our own narratives, we must remember that we are certainly in the writers room; we are the ultimate editors; we have a huge impact on–a tremendous amount of agency in–how our own stories unfold, and how they’re ultimately told by others.

As I contemplated what I might say to you this evening, on the eve of this new year, I thought of the documentary hypothesis.

There are two essential schools of thought about who wrote the Torah. In the traditional understanding,
God wrote the Torah wholesale, or perhaps God told Moses exactly what to write. In either case, this school of thought has the Torah written by one authority, all at once, so that if there appears to be any contradictions, mistakes, or conflicting messages, that’s an “us” problem as readers of the Torah.

If God is the author, there can’t possibly be any contradictions or typos or inconsistencies in the Torah. In this school of thought, with God as the sole author, we are to understand that of course God wouldn’t write an imperfect book, so it’s on us to dig deeper, to see the unchallengeable truths within.

Another school of thought is called the documentary hypothesis, which posits that the Torah was written by different authors– at least four in total– the J author, the E author, the P author, and the D author. The documentary hypothesis says: if there appears to be some bumpy places in the Torah- different versions of the same story, characters acting out of character, even words that look like misspellings, it’s because there were several authors writing the story over hundreds of years.

Now, there is so much to say about these two schools of thought, and all of the gradations and variations and contradictions of each one. That’s for a different night. And if you’re interested, I’d be glad to engage with you about each theory, the pros and cons of each, and so much more.

But for now, I’ll just say that I’m a fan of the latter. I believe that the Torah was written by different people,
probably way more than four, who each had their own sacred story, their own interaction with holiness, and their own understanding of why we’re here on Earth, and what we are meant to be doing while we are. And then someone came along and wove them all together– sometimes seamlessly, sometimes in ragged ways– that can help explain seeming contradictions and inconsistencies in the text.

And for me, those imperfections and inconsistencies result in a book called the Torah that I can actually relate to, because I, too, am imperfect and inconsistent.

And my belief in this theory no doubt shapes how I see my own life– shapes how I see human lives in general. I believe that each of our own personal sacred stories have multiple authors. There are many chapters we write ourselves, and other chapters that, after a fashion,write us.

And leaning into this hypothesis is so helpful and hopeful to me during these days of repentance and return. It helps me know and accept that there are things about me that I have decided to be, and people and factors that formed me perhaps without me even knowing it. It helps me understand why some things I don’t like about myself are easier to change than others.

And, above all, this theory helps me understand that,ultimately, I am the editor of all of these disparate stories, the convener of all of these authors, imperfect as I am, as I believe each of us is. It helps me appreciate that the story of my life that I am editing and compiling is sacred like the Torah with all of its nuances and messiness.

But unlike the Torah, if this theory is right, it means that my story is still being written. It means I can change- if I want to. It means that each of us can write new and different chapters to a certain extent. We can choose which stories will define us, which stories we will feed and which ones we won’t, which stories will be our North Star when we feel lost, and which stories we will choose to notice without letting them strangle us or our progress in life.

And that is my hope for each of us in this season. May we each come to understand something a little more deeply about ourselves and why we each have been the way we have been up until now. And may we each resolve with that knowledge to make changes we know that we can make as the credited authors of our own sacred narratives.

To close, I’ll share a poem I recently wrote entitled,

“My Life is a Documentary Hypothesis.”

I like to think
that I’m spinning my own story.

And to some degree, I am.

I did write the story of my breakfast;

I determined
that I’d have
oatmeal with brown sugar
but no raisins today.

I wrote the story of my clothes today, too;
I chose to wear
the grey slacks
instead of the blue.

In many ways,
I
am the spinner
of this yarn.

But in many ways,
my story is spinning me.¹

You see,
I
am just the J author.

The King
and the Queen
and the Mighty Warrior
in Rebbe Nachman’s tale
also spun threads in my story.

And surely
the Master of Prayer
wrote a piyut or two
into my journey.

And right along with them,
the drunkard
the Frenchman,
the Beautiful Woman.

They added the zest
and the surprise
and the phantasm
to my chronicle.

Closer to home,
the Red of Eschau
born in 1640-

the first person I can trace
on my family tree–

he wrote the epigraph.

Although,
to my mom’s dismay,
he forgot to weave
his red red hair
into my luscious locks.

And my parents
Bonnie and Lester–
they wrote
the author bio.

They’re still writing it
as I
dig the same wells
they dug.

And the E author is
my wife Elyssa-

the benevolent goddess of copyediting
without whom
there is no story worth telling.

And my children
Ari and Lilith-
they wrote the chapters
on patience
on pizza
on blessing
on love
and on
bad dad jokes.

And there’s the R author
Rabbis Wolkow and Dreyfus
and Wolf, and Bob and Schwartz
and Berg, and Chasen, and Caruso, and Limmer
and so many others-

those rabbis
sure can spin a yarn!

If my sermons are too long,
can I blame them?

There’s the O author-
OSRUI summer camp’s thread
is woven almost imperceptibly
into every verse.

Chicago wrote the forward
Madison and London and Jerusalem and Cincinnati
Wrote the praises on the back cover.

Atlanta wrote a chapter.

Mahwah, New Jersey
wrote a few.

New York City
was a twist in the tale;

it snuck up on me;
it is still unfolding
in wild and wonderful ways.

And then
there’s the sun’s story

burned into my skin
the first time I hiked in the Negev–

And there’s the moon, too.

Perhaps my love
of all things space
is no coincidence

as I was conceived
in the days before Neil Armstrong
took one small step;

and I was born in the days
just after
Apollo 13 had a problem.

And there’s a grassy field
filled with yellow flowers
after a long winter rain
in Simi Valley, California–

that chapter was submitted to the editor
just yesterday.

I like to think that I’m spinning my own story.
(delusion arising)

After all,
I thought that
acknowledging all of these authors
and so many more
might leave me-
(aversion arising)

feeling sad,
disappointed,
frustrated

that I wouldn’t be able
to claim the Pulitzer
all by myself-

feeling as I once felt-
like the mystery was gone-

when I first learned
that the Torah itself

was also surely
written into aliveness this way

with many voices
woven into a tapestry.

But then I realized
as I realize now,

that the fact
that so many authors
could come together
to write something so miraculous

was an even greater tale

than I ever
could have spun myself.

The legend is still unfolding

the writer’s table is cacophonous;
everyone has something to say;

Who is this aliveness I am?

My life is a documentary hypothesis.
And so is yours.

Shanah Tovah.

1 With thanks to Daniel C. Dennett, an evolutionary philosopher, in Consciousness Explained, p. 418 (1992)