Sermon Text:

On Kol Nidre last year, I was sitting in a hospital bed. I had just given birth to my now-one-year-old son Coby, and I was watching Shaaray Tefila services on my laptop with my newborn baby in my arms. 

After a very long labor and difficult delivery, I was determined to have some semblance of normalcy on Erev Yom Kippur, so even though I was falling in and out of sleep during the service, I was just happy to be watching. 

I am a rabbi, after all. 

Over the next 24 hours, I experienced what many of you told me you experienced after having your children. 

Ryan and I walked out of the hospital with a gorgeous, tiny baby in a car seat, completely baffled as to what we were supposed to do next. We drove 10 blocks home in the pouring rain, Coby screaming the entire time, and I felt an overwhelming sense of fear and worry as we brought our newborn into our apartment for the first time. 

This was just the beginning, and I was not prepared. 

The next few weeks were incredibly challenging. There were sleepless nights, countless dirty diapers, and a screaming baby who couldn’t understand why he wasn’t being fed the moment he felt a pang of hunger. 

We felt fairly incompetent. 

Of course, there were beautiful moments too in those early days. Snuggles on the couch, that sweet new baby smell, and the first time he opened his eyes to look at a book that we were reading to him. 

But the barrage of emotions – pride, exhaustion, love, anxiety, loneliness – was more intense than anything I had ever experienced. I sank into a dark place, and I became worried that I would never be able to get out. 

Amidst that loneliness, I was so deeply moved by the way this community showed up for me in the weeks and months after Coby was born. After I had been your rabbi for only one year, you held my family with more warmth, compassion, and grace than I ever could have expected. 

You wrote me emails so I knew you were thinking of me, you sent us warm meals that you cooked and ordered when we didn’t have the energy to think about feeding ourselves, and you texted and checked in, telling me that everything I was feeling was normal and ok. 

As someone who cares for people for a living, I was initially hesitant to rely on so many others. I didn’t want to be seen as receiving help from the people that I serve, or not strong enough to take care of myself. 

But you taught me that it’s not about image or strength. You taught me what it feels like to be taken care of by my community, and I want to tell you tonight that I am endlessly grateful. 

You all taught me that being part of a sacred community, being part of this Jewish community, means showing up for others and allowing others to show up for us. It is baked into our DNA as Jews. 

And tonight, on Kol Nidre, as we ponder our life’s fragility, and think about the ways we hope to better ourselves in this new year, I want each of us to consider the ways that we can engage in this very holy work – the work of showing up for one another. 

As we read in the news, Americans are lonelier than ever before in our history, with approximately half of US adults experiencing some form of isolation or social disconnection. 

And according to the surgeon general of the United States, the problem has recently risen to the scale of an epidemic. 

Last year, U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy wrote that he only understood the extent of our country’s problem with loneliness when he heard stories from Americans all over the country. 

He said, “People began to tell me they felt isolated, invisible, and insignificant. Even when they couldn’t put their finger on the word ‘lonely,’ time and time again people of all ages and socioeconomic backgrounds, from every corner of the country, would tell me, ‘I have to shoulder all of life’s burdens by myself,’ or ‘if I disappear tomorrow, no one will even notice.’”¹

What about you? 

When you look into the depths of your soul on this Kol Nidre, when have you felt alone? 

When have you felt disconnected from those around you? 

When have you wondered if you could do more to reach out, to bring more love and comfort into the world? 

If you have felt, or feel alone, you are in good company. 

But loneliness poses extreme health risks to us as human beings. According to the Surgeon General’s advisory, “the mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.”² 

Science says that when we are chronically lonely or disconnected from others, we have a higher likelihood of falling into depression or receiving a bad health diagnosis. 

Science shows that when we don’t feel connected to others, whether or not there are people around us, our emotional and physical well-being are at stake. 

And when we do feel connected to others, we have a greater sense of meaning and purpose in our lives, our nervous system is better regulated, and we are more likely to make positive lifestyle choices and engage in healthy behaviors. 

The epidemic of loneliness and social disconnection in our country is a public health crisis. The data make it clear that we are starting to live more isolated lives, and we human beings are not meant to live our lives alone. And thousands of years before social scientists published these findings, our ancestors said the exact same thing. 

At its very core, Judaism is about connection. It is about how we come together in the good and the bad. It is about how we treat one another, our siblings and strangers alike. It is about defining who we are in relation to the larger picture, the larger vision, the larger people. 

In the beginning of the Torah, which we will read again in just a few weeks on Simchat Torah, God creates the world out of an earth that was tohu va’vohu, unformed and void. 

At the end of the first day, God reflects that this new creation is tov, good, and the pattern continues, with God saying that each day is good. 

However, once God creates the first human and sees that this human is alone, God has a different reaction: lo tov he’yot ha’adam levado, it is not good for the human to be alone.”³ In the creation story, the only thing that God deems as “not good” is the loneliness of humankind. 

In one of my favorite Mishnah passages, we read “Don’t separate yourself from the community,”to which the commentary adds, “but rather, share in their troubles.”⁴ 

And tonight, as we stand together on Kol Nidre and confess our shortcomings before God, we say the words of the Ashamnu prayer in the first person plural. 

Ashamnu, we are at fault. 

Bagadnu, we betray. 

Gazalnu, we steal. 

We, personally, might not have committed all of these faults ourselves, but in the words of Rabbi David Teutsch, when we say we, “we affirm the standards of our community together.”⁵ We attest to the fact that we are part of a larger collective, and that our actions impact that collective.  

Our tradition is built around the premise that in order to survive and thrive, in order to be in relationship with God, we must be in relationship and community with others. 

It is not a “nice to have”; it is a “need to have”. 

Yet, even with this ancient wisdom, I have seen so much isolation and loneliness in our own community. 

I see it in the congregant taking care of their spouse who is struggling with chronic health issues. 

I see it in the parent who, for the life of them, cannot get their grown children to speak to them. 

I see it in the congregant who lost a parent, the person who they used to call every day for company and moral support. 

And I also see loneliness in places where we would not expect. 

I see it in the new mother, who has a beautiful child but cannot understand why she feels so sad and alone. 

I see it in the congregant who is getting married, excited for the future but also feeling scared, not knowing who to turn to for support. 

And I see it in the person who has a large and rambunctious family, but can’t get anyone to really, truly listen to them. 

These feelings of loneliness, of isolation, of longing for connection are so common. So many of us have waded through these waters at some point in our lives. Some of us are knee-deep in them right now. 

And yet, I wonder, can we as Jews pull from our ancient traditionand disrupt the narrative that says that human beings must always feel this way? 

While there has been much talk in recent years about the decline of synagogue life around the world, there is one thing that a synagogue, at its best, does better than any other institution. 

A synagogue combats social disconnection by creating a community where people are encouraged, and expected, to show up for one another, during the good days, the bad days, and all the days in between. 

This community, Temple Shaaray Tefila, has been a place of such comfort to so many of you here tonight. 

One person in our community told me that during the COVID pandemic, she and another congregant kept each other company by regularly meeting in her garden for dinner, and attending Zoom programs together. “It was good knowing that someone was nearby with whom we could text and email and walk with,” she told me. “Neither of us ever felt lonely or alone.”

Another member shared how celebrated he felt when his children became B’nei Mitzvah at the synagogue, and how later this community rallied around him when he went through a life-changing loss. 

One congregant said that when they were in the hospital recovering from multiple surgeries, friends from Shaaray Tefila called, checked in, and even visited on a Friday afternoon with a challah to help usher in Shabbat. “This is precisely what being part of sacred community is about,” this person told me, “and it made me feel cared for in a way that is not easy to describe.” 

This feeling of being cared for by the community inspired them to show up years later for someone else who was recovering from surgery, feeling isolated and alone. 

Another person told me how moved and thankful she was when people showed up to a Shabbat morning service just to make a minyan of ten Jews so she could say Kaddish for her mother.

And, as I shared earlier, this community has been a source of comfort for me and my family. 

Of course, so many of you are already deeply engaged and showing up for others. We’re so grateful. You are the foundation of this community, the fabric that weaves its way around us, holding us up and wrapping us in your warm embrace.

And for those who are not engaged, or want to do more, to be more, there are so many options:

You can be a member of the caring committee, making shiva calls to houses of mourning and visits to homebound elders in our community. And when you could use a visit, you can say “yes” when someone calls. 

You can participate in Hineni, a soon-to-be-launched synagogue initiative that will connect congregants trained in being a companion with someone who has recently experienced a death and is grieving. 

You can attend B’nei Mitzvah and baby namings, celebrating the new links in the chain of tradition in our community, and you can say “yes” when someone offers to attend or help you with the celebration. 

You can send meals to new parents who are adjusting to life with a newborn. And offer walks and phone calls when they are ready.

You can introduce yourself to people you don’t recognize, and you can reconnect with old friends in this sanctuary that you have not seen for some time. 

And, this might be the lowest hanging fruit, you can respond to the lifecycle emails that we all get as members of Shaaray Tefila. 

Whether someone is celebrating a new birth or mourning a death, we give you people’s contact information for a reason. Reach out. It will mean the world. 

The work that we do here, as a synagogue community, will not end the loneliness epidemic in our country. But when we show up for one another, and allow others to show up for us, we inherently become more connected and less isolated. Our hearts soften, our capacity for empathy expands, and we bring more meaning and purpose into our lives. 

In this divisive and hostile world, many of us, including myself, are wondering what it means to be Jewish today. Perhaps we have one possible answer in front of us. 

Being Jewish means being part of a community that is obligated to one another, a community that is committed to fighting the societal ills of loneliness and isolation. Our tradition offers us so many examples of how we can do this work and why it is so important. 

One of my favorite stories is about a great teacher named Rabbi Yohanan and his student Rabbi Elazar. 

Rabbi Yohanan was known by all as a healer, and he had also gone through great tragedy in his life after losing multiple children. Because he had gone through such unthinkable loss, he wanted to help people, and he was able to tap into his own depths of grief and heal people whenever he went into their homes. 

However, one time, when Rabbi Yohanan entered the home of his student, Rabbi Elazar and saw him weeping, Yohanan was stumped. 

Trying desperately to cure his tearful student, Yohanan bombarded Elazar with a series of questions.

“Are you crying because you haven’t studied enough Torah? Or because you’re very poor? Are you crying over your children who have died?” 

Once he finished with his line of questioning, Rabbi Yohanan finally gave his student space to respond. 

And in that silence, Rabbi Elazar lifted his eyes to his teacher and explained that he got it all wrong. 

“I’m not crying because of my misfortune,: he said slowly, “but because all of the beauty on this earth is temporary. Even you and I will decompose in the earth one day.”

Rabbi Yohanan was stunned. 

“You’re right,” he said as his eyes welled with tears. For the first time, he sat, and cried alongside his student for the “preciousness and precariousness of life.”⁶

And only then, once Rabbi Yohanan cried with Rabbi Elazar and truly understood his student’s pain, could he take the man’s hand, stand him up, and heal him like the others.⁷

There are two lessons that I think we can learn from this beautiful story. 

The first – that we can be like Rabbi Yohanan. When we wish to show up for others, Sometimes all we need to do is sit and cry together. Sitting with someone and affirming their humanity is healing work. 

When someone is struggling, instead of offering solutions or trying to fix the problem, we can tap into the depths of our own grief. 

In the words of author Brené Brown, we can climb into the hole with the other person and say, “I’ve been here before and I will be with you now as you go through it.”⁸ 

And the second lesson – we can be like Rabbi Elazar. 

It’s not easy to accept support. It goes against society’s expectation that we can, and should, pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. It’s not easy to admit that we feel alone. I know it wasn’t for me. 

But when we invite other people into our lives, for the celebrations and the struggles, we realize that we are not, and we never were, in it alone. 

As we begin this new year, we have the incredible opportunity to recommit ourselves to living Jewishly by opting in to community. 

It is up to us to follow the words of our sages: Kol yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, the people of Israel are obligated to one another. 

Starting within the walls of this synagogue, we have the potential to chip away at the loneliness and disconnection that our entire society is suffering from. 

We have the potential to transform each other’s lives, and make this big city feel just a little bit smaller. 

Whether it’s showing up for someone, or allowing others to show up for you, I hope you will take the leap and say yes with me. 

In this new year, don’t allow yourself to be alone. After all, as God teaches us in the Torah, it’s not good for humans to be alone. 

G’mar Chatimah Tovah. May you be inscribed for good and connection in the book of life. 

1 https://www.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon-general-social-connection-advisory.pdf.

2 Ibid.

3 Genesis 2:18.

4 Bartenura on Pirkei Avot 2:4

5 “Our Sins? They’re Not All Mine!” by Rabbi David Teutsch, PhD. From We Have Sinned, Ed. Lawrence Hoffman, pp. 134-138.

6 The Amen Effect, Rabbi Sharon Brous, 142.

7 BT Brachot 5b

8 Brené Brown on Empathy, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Evwgu369Jw.