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YOM KIPPUR YIZKOR SERMON 5762
OCTOBER 27, 2001
RABBI MITCHELL WOHLBERG
I know you're going to find this hard to believe, but there are some
people here in Baltimore who think that I speak with an accent! They don't
actually tell me that, but I can sense it when I see the little smile that
breaks out on their face when I say words like, "chawklit" (chocolate). I
don't know what their problem is! But this I do know: the birthplace of my
"perceived" accent has been the focus of the world's attention every since
that fateful September 11th day. New York is "ground zero." While all
America - all the world - has been horrified by the destruction of the twin
towers of the World Trade Center, no place is the devastation more keenly
felt than in New York itself where so many lives have been lost, so many
businesses crushed, so many people affected. And yet despite the
disruptions in transportation, communication and in most every area of life,
the whole country stands in amazement at the ability of New Yorkers to cope
and carry on. That ability comes as no surprise to me. New Yorkers have
always been able to cope because they know a word that I want to teach you
this morning; a word that comes from New York, and can best be expressed
with a New York accent. It's a word central for this Day of Atonement. A
word crucial for everyone to know in confronting life and all it's
challenges. A word that runs counter to where many people put their
emphasis these days.
But first, a story and then a few questions. The story: there were
these two elderly people living in Florida. He was a widower and she was a
widow. They had known each other for a number of years. Now, one evening
there was a community supper in the big activity center. These two were at
the same table, across from one another. As the meal went on, he made a few
admiring glances at her and finally gathered up his courage to ask her,
"Will you marry me?" After about six seconds of "careful consideration,"
she answered, "Yes. Yes, I will."
The meal ended and with a few more pleasant exchanges, they went to
their respective places. Next morning, he was troubled. "Did she say
"yes" or did she say "no?" He couldn't remember. Try as he would, he just
could not recall. With trepidation, he went to the phone and called her.
First, he explained to her that he didn't remember as well as he
used to. Then he reviewed the lovely evening past. As he gained a little
more courage, he then inquired of her, "When I asked if you would marry me,
did you say "yes" or did you say "no?"
He was delighted to hear her say, "Why, I said, "Yes, yes I will"
and I meant it with all my heart." Then she continued, "And I am so glad
that you called, because I couldn't remember who had asked me!"
Now, let me ask you a couple of questions. Do you sometimes find
yourself standing before the open refrigerator just staring inside,
wondering what it was you were looking for in the first place? Or have you
ever heard a voice answer the other end of the telephone and you've
forgotten whom you've called? Do you increasingly have trouble remembering
where you put your keys or your glasses? Has any of this happened to you?
Well, if you're under 40, you might not know what I'm talking about. But
just you wait! You'll find out! We have a nice name for this; it's called
having a "senior moment." But it's no joke! When it happens, as it
inevitably does, something inside of us starts to wonder: is this a warning
sign that I'm on my way to having Alzheimer's Disease, and even if not, is
it going to get much worse as I get older?
Preserving our memory has become a major issue in the 21st century;
a multi-billion dollar industry. Bookstores bulge with memory improvement
guides, perhaps with the most interesting the one I saw advertised
entitled, "How You Too Can Develop A Razor Sharp Mind and A Steel Trap
Memory, and Perhaps Even Improve Your Sex Life and Extend Your Days!" All
for $29.95! (I would tell you how to get it, but I forgot where I saw the
advertisement!) Wherever we look, improving your memory is topic A. The
Web is filled with memory sites. Numerous hospitals and private therapists
teach memory courses. Health food stores sell over the counter products to
improve your memory; products like Ginkgo. Taking it may increase the risk
of internal bleeding, but at least you'll remember what caused the major
surgery you're about to undergo!
Certainly, the Jewish tradition understood the importance of
remembering. What better example can I give you than to simply point out
that one of the names for Rosh Hashana is "Yom Ha-Zikaron - the Day of
Remembrance." God remembers. And so must we! What happened on September
11th in the year 2001 - and those who perpetrated such a dastardly act -
must never be forgotten! Judaism teaches us that when we are told in the
Torah, "Zachor et asher assah lecha Amalek . . . lo tishkach - Remember what
Amalek did to you . . . don't forget!" As a nation we are warned to never
forget those who sought our destruction; whether it is the Jewish people's
"Remember Amalek," or the American people's "Remember Pearl Harbor;" or in
our day, remembering September 11th. These memories must be permanently
etched into our consciousness, for as the philosopher George Santanya
taught: "Those who forget the lessons of history are condemned to repeat
them."
And yet, I tell you that there are times in life when forgetting is
absolutely crucial for our well-being; when forgetting is considered a
blessing from God. And nobody knows this better than New Yorkers.
Long before September 11th, living in New York was not easy. It's a
constant challenge. You're packed together like a sardine on the trains,
with people bumping into you. You find yourself, at times, stepping over
people sleeping on the street. You have to encounter panhandlers and
constantly be on the lookout because people don't always curb their dogs.
Your taxi drivers don't speak English. Other drivers think their car is a
Sherman tank. So watch out! If you live in New York it feels as if there
are daily assaults on your personal dignity and divine image. And yet, in
recent years New York has blossomed, the crime rate is down, it's economy is
up! And some of that is the result, in part, of New Yorkers having
developed the ability to confront all of the assaults on their dignity by
echoing one word. The word is spelled: F-U-H-G-E-D-D-A-B-O-U-D-I-T, and
it's pronounced: Forget about it!
Sure there are some things that we must always remember! That's the message
of Rosh Hashana, "Yom Hazikaron," the Day of Remembrance. Amalek, Pearl
Harbor, September 11th - we must always remember. But there are also things
that we must forget about. That's the purpose of Yom Kippur - a day of
forgiveness. A day of reconciliation. This is not a day of dealing with
international conflicts. This is a day of individual healing. This is the
day of dealing with each other, and in dealing with those who are nearest
and dearest to us, the ability to say "FUHGEDDABOUDIT" becomes an absolute
necessity. In dealing with the pain others have caused us "FUHGEDDABOUDIT"
doesn't really mean that one totally forgets, that one must develop amnesia.
What it means is that happiness can only come if one is able to work through
their anger and frustration and put it aside. That one not allow personal
slights and hurts to become the center of their existence, to dominate their
thoughts.
There have been so many heartbreaking stories coming out of the terror
catastrophe of Sept. 11th. I read one in the Washington Post: Candy Glazer
tells how early that morning, her husband had called her from Boston's Logan
Airport to let her know that he had arrived in time to catch his American
Airlines flight - the flight that ended up crashed into the World Trade
Center. Two o'clock in the morning that Tuesday night, dazed and numb, she
dozed off in her bed when her 4 year old son, Nathan, came in and jumped on
his father's side of the bed. She hadn't told him anything yet, but then
she said, "Honey, Daddy's been in an accident." Nathan looked at her and
asked, "What do you mean?" And she said, "Daddy's dead." The boy started
sobbing, "Can't we fix him?" he said. God, do I wish we could. It's too
late for that. But I want to make sure that now that all of us collectively
have confronted the frailty of life, we do everything possible to fix those
relations of ours that are broken, but that can still be fixed. And to do
that, more and more people are going to have to start using this word from
the sidewalks of New York: FUHGEDDABOUDIT. Let me tell you about two of
them whom I recently read had passed through a colleague's office but who
also passed through my office, indeed, most every rabbi's office.
There comes a call from a member. Her husband has died, would I please do
the funeral? I say, sure, but I'd like to first meet with you and your
children - when can we get together? And then there's a long silence on the
other end of the phone, and finally she says, "That's not going to be easy."
I say "Why? Are they out of town?" And she says, "No, they are in town but
they haven't spoken to each other in many years. In fact, I'm embarrassed
to tell you this rabbi, but they are planning to sit shiva in two different
places." "But it's their father," I say. The voice on the other end of the
phone says, "I know, but what can I do? They really despise each other." I
met with the sons separately. Each tells me he intends to sit in different
rows at the funeral and go their separate ways after the service. It's as
if an invisible Mechitsa - a physical divider - has separated these children
from each other for something that was said or done years and years ago.
And then I meet with the divorced mother of an upcoming Bar Mitzvah. She is
in tears of anger when she says to me, "I don't want my ex to have an
aliyah. He doesn't deserve an honor. He hasn't paid the membership dues
for the shul - I have. And he hasn't done right by me all these years, and
he left me . . . I don't want him up there." And she turns to her son and
says, "You don't really want your father up there with you, do you?" And
the boy stares at the floor in my office and then grunts and says, "It
doesn't matter to me. I don't care." He cares! Believe me, he cares!
The famous restaurant on top of the World Trade Center was called, "Windows
On the World." But I have come to see that a rabbi's office is also a
window on the world from which I see so many people who are hurt and
divided, fighting a never ending battle when they would all be so much
better off if they could get themselves to say that one word: FUHGEDABOUDIT!
Yes, I know that you cannot turn back the clock, you cannot reverse the
past, you cannot completely erase from memory. But you can put it aside.
You can let go of it. You can forgive. You can seek reconciliation. And
we must learn to do this in three crucial areas of our lives.
First, on this Day of Atonement when we ask God to forgive us, we
must learn to forgive God. Many of us sit here this morning angry with God,
questioning God. Many more aren't even here this morning because they
cannot believe in God. We speak of God as being just and compassionate and
righteous, but many of us see little justice or compassion in the hurt and
suffering we experience. And it's not just when we collectively witness the
utterly senseless and unexplainable deaths of more than 6000 people in one
tragic moment. It's so many of us who experience ill health, business
reverses, tormenting family problems, the untimely death of a loved one . .
. "Why God?" you ask. And , "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?"
As your rabbi, I tell you: don't blame God. It's not His fault!
Don't blame yourself! It's not your fault! I know that that's not what Pat
Robertson and Rev. Jerry Falwell would tell you. Those two always have the
knack of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. They reached their
pinnacle - or I should say, their low point - when they explained the
terrorist attack on the United States as being God's punishment for "the
gays and the lesbians . . . the ACLU, People For the American Way - all of
whom have tried to secularize America."
Some years ago, there was a powerful Broadway show, "Agnes of God," where a
court appointed psychiatrist reveals to the Mother Superior why she
abandoned her faith. As a young girl, her best friend had just died in a
horrible car accident. The nun, at her Catholic school, explained why it
happened, "She didn't say her morning prayers that day, so God punished
her." Instead of inculcating the desired fear that would produce a life
long devotee of prayer, the "explanation" created revulsion as well as
abhorrence for a God who could be so cruel in response to a little child's
forgetfulness. The playright had the good sense to make the Mother Superior
respond, "What a stupid woman!" And all I can say about Falwell and
Robertson is: "What stupid men!"
Unfortunately, Christians don't have a monopoly on stupidity in
their religious leaders. Let me tell you about some rabbis I spoke of this
year. A couple of months ago, a terrible tragedy took place in Israel when
the Versailles wedding hall in Jerusalem collapsed, causing the death of 23
Israelis, with another 377 injured. It was a horrible tragedy, but let me
tell you what made it even more horrible. It was the fact that the rabbi
who officiated at the wedding that evening, Rabbi Reuven Levy, told a
Jerusalem newspaper that the floor collapsed because mixed dancing was
taking place at the wedding, and mixed dancing is a form of sexual
immorality which is punishable by death. It was a horrible thing to say!
But then another Israeli rabbi said something even more horrible.
The 22 teenagers and young adults who were killed by the suicide bomber at
the Dolphinarium on a Friday night in Tel Aviv - you know why they died? He
said, because they were out partying when they should have been at home
observing the Shabbos.
And as if all this wasn't enough, some weeks later Yitzhak Vaknin, Israel's
Deputy Minister of Labor and Social Affairs, and a member of the
ultra-Orthodox Shas Party, declared that the sex channels now available on
cable television systems in Israel were responsible for the high number of
car crashes that had taken place in June. Now, even I would have to admit
that if you were watching one of these sex channels while you're driving,
that it might lead to a car accident. But this rabbi's idea of cause and
effect defies understanding! The Versailles wedding hall collapsed because
of faulty construction! The 22 people and young adults died because of a
suicide bomber! Road accidents take place because of wreckless drivers!
These are not caused by acts of God, and they are not meant as God's
punishments for our sins. That's not the way the system operates.
The Talmud makes clear the way the system operates in a famous Talmudic
story about a man who sends his son up a ladder to fetch eggs from a bird's
nest. The son climbs up and in so doing, he is fulfilling two positive
commandments from the Torah. He is fulfilling the commandment to honor his
father, and in chasing away the mother bird, he is fulfilling the humane
mitzvah of "shiluach hakan." These are two commandments where the Torah
tells us the reward is length of days. But lo and behold, as this child
climbed down the ladder, he fell and died. The rabbis tried to explain what
went wrong. One says: maybe the story never really happened. Impossible,
says a rabbi - he saw it. Well then, maybe, says another rabbi, this child
was thinking evil thoughts or even idolatrous ones. No, that can't be the
reason because he was on his way to doing a mitzvah and that would have made
him immune from harm. And then along comes Rabbi Eleazar and he gives the
real reason why the child fell. He fell, said Rabbi Eleazar, because it was
a rickety ladder. That's why he fell - it wasn't because of God's
punishing the child for anything he had done. It was a rickety ladder!
So, forgive God for creating a world that stands on a rickety
ladder, a world filled with malignancies and genetic disorders and drunk
drivers and plane crashes and terrorists and so much that is beyond our
ability to prevent or even comprehend.
Let me tell you about one person who understands this and lives by
it. His name is Matthew Jeffers. He is a student in our day school who
spent this entire summer recuperating from surgery on his legs. In a school
of over 1000 students, Matthew stands out because he is a dwarf. This year
I was called to his class to listen to Matthew's presentation about himself.
And this is what he said:
A Little Bit About Dwarfism
When I was one year old, the doctors told my parents that I had a kind of
dwarfism and that I would always be smaller than other people my age.
Dwarfism is a word that is used to describe people whose bones do not grow
at the same rate as others. It might be hard for you to imagine what it is
like being small, so I thought you would like to learn more about it.
There are over 200 types of dwarfism, but I do not fit exactly into
any of these types. I have been told that the way I am happens only once in
100,000 births, so that makes me really special. The most important thing
to remember is to treat me according to my age and not my size. I am just
like the rest of the kids in my class in every other way except I am not as
tall.
Sometimes kids want to pick me up, but I do not like that and it
could be dangerous. Also, people like to pat me on the head and it makes me
feel like I am a furry animal. One of the things I do not like about being
a dwarf is having surgeries. I have already had operations on my legs and I
know that I will need more.
Another thing that bothers me is that sometimes I have a hard time
reaching things that my friends can reach easily. A lot of times people
tease me and it hurts me when they do. Also, people who do not know me
stare at me like I am from outer space. If you have ever been stared at,
you will know it is not very fun and I wish I could say something to them to
make them understand who I really am.
I like to be treated like every other kid - I like to do the same
kinds of things as other kids. I like basketball, soccer, baseball, music,
playing video games and lots of other things just like my friends. This is
the way Hashem made me and I am thankful for so many things. I might be
small, but that doesn't stop me from having a great life.
You know what? In my eyes Matthew is a giant! He has lots to
complain about and could ask lots of questions of God. Instead, he says,
"This is the way Hashem made me and I am thankful for so many things." We
can all learn from him. None of us are spared the challenges; life
certainly is not easy. Let us forgive God for creating an imperfect world.
Let us forgive God for all the unfairness in this world; for the sickness
and the accidents and the fact that other people are born luckier and better
looking and more talented than we are. It isn't fair and I suspect that God
knows that, but we have to learn to forgive Him for creating a world that
stands on a rickety ladder.
Reb Levi Yitzchok of Berditchev used to say that the most meaningful
prayer and dialogue with God he ever heard was when he heard a poor, simple
tailor in his town say the following words in front of the Holy Ark before
Yom Kippur . . . "Dear God, I know that I have sinned in the past year.
There were times when I spoke badly of others. There were times when I did
not fix and mend a suit or dress as well as I could have. There were times
I may have even shortchanged a customer . . . I have sinned. But look at
what you have done in the past year, dear Lord. You have caused such grief.
You have made so many sick. So many became widows and widowers because of
you. So many suffered sleepless nights because of your actions. So, I'll
make a deal with you, God. You forgive me, and I'll forgive you!" Yes, my
friends, on this day as we ask God's forgiveness, let us at the same time
forgive God.
The second area of our lives where the ability to forget and forgive
is crucially important is in our relationship with others. So many of us
have been hurt by the actions of others. We're angry and resentful; how
could they do this to me? And we carry this deep hurt and resentment in our
hearts, and in the end hurting no one but ourselves.
To overcome this, the first thing we must do is to make sure that
we, in fact, are not the guilty party. Do you remember the scene in the
movie "Avalon?" There's a Thanksgiving dinner and one of the uncles comes
late and he is the one who traditionally cuts the turkey. They get tired
waiting for him, so someone else finally cuts the turkey. And as soon as he
does, the uncle arrives and says, "You cut the turkey without me?" And from
then on there is only acrimony. Never again does the family sit down to eat
at the same table, never again until death brings them together. But by
then it is too late. At the shiva table, they cry for all the meals they
could have had together before this one . . . and all the years they wasted
just because somebody cut the turkey too soon.
I know lots of families that have uncles like that; once you cut the turkey
before he got there, or once you sat him at the wrong table at a wedding or
Bat Mitzvah. And he was never able to see that no one meant him any harm,
that no one wanted to wrong him; it was just one of those things. But he
just couldn't let go of it. To him, everyone was out to get him, when it
was only that he was the one who was hurting himself because he was unable
to simply say: FUHGEDDABOUDIT!
I told this story to a woman who came to my office to complain about her
daughter-in-law. She can't warm up to her, she doesn't feel that they have
much of a relationship, and she says, "Rabbi, it all started from the very
beginning when she wouldn't call me 'mom." I know lots of sons-in-laws and
daughters-in-law who can't get themselves to call their in-laws "mom" or
"dad." I know a lot of mothers-in-law and fathers-in-law who are called by
their children-in-law "Hi," or "How are you?" The fact of the matter is,
"mom" and "dad" are emotionally packed words, and it's hard for some people
to say them to anyone who is not their real mother and father. But does it
really matter what they call you? What matters is that they call! Our
children have enough pressures on their marriages without us imposing our
own hang-ups. What do you think I told the woman who complained that her
daughter-in-law wouldn't call her "mom?" I told her one word:
FUHGEDDABOUDIT!
And so many would be better off if they could utter this word, not just in
terms of their sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, but in terms of their own
flesh and blood - their own sons and daughters. I know parents who have cut
themselves off from their own children. These are parents who are still
angry years later over what their children did or did not do that they
should have or shouldn't have done. And I know parents that are on talking
terms with their children, but it's a strained relationship. The parents
feel the children don't call enough, or they don't visit enough . . . or
some other slight. And when it's related to me it is always followed by the
words, "And after all I've done for him . . ." FUHGEDDABOUDIT! If you do
for your children because you expect some payback, I tell you right now: you
are going to be disappointed. How does it go? One parent can take care of
10 children, but 10 children can't take care of one parent. That's the way
it is! We do right for our children because it's the right thing to do!
And because we hope they will learn to do it for their children, not for us!
The parent who complains "after all I did for him, after I sat up nights
with him, after I ordered my entire existence around him . . . and now he
does this - or doesn't do that" - is doomed to disappointment. For no
person who demands love and loyalty and who says, "after all I did for you"
can ever get enough love and loyalty to satisfy him. And the child of such
a parent is often doomed to disaster, for no one can carry within himself
the burden of being made to feel forever guilty or selfish if he does not
pay back enough for all that has been done for him. Forgive your children
for not living up to your expectations of them.
I felt sorry this year when I read about the troubles President Bush was
having with his twin daughters. You remember the curse our parents showered
on us when we were aggravating them? You remember what they used to say?
"I hope you have one just like you." Well, it seems like President Bush has
two! But you know what? Our children are not perfect and neither are we.
Our children are no saints, but let us not blame them for all that might be
missing in our relationship. We have to look at ourselves as well and make
sure we're not part of the problem, that we're not the guilty party.
I read a cute story on the Internet: David invited his mother over
for dinner. During the course of the meal, his mother couldn't help but
notice how pretty David's roommate was. She had long been suspicious of a
relationship between the two, and this had only made her more curious. Over
the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to
wonder if there was more between David and his roommate than met the eye.
Reading his mom's thoughts, David volunteered, "I know what you must be
thinking, but I assure you Rachel and I are just roommates."
About a week later, Rachel came to David saying, "Ever since your
mother came to dinner, I've been unable to find those beautiful silver
candlesticks. You don't suppose she took them, do you?" Well, I doubt it,"
he responds, "But I'll write her, just to be sure." So he sat down and
wrote:
Dear Mother, I'm not saying that you did take the candlesticks from
my apartment, but I'm not saying that you did not take the candlesticks.
But the fact remains that they have been missing ever since you were here
for dinner. Love David.
Several days later, David received mail from his mother which read:
Dear Son, I'm not saying that you do sleep with Rachel, and I'm not saying
that you do not sleep with Rachel. But the fact remains that if she was
sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the candlesticks by now!
Love, Mom.
Yes, a lot of times before we accuse others of doing us wrong, we
should make sure that we are not the wrongdoers. And if after looking in
your heart, you are sure that it is, in fact, the other who has hurt you,
scorned you and disappointed you - it is then that I would tell you:
FUHGADDABOUDIT! Get over it and go on, forgiving the one who has hurt you.
Not every business partnership can last forever, and not every friendship
was meant to be. Not every relationship is cast in stone and can last until
eternity. But why not forgive, forget and go on.
So, I guess by now you know the one word I told that Bar Mitzvah
mother in my office who didn't want her ex-husband to have an aliyah. And
when I told her that word, she says to me, something to the effect that "He
walked out on me. I've had to work like a dog to support my family. I'm
left with little time for the kids and little money for them to have any
fun. And you want me to forget about it? You want me to forgive him for
what he did to us?" And I said to her words I read in a book by Rabbi
Harold Kushner: " I want you to forgive him, not for what he did to you.
Not to approve of what he did, not to condone it, not to excuse it. I want
you to forgive him as a way of saying that he has no right to live inside
your head anymore than he has a right to live inside your house. A guy who
would be that thoughtless and selfish does not deserve the power to mess up
your head and dominate your thoughts, and does not deserve the power to
define you as a rejected woman. But that's the power you are giving him!
He doesn't deserve it!"
Forgiveness doesn't mean pretending everything is fine when you feel
it isn't. FUHGEDDABOUDIT doesn't mean it never happened. Forgive and
forget have nothing to do with deserving!
As someone once pointed out: "The single most important lesson to learn
about forgiveness is this: FORGIVENESS IS FOR THE FORGIVER, NOT THE
FORGIVEN." In the act of forgiving another, we free ourselves from the
debilitating effects of chronic anger and resentment. Forgive, not because
the person who has hurt you deserves to be forgiven. Maybe he does and
maybe he doesn't! But that is not the issue! The person who has hurt you
does not deserve the right to continue to hurt you. It's not good for the
liver - in both senses of the word!
This is why the cardinal rule of forgiveness is: No matter what
someone else has done to you, the only person hurt by your anger and
resentment is you. Life is too short, too precious to waste by simply
giving it away to someone who hurt you. FUHGEDDABOUDIT! And if I tell this
to a spouse about someone they've divorced, how much more so is it necessary
to say this word to our husbands and wives to whom we are still married.
In August, I officiated at the wedding of a lovely bride and groom
from our synagogue. They had asked, and I had agreed, that during the
ceremony they wanted to say a few words to each other; and they did. And in
front of some 200 family and friends they addressed each other. And it was
really beautiful. Each of them had tears in their eyes as they spoke. And
they spoke with such love, with such happiness that they had each other for
the rest of their lives. I've officiated at hundreds of weddings but for
some reason this really moved me. So much so, that I found it necessary to
stop the ceremony and say these words to everyone who was assembled there:
"My friends I want us pause at this time. All of you who are sitting out
there who have husbands and wives - I want you to reflect on the beautiful
words and feelings this bride and groom just expressed toward each other.
And I want to remind you: there was a time all of you felt that way about
each other as well." Yes, we all start out feeling that way, but as time
goes by in our lives, our memory causes us some real problems. You see,
doctors and scientists have shown by research that people's memory has a
tendency of being stronger in remembering bad things that have happened, and
weaker in remembering the good things. As time goes by, in most every
marriage, there are inevitably those bad memories that keep piling up of
hurtful words, of disappointments, of anger and anguish. And then, any time
and every time something goes wrong, it's those memories that come to the
fore and are used as daggers to stab into each other's hearts. That's no
way to live! No one can live well with another person if they carry around
with them at all times that kind of baggage, ready to dump it on their
partner at every opportunity. How much better off we would all be if we
could just learn to say that word: FUHGEDDABOUDIT!
So I guess you know by now the word I told those two brothers who
were going to sit in separate rows at their father's funeral because of some
misunderstanding they had years earlier. FUHGEDDABOUDIT! You're saying
good-bye to your father. Do you think he wants to hear it from separate
rows? Do you think that's the way he wants to leave this world?
I know a man who lived a long, full life. He wasn't very wealthy but he
left three successful sons. And in his will, he divided his estate equally
to the three of them. But he put a certain amount of money aside for them
to use in a specific way. This is what he wrote in his will: Every year on
the day of my Yahrzeit, if you will come to shul and say kaddish for me . .
. that would be nice. If you give charity in my memory . . . that would be
okay. But what would be most important for me is if every year on my
Yahrzeit, you use some of this money for the three of you to get together to
go out for lunch. Knowing that you are together would be the greatest honor
you can ever pay me.
So I tell you, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, parents and
children . . . if you're on the outs with each other, in these moments
before Yizkor, honor those who preceded you by forgiving each other.
And there is one more area in our lives - perhaps the most important
area - where we must learn to forgive and forget. And that's in dealing
with ourselves. The fact of the matter is, oftentimes our greatest hurts
and bitterest disappointments are self-inflicted. You remember that song
from some years ago: "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of
all?" That's true, you know. But many of us just aren't able to do that.
Much has been written these past two weeks about "survivor's guilt."
Amidst the joy and exhilaration expressed by those who were fortunate enough
to have survived the attack on the Pentagon and World Trade Center, there is
also a feeling amongst many of these survivors of guilt. "Why did I survive
and others die?" "Why didn't I help others out?" "I didn't deserve to
survive." While it has been noted that these feelings are common among
survivors of the Holocaust and of earthquakes and natural disasters and war
and terrorism from the window of my office I've seen that these feelings are
also common amongst survivors of the natural assaults that life inevitably
brings. Whether it be the death of a loved one, the breakup of a marriage,
business reversals, family conflicts, or even amongst successful people . .
. there are a lot of people who are never satisfied with themselves, who are
always trying to live up to the expectations of others, and no matter what
these people have done or haven't done, they are always haunted by a sense
of their own shortcomings. Says Dennis Shulman, a New York psychoanalyst,
"From outside these people look anything but fragile. But inside they feel
hollow and empty."
I see a lot of people who are like this; on the outside they are
strong and successful, but on the inside they feel hollow and empty; never
able to forgive themselves for not living up to their expectations of
themselves or what others expected of them . . . always looking back on
their failures and flaws. And let me tell you who some of those people are.
They're the person you're living with! There are a lot of American homes
where the husband thinks he's married to a woman - a strong willed,
independent, career or public woman - when, in reality, he's married to a
little girl who has her fears of insecurity and inadequacies, who
desperately needs some emotional understanding and sensitivity from her
husband. And there are lots of homes with wives who think they are married
to a man - a real macho man . . . rugged, know-it-all, high pressured
business man - who is really a little boy who worries if anybody really
cares about what he does and who he is. And who desperately needs some
hugging, some words of reassurance, some "yes, tattelah, everything's going
to be alright." We all, at times, feel inadequate and insecure. How can we
not? We live in an age that has been described by one social analyst as the
age of "unreasonable expectations." We are taught and implored to expect so
much of ourselves that it's almost inevitable that we're going to fall on
our faces, ending up thinking little of ourselves. One wrong move, one
wrong turn, one wrong decision, one wrong step . . . and our confidence is
shattered, our self image diminished. All because we can't forgive
ourselves and just say: FUHGADDABOUDIT!
God did not create a world of angels; just human beings with human
foibles. All of us have made our mistakes. All of us have our regrets -
something we so wish we could un-do. All of us have our dark moments which
shame us. We should learn from them and correct them. But we must not let
them haunt us! At some point, we have to FUHGEDDABOUDIT and move on. Don't
let the past warp your future.
I know in these moments before Yizkor many of you carry the guilt
expressed in the words "I should have . . . I could have . . . If only I
would have. I should have come to visit more. I could have called more.
If only I would have realized." That all might be so, but what purpose does
it serve feeling that way now? FUHGEDDABOUDIT. Let it go! Now is as good
a time as any to forgive yourself if you were not the perfect child to your
parents. And now is as good a time as any to forgive our parents if they
were not the perfect mother and father to us.
You know, I go to the cemetery often. I go to the cemetery together
with a family, I say the prayers and I say a few kind words and the family
removes the veil that covers the grave, and recites the kaddish. And then
when the ceremony is over the members of the family dutifully gather a few
stones and put them on the tombstone. And I can see on their faces that the
stones that they will carry home from the cemetery are much heavier than the
stones that they will leave behind. I can see that the stones they have
placed on the tombstone are pebbles, but the ones they are taking home with
them are rocks - rocks composed of bitterness, of betrayal and of broken
dreams. These are people who are still arguing with their parents, still
hungering and longing for their approval. In some cases, they are still
looking for approval from parents who have been dead now for 20 or even 30
years. I see a daughter standing there still hoping, still waiting, to see
her mother smile and say to her, "You're a good girl." I see a son standing
there craning his ear, hoping against hope to finally hear the words he has
waited so long to hear, "I'm proud of you, you did well."
I stand there and I see these people weighed down with anger,
burdened with resentment at parents whose expectations were monumental, but
whose affection and whose approval was so limited. I see these people who
have endured a lifetime of emotional depravation, who are starved for the
sound of six words, "I love you . . . whatever you do."
Some of us are angry with parents who are still alive; unable to
forgive them for doing something that hurt us. I meet with widows and
widowers who are planning to get married. I ask how many people are going
to be at the wedding. And often when I ask that question, there is a
silence in the room. Finally, one of them tells me, with considerable
embarrassment, that his or her children aren't coming to the wedding. They
tell me that the children are boycotting the wedding because they don't
approve of Daddy or Mommy remarrying so soon after the death of their
parent. "So soon" may be one year or two years or ten years . . . it
doesn't matter. For these children, for a parent to remarry is an act of
betrayal. And for them to attend the wedding is an act of disloyalty. And
so they refuse to come, and by their absence they cast a shadow over the joy
of the event.
Forgive your parents for being mortal! Maybe someday you'll
understand they meant no disrespect to your late mother or father. They
loved them too! But maybe someday you'll understand what it means to have
lonely days and lonely nights and to want companionship.
Yes, some of us are fortunate enough to someday discover that our
parents were not so bad - not in what they did for themselves and not in
what they did for us. As the old folk saying has it: We are all old too
soon and smart too late.
And even if we are convinced, and properly so, that our parents are the
cause of some of our problems to this day, FUHGEDDABOUDIT! They - like us -
did the best they could under the circumstances. For the worst criminals,
there is a statute of limitations . . . aren't our parents entitled to some
forgiveness?
Let's make this the purpose for this day of atonement, this day of
reconciliation, not just for those who are gone, but for those people who
are part of our lives and are still with us. Lets do it while we can!
Mitch Albon, author of the book, "Tuesdays With Morrie," writes: I
watched my old college professor, Morrie Schwartz, who was dying from ALS,
break into tears when he told me of an old friend with whom he had lost
touch. Once they had been so close. But a silly little argument had split
them apart. "I found out last year," Morrie said, "that this friend died of
cancer." He began to weep openly. "I never had the chance to make it up to
him. I never had the chance to say 'I'm sorry.' Why did I let that stupid
argument separate us for all these years?" I watched Morrie cry. He could
no longer move his arms or legs, he was weeks away from death, but he wept
not for his weakened health, but for the missed opportunity. He wept for
the days, weeks and years that he could have spent in loving companionship
with a friend, but instead lost to stubbornness. "If there's anyone you
care about that you're fighting with now," Morrie told me, "let it go. Say
you were wrong - even if you think you're right. Because I promise you,
when you get to this point in your life . . ." He nodded to his dying body
. . . "You won't care who was right or wrong. You'll only want to savor
every minute you had with them."
I thought of Morrie's words while reading and crying through an
article that appeared in the Sunday New York Times on the weekend after the
terror attack on our country. The article was entitled, "Last Words." It
was a collection of the last words expressed by some of those who died on
Sept. 11th. As you know, many of those on the hijacked airliners and many
of those in their offices at the Pentagon and World Trade Center, knowing
that they were about to die, spent their final moments on their cell phones
or at their computers sending emails with their last words. In these
moments before Yizkor we should remember their words:
- The words of 32 year old Stuart Meltzer, who told his wife,
"Honey, something terrible is happening. I don't think I'm gonna make it.
I love you. Take care of the children."
- The words of Kenneth Van Auken, from the 102nd floor of the
World Trade Center, who called home and left these words on the answering
machine to his wife, "I love you. I'm in the World Trade Center and the
building was hit by something. I don't know if I'm going to get out, but I
love you very much. I hope I'll see you later. Bye."
- The words of Mark Bingham from United Airlines Flight 93,
who called his mother and said, "I love you, I love you, I love you."
- The words of 38year old Brian Sweeney, a passenger on Flight
175 who left a message for his wife Julie on their answering machine, "Hey,
Jules. It's Brian. I'm on a plane and it's hijacked and it doesn't look
good. I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I hope to see you
again. If I don't, please have fun in life and live your life the best you
can. Know that I love you and no matter what, I'll see you again."
- The words of 28 year old Veronica Bowers, whose mother
recalled the conversation in these words, "She called me and said, 'Mommy,
the building is on fire. There's smoke coming from the walls. I can't
breathe.' The last thing she said was, 'I love you, Mommy. Goodbye."
- And then there are the words of Jeremy Glick, one of the
heroes who helped bring down United Flight 93 in the fields of Pennsylvania.
His wife described their last conversation in these words, "We said 'I love
you' a thousand times, over and over and over again. And it just brought so
much peace to us. He said, 'I love Emma' who is our daughter, and to take
care of her. And then he said . . . 'whatever decisions you make in your
life, I need you to be happy and I will respect any decisions that you
make.' His wife added, "I think that gives me the most comfort."
As painful as they are, I repeat these words to you because I want you to go
home tonight and call your loved ones and tell them the same words that all
these people spoke as their "last words." Because who knows? They just
might be our last words! Who knows? Tuesday's New York Times told the
story of a woman who keeps replaying in her mind the argument she had with
her husband on the morning of Sept. 11th. It was a silly spat over where
they would meet that evening. Her husband left in a huff without kissing
her or saying "goodbye." Within hours he was buried in the rubble of the
World Trade Center! This world does stand on a very rickety ladder. Every
conversation should be treated as our last words. They should be filled
with words of love and words of gratitude and words of encouragement and
words of understanding. And these words have to be spoken not only to those
who are nearest and dearest to us. They also have to be spoken to those who
are distant from us, to those with whom we are on the "outs." Remember the
words of Morrie: "If there's anyone you care about that you're fighting with
now, let it go. Say you were wrong, even if you think you are right.
Because I promise you, when you get to this point in your life . . . you
won't care who was right or wrong."
So yes, whether in relation to God, others, or ourselves, let us
speak the words that need to be spoken while there is still time. As Rabbi
Kushner put it: Speak the words of forgiveness, of reconciliation, and
accept the fact that in return you might not hear the words you need to hear
because the person at the other end of the conversation just doesn't get it
- and never will! And that would be too bad. But we can't control what
other people will do. We can only control what we do.
I'm so sorry for four year old Nathan Glazer, who lost his father on that
flight from Boston. I'm sorry your daddy's dead . . . and we can't fix him!
But we can fix our relationships with those who are gone. You remember the
words from "Tuesdays with Morrie:" "Death ends a life, it doesn't end a
relationship." The last words we spoke with our parents and others who are
gone have not really been spoken yet. That's what Yizkor is all about. It
provides us with the opportunity for one last phone call; one last
opportunity to communicate with those who have been taken from us.
In these moments of Yizkor our challenge is to spell out our
appreciation to them, to speak the words now that we may not have been able
to speak then. To thank them where they deserve to be thanked and to
forgive them where they need to be forgiven, even as we would like to be
thanked when we deserve it and forgiven when we ache for forgiveness. Speak
the words that need to be said. For every one of us the words will be
different, the memories will be different, but the stories will be similar -
bonds of love, bonds of gratitude, tears of understanding that maybe we
weren't capable of years ago, but we've learned to shed since.
If we can meet our challenge concerning the people closest to us,
the living and the dead, indeed, in terms of ourselves; if we can heal old
wounds and forgive old hurts then we will in fact become new people: more
open, more loving, more confident, as we step forward into this New Year.
Amen.
© copyright 2001 by Rabbi Mitchell Wohlberg. All rights reserved.
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