Yom Kippur 5765 (2004):

Yom Kippur is over four thousand years old.  Imagine this scene.  Moses had recently returned from his second trip up Mt Sinai with a brand new set of tablets inscribed with the 10 Commandments.  Why did he need a second set?  He had broken the originals when he returned from his first trip up the mountain to discover that the Israelites were worshipping the Golden Calf.  The revelation at Sinai was so profound that the people were unprepared to process their experience.

Moses and God debated the appropriate response to this transgression and it was decided that if the people would truly repent, God would give them a second chance.  On the first of Elul, Moses ascended the mountain for a second set of tablets.  In his absence the people fasted from sunrise to sunset.  Moses returned to the people on the 10th of Tishrei.  He found that the people really had repented and decreed that the 10th of Tishrei would be a Day of Atonement for all generations.

When I first heard this story as a child, I always wondered, “What ever happened to that first set of broken tablets”?  Weren’t they also holy?   I knew that the second intact set was carried in the mishkan, the holy tent of meeting, but did they just leave the first set lying on the ground?  This somehow didn’t seem right.

What I learned many years later, is that the rabbinic commentators asked the same question. According to legend, the Israelites proceeded to gather together the broken fragments of the tablets. Realizing their error and what had been lost in the shattering of the tablets, they mourned and repented.  As we know, they spent the next eight days examining their actions and earning divine forgiveness.  This period of healing culminated on Yom Kippur. 

The legend continues to explain that the Israelites carried the two sets of tablets-the broken and the whole- with them for the rest of their journey in the wilderness.  In the Midrash, the rabbis tell us that both sets of tablets were taken into the Land and kept side by side in the holy Temple in Jerusalem. 

What Jewish values can we learn from this story?  The myth of the two sets of tablets contains some deep truths about human nature, Divine love and the Jewish understanding of healing our relationships and ourselves.

Why did we need two sets of tablets?  If the revelation at Sinai was so miraculous, shouldn’t we have gotten it?

Estelle Frankel, a Jewish teacher and psychotherapist in the Bay Area discusses this story in her book, Sacred Therapy.  She suggests that the story of the two tablets is teaching us that mistakes and failures are a natural part of life.  From her perspective, failure is a gateway through which we must pass so that we may receive our greatest blessings.  By worshipping the Golden Calf, and the destruction of the first set of tablets, we were able to experience the greatness of what we had lost.  Most of you can probably remember a time in your life when through a mistake you made, you lost a great gift.  It is only in losing this gift that we come to fully appreciate its preciousness. 

The first set of tablets was given as an act of Divine grace, but to receive the second set, we had work to do.  As we learn in the text, unlike the original tablets, Moses was instructed to carve the second set himself.  It took human effort, a partnership with the divine, to create a lasting covenant.  The first revelation at Sinai, given from grace, was not sustainable.  As Estelle Frankel teaches “Ultimately the Israelites had to do the inner work of repentance to strengthen their own vessels.”  Then they would be ready to provide God with the materials for the giving of the second set of commandments.

This is true of our own lives as well.  When we accept the reality of our own broken places, we can go about the process of building and healing that we need to embrace the fullness of life.  It is our unique gift as human beings to be able to learn from our mistakes.  We have the emotional intelligence that helps us find the strength to change our behavior and make different choices in the future. 

On Yom Kippur we are encouraged to open ourselves to truth.  We are asked to experience this day as if it were our last.  Our fasting and our prayers are the tools we use to get beyond our physical selves and explore our lives as honestly as we are able.  Just as our ancestors gathered the shattered fragments of stone, we too must examine our broken pieces. 

On Erev Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi Beth spoke about the mystical story of creation.  She explained that creation began with a shattering that was the result of an imbalance between the force of divine emanation and the finite vessels that were to receive this light.  Due to this cosmic breakage, the world is in a constant state of striving towards repair, tikkun.  This is also true of the birth process.  For new life to be born, the unity of mother and child must be broken.  And this continues throughout our whole lives.  As we move from one stage to the next, something is always lost.  Nothing new is created without a shift in the preexisting order.  The breaking of the vessels in the mystical creation story is an inevitable part of creating a physical universe, just like failure is an inevitable part of living.  

Brokenness and wholeness is experienced on many levels.  What was is like for our ancestors to carry both sets of tablets through our journeys?  Moses probably carried the whole sets at the front of the trek.  Maybe people took turns carrying the pieces, with older folks and young children holding the lighter fragments.  The important message is that we carried both.  These two sets of tablets are a metaphor for everything. We see them in the mystical story of creation, the story of community and the text of each and every one of our lives. 

The Ba’al Shem Tov, the Master of the Great Name, taught many about this principle.  He was a mystic, teacher and healer who founded the spiritual renewal movement of Hassidism, which swept through Eastern Europe in the 1700’s.  The Ba’al Shem Tov explained that every descent is for the sake of ascent-yerida l’tzorech aliyah.  While this message sounds quite simple it is very profound.  To be able to grow and experience the fullness of life we must be willing to embrace the most difficult pain.  Suffering and struggle are often the catalyst for transformation and growth.  At times, we may feel that everything is falling apart and our lives seem too difficult to bear.  Yet as a result of accepting and working with our challenge we may come to find the inner strength and resilience that gives us the hope to live fully engaged.  Having experienced the depths of brokenness, we feel gratitude for the preciousness of life.

Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, a 19th century Chasidic master, taught that there is nothing more whole than a broken heart.  He was telling us that brokenness is often the only way back to wholeness.  At the moment when things seem to be falling apart or ending, we may become more open to new choices that are just waiting for our recognition.  It is so hard for us to see this in the moment of our pain, but when we look back upon our lives we can discover that when one door closes, another one opens.

Most of us have spent at least some time running from our difficult experiences.  It is challenging for us to sit with what truly hurts us.  We try to avoid pain by watching television, working too hard, eating too much…But paradoxically, we can only access our real potential by being willing to stay in the struggle long enough to find our way. 

There is another lens through which to see this process.  To be able to feel desire for life, we cannot close ourselves off to the pain of living.  Reb Nachman of Breslov, another Hasidic master, wrote, “A human being is like an onion: strip away layer after layer and all that remains is tears.”  But according to Reb Nachman, we must be courageous in our efforts to find the true core of our being.

According to Hasidic thought, even in pain there is a holy spark of the Divine, but it is concealed in many garments.  When we are able to experience this spark, the garment is removed and the pain can then dissipate. The healing or tikkun is on a personal level- tikkun nefashot, the healing of the soul.  When we find a way to connect with God, despite our pain, or sense of betrayal, we uncover the spark that is hidden.  But we know that pain usually causes us to feel alienated from God.  We may welcome God as healer, but we usually struggle to find God when we suffer.  It is the realization that pain is part of living that can help us experience God in the face of our challenges.

The Zohar, one of the primary kabbalistic texts, says, “There is no greater light than the light which emerges out of the greatest darkness.”

On Rosh Hashanah day Rabbi Rick shared his personal struggles over last year.  In watching your faces, it was clear how moved we all were in hearing about his struggle.  The very sharing of his story created a feeling of intimacy and closeness that is still with us in this room.  He opened our hearts and helped us grow closer as a community.

Last week I had the opportunity to talk with some women from Hadassah.  They had asked me to speak about the month of Elul and the High Holidays.  Naturally, we spoke about how we prepare for Yom Kippur.  I asked them what they had learned from this past year and if they were satisfied with the way they were living their lives.  Some of the women spoke about the losses they had experienced, about the brokenness in their lives and how they had grown in strength and independence.  Through the pain of a loved one’s failed health or death, they had discovered resources and wholeness in themselves that hadn’t previously been explored. 

So what is wholeness in Judaism?  The Hebrew word for wholeness is shleimut.  This is also the same root for the word shalom, peace.  Shleimut is about being complete-integrating all of ourselves. 

The story of the giving of the 10 c’s alludes to this message.  In describing the people’s reaction to the revelation, the Torah reads, “And all the people could see the voices and the flames.”  It is hard to imagine how the people could see the voices but more importantly, the rabbis ask why the word voice appears in the plural. Didn’t God speak with one voice?  One of the answers to this question is that each and every person received revelation in their own particular way.  We stood together as a community, but our experience and understanding was unique to our own souls.  Just as we sit together today in community, we were all together at the time of revelation.  This is what human beings do, we seek community.  Even in our differences.  Even when things feel like they are broken.

Wholeness doesn’t mean that we all have the same experience.  The beauty of this world is reflected in the magnificence of its diversity.  The miraculous pattern of creation is in the wisdom found in each particular aspect of the world.  Every living presence has it’s own function and when we stop to notice the wonder of how it all works together, we are overwhelmed by the beauty of difference. 

We all struggle to live our lives according to moral principles.  Our lives aren’t easy, but this is exactly why we are qualified for this mission.  It is our imperfection that makes us perfect for this job.  Our broken places provide us with the understanding of what it means to be human.

And some of us may carry with us resentments about mistakes that have been made in the past.  Having been in this community for over 24 years, I know that I have made mistakes.  Some of you have been witness to these mistakes.  I have tried to do the work of repair required to move forward and heal from failure.  It is only in being able to talk openly that we can build trust and clear away the hurt that lingers.  Just as our ancestors carried those broken tablets, the past isn’t forgotten, but we create a new set of tablets that are even stronger than the first. 

A member of our synagogue told me this story.  She was running in her neighborhood the other day and before she knew it, a strange woman was running next to her.  She hadn’t heard her approach.  The stranger asked her for directions.  She told her where she was going and suggested that they continue running together.  The stranger asked her how she had started running.  Our member explained that she took up running after a drunk driver killed one of her family members in an automobile.  After a few moments the stranger told her that her husband had been murdered nine years before.  As they continued running together, they shared the pain of these tragic losses and how they each had been struggling to maintain their lives. They spoke with honestly and courageously about the times when they were overwhelmed with anger and doubt.  They were able to comfort and strengthen each other in ways that were profound.  When the stranger reached her destination, they parted ways and they may never see each other again.  But our member said that she felt like an angel had visited her.  An angel had visited her.  They were angels to each other.  In their willingness to explore the truth of their tragic losses, they blessed each other with their presence.  Our member could have been afraid to tell the truth but her openness allowed them to share the wisdom that could only be gained from having experienced the worst of what life may offer.  Through this holy encounter each of these women were able to mend a few pieces of their broken places.

Religious practice can bring us many gifts.  At times of pain we look for a refuge to help us find peace.  When we celebrate life’s achievements, Judaism provides us with rituals to mark these important occasions.  But ultimately, Judaism blesses us with means for fixing our world and ourselves.  Through coming together on Yom Kippur and exploring our lives, the pain and the joy, the brokenness and the whole we are capable of great transformation.  We continue to carry the shattered fragments and the whole tablets into the future.  We can expand our understanding of Jewish practice by valuing the blessings and the pain together.  As Estelle Frankel teaches, “What if we were able to stop breaking reality into opposing halves; good or bad, black or white, liberal or conservative, us and them?  What if instead we viewed everything- ourselves, our relationships with friends and family, life on earth-as if it were a shattered vessel, splintered into many pieces, and our job were to join the pieces of the whole back together, liberating the sparks of truth and light from each part?”

The story of the broken tablets teaches us that we are able to learn from our failures and pain.  They are the proof that we have lived and loved.  On this Yom Kippur, I bless us with the courage to examine our shattered tablets.  I pray that we use the messages written upon them to learn and grow.  May we all commit to the work of healing and merit the blessings of satisfaction and peace that come from the struggle to wholeness. 

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