I'm not an expert in Judaism, but here's what I've learned about the two holy days we honored. Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the Jewish New Year. It's the time when the book of life is supposedly opened. In the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, people are supposed to ask for forgiveness for any hurt they have caused others. To use a much-Christianized phrase, it's a chance to represent from one's sins. It's a chance to apologize, make amends and ask for forgiveness from other people. And to do so deeply meaning it and intending to learn from one's mistakes. You're supposed to ask forgiveness of everyone you know because you never know who you may have unintentionally hurt or "sinned against." My minister addressed how loaded the word "sin" is and defined it like this: sin is when you do not treat all people as though they have inherent worth and dignity. Yom Kippur is the final day of this time and is when the Book of Life is supposedly closed and the people's names in it will be the ones who live through the next year.
This time is an opportunity for contemplation and deep personal reflection. A chance for each individual to strive to grow into a better person. The readings we recited together sparked thoughts of forgiveness - of others and ourselves. I wish I could put them all in this blog, but then no one would probably read it, because it would be incredibly long. As it is, I'm still going to type out a couple of them because I just think they were that incredible. They brought forth the reality that none of us are perfect (see my previous blog for the lesson I needed in this), that we all have the opportunity to try again. What the tradition in the Days of Awe do is give the opportunity for this to be recognized, acted upon, and embraced so that a new year of hope and second tries might be possible. A chance to learn from past mistakes and be intentional in one's effort to move forward.
Here is one of the readings we did, reading it aloud together as a congregation:
Let us acknowledge our faults and our failings together.
For the wrong we have done whether by intention or by mistake.
For the wrong we have done by failing to work for peace.
For the wrong we have done by keeping silent in the face of injustice.
For the wrong we have done by closing our ears to the poor and hungry.
For the wrong we have done by not making time for those who needed us.
For the wrong we have done by withholding our love from those who depend on us.
For the wrong we have done by distorting the truth for our own advantage.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in ourselves what we condemn in others.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in others what we condemn in ourselves.
For the wrong we have done by conforming to fashion and not to conscience.
For the wrong we have done in failing to fulfill the promise which is in us.
For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, help us atone. Teach us to forgive ourselves.
By far, the most emotionally stirring moment of the service for me was the time when we remembered those who have died in this last year. We once again read aloud together. At the end of each "Remember the soul of my beloved..." we paused while people in the congregation said aloud the names of their loved ones who died. For "beloved friends" I said Kim's name, the 26-year-old family friend who died from cancer earlier this year. For "beloved relatives", I said aloud "Rosemary", my aunt who died a year ago in August. Here's the full list of the beloveds that we remembered:
For the wrong we have done whether by intention or by mistake.
For the wrong we have done by failing to work for peace.
For the wrong we have done by keeping silent in the face of injustice.
For the wrong we have done by closing our ears to the poor and hungry.
For the wrong we have done by not making time for those who needed us.
For the wrong we have done by withholding our love from those who depend on us.
For the wrong we have done by distorting the truth for our own advantage.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in ourselves what we condemn in others.
For the wrong we have done by forgiving in others what we condemn in ourselves.
For the wrong we have done by conforming to fashion and not to conscience.
For the wrong we have done in failing to fulfill the promise which is in us.
For all of these, God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, help us atone. Teach us to forgive ourselves.
By far, the most emotionally stirring moment of the service for me was the time when we remembered those who have died in this last year. We once again read aloud together. At the end of each "Remember the soul of my beloved..." we paused while people in the congregation said aloud the names of their loved ones who died. For "beloved friends" I said Kim's name, the 26-year-old family friend who died from cancer earlier this year. For "beloved relatives", I said aloud "Rosemary", my aunt who died a year ago in August. Here's the full list of the beloveds that we remembered:
God, remember forever those dear to me who have gone to their eternal rest...
Remember the soul of my beloved father.
Remember the soul of my beloved mother.
Remember the soul of my beloved sister.
Remember the soul of my beloved brother.
Remember the soul of my beloved husband.
Remember the soul of my beloved wife.
Remember the soul of my beloved partner.
Remember the soul of my beloved daughter.
Remember the soul of my beloved son.
Remember the souls of my beloved friends.
Remember the souls of my beloved relatives.
May they be at one with God, who is life eternal. May the beauty of their lives shine for evermore and may my life always bring honor to their memory.
Remember the soul of my beloved father.
Remember the soul of my beloved mother.
Remember the soul of my beloved sister.
Remember the soul of my beloved brother.
Remember the soul of my beloved husband.
Remember the soul of my beloved wife.
Remember the soul of my beloved partner.
Remember the soul of my beloved daughter.
Remember the soul of my beloved son.
Remember the souls of my beloved friends.
Remember the souls of my beloved relatives.
May they be at one with God, who is life eternal. May the beauty of their lives shine for evermore and may my life always bring honor to their memory.
Following this moment, people were invited to come forward and light a candle for their deceased loved one. Normally, when we light candles for joys and sorrows, we sing together as a congregation in the background. But these candles were offered in sacred silence. I was choked up as I lit my two candles, but I went first to begin the ritual and then calm myself because I had a role in the service immediately following the candle lighting. I took deep breaths and watched the faces of those that came forward.
It's incredible to help facilitate worship services. One of the many reasons I love doing so, is being able to look out into the congregation and seeing the faces of those with whom I am sharing worship. This is even more the case when I watch the faces of those lighting candles. Each person with a story of their own, and, in this case, having experienced a loss. I was caught up in the sacred blessing the opportunity provided. I calmed down and felt prepared to lead the next part of the service.
That is until the final man came up to light a candle. He's a man in our congregation who is at the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He knows enough to realize he's forgetting important things. There are holes in his memory that are holes in his personal identity. He lit his candle and turned to the congregation saying, "This is a candle for everyone I can no longer remember."
I lost it.
In my mind and heart rushed images of and feelings for both of my grandmothers whose minds were/are ravaged by Alzheimer's. And the future fear of my parents facing this dreaded disease. The images of my patients who have also had Alzheimer's swam in my mind. I was trying to choke down sobs as I rose to the pulpit with my minister and attempted to read the next part of the service. I couldn't do it. She took over and I was so grateful. I looked out in the congregation and saw others' tear-filled eyes looking back at me. We shared a beautiful, connecting moment.
The entire service was so special and meaningful. I feel so blessed and so tremendously grateful to be part of services like this. Services that honor other religious traditions that give my own faith meaning. Services with rituals that are spiritual and stir something deep inside me. The service, the readings, the connections, the preciousness of it all touched me to my core.
Today I received an email from my minister. In it, she wrote this, "Thank you for Sunday. It is always a pleasure sharing worship with you."
The feeling is mutual. I feel honored to share worship with all the people at my church. I can't express my gratitude enough. As the traditional Rosh Hashanah greeting says, "L'shana tovah!" which means "For a good year!" Blessings to you all!
It's incredible to help facilitate worship services. One of the many reasons I love doing so, is being able to look out into the congregation and seeing the faces of those with whom I am sharing worship. This is even more the case when I watch the faces of those lighting candles. Each person with a story of their own, and, in this case, having experienced a loss. I was caught up in the sacred blessing the opportunity provided. I calmed down and felt prepared to lead the next part of the service.
That is until the final man came up to light a candle. He's a man in our congregation who is at the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He knows enough to realize he's forgetting important things. There are holes in his memory that are holes in his personal identity. He lit his candle and turned to the congregation saying, "This is a candle for everyone I can no longer remember."
I lost it.
In my mind and heart rushed images of and feelings for both of my grandmothers whose minds were/are ravaged by Alzheimer's. And the future fear of my parents facing this dreaded disease. The images of my patients who have also had Alzheimer's swam in my mind. I was trying to choke down sobs as I rose to the pulpit with my minister and attempted to read the next part of the service. I couldn't do it. She took over and I was so grateful. I looked out in the congregation and saw others' tear-filled eyes looking back at me. We shared a beautiful, connecting moment.
The entire service was so special and meaningful. I feel so blessed and so tremendously grateful to be part of services like this. Services that honor other religious traditions that give my own faith meaning. Services with rituals that are spiritual and stir something deep inside me. The service, the readings, the connections, the preciousness of it all touched me to my core.
Today I received an email from my minister. In it, she wrote this, "Thank you for Sunday. It is always a pleasure sharing worship with you."
The feeling is mutual. I feel honored to share worship with all the people at my church. I can't express my gratitude enough. As the traditional Rosh Hashanah greeting says, "L'shana tovah!" which means "For a good year!" Blessings to you all!
