Open, Broken, Whole Hearts
S’lichot Drash 5771
Rabbi Michael Adam Latz
Shir Tikvah Congregation
24 September 2011
Several years ago, there was an iconic cartoon in The New Yorker
Magazine. It pictured a large wooden boat and upon it were animals of
every variety and species: snakes and hippos, lions, tigers, bears, and
turtles; flamingoes and raccoons, spiders and rhinos and other birds and
reptiles in all their vast array. The cacophony of the animals against the
din of the impending doom of all the earth must have been terrifying.
The cartoon showed a distraught Noah—it was the ark he built at God’s
command, after all—gazing to the cloudy heavens. The ark was sinking, the
bow already submerged into the torrent. The animals stampeded stern
side, which, miraculously, was still above the rising waters.
The caption, presumably from God, was sublime. “I suppose,” the Eternal
One mused, “the woodpeckers were a mistake.”
Sometimes our mistakes are funny.
But sometimes, sometimes, we’ve missed the mark so painfully, that
sinking feeling is more than a cartoon, more than a laugh. Our hearts are
sinking. The pain of being hurt, or hurting others, is numbing and
terrifying.
A disciple asked her Rabbi about a verse of Torah. “The V’ahavta reads:
Asher Anochi mitzavcha hayom al l’vavecha. Place these words, these
mitzvot, upon your heart. Why does Torah tell us to ‘set them (al
l’vavecha) upon your heart, on top of your heart? Why does it not tell us to
place these holy words (bilvavecha) in our hearts?”
The Rabbi answered, “It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we
cannot place holy words inside them. So we place them upon—on top—of
our hearts. And there they stay until one day, our hearts break, and the
words fall in.”
Until one day, our hearts break, and the words fall in.
This is the season to crack open our hearts to the wonder, the agony, the
great mystery of the universe; to embrace the eternal possibility that
tonight, our prayers are ever more authentic, more urgent, more sincere;
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that our call to create a just and moral society where all creation lives in
dignity is Omnipresent.
Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha b'imutz halev—We confess, on Yom Kippur, for
the transgression we committed before You by hardening our hearts...
What are the consequences of closed and hardened and calcified hearts?
Physiologically, we are all aware: heart disease, hardened and blocked
arteries, all leading to pain, heart attacks, and too often, premature death.
Spiritually, we are living with the consequences of hardened hearts:
hardened hearts block our capacity to love, to bear witness to both the
suffering in our midst and the gratitude for all that we have; blocked
hearts reduce our capacity to respond compassionately, generously, and
justly to those most in need; blocked hearts make decisions from fear and
they suffer from a profound courage deficit; they lack vision to repair
broken bridges, mend tormented souls, and rebuild sacred communities.
Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha b'imutz halev—The Vidui, our public confession,
acknowledges the sin we commit by hardening our hearts.
The question tonight that rests upon our hearts—that is dancing,
imperceptibly, ready to dive into our hearts if we would open them—is
whether we have the strength and fortitude to open our hearts, to seek the
forgiveness of our loved ones and our community, and to commit
ourselves to making manifest God’s vision of justice and dignity for
humanity and the earth.
In the days ahead, we will confess and seek forgiveness for hardening our
hearts. Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha b'imutz halev.
Tonight’s ikar, our essential question: Will we open them? Will we open
our hearts?
When Cain murdered Abel, he posed history’s most vicious question: Am I
my brother’s keeper?
For three thousand years, Jews have answered that question. We’ve
responded resoundingly, “YES! YES we are our brothers and our sisters’
keepers!
Torah, Talmud, Halakha, contemporary progressive theology and practice
are united in their prophetic ideal: Yes, we are responsible for one another
and the earth!
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Yes, we must love one another, care for one another, and embrace one
another. To live fully, to make t’shuvah and return again to lives of
wholeness and holiness, we are called in the quiet of this hour to open our
hearts.
Every day, and especially in this season, we are called to take account of
how well we have cared for ourselves and one another in the past year; to
look honestly at whether our hearts are open so that compassion, mercy,
and justice flow like a river toward Eden; to atone when we’ve responded
to suffering with closed hearts and caused others pain; to beg forgiveness
of one another; and to commit our lives to a new path of justice and
holiness.
The question before us tonight: in the twilight hour ere midnight, will we
open our hearts?
God, the Psalmist cries, wants our hearts.
The Kotzker Rebbe taught, “There is nothing more complete than a broken
heart.”
So for those of us whose hearts have calcified in the past year, for those
who have ignored the suffering souls who inhabit our streets and highway
off ramps begging for sustenance with a side of dignity; for those who
willingly or by our complacency placed stumbling blocks before tired and
weary feet; for those who have ignored the poor, the children, the
immigrant, those denied their basic rights, our most vulnerable; for those
whose empathy lay fallow: this, this is the hour to crack open our hearts.
The great Jewish sage Leonard Cohen taught: “There is a crack in
everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
That’s how the light gets in.
In this community, glorious in our array, the possibility of renewal is born
tonight.
S’lichot begins at the approach of midnight.
Adonai, Adonai, El rachum v’chanun, erekh ahpayim v’ram chesed v’emet. Adonai,
Eternal Source of Abundant Love, we believe You—You—are
compassionate and forgiving, just and merciful.
But what of us?
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Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha b'imutz halev—We confess, for the transgression
we committed before You by hardening our hearts...
Are these words intended to only ascend upward, to God?
Or rather, are they intended for us, to cross the aisles of our indifference
toward one another: Imagine them resting upon our hearts, asking us, one
to the other:
Do we act to alleviate suffering and advocate for justice?
Are we forgiving?
When confronted with power or compassion, how do we behave?
Are we Merciful? Gracious? Understanding?
Let the words of s’lichot—of forgiveness and redemption—rest tenderly
upon your heart. And when it cracks open, let these words fall in, and give
you hope and promise to rise up tomorrow, renewed to be God’s partner to
bring harmony and justice to our world.
And then, as the sun sets at Neilah and we make havdalah and extinguish the
candle into the little lake of wine, we might begin a new year with a blessing of
gratitude for open, broken, whole hearts.