Happy New Year 5784

Rabbi Adam Wright and Cantor Robert Wittner invited me back to Temple Emanu-El in Birmingham, Alabama to address the congregation on Rosh Hashanah, 5784. I am grateful to them. Below is the sermon I delivered to my former community. It is longer than most posts. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed delivering it on the pulpit where I received so much joy! Happy New Year!

Thirty-three years ago, my wife, Judi and I traveled from Los Angeles to Birmingham on our first foray to this foreign country. Not knowing what to expect, we were both a little apprehensive and quite surprised. What a wonderful place! What kind and thoughtful people! David Cohen’s Temple Emanu-El search committee made sure that we met many of the active members of the Jewish community, knowing that the first question we were asking ourselves would have to be answered —are there Jews in Birmingham? Not only would they convince us that there are Jews in Birmingham, but at Temple Emanu-El there exists a special community that we would want to join.

Late one evening a group of us were out for a drink and discussion. JoAnn Myers, nee Hess and eventually Morrison sat next to me. She told me that she had left Birmingham for Israel and then New Hampshire returning home after many years away. She sang in the Temple choir, and from the loft she looked out at the many people who were her parents’ friends, who raised her and her generation of Temple Emanu-El Jews. In a moment of candor, JoAnn said, “I couldn’t believe how old everyone had become.” 

In these thirty-three intervening years, a lot has happened to us. We have lived our lives. We have sustained our community. We have carried on and moved on from where we were thirty-three years ago. I am still Rabbi Jonathan Miller. I have noticed that my hair is beginning to turn gray. I do not have the physical strength I once had. I am upright, thank God, but that hasn’t always been easy. I have welcomed children and grandchildren into my life and buried people whomI have loved and who loved me. You too have seen the passage of generations of family, friends, and stalwarts of this community.

Thirty-three years. Almost a lifetime. 

From the pulpit here, I look out and I see this congregation both as you once were and as you are now. Everything has changed and nothing has changed. I can picture the people who once occupied their place in this sanctuary and know that they are gone. And today I see the people here who are our future. Some people I do not recognize, and that is a good thing! Such is the life of a synagogue. Decades pass. Everything changes and nothing changes as the wheel of time rolls on.

Thirty-three years ago, Judi was pregnant with child number three. Dr. Richard Osband, of blessed memory, tended to Benjamin’s arrival into the world, and the then mustachioed Dr. Robert Levin swung by the delivery room at St. Vincent’s Hospital to give Benjamin his Apgar score. I don’t remember Benjamin’s number, but I do remember, vividly, my elation, the absolute joy and adrenaline rush of those early moments welcoming my son into the world. I shared my joy with my mother—who was always quick and incisive with her wisdom. 

“Mom, this is so wonderful. I am so incredibly happy. Wouldn’t you just love to be thirty-five years old again?” 

My mother quipped, “No Jon, I’ve already done that.” 

So today, as the years pass one by one, as we get older and wiser, I am going to take and expound upon my mother’s wisdom “No Jon, I’ve already done that,” for my Rosh Hashanah text. 

Rosh Hashanah celebrates the New Year and marks the passage of time. It is a time for both reflection and anticipation. Every year we stand at the crossroads between yesterday and tomorrow. I am overcome by the passage of our years. And particularly this Rosh Hashanah eve, coinciding with my 69th birthday tomorrow. What has happened to the years? 

Here is the obvious answer to, “What has happened to the years?” We lived them. I hope we lived them fully with all the peaks and valleys that a full life brings. 

Judi and I have this discussion. Are we old? Not quite. But then again, we’re not really young either. And that’s ok. Old can have negative connotations, which I think is unfair. “Old” conjures up impressions of weakness, uselessness, irrelevance, discardable--past one’s shelf life. So, I won’t use the term “old.” Let’s instead say, “mature.” I am a more mature rabbi, a more mature husband, a more mature father, and a more mature human being. Tonight, I will reflect on the challenges and blessings of advancing maturity. 

But first, let’s give youth its due. 

Our culture celebrates youth. And there is lots to celebrate. Youth. Remember all the firsts. Remember the first day of kindergarten. Remember the first time you attempted to speak a foreign language in junior high school. Remember the first time you read from the Torah. Remember your college acceptance letter. Remember your first day at work, searching out the paper clips, pens, and notepads. Remember your first kiss. Such are the stages of life. When we are young, everything is open to us, and we do things for the first time. Our vista is unlimited. I cannot count the many, many number of times I have heard Bar Mitzvah parents tell their daughters and sons, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” Being young implies unlimited potential.

And then life interferes, and we realize our limitations. 

The culture outside the sanctuary tells us that the happiest times in our lives should be when we are young. The internet ads were once for dating apps. Now it is for prostate health. Used to be for home improvements, now it is reverse mortgages. Used to be for Bitcoin, now the cyber world tries to entice us with annuities. As the decades roll on, our limitless future feels more limited.

To be honest, at this stage of life, I miss the unlimited world of boundless possibilities. In my youth I experienced so many new things, exciting things. I will never again experience my first backpacking trip through Europe on an interrail pass. I will never again experience the first time I prayed in Jerusalem or the first time I delivered a sermon as a rabbi, or my first bite of sushi. I will never again experience the first time I had the thrill of holding my first child for the first time, or when I clicked on the computer and immediately threw away my electric typewriter.

But maturity has its satisfactions which escape the young. And tonight, I will share some of them with you. If you haven’t done so already, everyone here will someday find themselves celebrating their 69th birthday, that is if you are lucky. And, well, maturity is satisfying in a way that many young people don’t understand.

Studies show that, on balance, old people are happier in the moment than young people. I know that sounds crazy. But it's true. It would be great to run a half marathon again, ski the black diamonds, stay awake after eleven o’clock, and digest greasy food. Those days are gone. But still, having been there, would you choose to go back to be thirty-five again? Not me, I did that.

Certainly, it would be a kick to go back and visit ourselves in our once upon a time years. What I wouldn’t give to sit at my childhood’s shabbes table with my parents and grandparents. But to stay there? Nah. I have already with love let them go. This present hour of life is where I can find happiness. 

This new stage of life is simpler. If we are fortunate, we have less to worry about than when we were building our lives thirty-three years ago. Hopefully, we have enough money in the bank, so we don’t have to be concerned with our daily needs. We do not have to shake the couch cushions to come up with a downpayment for a house. The student loans, done. Swim lessons, done. Orthodontist bills, done. 

Few of us need to worry about career and professional achievements.

Did we make good decisions?

I labored in the vineyard of Temple Emanu-El and Birmingham and found my life very satisfying. Now others are tending to those tasks, and I watch with delight and admiration as they accept the challenges, plow their own fields, and reap the rewards of their dedication and hard work. I miss these labors. I really do. But if given the choice to go back to the farm, I would decline. I did that. I do not wish to be thirty-five again. We mature folks are now blessed with enough time to discover ourselves on our own terms.

It is liberating to no longer feel compelled to compete with other people to prove how smart or accomplished we are.

In our mature years, we can find greater delight in the present hours of life. The past is behind us. Nu? What can we do about the dumb or insensitive things we have said or done? Not much. What can we do about our failings or less than noble moments? We cannot go back in time. Instead, my friends, take pride in what you have learned about life and living. You are wiser today than you were yesterday or thirty-three years ago.

When I was young, I thought I knew so much, that I was smart and that the world would conform to my will. And frankly, well, I did know a lot. I was not stupid. But surprise! The world did not conform to my will. I had to learn to bend to forces over which I had little control. Learning to bend is the satisfaction of maturity which young people find hard to appreciate.

As for the future, well, ours is thirty-three years less long than it was when we boarded our flight to Birmingham. Our final sunset comes a little closer year by year. That’s ok. Now is the time for us to savor every pleasure, take life more slowly and try to experience gratitude more fully. Don’t waste your energy wishing for a future without an end. Wish instead for an end that reassures you that your life was worthwhile.

The studies show that for many people, the mature years provide greater personal happiness and contentment, more than the restlessness and urgencies of youth. I am married 48 years. In my younger years, I enjoyed the passions of young marriage. And as Judi and I have grown together, we still feel passionately for each other. But we appreciate more the kindnesses we give and receive. A mature marriage comes to a place of acceptance. In a mature marriage, couples learn to live better with who they are and to take delight in the love they share.

Good marriages are not about ameliorating differences. Instead, a good marriage is about acceptance and wisdom. Recalling Jackie Gleason’s character in the 1950s sitcom, the Honeymooners, at some point, even Ralph Kramden realizes that he can never send Alice to the moon. And how lonely it would be to be alone on earth while the love of his life is orbiting in outer space! Eventually, that time will come for most every couple. The blessings of being together, not the annoyances but the blessings, these are what the honeymooners learn to keep their love going and growing over the decades.

It is a joy to raise children and an equal joy to step back and watch them build their own lives. We launched them. Good for us. Now they make their own trajectory through life, and we can cheer from the sidelines. Being a fan in the stands is a whole lot easier than playing the game on the gridiron. I am grateful that parenting is no longer a contact sport.

A theme of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy is remembering. We pray for God to remember us in the book of life. We pray for God to remember the merits of generations who came before us. We pray for God to remember our children and grandchildren, our friends and neighbors and watch over them this year. And we pray for God to kindly forget our sins and our foibles. If God remembers every thought and action—oy! But if God will also remember that we are imperfect, well then we can get by. 

Here is another blessing that comes with maturity. Mature people tend to remember things in the past with a soft patina. Our memories are gentler. Studies show that in this stage of life, we are less likely to hold on to grudges and remember the sour things that made life sometimes unbearable in younger years. The once major slights and slings and arrows—well they don’t count for very much anymore.

What is the pleasure of a grudge?

As we mature, the lucky ones among us learn to live with our wounds, but not be defined by them. I am not sure how we do this, but we do. When we think of the people who have wronged us in the past, and when we realize that we are still ok, the sharpness and bitterness of past slights can fade away. I cannot understand why we nurture the depth of grievance in our political and social discourse with each other.

Remembering is good. But remembering is only good when we remember the things that ennoble us and bring us together. When remembering fosters empathy and compassion, what a blessing! When remembering fosters bitterness and division, well—what good comes of that? Political forces around the world benefit from fanning the embers of passionate resentment. But on a personal level, our resentments do not benefit us if we cannot move on from the people who have hurt us. We still have life to live.

This is the New Year, 5784. It’s incredible to be in this sanctuary together with each other in the presence of the holy.  Our relationship with God should be a maturing relationship. It is not filled with the hot-headed emotions of youth. Our Torah, that youthful manifesto of the relationship between God and Israel describes a passionate and jealous God who in some verses carries us as on the wings of eagles and at other times flares His nostrils and waxes hot in His desire to destroy us for our slights and stupidity. And the Israelites too find everything to complain about. Despite the manna that fell from heaven, those forty years in the desert were no picnic. Forty years on the way anywhere is enough to kill the joy in any relationship.

But that was a long time ago. That was a time when God and Israel were just getting to know each other. That was a time when we were primed for disappointment or for exaltation. Within just a few chapters in the book of Exodus, we read of both the redemption at the Red Sea and the building of the Golden Calf. And we, the children of Israel and God too, we have had the time to kind of work things out, to mature, to grow from the passions of a budding relationship and a new covenant to a place and time, well—we're all back again for the New Year.

The same God. The same children of Israel. The same fears. Many of the same sins. But time has passed between us. A year. A decade. Thirty-three years. A lifetime. Lifetimes upon lifetimes. Now we can be in each other’s presence on Rosh Hashanah with a gentleness and a kindness and an understanding that God and Israel could not have when we were just starting out together.

“It’s 5784. We’re back.” 

“I know,” says God.

“It’s still me back here. I tried. I really did.” 

“I know,” God says. “I know, and I am happy to be with you on this New Year, again. Happy to be with you, even when . . .well, happy to be with you. Children of Israel, I am happy to be with you.” 

Let me end my message with a joke. 

A young rabbi is making her rounds at the senior home. “Tell me.” She looks down at her notecard, “Mrs. Schwartz, tell me about your life.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t believe it rabbi. I have had a very good life. I lost Murray a few years back, but I have wonderful children and grandchildren. I am feeling pretty good for an eighty-eight-year-old.” 

“That is so wonderful, Mrs. Schwartz. You should live thirty-two more years to the age of one hundred and twenty ad meah v’esrim like Moses, our teacher.” 

She knocks on the next door, glances down at the notecard. “Mr. Goldberg, I am the new rabbi here and I want to meet you. Tell me about your life.” 

“I have had a good life. At one time I wrote for the newspaper. I have traveled and met many important people. And rabbi, I am ninety-four years old.” 

“That is fabulous,” said the rabbi. “You should live twenty-six more years, biz hundert undt tvantzik, to 120 and be strong like Moses our teacher.” 

The next door. Knock knock. “Mrs. Levi, how nice to meet you. Tell me about your life.” 

“Oh rabbi, I have seen so much change. So many things. Ah, where to begin? And you wouldn’t believe it, but tomorrow is my birthday. I will be one hundred and twenty years old.” 

The rabbi interrupts and says, “Mrs. Levi, have a nice day!” 

My friends, this is my wish for you on this New Year, 5784. Live to 120 in good health like Moses, our teacher. And even if you do not get to 120, as few of us will, enjoy where you are now. Don’t look back. You already did that part of your life. And don’t even look ahead too much. After all, who here knows what tomorrow will bring? Instead, this is my counsel, the counsel of a mature rabbi who loves you a whole lot. Enjoy this moment and the moments to come and the moments upon which a good life is built.

Have a nice day!

Have good days.

Live now, look ahead and be a blessing. 

Shanah Tovah Tikateivu, May you each be inscribed in the Book of Life with every blessing that you can enjoy at every stage of your life.

Amen