A Sermon for Yom Kippur Day 5766/2005

 Good Yom tov.  I am pleased to speak to you today.  When I learned the theme of Kehilla’s High Holy  Days was “Teach us to number our days so that we can obtain a heart of wisdom,” I felt I had something to offer.  I wanted to share my spiritual journey of learning to appreciate my life and days.

 I would like to begin with a piece I wrote many years ago. This piece is representative of how I felt about my life at that time. The piece I wrote in 1994 is called:

Hey G-d, We Have to Talk

Hey G-d,

 I've  returned, for a while. Been dead, out of the body, two weeks. Now we have to talk, or whatever we call communicating, up here. I want to know why I was sent to live in that body in that life. I have been a nurturing, creative spirit for a long, long time. Before leaving, I was instructed to offer those down on earth as much as I could. I did so, but couldn't I have had a more functional home-shell, to perform my tasks from?

 Do You know how dilapidated that house was? It was the pits! The body couldn't even take care of itself, and it seemed to slowly worsen with age. If nobody helped me take care of it, it would die within a few days. I kept finding more work to be done, more I had to offer. There just wasn't the time to look for a new place to move.

 It's all right that the body wasn't beautiful, but why did You (or who ever is in charge of those details) plant me in one that didn't even work? Didn't You know it would make my tasks harder to accomplish? I had to work much more slowly.  Each time I met another person, or group of people, I had to prove myself before I could continue doing what I was supposed to be doing. As You must know, most people who see bodies like the one I was in, think those home-shells have no beings inside.  (To top it all off, You took away my life-long, best friend when I was only in my thirties.) Oh why did You make my existence so difficult?

 WAIT a minute, Ms. Job or whatever your name is, if this is a conversation, the Almighty gets a chance to respond. First of all, the dilapidated body you were in, is not My fault. It was a fluke of nature to be born that way, but I couldn't resist using your body as an opportunity to teach My many lessons. Granted these are teachings I repeat over and over again. Luckily humans are slow-learners, or I would be out of a job.

 Let me guess, G-d, You wanted to teach that precious things come in all sorts of packages, and to take care of anything which seems to be in need because it may have or be a special gift. I heard those sentimental lessons so many times down on earth.

 Well yes, and I also wanted to teach you that you could do your work from any home-shell, and to be more conscious, slow and diligent about your work. Of course maybe this is all bunk, and you just got a raw deal -- you decide.

 But, first tell Me, who ever said the body you were in wasn't beautiful?

 
That was a time when I did not appreciate my existence.  I was in my early thirties.  I had been through a divorce.  My best friend had just died of AIDS.  I was beginning to experience the unique, early aging effects cerebral palsy.  It was not a very enjoyable time. 

 After my friend died, everything slowly began to change.  I realized that my friend’s life force  was no longer present in the world.  His was a life of social action, rebellion  and kindness. He  was no  longer alive. God could no longer work through him to affect the world at large. This was not true of me – or any other living person. I could still be live a purposeful life. Each day,  each personal interaction could have value There was much work I could do even though, no, especially because I had a disability. I wanted to live in such a way that would bring honor to my friend’s memory.   I began to feel a new sense of gratitude for being alive.  But it was not only being alive, I was grateful for living in my disabled body.  I had hated my disability for many years. 

 I was grateful for being disabled even though my disability slowed me down and made it more difficult to communicate.  My disability gave my life a sense of meaning and purpose.  I am certain I would not have met so many caring and generous people—teachers, therapists, attendants friend, had I not been disabled.  My disability quickly gave me the understanding that justice was needed. 

 I grew up in an upper middle class family, which sadly had no social consciousness.  When I was eleven, I was moved to a home for children with disabilities.  I met children who were from diverse social and ethnic backgrounds.  I soon learned that all the young residents weren’t always treated fairly.  I almost noticed that the nurses’ assistants performed more intense physical labor than the registered nurses, doctors and administrators but were compensated far less. The lesson that people are not always treated fairly would have been more difficult to learn without this unique experience.  In my mid teens I decided that I wanted to live independently so I would not .live in an institution all my life. I studied to become a counselor so I could help people, particularly disabled people. 

 Though I did not become certified because of fear that no one would hire me, I interned at the Berkeley Creative Living Center, a program which serves those with chronic mental illness.  I continued to volunteer there for nine years.  To my surprise some of the clients felt a close connection to me.  They seemed to feel akin to me because they thought I had suffered—I had been a social outcast, similar to themselves. 

 To be honest, I am uncertain of the meaning of Psalms 90:12, a “Teach us to treasure our days so that we may obtain a heart of wisdom”.  Some translations translate the Hebrew word for treasure, as count.  This makes a little more sense but it’s still confusing. How can  counting or treasuring  our days give us a heart of wisdom?  The Psalmist may have meant, Teach us make our days worthy of being treasured or counted.   Again, this is a bit more clear.  The last verse of this psalm offers another clue.  Psalms 90:17  can be translated, “May God be gracious to us, May God establish the work of our hands, and may the work of our hands establish God”.   If we are truly working to create a better, more holy world, when we are doing the work we are meant to do, then our days will count and we will develop a heart of wisdom.  It will not matter what kind of shape our bodies are in. 

Rashi, a medieval commentator said the Shechinah, the indwelling Presence of God was with the children of Israel in their exile, I think this means God is with us too, in our difficult times.. Still we must treasure each day, make each day count.

The work of my life has been related to disability rights..  Sometimes The work of our lives isclear, God gives it to us.God gave me this work, on my silver platter, when I was born disabled.  For many years I have served on Board of Easy Does It Disability Assistance.  This program provides emergency attendant care and transportation to Berkeley residents with disabilities.  It is meaningful and holy work.  Currently I’m also writing my Master’s thesis in Jewish Studies.  My thesis concerns the Talmudic references to people who are deaf-mute.I hope to make a valuable contribution to how Jewish Studies views disability issues.  I pray this work helps move us forward to a more enlightened time. 

 I pray that we all find valuable, constructive ways to spend our days, and that God grants us wisdom and guides our choices in how we work, and as importantly, how we live our lives. May we all have an easy fast.