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I was watching the Sunday morning preachers this past weekend as I rearranged my apartment. I like listening to people preach. It is great training and often, they have good stuff to say. This weekend's offering from a man selling his inspirational CD, really got me thinking. (No, not about following Jesus but about God, religion and people). His message was something to the effect of "If everyone is thinking alike, then someone isn't thinking" (says George S. Patten Jr. according to Neil's lemonade bottle). And when people aren't thinking then it is likely that there is a whole heck of a lot of room to bring in God.
Almost every day I take the NW from Queens in to the city. Most days, I transfer from the NW to the 4/5 express train. Me along with every one else in the city, it seems. The shiny NW train vomits out throngs of people who ooze their way over to the stairwell and spill, slowly down into the bowels of the station towards the 4/5 and express transport to somewhere on the east side of the city.
And, at the same time, people are inching up from the bowels to the NW to be swallowed whole and whisked away. The stairwell, wide enough for three across but not hundreds of people at a time. Congested at best, constipated at worse, this is never an easy exchange. Everyone thinking the same thing. Where I need to go is really important and I need to get there now!
It's mayhem. Shoving, pushing, shoulder's squared, heads down, war faces on. Feet shuffle forward, elbows stick out to garner a place in this line of sludgy mass to make it from one destination to the next.
Stimulus followed immediately by response. No thinking. Stimulus-must move! Response-Moving!
It's terrible. Anyone who is slow moving is hated collectively by the crowd for making things worse. Backpacks and protruding packages receive many a fierce, dismissive, cruel gaze. Uh, who do YOU think YOU are walking through HERE with THAT!! We fight to be competitors in this rat race.
I imagine, if God were there, God would step back at the top of the stairs and let the old ladies, the weak, the infirm, the tired, the schlepping, the shuffling, the laden, the down trodden go first. God would smile, look others in the eye, greet the faces of fellow travelers with warmth, presence, seeing, awareness.
Patton is right, the Sunday preacher was right...when we all think alike, no one is thinking. If any of us thought for a moment about humanity, compassion, justice, righteousness we could probably learn a lot about God in the transfer.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Holding a Heavy Moment
Part of the HUC senior sermon process involves acquiring a copy of the video from Tracy Neale, Rabbi Altman's assistant, bringing it along with a blank DVD to TJ, our resident tech guy, to make a copy of it, returning the DVD original to Tracy then bringing the copy at a pre-appoined time to Sandra Kazzan, HUC's speach coach, for viewing and reviewing.
I learned of this process through the trial and error that comes from knowing I needed a copy to bring to Sandy but not knowing how exactly to make that happen. I fumbled my way through discerning and engaging in the various steps I have listed above. I emailed Sandy who said to bring s blank to TJ. I went to TJ who said go see Tracy. When I went to see Tracy, she was on the phone. I saw on her desk a pile of DVDs, one which read "senior sermon." After waiting, I signaled to her, is mine in this pile? She nodded, handed me the slim DVD case and mouthed the words "BRING IT BACK..."In my hand, there it was, a DVD which read in dismissive black-Sharpie scrawl "Senior Sermon, Rachael Bregman, 2/2/09"
For whoever wrote that title, this was clearly just one DVD in the sea of senior sermon DVDs. On someone's to-do list it said, archive sermons. A pile on a desk categorized and filed. My sermon just one of many. No big deal, just a thing.
As I held this "thing" in my hand, I felt tingly-cautious, conscientious of its weight...burdened almost. It was heavy. Heavy.
I thought back on the day two weeks ago. My senior sermon was a weighty moment in my life in away that I did not anticipate. The weight of it came less from the venue (although that certainly was a piece) and less from what I said (it was my first justice sermon!) but more from all that has happened since. Standing up and preaching my justice, preaching my values, and announcing my self...well...much follows from it...
Since the sermon, my life has acquired a certain weight. I feel more responsible to the world at large and to my world here at HUC. I have declared who I am and who I aspire to be to a whole lot of people. And now...and now, I cannot just talk the talk and maybe consider walking the walk...I feel the need, the desire, and the weight of responsibility to walk, trot, and run...
I carried the DVD to TJ and put it on his desk to copy, relieved to be free for a moment of its enormity and magnitude.
I learned of this process through the trial and error that comes from knowing I needed a copy to bring to Sandy but not knowing how exactly to make that happen. I fumbled my way through discerning and engaging in the various steps I have listed above. I emailed Sandy who said to bring s blank to TJ. I went to TJ who said go see Tracy. When I went to see Tracy, she was on the phone. I saw on her desk a pile of DVDs, one which read "senior sermon." After waiting, I signaled to her, is mine in this pile? She nodded, handed me the slim DVD case and mouthed the words "BRING IT BACK..."In my hand, there it was, a DVD which read in dismissive black-Sharpie scrawl "Senior Sermon, Rachael Bregman, 2/2/09"
For whoever wrote that title, this was clearly just one DVD in the sea of senior sermon DVDs. On someone's to-do list it said, archive sermons. A pile on a desk categorized and filed. My sermon just one of many. No big deal, just a thing.
As I held this "thing" in my hand, I felt tingly-cautious, conscientious of its weight...burdened almost. It was heavy. Heavy.
I thought back on the day two weeks ago. My senior sermon was a weighty moment in my life in away that I did not anticipate. The weight of it came less from the venue (although that certainly was a piece) and less from what I said (it was my first justice sermon!) but more from all that has happened since. Standing up and preaching my justice, preaching my values, and announcing my self...well...much follows from it...
Since the sermon, my life has acquired a certain weight. I feel more responsible to the world at large and to my world here at HUC. I have declared who I am and who I aspire to be to a whole lot of people. And now...and now, I cannot just talk the talk and maybe consider walking the walk...I feel the need, the desire, and the weight of responsibility to walk, trot, and run...
I carried the DVD to TJ and put it on his desk to copy, relieved to be free for a moment of its enormity and magnitude.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wendell
This is a piece I am working on for an article on prayer. I think tis excerpt is winding up on the cutting room floor, but this experience is dancing around within me and I want to preserve it here as I work through it...
Below street in the Subway station, I see a man, Wendell (the second syllable accented, not the first.) He is black as pitch, tall, broad, solid. I have seen him before in photographs of the homeless. His bulging eyes, the result of his hyperthyroidism, gives him away. I see him, turn away, repulsed, turn back and smile my biggest smile...Hey, I know you! I proclaim. I look him in the eye. I can only bear to stare in to one eye. His eyes straining out of his skull urged on by his hormones' insanity. The white orbs pull the surrounding red, raw, flesh out of the socket. Pulsing white eyes, angry red flesh, midnight black skin. You know me? He smiles a huge smile, blushing, grinning, shy. I explain I have seen his picture and I ask how he is. Aw, you know, doing alright...he looks down at the cardboard sign he holds with scrawling letters explaining his plight. I can only look up in to the one eye. He flips the sign over and a flash of writing catches my attention...what is that? I ask...he demures, does not want to say...my curiosity bests his humility and he explains-Do you know poker? A little I say. He tells me about this one hand he always plays and always loses on. In big letters he has written "do not play this hand!" I spend a lot of time alone he confides in me and sometimes, I need to keep myself busy...writing this down...keeps me sane...I can only imagine what his hell is like with nothing other than feigned poker hands to keep him company and even in those he loses. For a moment I see us standing there, talking like old friends. Laughing, intimate. I wonder how others around us see this. He is monstrous to look at but for a moment, they see me seeing him as normal. Do they think twice? Can they too see the humanity of this beautful man alone in the subway playing poker to keep sane? My train comes, I shake his hand, squeeze it warmly like a hug, wish him well and blessing, step in the train, pull away into darkness, dissolve in to tears. Seeing God is frightening, awesome, painful, wonderful. No wonder the Israelites flitted back away from the Mountain. Sinai can really mess you up.
Below street in the Subway station, I see a man, Wendell (the second syllable accented, not the first.) He is black as pitch, tall, broad, solid. I have seen him before in photographs of the homeless. His bulging eyes, the result of his hyperthyroidism, gives him away. I see him, turn away, repulsed, turn back and smile my biggest smile...Hey, I know you! I proclaim. I look him in the eye. I can only bear to stare in to one eye. His eyes straining out of his skull urged on by his hormones' insanity. The white orbs pull the surrounding red, raw, flesh out of the socket. Pulsing white eyes, angry red flesh, midnight black skin. You know me? He smiles a huge smile, blushing, grinning, shy. I explain I have seen his picture and I ask how he is. Aw, you know, doing alright...he looks down at the cardboard sign he holds with scrawling letters explaining his plight. I can only look up in to the one eye. He flips the sign over and a flash of writing catches my attention...what is that? I ask...he demures, does not want to say...my curiosity bests his humility and he explains-Do you know poker? A little I say. He tells me about this one hand he always plays and always loses on. In big letters he has written "do not play this hand!" I spend a lot of time alone he confides in me and sometimes, I need to keep myself busy...writing this down...keeps me sane...I can only imagine what his hell is like with nothing other than feigned poker hands to keep him company and even in those he loses. For a moment I see us standing there, talking like old friends. Laughing, intimate. I wonder how others around us see this. He is monstrous to look at but for a moment, they see me seeing him as normal. Do they think twice? Can they too see the humanity of this beautful man alone in the subway playing poker to keep sane? My train comes, I shake his hand, squeeze it warmly like a hug, wish him well and blessing, step in the train, pull away into darkness, dissolve in to tears. Seeing God is frightening, awesome, painful, wonderful. No wonder the Israelites flitted back away from the Mountain. Sinai can really mess you up.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Senior Sermon
Below is the text of my Senior Sermon which I delivered at Hebrew Union College on February 2, 2009.
Boker tov
We are sitting here in the chapel at HUC this morning where we are safe and sound. We are protected from the elements by these four walls, from threat by Jose, Rudy and Rick-our guards at the front door. And from the world beyond the front door...what keeps us safe from that? What protects us from the great out there?
This week's parasha, Beshelach, whisks us back through Jewish time when we, the children of Israel, were not as secure as we are right now. Cassi just beautifully read the song of the sea- the collective elation we proclaim when we are rescued from our Egyptian oppressors. A celebration which follows on the heels of a moment of abject terror. Surrounded. Trapped. Terrified. As we were pursued in to the sea by the Egyptians, the mitzrayim. The Hebrew word mitzrayim is built on a root which means either narrows, or boundaries and limitations. In this text, it is as if our very own tzarim, limitations, are closing in right behind us. The word mitzrayim is repeated no less than seven times within five lines of text emphasizing the feeling of terror and
the intensity of the troubles.
The text is clear that the tzarim are not closing in slowly, they are chasing after us! Once the Israelites have left Egypt,
It says God will harden Pharaoh's heart so that he will, “yardaf achareyhem,” and Pharaoh will radaf, pursue or chase after them1. As the Exodus narrative unfolds, this is just what happens. Both in Exodus14:8 and 9 we reads, God took hold of Pharaoh's heart so he would, yirdof acharey bney yisrael, and pursue or chase after the Children of Israel.
How frightened we were as we stood on the shore of the sea. Overwhelmed on the right and left by walls of water, the unknown looming up before us, our own boundaries and limitations chasing after us.
I imagine any 5th year student who is turning in their thesis today is especially familiar with this moment.
In my own life, I have had other moments like this feeling trapped, scared, alone. These moments of my own hardship and heartbreak have powerfully influenced how I see the world and compel me to respond to the distress call of others. A few months ago, I heard such a call... and simply had to answer.
Our weekly hucannounce told of three winter travel opportunities...none which I could not pass up. The 1st, with the URJ to do post-Katrina relief work in New Orleans. The second with Hazon to learn about Jews, food and justice, at the Food Conference in Monterey, CA. And the third with American Jewish World Services to work and study for 10 days with an indigenous NGO. The bi-annual Rabbinic Student Delegation trip takes Rabbinic Students from around the country to one of our world's impoverished nations. I applied to AJWS and was accepted with17 other future Rabbis to RSD 6 traveling to Muchacuxcha, Mexico, a village located to hrs from Cancun in the Yucatan.
Signing on to these three experiences meant I would be missing both reading and finals week. These were like walls of water to the right and to the left; the external facts creating my reality. And the desert ahead of me was, the unknowns of how to finish the semester and thoroughly prepare for this senior sermon?How to recharge during a break with no down time? And... how to face the tzuris or tzarim of knowing the pain of others.
But what was the mitzrayim chasing after me?
If not pursued by the Egyptians or something, I feel certain that the Israelites would have remained enslaved in Egypt and safe from ...the great out-there I would not have gone to Mexico if not pursued by...by what? What made me do this crazy thing, travel everywhere, take this risk and just go? It would have been so easy to stay here and be protected from out there.
When school suggested I not go so I could complete the semester, I had a true moment of clarity. I realized, I just had to go. Entering into this worldcould lead to something tremendous ahead of me..., Perhaps my Promised land was out there somewhere. Like the Israelites, I had to cross into an unknown world lying before me. I was chased by some unknown Mitzrayim behind me.
So off I went and dug right in-literally!.In Muchacuxca the 18 of us rabbinic students spent our mornings building a solidarity-eco-tourism site. We carried dirt,shoveled chickichitas, the Mayan word for pebbles, and unearthed tunichob, huge boulders in order to create a walkable, nature-reserve trail, through a beautiful and rocky wood. We worked along side members of the village to help build this base for a sustainable tourist economy.
The NGO with whom AJWS was working, Hombre Siembre La Terre, Mankind on Earth or HST, not only brings groups like ours to Mexico, but also provides training in markeTable skills to this under educated population. Such as how to build the thatch-roofed palapas withcement floors and electricity that we stayed in. Or how to weave the hammocks or hamoccas we slept in...every night A small tag informed me that mine was made by Esteban Caamal
For a mere $60, I bought what took him a whole month of daily labor to produce.
The villagers who have joined the HST collective are paid to help host visiting groups like our own. We ate all of our meals in members' homes like Juan and Philomena. A small plaster and cement room with a single photograph from nine years ago hanging on their wall. In the middle, there was a narrow wooden-table festively dressed with a bright plastic cloth where four of us ate; Taking over the house three times a day for ten days.
Philomena, the mother of to at age twenty-eight, along with four other women from the village sat in the outdoor kitchen. There, they first prepared r food...and then their own. They supplemented their meals with the vegetables, pasta, and yogurt we did not finish. Their diet consists of corn and beans- the cheapest and easiest crops to grow. However, there is a drought and as of the end of this month, corn will run out. As of March, they will have to purchase corn with funds which are in short supply and high demand.
After every meal, Michael, a Spanish-speaking member of my meal group, and I would bring the dishes back to the kitchen where we would stand next to the open-flame, cook-stove and talk with our care-givers. Philomena would vibrantly, excitedly and rapidly answer anything we asked her. She seemed hungry for our questions, thirsty to share.
There, Michael and I learned how to make fresh, hot tortillas. The kitchen women laughed as we butchered their art form and their language but it was a loving mockery that came as we tried to understand. We tried to discover meal ingredients, the nature of the community and their unique stories.
Like what it meant to them that Tutu, Philomena's three year old nephew does not know how to speak. Or how her mother in law is dying but Juan is has to work so he is unable to go see her, be with her, or say goodbye. That her children play...but in an old refrigerator on their front step or on the slide at the playground...with a ladder-but just a ladder and no incline to slide down. Or that the town has a library...which has exactly 5 books. Or that all children are required to wear uniforms at school...which cost a week's-worth of wages for a family to purchase just one.
When the time came to for us to say goodbye, tears welled up in Philomena. She said, I did not think I would care so much for the people I fed but you, Michael and Raquela... and with that she stopped, too many tears to say more. She had fallen in love with us. Not because we were eating in her home for we certainly more work for her to do. She did not love us for the labor we contributed to her village, for we certainly were not skilled laborers. She loved us because we refused to let her remain unknown to us.
Her life is vulnerable to extreme poverty. There is no economy other than agriculture and the land and weather are not cooperative enough to make that stable. She is a Mayan minority, marginalized not only by her religion, but her removed location, her limited education, and her gender. She loved us because, she became more than just these painful facts of her life, but also the joyous person she is as well. We were present with her in that very narrow place of being pursued by her troubles and we have not left her there. We made sure she is being trained by HST in reliable, marketable skills such as hospitality and handi-craft. And we have taken her with us she has become a part of me and now...and now, she's also a part of you.
But, what gives us chase to venture out beyond our comfortable worlds? What could that chasing mitzrayim be? The 69th psalm2 provides a verse familiar to us from the Passover Haggadah about what might radaf, chase after us. It says, Pour out Your wrath on them; may Your blazing anger overtake them and pursue, them.
After drinking the three rd cup of wine at our Passover Seders celebrating the Exodus from Egypt we are reading about today, we ask for anger to pursue those who do not know God. Immediately, this feels uncomfortable to pray for, but perhaps this is a blessing to bestow and not a curse. Perhaps this can be read in a slightly different way; as a prayer asking that we may all be blessed with an anger that overtakes us. Let that anger pursue us so that we will move beyond our boundaries, and not leave others alone in with their limitations. Let that anger push us to know those who are unknown so they too may find their comfort and security to cherish, like we can.
This is my challenge to each of us today. In the next four weeks, let's all find three things to get angry about and let that anger push each of us to expand our universe of concern. Think of small, easy to do explorations to Shrink the unknown world just a little bit.
For me, I am angry that statistics tell us that many immigrant wage laborers do not have health insurance. I did not know if the Bangladeshi man who owns the local ice cream shop I love is one of them. When I asked him about it, he said that has insurance. He also told me that he works 1four hours a day to support himself. He never gets to go back home to see his family, but he has insurance. When we talked, He appreciated having a moment to be a man, and not merely a ice scream scooper. And now he knows he is a little less alone in worrying about these things when people like me walk in his door.
I am angry that shipping food across the country floods our atmosphere with excess fuel emissions and puts money in the hands of big business at the expense of the local, eco-friendly farmer right down the street. At HUC, at all practica and sermon discussions, we are graciously provided with apples which come from Washington State. As of today we will now be receiving local, sustainable, New York fruit. Our apples now come from Samascott Orchard in Kinderhook, New York via the Union Square Farmer's Market just ten blocks away. They cost exactly the same as our regular red delicious and this farm not only is local and engaging in sustainable practices, but it also is a proud supporter of farm-to-table nutrition education for urban children.
And, I am also angry that our world says it is ok to walk by the hungry, homeless and suffering and not even acknowledge their presence. Think of all the people who have smiled at you today... I imagine how invisible I would feel to go a whole day without anyone smiling or even looking at me, let alone answering me when I call out to them for help when they walk by. So I am committing to smiling. Maybe we can't give enough spare change to save them all but we can donate endlessly to the bank account of their human dignity with just a simple smile
Vayirdaf Mitzrayim acharayhem
May the tzarim, troubles of our lives pursue after each one of us so that we can be angry! May that anger pour out against all the injustices great and small and then push us out the door in to the world of the great out there.
1. (Ex. 14:4)
2. (Ps. 69:25)
Boker tov
We are sitting here in the chapel at HUC this morning where we are safe and sound. We are protected from the elements by these four walls, from threat by Jose, Rudy and Rick-our guards at the front door. And from the world beyond the front door...what keeps us safe from that? What protects us from the great out there?
This week's parasha, Beshelach, whisks us back through Jewish time when we, the children of Israel, were not as secure as we are right now. Cassi just beautifully read the song of the sea- the collective elation we proclaim when we are rescued from our Egyptian oppressors. A celebration which follows on the heels of a moment of abject terror. Surrounded. Trapped. Terrified. As we were pursued in to the sea by the Egyptians, the mitzrayim. The Hebrew word mitzrayim is built on a root which means either narrows, or boundaries and limitations. In this text, it is as if our very own tzarim, limitations, are closing in right behind us. The word mitzrayim is repeated no less than seven times within five lines of text emphasizing the feeling of terror and
the intensity of the troubles.
The text is clear that the tzarim are not closing in slowly, they are chasing after us! Once the Israelites have left Egypt,
It says God will harden Pharaoh's heart so that he will, “yardaf achareyhem,” and Pharaoh will radaf, pursue or chase after them1. As the Exodus narrative unfolds, this is just what happens. Both in Exodus14:8 and 9 we reads, God took hold of Pharaoh's heart so he would, yirdof acharey bney yisrael, and pursue or chase after the Children of Israel.
How frightened we were as we stood on the shore of the sea. Overwhelmed on the right and left by walls of water, the unknown looming up before us, our own boundaries and limitations chasing after us.
I imagine any 5th year student who is turning in their thesis today is especially familiar with this moment.
In my own life, I have had other moments like this feeling trapped, scared, alone. These moments of my own hardship and heartbreak have powerfully influenced how I see the world and compel me to respond to the distress call of others. A few months ago, I heard such a call... and simply had to answer.
Our weekly hucannounce told of three winter travel opportunities...none which I could not pass up. The 1st, with the URJ to do post-Katrina relief work in New Orleans. The second with Hazon to learn about Jews, food and justice, at the Food Conference in Monterey, CA. And the third with American Jewish World Services to work and study for 10 days with an indigenous NGO. The bi-annual Rabbinic Student Delegation trip takes Rabbinic Students from around the country to one of our world's impoverished nations. I applied to AJWS and was accepted with17 other future Rabbis to RSD 6 traveling to Muchacuxcha, Mexico, a village located to hrs from Cancun in the Yucatan.
Signing on to these three experiences meant I would be missing both reading and finals week. These were like walls of water to the right and to the left; the external facts creating my reality. And the desert ahead of me was, the unknowns of how to finish the semester and thoroughly prepare for this senior sermon?How to recharge during a break with no down time? And... how to face the tzuris or tzarim of knowing the pain of others.
But what was the mitzrayim chasing after me?
If not pursued by the Egyptians or something, I feel certain that the Israelites would have remained enslaved in Egypt and safe from ...the great out-there I would not have gone to Mexico if not pursued by...by what? What made me do this crazy thing, travel everywhere, take this risk and just go? It would have been so easy to stay here and be protected from out there.
When school suggested I not go so I could complete the semester, I had a true moment of clarity. I realized, I just had to go. Entering into this worldcould lead to something tremendous ahead of me..., Perhaps my Promised land was out there somewhere. Like the Israelites, I had to cross into an unknown world lying before me. I was chased by some unknown Mitzrayim behind me.
So off I went and dug right in-literally!.In Muchacuxca the 18 of us rabbinic students spent our mornings building a solidarity-eco-tourism site. We carried dirt,shoveled chickichitas, the Mayan word for pebbles, and unearthed tunichob, huge boulders in order to create a walkable, nature-reserve trail, through a beautiful and rocky wood. We worked along side members of the village to help build this base for a sustainable tourist economy.
The NGO with whom AJWS was working, Hombre Siembre La Terre, Mankind on Earth or HST, not only brings groups like ours to Mexico, but also provides training in markeTable skills to this under educated population. Such as how to build the thatch-roofed palapas withcement floors and electricity that we stayed in. Or how to weave the hammocks or hamoccas we slept in...every night A small tag informed me that mine was made by Esteban Caamal
For a mere $60, I bought what took him a whole month of daily labor to produce.
The villagers who have joined the HST collective are paid to help host visiting groups like our own. We ate all of our meals in members' homes like Juan and Philomena. A small plaster and cement room with a single photograph from nine years ago hanging on their wall. In the middle, there was a narrow wooden-table festively dressed with a bright plastic cloth where four of us ate; Taking over the house three times a day for ten days.
Philomena, the mother of to at age twenty-eight, along with four other women from the village sat in the outdoor kitchen. There, they first prepared r food...and then their own. They supplemented their meals with the vegetables, pasta, and yogurt we did not finish. Their diet consists of corn and beans- the cheapest and easiest crops to grow. However, there is a drought and as of the end of this month, corn will run out. As of March, they will have to purchase corn with funds which are in short supply and high demand.
After every meal, Michael, a Spanish-speaking member of my meal group, and I would bring the dishes back to the kitchen where we would stand next to the open-flame, cook-stove and talk with our care-givers. Philomena would vibrantly, excitedly and rapidly answer anything we asked her. She seemed hungry for our questions, thirsty to share.
There, Michael and I learned how to make fresh, hot tortillas. The kitchen women laughed as we butchered their art form and their language but it was a loving mockery that came as we tried to understand. We tried to discover meal ingredients, the nature of the community and their unique stories.
Like what it meant to them that Tutu, Philomena's three year old nephew does not know how to speak. Or how her mother in law is dying but Juan is has to work so he is unable to go see her, be with her, or say goodbye. That her children play...but in an old refrigerator on their front step or on the slide at the playground...with a ladder-but just a ladder and no incline to slide down. Or that the town has a library...which has exactly 5 books. Or that all children are required to wear uniforms at school...which cost a week's-worth of wages for a family to purchase just one.
When the time came to for us to say goodbye, tears welled up in Philomena. She said, I did not think I would care so much for the people I fed but you, Michael and Raquela... and with that she stopped, too many tears to say more. She had fallen in love with us. Not because we were eating in her home for we certainly more work for her to do. She did not love us for the labor we contributed to her village, for we certainly were not skilled laborers. She loved us because we refused to let her remain unknown to us.
Her life is vulnerable to extreme poverty. There is no economy other than agriculture and the land and weather are not cooperative enough to make that stable. She is a Mayan minority, marginalized not only by her religion, but her removed location, her limited education, and her gender. She loved us because, she became more than just these painful facts of her life, but also the joyous person she is as well. We were present with her in that very narrow place of being pursued by her troubles and we have not left her there. We made sure she is being trained by HST in reliable, marketable skills such as hospitality and handi-craft. And we have taken her with us she has become a part of me and now...and now, she's also a part of you.
But, what gives us chase to venture out beyond our comfortable worlds? What could that chasing mitzrayim be? The 69th psalm2 provides a verse familiar to us from the Passover Haggadah about what might radaf, chase after us. It says, Pour out Your wrath on them; may Your blazing anger overtake them and pursue, them.
After drinking the three rd cup of wine at our Passover Seders celebrating the Exodus from Egypt we are reading about today, we ask for anger to pursue those who do not know God. Immediately, this feels uncomfortable to pray for, but perhaps this is a blessing to bestow and not a curse. Perhaps this can be read in a slightly different way; as a prayer asking that we may all be blessed with an anger that overtakes us. Let that anger pursue us so that we will move beyond our boundaries, and not leave others alone in with their limitations. Let that anger push us to know those who are unknown so they too may find their comfort and security to cherish, like we can.
This is my challenge to each of us today. In the next four weeks, let's all find three things to get angry about and let that anger push each of us to expand our universe of concern. Think of small, easy to do explorations to Shrink the unknown world just a little bit.
For me, I am angry that statistics tell us that many immigrant wage laborers do not have health insurance. I did not know if the Bangladeshi man who owns the local ice cream shop I love is one of them. When I asked him about it, he said that has insurance. He also told me that he works 1four hours a day to support himself. He never gets to go back home to see his family, but he has insurance. When we talked, He appreciated having a moment to be a man, and not merely a ice scream scooper. And now he knows he is a little less alone in worrying about these things when people like me walk in his door.
I am angry that shipping food across the country floods our atmosphere with excess fuel emissions and puts money in the hands of big business at the expense of the local, eco-friendly farmer right down the street. At HUC, at all practica and sermon discussions, we are graciously provided with apples which come from Washington State. As of today we will now be receiving local, sustainable, New York fruit. Our apples now come from Samascott Orchard in Kinderhook, New York via the Union Square Farmer's Market just ten blocks away. They cost exactly the same as our regular red delicious and this farm not only is local and engaging in sustainable practices, but it also is a proud supporter of farm-to-table nutrition education for urban children.
And, I am also angry that our world says it is ok to walk by the hungry, homeless and suffering and not even acknowledge their presence. Think of all the people who have smiled at you today... I imagine how invisible I would feel to go a whole day without anyone smiling or even looking at me, let alone answering me when I call out to them for help when they walk by. So I am committing to smiling. Maybe we can't give enough spare change to save them all but we can donate endlessly to the bank account of their human dignity with just a simple smile
Vayirdaf Mitzrayim acharayhem
May the tzarim, troubles of our lives pursue after each one of us so that we can be angry! May that anger pour out against all the injustices great and small and then push us out the door in to the world of the great out there.
1. (Ex. 14:4)
2. (Ps. 69:25)
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