This is a story about a town not too different than ours.
Its citizens were generally friendly, good, menschy people, but over the past few years, their demeanor changed. No one knows the exact cause: It could be the beginning of a pandemic that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Political discord and separation was at an all time high. Climate change was really noticable ... Anyway, people were on edge, impatient, and sometimes, even angry. One of the city's leaders pointed out that there just wasn't any "cushion" anymore between one another. And as the weeks and months continued, this led to some tense relationships. People just weren't happy anymore. There was a lot of complaining.
There was one woman - the oldest person in the town - that noticed this gradual change. And every day just as the sun was beginning to set, she stood in the center of the town square and preached. Interestingly, the words she said were quoted from a song by Nefesh Mountain, a band that would come to Athens, Georgia years later ...
Where oh where is the forgiveness from the age of the flood so long ago? Where o where is our compassion? Is it somewhere we can discover?
People Just walked past her, almost like she wasn't there. Some rolled their eyes, and some even ridiculed her.
But nonetheless, every day at sundown, there she was, repeating this refrain over and over again.
But no one listened to her. I mean, no one.
After many, many weeks, one of the citizens went up to her.
You stand out here every single day at sunset. Why? Surely you can tell that no in is listening, right? You aren't changing anyone, and just wasting your time!
The woman smiled.
Of course my words aren't going to change anytime. I do not come here every evening to change you. I come here to change me.
...
Most of us spend a lot of time screaming for change. Especially as informed, opiniated Jews ... we want things to be different, and we're not afraid to let people know.
We get performance reviews from supervisors. Our partner tells us all the things we do wrong. Professors grade us. Friends tell us they wished we handled a situation differently; and on it goes...
Judaism has a word for this; tochachah. Often translated as rebuke or admonition, it's Judaism's method for what we might call constructive criticism. And it's not a bad thing. In fact, tochachah can be considered a Mitzvah! We can all recall times when someone came to us directly and shared constructive and helpful tochachah.
But during these High Holidays, this is the precisely the kind of change and growth that we do not do! To explain, I'll talk about a complaint all of us share; traffic!
Whether it's driving to Atlanta in the morning or being the unfortunate victim of downtown gridlock just after a UGA game ... Oh my gosh, the traffic was so bad ... It took me 15 minutes to get across Milledge Ave ... We've all been there.
But here's the thing that most of us don't realize. Even as we complain about traffic, each of us contributes to the traffic ... We are the traffic!
We are likely to blame the construction further up the road, or the slow drivers in the left lane, or University of Georgia being so good at football. And we're painfully jealous of the cars that are ahead of us: That should be me! Why should they be where they want to be when I'm so far behind!
But on the High Holidays, there is just one singular question to ask of ourselves: How am I contributing to traffic?
On other days,we tell others what they should do differently. How they hurt us, frustrated us, let us down. Or worse, we talk to others about how someone else let us down.
But on the High Holidays, we only focus on our own tochachah. Like the woman in the story, each of us does so in order for us to change.. For me to change, and not you or *them.**
The Chasidic rabbi, Menachem Mendel Schneerson said If you see what needs to be repaired and how to repair it, then you have found a piece of the world that God has left for you to complete. But if you concentrate what is wrong and what is ugly in the world, then it is you yourself that needs repair.
...
Victor Frankl, the famous psychologist and Holocaust survivor, came up with his own therapeutic approach that he named, logotherapy. Partly developed as his own response to trauma and pain, its teachings suggest something that we all know to be intellectually true, and yet, our actions and words belie its truth: When we can not change a situation, we are forced to change ourselves.
Every Friday night, we sing the Mi Sheberach, praying for the health and strength of our loved ones in need of healing:
Mi Sheberach avoteinu m'kor habracha l'imoteinu
May the source of strength who blessed the ones before us help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing.
This encapsulates the essence of logotherapy, and a major theme of the High Holidays. Change comes from within. Our lives become a blessing not due to luck or circumstance or the behavior of others, but from our own courage ... The courage to look inward for change.
And I think the truth goes even further. By changing ourselves, we do change the situation. Whether it's a cause we believe in, a relationship that needs attention, a growth point that needs consideration, when you focus on what YOU can do, and not what others SHOULD do, the situation can indeed change.
I'll close with a teaching from one of the founders of the Musar movement, Rabbi Israel Salanter:
When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficul, so I tried to change the country. When I found I couldn't change the the country, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't even do that and then, I tried to change my family. Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself ... And if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and could have changed the world.
