Today is a day of death.
Yom Kippur is a day to rehearse our final days on earth
so that we might live more fully now,
more justly now, more faithfully on this earth.
Tonight, when we close our Yom Kippur services,
just before the gates will have closed,
we will say these final liturgical words together:
מָה אֲנַחְנוּ, מֶה חַיֵּינוּ, מֶה חַסְדֵּנוּ,
מַה צִדְקוֹתֵינוּ…מַה כֹּחֵנוּ.
“What are we? What is our life?
What chesed, what acts of kindness did we do?
What tzedek, what righteous action did we pursue?
What powers in our grasp did we use?”
When we think of the day of our death,
we look back on our individual and communal lives,
and wonder what we have stood for, what we have done.
Did we do enough with out short lives on earth?
Future generations will ask these questions of
each of us and of our JCOGS community
and of all of us living in this particular time.
This is how we will be remembered.
This is our legacy.

…

I think about my own legacy,
how I will be remembered for this moment in history,
as your rabbi, as a person.
I think about the immense privileges of
being brought up in Canada and now living in the U.S.,
the immense privileges of being raised middle class and male and white.
And I think about having moved from urban Boston
to the second whitest state in this country,
now adding to the diversity of this place.

From my place of privilege,
I think about the largest upsurge
of hate crimes and hate speech in more than a generation.
Though it frightens me to speak up,
I cannot allow our generation’s legacy to be tarnished by it.

In the U.S. this year,
thousands of reported incidents have targeted
immigrants, Blacks, Muslims,
women, LGBTQ folks, and Jews,
including scores of swastikas and bomb threats.

Close to home in New Hampshire just last month,
we learned about an 8-year-old biracial boy
who survived being lynched by a group of teenagers.
“The boy’s sister screamed for help
and described her brother kicking his feet,
grabbing at his neck and turning purple before dropping to the ground.”
In Vermont last year,
the Islamic Center received a hate-filled letter,
letting their community know that they are not welcome here.
Just a couple of weeks ago,
a dairy farm a short drive from Stowe in Craftsbury
was vandalized with a swastika, an SS sign, and the words: #getout.

We now live in a post-Charlottesville era,
where the underground white supremacy of past generations
has been given permission to unmask itself,
where the “k-word along with the n-word (were heard) quite frequently”,
as they chanted “Jews will not replace us!”
and Hitler’s slogan “Blood and Soil!”
marching on the streets waving swastika flags.
As Rabbi Art Green put it:
“Can you imagine the nerve of these people,
saying that the beautiful God-given landscape of America
belongs to white Anglo-Saxons, not to the native peoples
whose blood indeed soaked the land?…How dare they!”

The Jewish community of Charlottesville was also targeted directly.
Alan Zimmerman, the president of Congregation Beth Israel in Charlottesville, movingly wrote:
“On Saturday morning, I stood outside our synagogue
with the armed security guard we hired…
For half an hour three men dressed in fatigues
and armed with semi-automatic rifles
stood across the street from the temple…
Several times parades of Nazis passed our building
shouting…anti-Semitic language…”

The same Charlottesville organizers have planned
yet another march there in late December.
This time it is not a “Confederate monument the marchers will be circling:
(instead the place of the march), Marshall Park,
is home to (both) a statue of Martin Luther King Jr.
and a Holocaust memorial.”

In a culture and political climate that is growing increasingly receptive
to the message of both racism and anti-semitism,
it is important that our community consider
how we are going to respond.
We must ask ourselves:
Will our generation’s legacy be one of righteousness?

…

To find guidance on how to act, we draw on our ancient wisdom.
(הִלֵּל) הָיָה אוֹמֵר,
אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי.
Hillel the sage was known to say:
If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי.
But if I am only for myself, what am I?
וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי:
And if not now, then when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי.
If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
In our context, I take Hillel’s words to mean
that we must continue to speak up against anti-semitism.
For those of us who have complacently believed
that anti-semitism is a thing of the past,
let us learn from our European history
that Jewish privilege and power and money and acceptance and assimilation –
even in a democratic society –
will not somehow eradicate millenia of anti-semitism.
Let Charlottesville be a reminder that white supremacist ideology is not gone;
it has never been gone.
It has just been emboldened to be unmasked into the light of day.

African-American, non-Jewish longtime activist
and senior fellow at the Southern Poverty Law Center, Eric Ward,
wrote a piece titled “Skin in the Game:
How Antisemitism Animates White Nationalism”.
He writes: “What I learned when I…began
to log untold hours (in undercover work)
trying to understand White nationalists and their ideas,
was that antisemitism was the lynchpin
of the White nationalist belief system.”
Ward continues: “I developed an analysis of antisemitism
because I wanted to smash White supremacy;
because I wanted to be free.”
“In his thirty years of studying and fighting White Nationalism,
Ward says he has not seen the movement operating
at such a level of sophistication as we’re now seeing.
It has been simmering, he says, waiting for an opportunity.
And now the perfect storm has occurred.” (R. Sharon Brous)

As Jews, we must speak up against anti-semitism because if we do not,
we become complicit in white nationalism to our own detriment.
And as we speak up for our own liberation,
we are reminded that our communities, our lives, our very survival
is tied to Black liberation and truly that of all others.
We must reach out to others in the community
and stand up for them too.
This is what Hillel’s words mean:
וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי.
But if I am only for myself, what am I?

We would not be the first to stand up righteously for others.
We have much to thank for the Righteous Gentiles
who protected so many during the war,
including some of us and our own parents and grandparents here at JCOGS.
You may have heard about the White Rose collective,
the non-violent resistance group
of non-Jewish college students in 1942.
A pamphlet they covertly shared with Munich residents read:
“Since Poland was conquered,
300,000 Jews have been murdered in that country
in the most bestial manner imaginable…
Jews are human beings too.”

Just as so many righteous gentiles stood up for us,
we too take their lessons to heart into our own lives.
We fast forward to 2017
where Black and brown and LGBTQ people are losing their lives
or often treated as second class citizens
because of their skin colour or orientation.
In the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel:
“Racism is humanity’s gravest threat to humanity –
the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.” (adapted)

There have been times in our history
where we have not reached out to others.
We have lived an insular life, caring for our own needs.
And at times, for good reason! We were rightfully cautious.
But our survival is predicated on reaching out.
And generations of Jews have understood this too.
In thousands of ways in the U.S., we have stood with People of Colour,
as well as others who have been discriminated against,
in order to denounce hatred.
And this time is no different.
We take inspiration from the Reform movement’s
Central Conference of American Rabbis.
Hundreds of rabbis across the U.S.
spoke these words on Rosh Hashanah:
“We call on you to rise up and say in thousands of ways, every day,
as proud Jews and proud Americans:
‘You cannot dehumanize, degrade and stigmatize
whole categories of people in this nation.
Every Jew, every Muslim, every gay, transgender,
disabled, black, brown, white, woman, man and child
is beloved of God and precious in the Holy One’s sight.
We the people, all the people,
are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of the Divine.
All the people are worthy of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.'”

Yet, as we reach out to others and for others,
we must acknowledge that being an ally is not always easy.
There is misunderstanding and racism in the Jewish community,
and there is misunderstanding and antisemitism in the Black community.
Standing up for others can get complicated,
whether at times when we do not see eye to eye,
especially on central issues at the very core of who we are,
or whether at times when omissions are made.

Today, as we speak,
an enormous march is taking place for Racial Justice in Washington, D.C.
The organizers gather in response
to the “unbearable murders of innocent Americans.”
They unintentionally planned the date on Yom Kippur.
In their Statement Regarding Yom Kippur,
the March for Racial Justice organizers wrote:
“September 30 is the anniversary
of the Elaine Massacre of 1919 in…Arkansas,
during which more than 200 Black men and women
were killed in cold blood by a mob of white citizens and law enforcement.”
The statement continues:
“We have learned from our Jewish friends
that Yom Kippur is a day of…asking and receiving forgiveness.
We hope that our sincere apology will be received with compassion,
and that we will build a stronger relationship
among all our communities as a result.”
They go on to say:
“We are marching in solidarity with our Jewish brothers and sisters
who are observing the holiest of days on the Jewish calendar.
Holding fast to Jewish tradition is also an act of resistance,
in the face of growing anti-Semitism.
We recognize and lift up
the intersection of anti-Semitism and racism perpetrated by white supremacists,
whether they wave Confederate flags, don swastikas,
beat and kill people on the streets in Charlottesville,
(or) deface Holocaust memorials.”

Now because of the work done between Blacks and Jews,
sister marches for racial justice in other large cities
are taking places tomorrow as well.
These moments of seeking and asking for understanding and forgiveness
have the potential to bring us even closer together.
Even in the most difficult of times,
we must see how interconnected our causes are.
In the poetic words of the Reverend Dr. King,
“We are all tied together in a single garment of destiny.”
As we gather today,
we pray for a world that is free of racial discrimination,
where humanity is able to see black, white, and brown as G-d sees us all.

You know, I consider myself to be a pretty open-minded person,
someone who strives to see each person in G-d’s image.
Yet at this season, I ask forgiveness for whatever part I have played,
knowingly or unknowingly,
whether through my own implicit biases
or through perpetuating institutional racism.
I ask for help to remember that no one can escape prejudice.
And to know that all of us are responsible.
I invite you to join me in this season
to consider your own biases, and to join our community
in the incredible array of powerful work that we are already doing.

וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי:
And if not now, then when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

We are continually inspired
by the work begun at JCOGS of the Vermont Holocaust Memorial.
In their words: “By engaging and educating the community,
we envision a time when prejudice, bigotry and hatred
will be replaced with respect for all.”

So too with the Greater Stowe Interfaith Coalition,
as we work closely in partnership
with our local churches and community members.

Early in 2017, we held a diversity panel discussion.
In August, we put together
a Gathering for Human Rights and Dignity in Stowe.
We have also held two community conversations
on the topic of confederate monuments.
In two short weeks, our interfaith group will gather again on October 15
on a Walk for Civility.

JCOGS has also now visited the Islamic Centre of Vermont twice,
once for a solidarity service after the centre received a hate letter,
and once in celebration
as they graciously hosted us for the final evening of Ramadan.

In August, the Stowe Jewish Film Festival showed
the remarkable film about Julius Rosenwald,
the Jewish entrepreneur who collaborated with Black communities
in the South, to build school houses in the early 1900s.

At JCOGS, our Children’s Education Committee
is having in-depth conversations about how and when
we are meant to teach our children
about the Holocaust, anti-semitism, racism, and bigotry.

As an institution, we are also raising the bar about our need
to have collective awareness and attention of our surroundings,
making sure that our children and all those who gather are safe,
while also remaining an inclusive community
to all who wish to gather with us.

There is so much work to be done;
there are many hands needed,
yet, we have come a long way.

For me, one of the most striking events in Stowe this past year
was our JCOGS presence at the Stowe Farmer’s Market in August.
Children and adults alike danced the hora in the field
to the sounds of Hava Nagila,
while the elders remarked about how far Stowe has come
for Jews in a couple of generations.
Simply building our own community is an act of tikkun, an act of repair.

All of these events and works are part of what we are doing,
in addition to what so many individuals in our community are involved in,
to live into our legacy of a world redeemed from hatred.
Let us use the power of this moment of 2017
to bring together perhaps unlikely partners and allies
to bear on what we all can agree on: an end of bigotry.

…

Right alongside the words of Hillel the sage
stand the words of his counterpart, Shammai.
Shammai said:
אֱמֹר מְעַט וַעֲשֵׂה הַרְבֵּה
“Say little and do much.”
As we rehearse our death on Yom Kippur,
we consider how we will be remembered.
מָה אֲנַחְנוּ, מֶה חַיֵּינוּ, מֶה חַסְדֵּנוּ,
מַה צִדְקוֹתֵינוּ…מַה כֹּחֵנוּ.
“What are we? What is our life?
What chesed, what acts of kindness did we do?
What tzedek, what righteous action did we pursue?
What powers in our grasp did we use?”
Let us be remembered for having done much towards this collective cause,
building community along the way.

Gmar Chatima tova. Through our actions, may we find our way
to live more fully into the book of life,
the book of our legacy, and the book of dignity and decency for all,
and be guided by the words of Hillel:
אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי.
If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי.
But if I am only for myself, what am I?
וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי:
And if not now, then when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)