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The Burning Tower: Memory, Faith and Reflections on 9-11

Second Day Rosh Hashanah 5772 By Rabbi Mark B Greenspan
"Memory," said Oscar Wilde, "is a diary we carry with us." Sometimes it allows us to 'smell roses in December,' and other times, it haunts us. Whichever it is, memory can be our teacher, if we allow it. There are moments of memory in our lives that are wake-up calls. Some of them are of a personal nature: a birth, our wedding day, the loss of a loved one. Others are of a communal nature. Who here remembers where they were the day Pearl Harbor was bombed? Others, remember sitting by a radio, counting the votes for the establishment of Israel. The assassination of President Kennedy was a formative event in my early life. Do you remember watching television as Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald 'live' on television? I suspect almost everyone here can remember where they were ten years ago the moment a plane flew into the World Trade Center. I remember that morning; it was a bright and cheerful day; the sky was an astonishing shade of blue. I was at Bagel Boss with Rabbi Goren, but I have no recollection what we were meeting about. The television was on in the restaurant but the sound was turned down. We watched in horror as smoke poured out of the World Trade Center. A short while later, as I drove back to the synagogue, it was reported that a second plane had just flown into the north tower. This was not an accident but an act of terror. From that moment on, nothing would be the same. What were you doing on the days after September 11th? I remember sitting glued to the television, hungry for more information. I remember tearing up my Rosh Hashanah sermon and re-writing it. And I remember residents of Oceanside coming together at OJC an evening or two later for a service. The grief was palpable. Everyone seemed to know someone who was missing. For a while, we were a community, united in sorrow and grief. We held one another and cried together. Many who have recently looked back at the days after Sept. 11 have described them as the worst and best of times. In the face of terror, we became a kinder and gentler people. And I remember officiating at a funeral for two men - a stepfather and his son-in-law - who were lost on that terrible day. Both worked for Cantor-Fitzgerald. Their funeral still haunts me. There was an empty space in the front of the sanctuary where the caskets should have been. Weeks later, I received a call when remains of one of the men were found. A second service was held, at graveside. For the first time, I understood what closure means. In recent weeks, America has been caught up in a time of recollection and reflection. There have been dozens of articles and programs about September 11th. We found ourselves asking: What did we learn from this experience? How has our world changed? And what did this event mean? Is it even possible to talk about 'meaning' in the face of such a senseless act? Memory is a powerful thing. We are shaped by our memories. We carry them with us, unaware; at key moments they reveal themselves. Rosh Hashanah is referred to in the Bible as Yom Hazikaron, the Day of Remembrance; it is a day not only to remember the past year but a day on which we use our memories to grow. A central part of the Musaf service is the Zichronot: we recite verses that
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speak of the holiness of memory. We remember the creation of the world, we reflect on our actions over the past year, and we're challenged to remember both darkness and light in the lives of our ancestors. Abraham is the subject of our memories. He is the central character in our Rosh Hashanah Torah readings. But his story is not a happy one. We read of the most terrifying moments in the life of our forefather: the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael, and the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. The memories contained in the Torah narratives are complicated. Abraham's life was messy and chaotic. There are no easy lessons or answers we can draw from them. Like our forefather, we are shaped by darkness and light, good and evil, terror and kindness. What we are and what we strive to become is contained not just in memories but in what we do with them, how they challenge us, and what we choose to learn from them. One might say that Judaism is a religion of memory. The birth of Judaism is not a fact but memory. The stories we tell of our origins are not without controversy. Was Judaism born out of hope or despair? The Torah never tells us. The sages pick up where the biblical narrative leaves off, telling us the story of our faith. How did Abraham come to believe in God? What was it about the world that inspired his faith? The rabbis used their imagination. They compare Abraham to a man who, while wandering through the wilderness, comes upon a birah doleket, literally, "a burning tower." Upon seeing it, the man asks, "Is it possible for this tower to be ablaze and for no one to be in charge?" Similarly, Abraham looked at the world and said: 'Is it possible that the world is ablaze without someone looking after it?' God peered down and said: 'I'm in charge!' Abraham's faith is born out of an observation and an insight. He looks at the world and concludes that there must be a God. Like Abraham, we also look back and see a birah doleket, a burning tower. But what does it mean? There are two ways of understanding this expression. A birah doleket can be 'a tower ablaze with light.' Or, it can be 'a tower burning down.' In one version of this parable, Abraham sees the world ablaze with light. He sees a world filled with glory. Like the psalmist, he says: Mah rabu ma'asekha Adonai: "How manifold are your creations, Adonai, you created them all with wisdom." Abraham sees God in the grandeur of nature and the orderliness of creation. He sees goodness in the world and realizes that this couldn't happen by itself. Surely there must be a creator for there to be such a world. Our forefather is not nave: he doesn't ignore the fact that there is darkness in the world. Rather he chooses to focus on the light. So yes, there are hurricanes and earthquakes, as we know all too well, and people who perform vicious acts, but these are exceptions and not the rule. A few terrorists may commit heinous crimes but what are they in comparison with the thousands of people who live responsible and decent lives andwho rise up every day to perform kind and caring acts? Like Abraham, we can see the world ablaze with light in the fundamental decency of most people. There are moments in life when we stand in Abraham's shoes. We witness God in the birth of a child, as we watch the sunset, or in a blade of grass. Look outside your house if you dont believe me! Marilyn received a birdfeeder for Mother's Day, this year. Sitting in the kitchen, we find ourselves delighting in the diversity of birds that visit our home every day. "How manifold are your creations!" When I cross the Verrazano Bridge, I feel a sense of wonder - and I want to say: "How manifold are your creations," Surely it took more than technology to build this awesome structure! The world is ablaze with the light of God whenever members of our community spontaneously reach out to help another member of our community - and it happens more often than you realize! But we can't deny that there is a dark side and dangerous side to the world as well. Too often we find ourselves standing on the edge of oblivion and we see a birah doleket, a burning tower. The
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world seemed to crumble with the twin towers on September 11th. We felt insecure and afraid. Having lived safely in a bubble for so long, Americans suddenly found themselves in a dark and dangerous world. In the face of evil, it was natural to ask, "Where is God" in all of this? This is the most horrifying thing of all: religion does as much damage as it does good in the world these days. Too often it becomes an instrument of hate. It's not at all surprising in the aftermath of Sept 11th that people like Christopher Hitchens could write a book entitled, "God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything." We wonder: is the world ablaze with light or has religion set the world on fire? Is faith an instrument or salvation or destruction? Those who care about their faith should be as critical of religion in the contemporary world as they are committed to their faith. Abraham also sees this chaos in the world; instead of despair, he comes to the realization that this is not the world God wants. In the face of a burning tower, he hears the call of God for justice in the world. He is the first prophet. We often make the mistake of assuming that a prophet is someone who predicts the future. He knows who's going to win the World Series! The true definition of a prophet is not someone who knows what the future is going to be but someone who has the power to change the future. He looks at the world and says we can do better! That is what God wants from Abraham. "Be a blessing," God instructs him. Faith can inspire, challenge, help us to see the power for good in the world. That is how Abraham is able to discover God despite the fact that he saw 'a burning tower.' So here's our dilemma: were confronted by two different ways of remembering "Abraham" and two ways of seeing the world. We find the Abraham, the man of love who welcomes strangers into his home, argues on behalf of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, and sees the world as a wondrous tower ablaze with light. And we encounter Abraham who banishes Hagar and Ishmael to the wilderness and binds his second son on the altar. Which set of memories will we adopt? On this Day of Remembrance we have a choice. We, too, see a birah doleket, a tower ablaze. What have we learned from the tower? How has it changed our lives? Sadly I dont believe we've learned enough. Over the past decade, America's response has been a call to war. In the wake of Sept. 11th, six thousand Americans have died in Iraq and Afghanistan and many more have returned home physically and emotionally broken. These countries have been left in shambles. We see people with dark skin and different customs and we distrust them. Our government may not allow racial profiling but we practice it. Instead of seeking justice and reconciliation we have fanned the fires of hatred and vengeance. We're so busy building a security perimeter around our country, we have forgotten to care for those in need right here at home. Our basic freedoms are under attack in the interest of security and yet we're no more secure. Can we really say that things are better today than they were ten years ago? Memory is a choice. We choose what we remember and what we forget, and we make choices about what impact these memories will have on our lives. Will they inspire us to build or to destroy; to hate or to love? Will they create resentment or understanding? Two Buddhist monks were traveling together. They came to a river that had flooded. As they attempted to cross, they saw a pretty young woman who was also trying to cross. She asked the senior monk if he would help her across. The older monk lifted her up and carried her to the other side. This upset the junior monk, since monks are not supposed to touch a woman. However, as their order also demanded that he pay respect to his elders, he said nothing. Sometime later the senior monk noticed that his companion was silent. "Is something the matter?" he asked. The junior monk replied, "As monks we are forbidden to touch a woman; how could you carry that woman on your shoulders?" The senior monk replied, "I left that woman at the shore long ago; are you still
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carrying her!" This is not to suggest that we should forget the past, but if we are to carry it with us we must decide how it will influence us. We have a choice: the past can make us grow better or bitter In the wake of September 11, we need to reassess what it is we remember, and what aspects of religion we embrace. It's far too easy to dismiss September 11th as a Moslem problem. All Moslems are not terrorists and all terrorists are not Moslems. The real issue is: which voice of religion do we choose to hear and obey? Religion can teach us love, compassion, and forgiveness. It can teach us to see the image of God in every human being. But religion - and I mean all religions - can also promote prejudice and close-mindedness. We must approach faith with reverence as well as a critical eye. To deny the role of faith in our lives is to impoverish ourselves - but to practice our faith as if there were no other is narrow and parochial. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel put it this way: It is an inherent weakness of religion not to take offense at the segregation of God Religion has often suffered from the tendency to become parochial, self indulgent, self seeking...it has often done more to canonize prejudice than to wrestle with truth; to petrify the sacred than to sanctify the secular He goes on to say, No religion is an island. We are all involved with one another. Spiritual betrayal on the part of one of us affects the faith of all of us. Views adopted in one community have an impact on other communities. Religious isolationism is a myth" Today, Id argue what we need to differentiate between good vs. bad religion. What sets good religion apart from others is not the veracity of its beliefs but its reverence for human beings and its respect for the innate dignity of each person. Good religion - and this applies equally to all religions - must be about more than what we do here in a house of worship. It must be about people working to create a world that is a tower ablaze with light. No religion has a monopoly on decency and goodness. After September 11th - people of good faith no matter their religion must come together to build a better world. As we begin a new decade, we must move on. We can continue to fight the old battles or we can strive to understand those who are different from us. We can celebrate our differences. That doesnt mean that 'everything' is OK. But it does mean that before we condemn or judge, and before we dismiss the faith of others, we must understand our neighbor's faith and our own faith. We will continue to look back at the burning tower. We can decide that we are at war with the world or we can strive to build a world of enlightenment and understanding. We must choose our memories carefully. And we must choose the faith by which we live with others. Shanah Tovah Special thanks to Harold Kushner whose sermon The Burning Tower inspired this one. The Midrash he quoted in this sermon was my starting point.