I love stories. And while I spoke about the mandate of giving, of Tzedakah last year, the continued economic crisis compels me to return to the theme of giving again on this eve of Yom Kippur.
So, to the story: this story is about a young couple: Chayim Yonah and Rivkah Baylah who lived in a far away town many, many years ago.
Chayim worked in timber. He bought a stand of forest for a good price, but then the area was closed to further cutting, and he lost everything but the shirt on his back in the deal. He was one of the lucky ones - he found work in the office of another man in the same business. But this was a time of economic recession – not too unlike ours - and he lost that job too. For months now, he and Rivka had no income at all. They managed to survive the winter - but what a struggle it was to do so.
Now Rivka and Chayim’s story picks up in spring, during the season of Passover preparations.
Everything Chayim and Rivkah had, had already been pawned - from the hanging candle sticks to the very last pillow. They had nothing left and no money to spend on the necessary items for the Passover holiday.
Rivka begged her husband, “Go to the Community Fund for the Poor (their local Jewish Community Services), maybe they’ll give you enough money so that we could at least buy flour for baking our matzahs.” But Chayim Yonah refused – you see, Chayim had faith, “If God wishes for us to have a seder, Rivka, God will provide for it. There is no reason for us to lose face,” he insisted.
So, Rivkah searched the house one last time for something to pawn. In a dark corner, she found a worn, silver spoon – it was truly a miracle, really, she thought – it had been ages since that spoon had been mislaid. At last, she’d be able to bake her matzah.
Rivka took that spoon, gave it to her husband, and asked him to sell it in the market place. He does so, but he then takes the few coins he gets from the spoon and donates them to the Community Fund for the Poor saying the poor has more need for the money than he does.
Meanwhile Passover is coming quickly, there is little time left to prepare. Chayim Yonah remains confident, “God will not desert us.” Rivkah Bayla, however, remains silent – despite her anger and sadness. She tries to remain strong in front of her neighbors, but their pitying looks stab like needles. Her friends ask, “Rivkah, when are you baking your Matzahs? How are you coming with your preparations?” She makes excuses, but those who know her better urge, “Tell us what’s the matter, Rivkah. If there is anything you need – just ask, we will be happy to help you in any way that we can!”
But Chayim Yonah would not accept charity from any mortal being and Rivkah Baylah would not publically counter husband’s wishes. Remember this was a time long before that modern wave of feminism that I discussed on Rosh Hashanah morning.
The neighbors, though, saw that something was not as it should be, and they go to the Rabbi of the town, as was customary in those days, to ask for advice. The rabbi listens to their story, and shaking his head sadly, responds, “Chayim Yonah is a pious and learned man, stubborn too. If he has faith, then that is how we must leave it.”
Finally, it is Passover. Rivkah does not even have candles over which to make a bracha. Chayim goes to the synagogue for prayers. Walking home he sees the festive joy shining from his neighbors’ houses. Only the windows of his own house are dark, like the eyes of the mourner at a wedding feast. Arriving home, he opens the door and calls out, chag sameach, Rivkah – happy holiday. In the darkness, Rivkah Baylah answers sadly, “chag sameach.”
“Rivkah, what is wrong?” Chayim asks. “This is Passover - a time of rejoicing! Look, if God didn’t wish for us to have a seder here at our home, we’ll gladly be welcome at someone else’s. Even now, they are all opening their doors inviting all who are hungry to come in and eat. If God didn’t wish us to have our own seder, we’ll join someone else’s – let’s go, get your coat.”
But before she could put on her coat, there is a knock on the door. The door opens and a voice calls out, “chag sameach!” In the darkness, they cannot see who it is, but they answer nonetheless, “chag sameach.” The visitor says, “I’d like to be a guest at your seder.”
“We’d love to have you,” Chayim Yonah explains, “but, you see, we don’t even have a seder for ourselves.”
“No worries,” the visitor responds, “I’ve brought everything we need. And then with a wave of a hand through the air – magically, silver candlesticks appear in the air holding burning tallow candles; in their light, Chayim Yonah and Rivkah Baylah can see that their visitor is none other than a poor and haggard magician who was known to entertain in the center of the town.
They gasp and clutch one another in fear as much as in surprise.
With another wave of his hand, the man calls, “table, come here and cover up “ and the table did just that - sliding from its place in the corner, a white cloth dropping from the ceiling to cover it. Then the table slides across the floor underneath the candle sticks which center themselves onto the table gracefully and perfectly. With another wave of his hand, he calls, “benches over here” – and the benches slide from their places along the wall to each side of the table. He frowns at them for a moment and then calls – ‘get wider and softer’ and those benches, if you can imagine, transform into regal arm chairs. White pillows fall from the sky and settle themselves perfectly into the arm chairs. With a wave of his hand again, he brings a round seder plate with all of the necessary items, he brings decanters full of the best red wine, he brings wine glasses, and even haggadot with gilt edged pages.
It is only when he turns to them and says, “Do you need water for washing? I can bring that too,” that they rouse from their astonishment. Rivkah leans over and whispers in her husband’s ear, “Is this okay? Is this permitted?”
“I don’t know” says Chayim.
So, Rivkah advises her husband, saying, “Go to the Rabbi’s house, ask him what we should do.”
But Chayim Yonah says, “I don’t really want to leave you here alone with this strange man.”
And so they go together, hand in hand, they run quickly to the Rabbi’s house and tell him all that has happened.
The Rabbi listens, ponders, and then explains, “There are 2 kinds of magic in the world, good magic and evil magic. Evil magic has no substance,” he tells them, “you cannot touch the things it creates.” So the rabbi advises them, “Go home. If you can touch the pillows, if you can pour the wine, if you can break the matzahs, it should be considered a gift from God and something to be enjoyed.”
Hearts pounding, Chayim and Rivkah walk home hand in hand.
When they arrive at their house, the poor magician is gone, but the seder is still there.
Slowly, they walk into the house. They reach out. Timidly, they touch the pillows. They pour the wine. They break the matzahs. And only then did they realize, that their guest must have been the prophet Elijah himself.
_________
Elijah the Prophet. A legendary figure who goes around rewarding the charitable and deserving, of whom many fantastical stories, such as this, are handed down in our tradition, l’dor va-dor, from one generation to the next. These stories are heart warming, charming even. Intended to help us remain confident during times of challenge, they encourages us to have perfect faith in that perfect world where God reigns supreme and the good are duly and justly rewarded. Problem is, our world isn’t quite so perfect.
Like Rivka Baylah and Chayim Yonah, the couple in our story, many of us are facing incredibly difficult economic challenges. Some are struggling to maintain previous lifestyles that were easily attained a couple of years ago, while others including many sitting here amongst us are struggling just to meet basic day to day needs. Certainly faith and optimism, such as Chaim Yonah’s are important, perhaps even vital, states of mind as we face such challenges, but please don’t model Chayim Yonah. Don’t let faith in God interfere with the ability of reaching out and asking for help when in need. God just may not answer. The prophetic Elijah may not show his mystical face.
Oaths of poverty and ascetism are not mainstream values in Jewish life. We don’t score cash back points by suffering. Despite the historical mandate of our legendary Elijah and the imagery of a Divinely kept ledger of deeds in our tradition, there are no seraphim on high keeping track of our self-less acts. Central, however, to our mandate as Jews, as I spoke of on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, is the minyan – the creation of community – a caring and supportive community - through which we bring Torah to life. And, one of the most significant ways we can bring Torah to life is through Tzedekah - the acts of kindness, the acts of righteousness, we do for others and we allow others to do for us. [let me repeat that – ‘and we allow others to do for us!’]
We have all just been asked to give to our beloved congregation in order to help it sustain itself as a vibrant and nurturing center of Jewish life. Our lay leaders ask every year at this time because frankly there is a need. You have also been asked to give this year in particular in order to help ensure that others who can’t sustain their financial obligations can remain connected and a part of our Temple family. If you are in a position to give, like Elijah, – please do; our Temple leadership will be ever grateful for whatever support you can offer – whether expressed through volunteerism, financial contribution, or both. At the same time, if you are in need, don’t wait for magical intervention; instead, be proactive, ask for help, and allow others the opportunity to fulfill the mitzvah of giving. Too often we refrain from reaching out and letting others know our needs due to our own sense of shame, our own fears of weakness; but as President Obama reminded our nation 2 ½ weeks ago in his address to a group of High School students in Virginia, asking for help is far from an act weakness but rather comes out of a sense of self-awareness and of strength.
Moses Maimonides, better known in Rabbinic circles as The Rambam, advised in his Mishneh Torah that man should always exert himself, even work on the Sabbath if necessary, and should sooner endure hardship than make himself dependent on the community. Yet, in almost the next breath as if fully understanding that there are times when disciplined effort no matter how well enacted is simply not enough and intervention is required, he writes, “One however, who does stand in need…who cannot live without help but who, in his pride [shall we call it piety?], declines to accept help is a shedder of blood, guilty of attempts on his own life.” (MT Book 7, chapter 10:19)
Our economy has been in crisis. Some say it is slowly healing; only time will let us know if that is the case. Yet, in the meantime, one of the best ways that we can ride out the harsh challenges of fiscal uncertainty in this economic climate is to connect to the community and support one another. We must do this without judgment. Waiting passively for intervention while we continue to starve will only keep us hungry and in grave need. So, I repeat, those who can give, please do so. Those only able to receive, please allow yourself to do so; and let us know what you need and how we can help. Only in this way will the redemptive hope of Elijah ever have a chance of coming to fruition. Only in this way can we ensure that Temple Emanuel will succeed at being a shelter from life’s storms.
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