Many of you know that my father, Elliot, is also a congregational rabbi. You can gather, I’m sure, that my dad has always been and continues to be a powerful influence on my life, a shining example of the positive impact a rabbi can have on the lives of those in his community. This past weekend my home synagogue honored my dad for his upcoming retirement at the end of June, the end of 37 years in the rabbinate, 35 of which were spent as the founding rabbi of Shir Ami in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I was blessed with the privilege of leading Erev Shabbat services for my home congregation, to be their rabbi for an evening, not just one of their rabbi’s sons.
As I stood on the bimah where I celebrated my consecration, my bar mitzvah, my Confirmation, my wedding, looking down upon so many familiar faces, some of whom had been there since the very beginning in 1979, since a fledgling congregation, without a building, hired my father to be their founding rabbi, just a year before I was born. In a moment that was as wonderful as it was surreal, looking down from the bimah on my father, now sitting in the kahal I reflected on my rabbinic heroes. I thought of those around whom I am and, I think, will forever be, completely star-struck, those from whom I glean and absorb every drop of knowledge and experience I possibly can. Some of these future Rabbinic Hall of Famers, if you will, include our own Rabbi Stein, URJ President Rick Jacobs and VP Danny Freelander, who also was there to speak and sing as part of our service, HUC Chancellor David Ellenson, new HUC President Aaron Panken, former CCAR President Janet Marder. And yet, even with all the inspiration they continue to give me, day by day, the reason I chose this path, the reason I responded to this sacred calling to become a rabbi, is because of my father. And as I reflected on that, I realized then, as I continue to each and every single day of my life, that I stand on the shoulders of giants.
The truth is: so do we all. Personally, professionally, whatever the case may be, each of us is blessed to stand on the shoulders of giants. Albert Einstein once wrote, “Many times a day I realize how much my inner and outer life is built upon the labors of my fellow, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received, and am still receiving.” Truly, the best way to honor and acknowledge those who came before us and paved the way for us, is to continue to build, onward and upward, on what they left for us in the first place.
And this is, in essence, what we are doing and saying when we pray the Amidah, most especially the Avot/Imahot prayer at its start. We call upon God, and we remind God of our ancestors, what they did for God, and what God did for them. As I explain to the students in the Religious School, this prayer says, “Hey God! Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Leah? Remember how they devoted themselves to You and how You took care of them? Well, we’re their descendants. Please, God, be with us the way you were with them.” It’s what our tradition calls z’chut avot, the “merit of our ancestors.”
Cause even God, it seems, might need some reminding. And one of the skills ingrained in our n’shamot, our souls, is memory. One of the things we Jews do best of all is remembering. From Yizkor services at Yom Kippur and the three pilgrimage festivals; to shamor v’ZACHOR, “keep and remember,” the two commandments regarding Shabbat; to zecher litziyat Mitzrayim, from the Kiddush blessing Richard will lead for us later in the service, the recalling of the Exodus from Egypt, as we sanctify the Sabbath day over wine.
We are certainly the People of the Book. But perhaps it is just as true is that we are the People of Memory.
The power of memory is what has bound our people together for more than 3000 years. It is that shared story, that common narrative, that we are compelled to recall and recount month after month, year after year. And in our own lives, it is that same power of memory that gives us a foundation of strength. It forever ties us to our grandparents when we hear a song they loved on the radio, to our parents when we recall their being by our side through so many ups and downs and in-betweens. It ties us to childhood, to camp or high school or college moments forever frozen in our minds, the cornerstones of who we now are.
As this Shabbat begins to grace us with her presence, we look to the secular calendar to see it is Memorial Day weekend. Sometimes lost in the excitement of a long weekend of, hopefully, sun and barbecues with family and friends, is why we’re even able to dream of those barbecues in the first place. We forget the ultimate sacrifice made by the bravest women and men this country has ever seen. We lose sight of how they died fighting, so that we could seek the deepest meanings and enjoy the greatest pleasures this life has to offer us.
On this Shabbat Memorial Day, let us really remember. When our cups runneth over with the blessing of memory, may we remember as well that every single one of us stands on the shoulders of giants; that it is the labors and sacrifices of our fellow man and woman upon which our luxury is built, as Einstein said, from whom we “have received, and are still receiving.” And may we live in such a way, that we may be deserving of z’chut avot, the merit of all of our ancestors.
AMEN.
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