Congregation Beth Shalom Erev Rosh Hashanah 2007 Return Again: A Date with Destiny Rabbi Nancy Wechsler-Azen Among the ruins atop Masada, a mountain fortress overlooking the Dead Sea, the very place where survivors of the war against Rome took refuge, archeologists have unearthed a two thousand year old date seed. The seed was found in an ancient jar during excavations in the 1970’s. A few years ago, this two-thousand year old was given over to the expert care of Dr. Elaine Soloway, a specialist in the area of ancient plants to see if it would germinate. Pretty skeptical, Dr. Soloway doubted if any life was left in the parched, marble-white seed. Still, she took it home. She soaked the date seed in a bath of warm water and fertilizers. She planted it on Tu Bishvat, the new year for the trees. And I quote, “After six weeks, the seed cracked and two weeks later, the first leaves spouted.” And that tree, is growing today at the Arava Institute. She has named her little two thousand year old date seed, “Methusalah”. That seedling has grown into a sapling with extraordinary long palm leaves. Methusalah underwent chronological testing using the radioactive isotope Carbon-14 which confirmed that the tree grew from a seed that lived when Judea was a flourishing community, some 2000 years ago. That species of date is extinct. However, hopefully in a few years, as Methuselah continues to grow, the Judean date will reemerge like a phoenix from the ashes. Call it a date with destiny. In the Negev, the driest, most barren and by far in my eyes, one of the most beautiful places on earth lives a tree that by all conceivable theory should not survive at all. It is the acacia tree. In this desert land, the acacia tree survives because of the way it sends down its tap root. For every foot of Acacia tree seen on surface, it has sunk down an entire story of roots. The typical Acacia tree in the Negev desert has roots over 98 feet deep. Its’ roots will grow until they tap into the water source needed to survive. In the most extreme dry summers, the acacia tree will shed all of its leaves, thus reducing transpiration entirely. Wouldn’t you know this amazing tree is talked about in the Book of Exodus. All construction, all structural features of the Tabernacle used acacia wood. For desert Bedouins today the tree holds special significance. A vow taken under the acacia tree may not be broken. Bedouins will leave their belongings on the branches of this loyal tree when they travel, knowing that no one steals from the acacia. Let me tell you about another image of revival, a living symbol of regeneration: Ben Yehuda street in Jerusalem on a Saturday night. Street signs welcome you in Hebrew, English and Arabic as they do in nearly every corner of Israel. You don’t walk Ben Yehuda street, you stroll Ben Yehuda street and before your eyes appear like a mirage three musicians, violin, cello and viola, who play the most exquisite classical music you could ever dream of hearing. If you can pull yourself away from their enchantment, you stroll a short distance till you see a group of tumblers, fire eaters, drummers. If you can bear to move from their riveting performance, you stroll a bit further and you hear a choir of Korean evangelicals singing with all their hearts, songs of God in Korean with a little Shalom added in the refrain. Tourists, locals, observant women with fetching hats, teens in tie dyed skirts, guitar players and singers of soul, smells of shwarma, pizza and Turkish coffee. A little hungry you choose a corner café. On the bottom corner of the shiny menu you notice that a special tax has been added. The reason is politely explained for “additional security.” Suddenly you look around and notice that the restaurant you are is surprisingly new, as though built but recently. Fresh paint, new tables, a bit strange on such a well traveled street as Ben Yehuda. Within seconds, your mind flashes to television news clips of people running, screaming, and chaos about suicide bombings. Could this very place, this little corner Italian pizza place have been one of them? The kind eyes of the waiter patiently waits for your order. And the music plays on. This coming year marks the 60th anniversary of the State of Israel. As we would flock to celebrate the 60th anniversary of a couple we adore or the 60th birthday of a beloved friend or family member, this is a year for us to connect with Israel and her vitality and her courage, as well as cringe over failings, weep over wounds; uneven complexion on an otherwise pristine homeland? Israel is much more than politics and this is what I rediscovered this summer. Israel’s essence is found in Macheneh Yehuda, the crowded Jerusalem market place on Friday afternoon. She is found in the rich varieties of halvah – a delicacy of Israel made with sesame seed and lots of sugar; the cucumbers and tomatoes for breakfast. She is found in the children who play with abandon and whose voices are perpetually a little hoarse due to singing loudly with ruach, with spirit Israel’s vitality lives in the kibbutzim where the driest, most desolate land is made creative, environmentally progressive, lovely and miraculously solvent. She is in the soldiers who munch their falafels along side of Muslims in kafiyah’s in the old city of Jerusalem. She is found in the beauty of the Dead Sea, in the exquisite handmade shoes in Tel Aviv. Even the stray cats, and there are plenty of them, seem to have that spirit. Deeply embedded in the Jewish soul, like the 2,000 year old date seed, the 98 foot Acacia tap root, the vitality of Ben Yehuda Street on a Saturday night, is Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live. We are that spirit to create, to push through decay, to endure and reach for the light. Jung spoke about people having an unconscious legacy from the past. Joy is our ethos. Enduring Joy pumps within this genetic memory of ours. What about us; we American Jews two, three, four generations of fitting in? Do we tap into the water or do we turn off the valve, plaster a wall? I believe that that tap root within each one of us will persist. It yearns for connection. It is that tug of the heart. The story is told of the 9 year Jewish boy from a poor family who begins saving money in his piggy bank dreaming about his Bar Mitzvah. Finally after the age of 13, he opens that piggy bank and takes the coins to the kite store. Seeing a beautiful kite red kite he has always admired, he has just enough money to buy it along with a big ball of string. He runs out of the store to the nearby park, opens the kite and begins running like crazy. Suddenly a gust of wind lifts it up and before he knows it, that kite is flying so high, above the clouds. It flies so high, the actual kite is impossible to see. A man stops the boy and says: “Hey boy, what are you doing running with a string?” The boy says, “That’s not just a string sir, there is a kite up there.” “No way” said the man, “I can’t see anything. Why do you think it is there?” “I don’t just think it is there. I know it is there. I can feel the tug.” How do we tap in? How do we respond to the tug? First: We consider ownership of our spiritual DNA; that Methusalah in each of us, lying dormant no longer. Second: We consider using the tools, the Jewish technology. Tried and true, they work. Pledge to read a Jewish book in the next month. Three: Begin with Shabbat. Even making more room for the Sabbath Bride in your life through lighting candles, making Kiddush, placing Challah on the table. Making space for Shabbat gives us that additional and rightful soul of ours. When we give ourselves Shabbat, Shabbat takes care of us in ways that money cannot buy. Portuguese novelist Jose Saramago began his life in poverty and much later in his life became well renown, a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature. In a recent talk he concluded his words by saying: “Every one of us has our own patch of earth to cultivate. What is important is that we dig deep.” As we start this New Year, remember who you are. Give yourself permission for joy - the promise of Jewish life, Mayim Chayim, living water. Let this be a year of renewal, of growth, of owning our incredible enduring spirit. Drink deep. Shana Tova. Deeply embedded in the Jewish soul, like the 2,000 year old date seed, the 98 foot Acacia tap root, the vitality of Ben Yehuda Street on a Saturday night, is Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live. We are that spirit to create, to push through decay, to endure and reach for the light. Jung spoke about people having an unconscious legacy from the past. Joy is our ethos. Enduring Joy pumps within this genetic memory of ours. What about us; we American Jews two, three, four generations of fitting in? Do we tap into the water or do we turn off the valve, plaster a wall? I believe that that tap root within each one of us will persist. It yearns for connection. It is that tug of the heart. The story is told of the 9 year Jewish boy from a poor family who begins saving money in his piggy bank dreaming about his Bar Mitzvah. Finally after the age of 13, he opens that piggy bank and takes the coins to the kite store. Seeing a beautiful kite red kite he has always admired, he has just enough money to buy it along with a big ball of string. He runs out of the store to the nearby park, opens the kite and begins running like crazy. Suddenly a gust of wind lifts it up and before he knows it, that kite is flying so high, above the clouds. It flies so high, the actual kite is impossible to see. A man stops the boy and says: “Hey boy, what are you doing running with a string?” The boy says, “That’s not just a string sir, there is a kite up there.” “No way” said the man, “I can’t see anything. Why do you think it is there?” “I don’t just think it is there. I know it is there. I can feel the tug.” How do we tap in? How do we respond to the tug? First: We consider ownership of our spiritual DNA; that Methusalah in each of us, lying dormant no longer. Second: We consider using the tools, the Jewish technology. Tried and true, they work. Pledge to read a Jewish book in the next month. Three: Begin with Shabbat. Even making more room for the Sabbath Bride in your life through lighting candles, making Kiddush, placing Challah on the table. Making space for Shabbat gives us that additional and rightful soul of ours. When we give ourselves Shabbat, Shabbat takes care of us in ways that money cannot buy. Portuguese novelist Jose Saramago began his life in poverty and much later in his life became well renown, a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature. In a recent talk he concluded his words by saying: “Every one of us has our own patch of earth to cultivate. What is important is that we dig deep.” As we start this New Year, remember who you are. Give yourself permission for joy - the promise of Jewish life, Mayim Chayim, living water. Let this be a year of renewal, of growth, of owning our incredible enduring spirit. Drink deep. Shana Tova. Deeply embedded in the Jewish soul, like the 2,000 year old date seed, the 98 foot Acacia tap root, the vitality of Ben Yehuda Street on a Saturday night, is Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live. We are that spirit to create, to push through decay, to endure and reach for the light. Jung spoke about people having an unconscious legacy from the past. Joy is our ethos. Enduring Joy pumps within this genetic memory of ours. What about us; we American Jews two, three, four generations of fitting in? Do we tap into the water or do we turn off the valve, plaster a wall? I believe that that tap root within each one of us will persist. It yearns for connection. It is that tug of the heart. The story is told of the 9 year Jewish boy from a poor family who begins saving money in his piggy bank dreaming about his Bar Mitzvah. Finally after the age of 13, he opens that piggy bank and takes the coins to the kite store. Seeing a beautiful kite red kite he has always admired, he has just enough money to buy it along with a big ball of string. He runs out of the store to the nearby park, opens the kite and begins running like crazy. Suddenly a gust of wind lifts it up and before he knows it, that kite is flying so high, above the clouds. It flies so high, the actual kite is impossible to see. A man stops the boy and says: “Hey boy, what are you doing running with a string?” The boy says, “That’s not just a string sir, there is a kite up there.” “No way” said the man, “I can’t see anything. Why do you think it is there?” “I don’t just think it is there. I know it is there. I can feel the tug.” How do we tap in? How do we respond to the tug? First: We consider ownership of our spiritual DNA; that Methusalah in each of us, lying dormant no longer. Second: We consider using the tools, the Jewish technology. Tried and true, they work. Pledge to read a Jewish book in the next month. Three: Begin with Shabbat. Even making more room for the Sabbath Bride in your life through lighting candles, making Kiddush, placing Challah on the table. Making space for Shabbat gives us that additional and rightful soul of ours. When we give ourselves Shabbat, Shabbat takes care of us in ways that money cannot buy. Portuguese novelist Jose Saramago began his life in poverty and much later in his life became well renown, a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature. In a recent talk he concluded his words by saying: “Every one of us has our own patch of earth to cultivate. What is important is that we dig deep.” As we start this New Year, remember who you are. Give yourself permission for joy - the promise of Jewish life, Mayim Chayim, living water. Let this be a year of renewal, of growth, of owning our incredible enduring spirit. Drink deep. Shana Tova. Deeply embedded in the Jewish soul, like the 2,000 year old date seed, the 98 foot Acacia tap root, the vitality of Ben Yehuda Street on a Saturday night, is Am Yisrael Chai: The People of Israel Live. We are that spirit to create, to push through decay, to endure and reach for the light. Jung spoke about people having an unconscious legacy from the past. Joy is our ethos. Enduring Joy pumps within this genetic memory of ours. What about us; we American Jews two, three, four generations of fitting in? Do we tap into the water or do we turn off the valve, plaster a wall? I believe that that tap root within each one of us will persist. It yearns for connection. It is that tug of the heart. The story is told of the 9 year Jewish boy from a poor family who begins saving money in his piggy bank dreaming about his Bar Mitzvah. Finally after the age of 13, he opens that piggy bank and takes the coins to the kite store. Seeing a beautiful kite red kite he has always admired, he has just enough money to buy it along with a big ball of string. He runs out of the store to the nearby park, opens the kite and begins running like crazy. Suddenly a gust of wind lifts it up and before he knows it, that kite is flying so high, above the clouds. It flies so high, the actual kite is impossible to see. A man stops the boy and says: “Hey boy, what are you doing running with a string?” The boy says, “That’s not just a string sir, there is a kite up there.” “No way” said the man, “I can’t see anything. Why do you think it is there?” “I don’t just think it is there. I know it is there. I can feel the tug.” How do we tap in? How do we respond to the tug? First: We consider ownership of our spiritual DNA; that Methusalah in each of us, lying dormant no longer. Second: We consider using the tools, the Jewish technology. Tried and true, they work. Pledge to read a Jewish book in the next month. Three: Begin with Shabbat. Even making more room for the Sabbath Bride in your life through lighting candles, making Kiddush, placing Challah on the table. Making space for Shabbat gives us that additional and rightful soul of ours. When we give ourselves Shabbat, Shabbat takes care of us in ways that money cannot buy. Portuguese novelist Jose Saramago began his life in poverty and much later in his life became well renown, a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature. In a recent talk he concluded his words by saying: “Every one of us has our own patch of earth to cultivate. What is important is that we dig deep.” As we start this New Year, remember who you are. Give yourself permission for joy - the promise of Jewish life, Mayim Chayim, living water. Let this be a year of renewal, of growth, of owning our incredible enduring spirit. Drink deep. Shana Tova.