During the Middle Ages it was the custom for dying fathers to
leave their children not only a will disposing of the physical assets of the
parent but also something called an ethical will in which the parent offered to
his offspring some advice with regard to their future behavior and some
thoughts about life in general...
My heart skipped a beat when I read the opening lines of this 1948 sermon—my father’s farewell remarks to Tree of Life Congregation of Columbia, South Carolina before departing to his next pulpit in Lexington, Kentucky. It has only been a few years since I, myself, wrote an ethical will which I shared with my family, a few friends, and essentially the rest of the entire world after posting it to my website.[i] The concept of an ethical will had never been discussed when I was young, so I was delighted to learn that my father not only knew of my recent discovery, but more importantly had written this sermon to be his own ethical will. While I look at the entire archives of his sermons as his ethical, spiritual and intellectual legacy, this sermon stands out in this regard.
The thesis
herein is what it takes to be a “good Jew.” There is something about my
father’s use of the terms “good Jew,” “real Jew,” and “loyal Jew” which may
seem a bit jarring in an age of ecumenicism and political correctness.
Nonetheless, the message is a cogent one. How many people these days would even
pose the question, “What does it take to be a good Jew?” Sidney Ballon’s answer was profound in
1948, and remains so.
After describing
the traits of a good Jew, he closes with what he refers to as “a word of
caution of a personal nature.” This stirring conclusion in many ways could have
been his epitaph—his ethical will condensed into two words—“Carry on.”
====================================================
My Dear Friends:
During the
Middle Ages it was the custom for dying fathers to leave their children not
only a will disposing of the physical assets of the parent but also something
called an ethical will in which the parent offered to his offspring some advice
with regard to their future behavior and some thoughts about life in general,
and there have been preserved for us a number of such documents with very fine
and profound material dealing with ethical and moral questions. A departing
rabbi, I believe is likewise expected to leave some profound last words, an
ethical will to his congregation. I do not expect to be very profound. The mood
of last night’s delightful get-together with its pleasant and light touch is
still with me and it would be difficult to get profound even if I were able.
But if they will not be profound last words, they unfortunately must at least
be last words, and they should be somewhat serious words because the task in
which we have been cooperating these past few years is a serious task and the
situation which confronts Jewish life today is a serious one.
I thought back over the few years since I first came here and thought of what I had to say that first time that I spoke to you and I found that my message then was on how to draw comfort and how to face the world in the midst of the serious problems confronting the Jew in that time. It was 1939, just before the war in Europe, and the crescendo of hate and fury against our people was mounting. Today my friends after having fought a war, a second war to preserve the world and save human decency it is saddening to note that Jewish troubles are not over, that war has served only to put six million Jews out of their misery, and it has taken from us the sanguine pre-war hopes for redemption and salvation. The struggle is on, and although there was a faint gleam in the sky, the dawn has not yet come. These critical times make it all the more difficult for a rabbi to prescribe for his people, for even the rabbi of today is troubled and faced with uncertainties before the difficulties of the moment.
I thought back over the few years since I first came here and thought of what I had to say that first time that I spoke to you and I found that my message then was on how to draw comfort and how to face the world in the midst of the serious problems confronting the Jew in that time. It was 1939, just before the war in Europe, and the crescendo of hate and fury against our people was mounting. Today my friends after having fought a war, a second war to preserve the world and save human decency it is saddening to note that Jewish troubles are not over, that war has served only to put six million Jews out of their misery, and it has taken from us the sanguine pre-war hopes for redemption and salvation. The struggle is on, and although there was a faint gleam in the sky, the dawn has not yet come. These critical times make it all the more difficult for a rabbi to prescribe for his people, for even the rabbi of today is troubled and faced with uncertainties before the difficulties of the moment.
But there are
one or two traits of Jewish character that I think of that I would call to your
attention on such an occasion as this, traits that I believe mark the good Jew
today without regard to the particular brand of Judaism he espouses or the
particular solution he may have in mind for Jewish problems and [these should
not be controversial in nature.] And so I say to you that to be a good Jew in
these days our first consideration must be to have a love of fellow Jews. I
came across a new poem recently written by Rabbi Louis Newman[ii]
of New York that I think expresses this perfectly and I read it to you. It is
entitled, “When I Shall Die,” and he says:
When I shall die, may I win praise or blame
As one who little prized an honored name
For deed he wrought within the marketplace
Which pleased the fancies of the populace.
But I demand that men shall give me due
As one who loved his anguished fellow-Jew
Who tilled a plot of scorned forsaken earth
And helped it give eternal harvest birth.
As one who
loved his anguished fellow-Jew—this is one of the prime requisites today of the real Jew. No man
today can call himself a loyal Jew unless he feels and feels deeply the plight
of his co-religionists abroad, unless he has been shaken and quivers within
himself at the fate of world Jewry these past few years and at the gigantic
hoax and betrayal that have been perpetrated upon Israel at present. He who
does not respond to the plea of the hour whether it be through the United
Jewish Appeal or some other way of indicating one's sympathy and indignation
has ice water in his veins and not Jewish blood.
And a second
trait of Jewish character that comes to my mind is this—and I hope that I can
make it understood because I’m afraid that it is more of an emotional feeling
rather than a clearly defined trait of character. The good Jew and the loyal
Jew should have a sense of identification with the sweep of Jewish history as
it has traversed the centuries. The good Jew does not conceive of himself as an
isolated individual living in the twentieth century and confining his interests
to this particular period of world history. The good Jew feels strongly his
roots in dim antiquity. He cherishes deeply his ancestry going back to the days
of Abraham, and there is pictured vividly in his mind the story of his people
as they came into and departed from Egypt, as they went into the land of Canaan
and gave birth to the ideals of the western world, and as they studied and
taught and suffered and hoped through the many centuries in many lands down to
this very day. He feels this as a part of his personal experience. He is
entranced by the destiny of Israel and feels himself as a part of that destiny.
And he looks not only at the past but ahead into the dim future, and although
darkness prevails at the moment, he is confident and he is essentially an
optimist as to the outcome. With all his heart and soul he believes that they
that sow in tears shall reap in joy,[iii]
that sorrow shall be turned into gladness and mourning into a good day as the
Book of Esther[iv] has it.
And thirdly we
here in this country, if we are good and loyal Jews, need a sense of obligation
for American Jewry as a whole. We need an appreciation of the destiny of the
Jews in this country. If we are aware of Jewish history we know that there has
been one center after another in the lands of dispersion which have nourished
and maintained the Jewish faith. We have had Babylon and North Africa, and
Spain and Poland, and others, and each in its turn on the stage of history has
played a heroic role in the life of our people and been the center of culture
and faith. It is now American Jewry that must carry the torch and that must
accept the responsibility. We are now numerically the strongest and financially
the soundest and have a great role to play in the history of the Jew even with
a Jewish center in Palestine, and the loyal American Jew senses the challenge.
He supports those institutions of learning which nurture Judaism, he sustains
the Synagogue which is the dynamo of Jewish life. There is a tendency today
amongst American Jews to give their devotion and their dollars chiefly to those
causes which deal with relief and with defense and to disregard to a large
degree those causes which speak of the more intangible values of culture and
religion. We dare not forsake these, however, for if we have a Jewish heart we
must surely know that without the preservation of our culture and our faith we
shall soon lose the incentive to do other things as well. It is not only
physical life that must be our interest but our spiritual life as well, and
American Jewry caries the greatest responsibility in this regard.
These are some
of the chief qualities of the good Jew, things which we feel intuitively,
things which are difficult to describe, but which must be carefully nurtured
and developed within our hearts if Jewish life is to be meaningful and strong.
And as I leave these thoughts with you I should like to add a word of caution
of a more personal nature. I should like to refer to a number of remarks I have
heard from good people who are my friends and who think they pay me a great
compliment by these remarks, but who actually leave me somewhat saddened by
them. On several occasions I have heard the remark that now that I am leaving
they would not have such great responsibilities to the Synagogue, because they
really had either joined or contributed or were active out of a sense of
friendship for the rabbi personally. Now with a new rabbi they would have no
reason to continue to the same extent, or to any extent, their association with
the Synagogue.
My friend I appreciate the friendship and I cherish it, but if all that I have been able to leave with you is a sense of personal friendship, then I have failed. Because my ministry has sought to instill in you and in all this community the qualities and feelings that I have already described to you. And if I had succeeded in this, then it would make no difference who stood in this pulpit. You would know that such a great work is above any one personality, and that such a great work must be carried on regardless of personalities. And if there is any one word which I would make my last it is the prayer that you would not let that which we have so carefully built up together slide back. Maintain your ground here and go on further. A new man will give you new insights. You will have fresh incentive and fresh inspiration. Build your new Temple and fill it with your prayers and with your love. And carry on for your sake and for your children’s sake and for the sake of all Israel. I would hate to think that I have given to you these years of activity only to have these efforts go to waste. And you will be paying me much more of a tribute by carrying on your efforts than by informing me that after all it was only for me. Carry on I say to you as my parting wish. Carry on. Remembering always that—
My friend I appreciate the friendship and I cherish it, but if all that I have been able to leave with you is a sense of personal friendship, then I have failed. Because my ministry has sought to instill in you and in all this community the qualities and feelings that I have already described to you. And if I had succeeded in this, then it would make no difference who stood in this pulpit. You would know that such a great work is above any one personality, and that such a great work must be carried on regardless of personalities. And if there is any one word which I would make my last it is the prayer that you would not let that which we have so carefully built up together slide back. Maintain your ground here and go on further. A new man will give you new insights. You will have fresh incentive and fresh inspiration. Build your new Temple and fill it with your prayers and with your love. And carry on for your sake and for your children’s sake and for the sake of all Israel. I would hate to think that I have given to you these years of activity only to have these efforts go to waste. And you will be paying me much more of a tribute by carrying on your efforts than by informing me that after all it was only for me. Carry on I say to you as my parting wish. Carry on. Remembering always that—
It is a tree of life to them that lay hold of it.
And all the supporters thereof are happy.[v]
And may God
bless you in your endeavors. Amen.
[i] http://yeshaya.net/
[ii] Louis Israel Newman (1893-1972) was the rabbi of
Temple Rodef Shalom in New York City from 1930 until retirement. Newman was
also a poet and a playwright, creating numerous plays and cantatas.
[iii] Psalm 126:5
[iv] Esther 9:22
[v] Proverbs 3:18 One can only imagine the quiet glee with which Sidney Ballon crafted this not too subtle reminder to the members of Tree of Life Congregation of their continuing obligation to be "supporters thereof."
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