Your Ears So Big You Make Dumbo Jealous (Yom Kippur 5777)

"Your ears so big, you make Dumbo jealous." Or "Your ears so small, you can't hear when people insult you." Or "Your ears aren't so big ... for a basset hound." These are the kinds of casual insults you hear on a school yard (or, this year, on the presidential campaign). 

Given the features on my face, I received my share of insults in school, such as: "Is that your nose, or a ski jump?" And "Is that your nose, or did someone park a blimp on your face?"

Sure these make us chuckle, but they aren't funny.

Making fun at the expense of others or trying to boost ourselves by belittling other, or putting someone else down so that their spirits fall: None of that is really funny. It is coarse and cruel. During the course of any year we hear lots of coarse things. Insults, put downs, and exaggerated cynicism. Crude attempts at humor. Careless cruelty. 

At this season of Yom Kippur (the annual day of atonement in the Jewish tradition) I urge us all to reflect on our verbal behaviors that need to change and commit ourselves to avoiding behaviors that draw us down. Yom Kippur this year is book-ended by two Torah portions that can guide both our reflections and commitments. 

One bookend comes this year on the Shabbat just before Yom Kippur when we read from parshat Vayelech about an aging Moses. At 120 years old and knowing his end is near he says, "I am no longer able to go out and come in." (Deut. 30:2.) 

The Me'or Einayim (18th century Ukraine) reads this as referring to Moses falling down ("going out") and climbing up ("coming in") the ladder of wisdom. Moses has reached the 49th rung of the ladder. The last remaining rung is beyond even Moses. But why are falling down and climbing up coupled in this verse? To teach us that all learning is proceeded by making mistakes. 

We cannot climb up a single rung of the ladder of wisdom without first stumbling down a rung (or two). We know this is true in life and learning generally. We learn most from our mistakes. For example, we learn most from a failed experiment in the lab than one that smoothly affirms our hypothesis. 

It is a clear reminder that we can advance in the year ahead only if we acknowledge how we have stumbled in the past year. We fall then we gain wisdom. That is the progression for developing our best selves. We need to make mistakes in order to learn. We cannot be perfect; but we can work on perfecting or improving our behaviors. Yom Kippur insists that we acknowledge and reflect on our mistakes. If the wisest of the wise, Moses, cannot scamper up the ladder of wisdom, how much the more so does that lesson apply to us.

The other bookend comes this year on the Shabbat just after Yom Kippur when we read from parshat Ha'azinu, which means literally "to give ear" or listen deeply. That's why I started with ear jokes above. Earlier in Deuteronomy the mystics read into Torah another reference to ears. They interpret the exhortation to "appoint judges and officers in your gates (Deut. 16:18) to be referring to the gates of our bodies that mediate our awareness of and interaction with the world. 

In this sense, according to the mystics, each of us has seven gates: two ears, two eyes, two nostrils, and one mouth. Read this way, the verse is telling us to be judicious and mindful in our use of these gates. We accomplish this, for example, by listening compassionately, by looking carefully, by breathing slowly, and by speaking kindly.  

It strikes me that one of these seven gates is not like the others. The ears, eyes, and nostrils are paired. They each have a partner with which to share metaphysical responsibilities. But the mouth stands alone. With a "partner" the ears, eyes, and nostrils can share the burden of guarding and judging. They guard what goes in and judge what goes out. One ear, for instance, can listen to the still, small voice inside of us; the other can turn listen for inspiration from others. Or one eye can turn inward to reflect on our deepest feelings; the other can turn outward to empathize with the feelings of others. 

But the mouth has double duty, which makes it more challenging to keep ourselves from saying things we later regret. It makes it more challenging to offer words of compassion or comfort. With only a solitary mouth standing guard, some words drop out of our mouths without enough thought.  

Now at Yom Kippur we are poised between one Torah bookend that reminds us take gain wisdom each time we stumble and another bookend that reminds us to listen carefully and speak especially carefully. Now is the chance for each of us to reflect deeply on what we plan to say to others. A chance to judge the words of others with generosity. A chance to resist the temptation to be overly clever or casually cruel with our words. Instead, now is the time to dedicate ourselves to using words in the coming year to express kindness, offer encouragements, and pursue the highest goals we have for ourselves and our community.