Grit: Recalling the Possibility of a Snowy Sukkot

Ten years ago when living in the Midwest we had an early snow that fell between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur!  Many of us wondered what it would be like to have a snowy Sukkot or to put up a sukkah in the snow.  (Imagine singing “I’m dreaming of a white Sukkos”)

That particular Sukkot comes to mind now after the JCHS (Jewish Community High School of the Bay) professional community and board spent the summer reading Paul Tough's "How Children Succeed."  

Tough refers to research by Angela Duckworth into “grit,” which is the dedication and perseverance in pursuit of a goal with hopeful expectation the goal will be accomplished. When Duckworth was a math teacher, she puzzled over why the most accomplished students in her classes often were not necessarily those with the highest IQs.  To explain this she developed the theory of “grit.”  

Duckworth tested whether “grit” accounted for this with brief  self-assessment. Her “grit” test became so effective she could more accurately predict, for example, which West Point cadets would successfully survive its famed “beast barracks” than all the sophisticated assessments routinely used by West Point. Grit was a better predictor than intelligence, physical ability, or leadership acumen. Paul Tough uses Duckworth and others to describe the positive impact of resilience and developing the capacity to overcome adversity.

Tough and Duckworth are often asked whether “grit” can be taught.  Is it innate and formed at birth? Or can parents, teachers, and others help someone develop “grit”?

Anyone who has ever built a sukkah knows the answer to that question!  Or entered a sukkah in the snow (or rain or bitter cold or sweltering heat).  Yes, “grit” can be taught.  In fact, a fundamental lesson of Judaism is that “grit” -- hopeful perseverance, determination in the face of obstacles -- can be conditioned and learned.

During Sukkot we remove ourselves momentarily from the material security of solid, comfortable structures to temporarily eat (and even sleep) in flimsy huts open to the sky.  For one week we move beyond our comfort zones into unpredictable and challenging places.  

Year after year, after the emotional and spiritual challenges of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we head outside to confront our perseverance and our hopeful determination to overcome obstacles. Through the genius of Sukkot, we teach our children to keep going even when that is tough, to hunker down, and to ride out a storm.  Sukkot conditions us for the year ahead -- a year filled with unpredictable, challenging obstacles and profound moments that will test our hope.  Sukkot is the start-of-the-year crucible that forges “grit.” 

By making ourselves vulnerable during Sukkot, we are urged to appreciate the power of the natural world and to become sensitive to the needs of those who lack adequate shelter, food, or security.  We are urged to count our authentic blessings of strength and security in a fragile, unpredictable world.  

May this Sukkot bring for you and your family wisdom to appreciate all that keeps us safe and strength to grow through that which makes us feel insecure.

The Cages We Keep (Yom Kippur 5774)

In his beautiful Yom Kippur Meditation, “Letters to the Next Generation,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes, “The single most important lesson of Yom Kippur is that it’s never too late to change, start again, and live differently from the way we’ve done in the past.” (Link to Rabbi Sacks' Reflections)

During this week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur I experience deeply the passage from on the one hand feeling ourselves imprisoned by our past conduct and on the other hand feeling ourselves soon-to-be liberated by forgiveness.

In this space between being encaged by our fixed and flawed conduct of last year and the boundless opportunities for growth and change in the year just begun, the infamous story of a special tiger named Mohini comes to mind.

Mohini was the rare, white tiger given to President Eisenhower and the children of America as a gift in December 1960. When she was delivered to the National Zoo in Washington she spent most of her days pacing back and forth in a 12 by 12 foot cage. Mohini walked her cage every day around and around in the same pattern.

Her unique and majestic appearance drew lots of new visitors to the zoo. This enabled the zoo to build Mohini a habitat instead of a cage -- much larger, natural and lush giving her space to roam and wander.

Eyes and Ears and Mouth (Rosh Hashanah 5774)

There is a curious pattern emerging in the Torah narratives we read on either side of Rosh Hashanah about eyes and ears and mouths.  

From "The School of Raphael"

Two weeks ago parshat Ki Tavo told us that not until that day -- as Moses formalized our community’s transition from reliance on him to reliance on each other for our spiritual and religious lives -- not until that very day did they have “eyes to see and ears to hear.” (Deuteronomy 29:3) A week ago parshat Nitzavim told us Torah is “as close as our mouths.” (Deuteronomy 30:14) Next comes Rosh Hashanah, literally the “head” of the year.  Followed immediately in Torah by parshat Ha’azinu or literally “giving ear” or listening. (Deuteronomy 32:1)  

Our eyes, ears, and mouths are all highlighted by Torah at this season that is the “head” of the year. All of which calls to mind a story about an ancient, ailing king of Persia.  (One 15th century version of this story is found in Yalkut Shimoni).  

The king’s doctors tell him he can be cured only by the milk of a lioness.  But no one in the kingdom is brave enough to walk up to a lion and take milk from her cubs.  Then one brave hunter comes forward volunteering, “Your highness, I will get the milk you need. your highness.”

When An Apology Gets Stuck on the Tip of Our Tongue (Nitzavim 5773)

Early in the school year last year, a few ninth graders approached me in the hallway to protest some aspect of the school’s dress standards.  I was running late to a meeting upstairs.  I regret it, but I only half-listened.  I did not give their concern the respect it deserved (which is different from agreeing with it).  I failed to give those students the respect they deserved. 

Every few days after that I felt the impulse to apologize to those students.  But then I would get distracted by something.  The apology got stuck on the tip of my tongue.  Then so much time has passed I have forgotten even to which students I needed to apologize.  

Now as I prepare for the new Jewish year of 5774 and am seeking forgiveness for my conduct last year, that particular apology still is stuck on the tip of my tongue.  So at our weekly school community gathering on Monday, I apologized to the entire student body.  

Listen Look & Learn: The First Day of School (Ki Tavo 5773)

At today's opening Hakhel (weekly gathering of students and the professional community) of the school year I told students that this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, tells us everything we need to know about JCHS (Link to Jewish Community High School of the Bay) -- and in just two verses.  

The two Torah verses:  (a) Deuteronomy 27:9 has Moses instructing his people “Keep quiet and hear, Israel, for on this day you are becoming a unified people . . . “ ; and (b) Deuteronomy 28:29, as part of the “curses” for neglecting the Torah’s lessons, includes the dire warning, “May you grope around at noon, as the blind person gropes in darkness.”  

Nalagaat Theater Company (comprised of deaf and blind performers)  NY Times Review of Nalagaat

From these two verses we learn a lot.  From the fact that the imperative to listen is voiced in the singular, we learn about empowering the individual.  From the listening that transforms solitary individuals into a unified community, we learn about enriching community.  From recognizing that each of us carries a kind of blindness that moves us to seek guidance and support from others, we learn about embracing pluralism.

As to blindness, I recall a few summers ago I was asked as part of a group of volunteers to take a girl, Dana, who was blind, through the Tel Aviv zoo.  I was taught how to walk with her -- with her hand on my elbow so as to offer support without pushing or pulling her.  I concentrated on trying to describe the different colors and shapes I saw to give shape to those images for her.  

When we sat down for lunch Dana took out her mp3 player. She explained she was listening to an audio book.  I asked some questions about the book.  Dana answered, “Quiet.  Listen for yourself.”  She put the headphones over me and pressed the screen. 

Empty Seats at Graduation

"Elijah's Chair #6"
by Steven Spiro
(stevenspiro.com)

From JCHS Commencement 5773/2013

Even as full as the sanctuary is right now, there are a number of empty seats; I don't mean the ones way-up in the balcony.  I mean a number of empty seats in our hearts because of loved ones or dear old friends who are not physically here today.  Their seats may be empty, yet they are very much with you to celebrate your accomplishments with as much delight as anyone physically here.  

Thinking of empty seats brings up the image of an empty chair for the Prophet Elijah that is often reserved for him at ceremonies welcoming babies into the Jewish community. 

You might have thought Elijah worked only a couple of nights each year wandering from Seder to Seder.  But the tradition also imagines Elijah being present at every brit milah or welcoming ceremony for an infant.  That’s a lot of bagels and creamed herring!

Visiting Pesach Seders, Baby Namings, and Announcing the messianic age -- that’s the job description for Elijah.  A seat is left empty for Elijah because we believe every single infant potentially could be the messiah or bring the messianic age when the world will be restored to wholeness and hope -- no more broken pieces and parts.  

The possibility that Prophet Elijah is here in an empty seat witnessing your potential brings me to the Class of 2013.  Every single member of this class has the potential to bring wholeness and hope to our world -- in many ways you already have.  So, for you, this story . . . 

It begins in an aging, run-down monastery (a residential community of monks). Grounds overgrown with weeds; apartments a shambles.  

One day the abbot of the monastery was walking in the woods wondering if he needed to close the monastery because things were so bad.  The abbot found the community rabbi also walking in the woods that day.  The abbot asked her for advice about reinvigorating the monastery. But everything the rabbi suggested had already been tried.  Nothing was working to stem the monastery’s decline.  

As they were parting, the rabbi offered one last bit of advice, she said, “It’s nothing certain, but maybe it will help.  I have heard that one of the members of your community may be the Messiah” and then the rabbi walked away.

Returning to the dilapidated monastery the abbot shared this cryptic advice with the monks.  Crazy rabbi they all thought!  But during their daily chores, each of them started wondering:  “What if one of us is the Messiah?”  It could be the abbot each of them thought:  He brings visionary leadership.  

Or it could be John:  He brings so much wisdom.  Or maybe it is Luke:  He is so organized.  Thomas:  He is so happy.  Francis:  He is so compassionate.  Or, maybe it’s me! O my if it is me, am I behaving as I should to be the Messiah?”

Uncertain as to which of them might be the Messiah, the monks began looking at each other differently, treating each other with respect and kindness, demonstrating tenacity, creativity, and energy, committing themselves to repair and healing.  That mood transformed the monastery and attracted attention. The monastery slowly but thoroughly became more thriving and a more special place.  [This folk legend is adapted from the version told in Marc Gafni's "Soul Prints" (2002) pp.59-60.]   

So it is with you my dear students -- the Class of 2013 has transformed our school with respect and kindness, with tenacity, creativity, and energy, with deep commitments to repair and healing.  You act -- often -- as if one of you may be the 'messiah.'  We are a better school because of it.

Yet . . . that’s not enough. The challenge for you is that you embrace the possibility that every person you meet after today could possibly be the Messiah or be your partner in bringing wholeness to the world.  Let this inform how you treat others, how you pursue your passions, how you repair our world.  

Because ultimately the value of your JCHS education lies not in what you know, but in how what you know inspires you to act.  The value of JCHS learning is being able to ask questions about why and to pursue answers based on treating others (and yourself) as if they (or you) could help bring the world closer every day to wholeness and hope.  

Finally, in just a few moments, when you stand to receive your diploma – take a moment to pause.  To breathe.  Then turn your head to one side and take-in the joyful expressions of pride coming from your family and friends on one side.  Turn your head again to look at your tradition reflected in our people’s ancient Torah scrolls on the other side.  Then close your eyes to remember everyone in the empty seats of your heart.  Please know the world needs the courage and compassion that only you can bring, the encouragement and determination that only you can offer.  Act as if the hope for wholeness and healing can only come from you.

[Excerpted from Rabbi Ruben's charge to the Class of 5773, JCHS Commencement 5773, June 13, 2013 at Temple Emanu-El, San Francisco] 

Hard to Say Goodbye for the Summer - Part II: Compassion, Humility, Acts of Lovingkindness

Today was the last day of classes at Jewish Community High School of the Bay (JCHS); finals begin tomorrow.  

It is a bittersweet time of year.

Our students experience for themselves something similar to what it feels like to be an adult at graduation; saying goodbye through tears of sadness and gratitude, loss and pride.  

We all know in our heads that the next year will be special in its own way; but we feel in our hearts that what was most special about this year came from the people and relationships that can never be exactly replicated.  

By way of wrapping up, as we gather the entire school community, I offer words from the Talmud about three traits that mark members of the Jewish community and those who move through the journey of life with that community.  Those traits are compassion, humility, and acts of lovingkindnss.  (Yevamot 79a).  (All of us at JCHS -- whether Jewish or not -- are part of the life journey of some (many!) remarkable students.)