I Have a Dream

By calling this his, I Have a Dream speech, my father created a medley of his favorite pulpit topics such as holiness, Jewish education and Jewish life in the home, the synagogue and in the larger community.  Overlooking, if you will, the anachronistic model of the Jewish home once defined by stereotypical roles of mother and father, one can find herein some inspiring challenges for strengthening individual and collective Jewish practice.

If we cannot yet achieve all we hope for, then let each of us alone and all of us here together as a congregation make our own small contribution toward sanctity and sanity. We may not be able to realize the whole dream, but let us who are here now each try to kindle a spark of holiness in his own life.
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ON KOL NIDRE EVE THE JEW RESPONDS MORE DEEPLY to the call of his faith than at any other time of the year. On this sacred night we flock in greater numbers than on any other occasion to join our fellow Jews in the synagogue. We are eager to hear again the haunting strains of the Kol Nidre melody. Its nostalgic tone sets our hearts beating faster. A sense of awe and solemnity overcomes us, and we have the feeling we are, indeed, standing on holy ground and sharing in a significant religious experience. Rosh Hashanah calls to us and challenges us to think, but Yom Kippur speaks to us in accents that stir our emotions. We find ourselves in a deeply spiritual mood. It is a mood of sincere regret for our weaknesses whatever they may be, a mood of prayer for strength that we may overcome them in the future, a mood of humility before the divine mystery upon which our life depends.
 
On such a night when the congregation is full before him, a rabbi shares in the sentiment of his people, but sometimes he is carried just one step further. His mood becomes a dreamy one. He thinks of his own congregation and of the whole Jewish community. He sympathizes with them in their effort to meet the demands of life. He is mindful of the pressures that are upon them which cause them to deviate from the ideal Jewish pattern, but he dreams of what Jewish life would be like, if only we all would come closer to this ideal, if every Jew were really to attain the spiritual strength for which he now prays. Mindful, therefore, that I may be accused of imitating to some extent a widely publicized address recently delivered in Washington,[1] and mindful also that I shall be indeed more or less guilty of the charge, I shall, nevertheless, try to tell you of the dream that I now have under the spell of this sacred evening.
 
I have a dream that the aura of holiness which so many of us experience unfortunately only on Yom Kippur Eve, will linger with all of us throughout the entire year, and that our lives will be influenced accordingly. The most important single word of our religious vocabulary is this word holiness, in Hebrew, kedusha. Tomorrow afternoon we shall open our Torah reading with the commandment, "K’doshim Tihyu, ki kadosh ani Adonoy Elohaychem.  Ye shall be holy for I the Lord your God am holy."[2] This is the most sublime commandment to be found in the Torah. It reflects the major ideal of the Jewish way of life. And do not think that kedusha—being holy— implies some mystic or ascetic way of living that is out in left field. It is a concept that applies to normal everyday life and involves the daily routine of very normal people. You have only to look into the rest of the Torah reading to find out that holiness implies godliness, but it is also very much down to earth, and it concerns the virtues that every man ought to possess—respect for parents, appreciation of what is sacred, sympathy for the underprivileged, fair treatment of the laborer, justice and love for one's fellow man. This is how holiness is defined in our Torah.
 
We hear a great deal today about motivation. Educators, advertisers, employers are all concerned with how to motivate people to get the best results for their purpose. However, whatever the area of activity, the strongest motivation for most of us is to be found in the drive for status, for pleasure, for wealth. This is what dominates us in today's materialistic environment. And most people take it quite for granted that these are the only reasonable motivations that a man can have. But think for a moment of the line we shall read in the Memorial Service tomorrow. "…endless are the desires of the heart; no [man] had enough of riches and honor when death ended his career."[3] Obviously, if these are our only goals, we can never experience contentment or fulfillment. The envy we have of others, the self-dissatisfaction that gnaws at so many of us, the depressions we suffer are testimony to that truth. Judaism suggests a different motivation, if we are to find life worthwhile. It is the goal not of status or pleasure or wealth, but that intangible something we feel here tonight--kedusha, holiness. This is what is supposed to be the distinctive goal of a Jewish life, and only as we introduce this element of the holy into our way of living can we lift ourselves above the level of the animal, can we regain a measure of dignity and self-esteem.
 
And so I have a dream of people whose motivation in life is kedusha, who are concerned with holiness.
 
This dream, however, is but the general introduction to thoughts of more specific areas of activity which might be influenced if we aspired to kedusha. I, therefore, have a dream also about the Jewish home. The Jewish home was always both the expression of holiness and our inspiration toward it. In Jewish tradition every home was a small sanctuary. The table was considered an altar, and husband and wife were the priests who ministered there. In a Jewish home there were prayers which expressed thanks to God and conveyed to children an awareness of the Divine. And so I have a dream of a Jewish home which has recaptured its spiritual character. It is a home in which a stranger will not mistake the religious affiliation of its residents. If his eye misses the mezzuzah[4] as he walks through the door, he surely sees Jewish books and Jewish art and Jewish ritual objects distributed appropriately about the house and that testify to the identity of its occupants. In that home there is mutual respect between parents and children, fidelity and love between husband and wife. And in that home sacred Jewish moments command attention. In that home, in particular, there is Shabbos. Father has enough Jewish conviction to be home in time to sit with his family for candle lighting and kiddush, and even go to a service afterwards. Mother struggles, perhaps, but nevertheless, manages to get her work done, so that there is no need to violate the spirit of the Shabbos by going shopping on that day or getting her hair done or doing the laundry. The Sabbath is a day of delight because mother truly enjoys her day of rest and imparts to the home a spirit not found on any other day.
 
And I have a dream about the synagogue. The synagogue was always the partner of the home as the source of inspiration for kedusha. It is in my dream a building that does not need to tolerate that incriminating device—that slap in the face to Judaism—the folding door which enables the sanctuary to expand for the High Holy Day throng, because the members of the synagogue are seen in great numbers throughout the year as well. The synagogue in my dream is an institution supported by all the Jews of the community as an act of unquestionable Jewish loyalty, and its people have not waited for children to become of proper age, however that may be construed. It has a membership who show a sense of personal responsibility and do not wait for high pressure before contributing a fair share—whether it be for building fund or normal administration expense. Nor do they show resentment when overworked and self-sacrificing committees, usually composed of only one or two people, remind them to discharge the obligations for which they have committed themselves to the congregational treasury. It houses a congregation so sensitive to the purposes of the synagogue and so jealous of its dignity that it does not permit within its walls activities that detract from this dignity even if financial benefit is derived.[5] It is a congregation, furthermore, not supported by set dues or assessments, but by voluntary contributions which are always conscientiously given in adequate proportion to the need and the ability of the donor to give. In this way its doors are kept open to all people, and nobody is inhibited from joining or embarrassed because he truly cannot meet the prevailing schedule of fees.
 
I have a dream about Jewish education. I have a dream that when the word education is use it is not automatically associated with children. Of course, it does involve children, too. In my dream parents come to me and say that our educational program is not extensive enough, and they demand deeper content. Some of them, instead of saying to me [voiced with sarcasm], "What do you think! My son wants to become a rabbi?" Are saying to me [voiced with pride], "What you think! My son wants to become a rabbi!  We must do more to prepare him!" In this dream the kindergarten, confirmation, and high school classes have as many peoples as the bar mitzvah grades. There are no phone calls which ask, “What is the deadline for entering my boy in school so that he can be bar mitzvah?” There is no need for reminders that these boys must return to the religious school after bar mitzvah.
 
But the dream goes further and includes the adults. In my fantasy there are as many adults in the adult education classes as there are children in the religious school. There are as many faculty members for these adult classes as there are in the children's grades. There is a budget for adults which equals the budget for the children. The traditional abhorrence of Jewish ignorance has been restored.
 
I have a dream that Jews will be responsive in yet another way, and that is that their Jewish horizon will not be limited to their local community. The Jew will be very much aware of what is going on in the Jewish world at large. He is mindful of his obligation to charitable organizations. He is concerned that Jewish life will be strengthened by a strong congregational union and a strong rabbinical seminary. He knows that if Israel is to stay afloat in the sea of hostility in which it finds itself, he must not hide when called upon. In my dream it is not always the faithful few that are working and contributing. There is a surplus of workers. There is no need for fancy dinners and testimonials. The call goes out. The meeting is full. The quota is subscribed.
 
There are obviously many directions in which one's dreams can take him if he lets his mind wander about, and many more details could be added, which you can perhaps even guess for yourselves. But there is just one more dream that I would like to mention, and not leave for you to guess at. In this dream we, as a Jewish community, have rid ourselves of all the crassness and vulgarity that is so often displayed particularly in this metropolitan area. In this dream no Jew any longer debases himself on these High Holy Days by running to the hotel resorts to spend these sacred hours. Newspapers no longer carry the hotel advertisements which announce their phony cantors and choirs together with the entertainment in their cocktail bars. Everyone realizes that there is a time for all things, that there is a time to consider physical comfort and seek relaxation at a resort, but that the High Holy Days are a time for spiritual discomfort, and the plush resorts are the very antithesis of the kind of environment in which one should pray and meditate. In this same dream we are rid also of the vulgarity which accompanies so many celebrations of supposedly sacred personal occasions of life. Bar Mitzvah ritual no longer includes the busy bar, the raucous orchestra, the rhumba and the twist. We have eliminated the crude floor shows and the late, late parties at which the children are the guests of honor. As a matter of fact, we have brought to an end all lavish Bar Mitzvah entertaining altogether, and use the money perhaps to send the boy to a summer camp in Israel instead. We are also no longer attracted to the package deals of the circus-like catering establishments for the celebration of weddings. We have brought this sacred moment into the sanctuary where we can preserve its dignity and its sanctity. We have, in general, recaptured our sense of propriety and restored our good taste.
 
Perhaps, my friends, all of what I have been saying has, indeed, been too much like a dream, for dreams have a way of rambling on and often in disconnected fashion. Dreams are often incomplete and unreal and impossible. But some dreams need to be cherished, nevertheless, and need to be proclaimed. “If you will it,” said Herzl,[6] “it will not remain merely a dream.” His dream of a Jewish state was also fantastic, but it happened. Perhaps our dreams can also happen. But even if we cannot expect to change the whole community, let us at least change ourselves. When our service is over tonight, our mood will be broken, but let us be determined that it shall not be forgotten. If we cannot yet achieve all we hope for, then let each of us alone and all of us here together as a congregation make our own small contribution toward sanctity and sanity. We may not be able to realize the whole dream, but let us who are here now each try to kindle a spark of holiness in his own life. Let us as a congregation maintain a sense of values. This will, in itself, be a big step forward.
 
“Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor, v’lo atta ven chorin l’hibatail mimena. It is not incumbent upon thee to complete the work, but neither art thou free to desist from it altogether.”[7]


[1] I Have a Dream was a public speech delivered by American civil rights activist Martin Luther King Jr. on August 28, 1963, in which he called for an end to racism in the United States. Delivered to over 250,000 civil rights supporters from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial during the March on Washington, the speech was a defining moment of the American Civil Rights Movement. The speech was ranked the top American speech of the 20th century in a 1999 poll of scholars of public address. Given the fiery rhetoric of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the quiet demeanor of Sidney Ballon, it’s not likely that he would be accused of imitating Dr. King in anything other than the theme of the address.

[2] Leviticus 19:2

[3] Union Prayer Book II, Central Conference of American Rabbis, 1945, p310  “The eye is never satisfied with seeing; endless are the desires of the heart. No mortal has ever had enough of riches, honor and wisdom, when death ended his career.”

[4] A mezuzah (Hebrew for "doorpost") is a piece of parchment, typically contained in a decorative case, inscribed with specified Hebrew verses from the Torah that compose the Jewish prayer Shema, affixed to the doorframe of Jewish homes to fulfill the Biblical commandment to inscribe these words "on the doorposts of your house."

[5] By this, he no doubt was referring to bingo, which to my knowledge the Nassau Community Temple managed to avoid.

[6] Theodor Herzl (1860–1904), was an Austro-Hungarian journalist, playwright, political activist, and writer. He was one of the fathers of modern political Zionism. Herzl formed the World Zionist Organization and promoted Jewish migration to Palestine in an effort to form a Jewish state.

[7] Pirke Avot 2:16