It’s the day before Kol Nidre and the sermon I’m about to give in two days isn’t finished. For the past two months I’ve stared into the fluorescent void of my computer screen willing the right words to appear. I want the best words for you. The keys of my laptop need to be hit in the exact right order as if I’m aligning stars. I want to say what you need to hear most right now. I want to share words that’ll begin to heal old wounds, thoughts that’ll shift perspective and spiritually uplift and transform. Can I offer ideas that’ll wake you from your hungry daze and ruffle some feathers- not too much, but just the right amount? Every time I start to write, it doesn’t come out good enough.
I bow my head to my coffee and silently begin to pray in Cai’s Cafe. Adonai s’fatai t’fitach ufiagid t’hilatecha. Please, open my heart to share truth. Inspire me to inspire. May it be enough.
The 18th century Hasdic Rabbi Simcha Bunem taught that we should carry two slips of paper in each of our pockets. One quoting Talmud, “for my sake the world was created.” The other quoting Abraham in Torah, “I am but dust and ashes.” While this teaching encourages us to foster a healthy balance of confidence and humility, the world we live in has a way of zipping us up into the dust and ashes pocket.
Capitalist society prays on this insecurity: we’re not healthy enough, safe enough, cleanly and organized enough , successful enough or good looking enough. Don’t worry, we’re told, there are products to solve these problems. The hard truth is that no matter how hard we may try, we can’t buy our way into being enough for anyone else or ourselves. We can only wake up each morning knowing perfection will always be out of reach and that all we can do is try for better.
In recent years I have observed how stressed our teens are. The pressure they face to be exceptional in every class they take seems overwhelming. Excellence is demanded of them in all of their countless extracurricular activities and we expect them to be polite and upbeat while doing it all. All of these expectations are put on them during their most formative, identity defining years. I worry about them, about their longterm mental health and their self image.
The problem we face is that good enough doesn’t actually mean what it used to anymore. The integration of easily accessible high technology into society and social media being nearly inescapable has us and our children consistently comparing ourselves to impossible standards in every sense. The National Eating Disorder Association has studied the dangerous link between Instagram and negative body image. I certainly feel worse about myself after watching the moms of Tik-Tok show me how immaculate their homes are and how well their babies are dressed. We are becoming conditioned to believe that we must be remarkable to matter.
This summer’s blockbuster hit, Barbie, brilliantly articulated the impossible standards women specifically are held to:
We always have to be extraordinary. But somehow we’re always doing it wrong. You have to be thin but not too thin and you can never say you wanna be thin you have to say you want to be healthy but also you have to be thin. You have to have money but you can’t ask for it because that’s crass. You have to be a boss but you can’t be mean. You have to lead but you can’t squash other people’s ideas…
America Ferrera’s character continued to rattle off painful realities that hit home with me and my fellow moviegoers. We exited the theater sniffling softly and wiping away the type of tears typically shed in therapists’ offices. This concept of never quite being enough can feel lonely despite being universal and knowing no gender.
I am here to tell you that if your socks don’t always match, and your Hyundai is littered with a “car confetti” of old receipts, coffee cups, and toddler snacks, you are not alone. My child eats store bought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch most days and I feel guilty about that most of the time. I worry his daycare teachers will judge me and then I judge myself for how much of his day he spends in daycare. Your internal monologue likely sounds a bit different than mine, but I imagine that you have some sort of ‘car confetti’ of your own.
Our tradition teaches that there is holiness in brokenness. The human experience is a messy, sacred struggle. As we focus on t’shuvah - turning to our best selves, may we know that our best doesn’t have to mean perfect. May we strive towards betterment without holding ourselves to impossible standards. May we hold ourselves with compassion so that we can we do so for others. May we be gentle and kind and forgiving. May that be enough.
This sermon was presented on Yom Kippur morning at Temple Emanu-El of Edison, New Jersey.
Comments