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This 5774 Yom Kippur sermon was delivered at the Kesher Reform service at Columbia/Barnard Hillel. I had recently learned about a concept in evolutionary theory called "punctuated equilibria," which describes change as occurring "rarely and rapidly" rather than gradually over time. I developed this theme into a sermon about the big changes that confront us from time to time, drawing examples from my personal life as well as the stories of others, both famous and everyday. Pursuing the Horizon: Readying Ourselves For Life’s Big Changes
I saw a man pursuing the horizon by Stephen Crane I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said, “You can never —” “You lie,” he cried, And ran on. The horizon is where the future is born. The day races toward us whether we’re ready for it or not; our fate lies in its hands. It seems foolish, therefore, for the man in the poem to believe that he can meet the horizon on its own terms. But perhaps this foolishness, this insistence on reaching out to the future, is exactly what’s required to face change. What if we could be that man? What if we could face a new world with unbounded courage? What if we could open ourselves to a life entirely unknown? Yom Kippur is the time to try. There’s simply no better day in the Jewish calendar to think seriously about change. We are given the opportunity to correct our past mistakes and to commit ourselves once again to follow the Torah’s plea to “choose life that you may live” (Deut. 30:19). But the change that Yom Kippur demands is difficult; the new life we choose is, by definition, unfamiliar. Even as we pray for a better tomorrow, we are uncertain about what that future looks like. Yet all the same, we keep our faith in change. For me, no greater change occurred in so short a time as during my college years. I transformed intellectually, learning things I didn’t know I didn’t know. I transformed emotionally, falling in love with my life’s partner. I transformed spiritually, confirming my calling to become a rabbi. And most surprising of all, I transformed physically. I don’t just mean I lost my hair. I also lost over 180 pounds. I can’t tell you exactly how. Not because it’s a long story but because I don’t myself understand how it happened, how my decision to lose weight and how my lifestyle changes had such drastic effects. Others have tried what I tried with different results; I can’t explain why things were different with me. But I do know that my life was never the same. I look differently, and I see differently. The change was absolute. This was one of those times when the horizon and I rushed toward one another, and after I crossed the boundary, I could never go back. Sometimes, I catch an unfamiliar glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I ask: Is that the same person who left for college ten years ago? And I’m forced to answer “no.” I transformed during those college years. Many individual elements remained the same, of course. But the wholeness of me—physical, mental, emotional, spiritual… I am different. I believe in this power of change. I believe from my own experience that human beings can transform quickly, becoming a new person over the course of a few years or even a few days. Some changes are wonderful, and others, of course, are devastating. But each of them has the potential to forge within us a “new heart” and a “new spirit” (Ezekiel 36:26). Yom Kippur, our holiest Day of Atonement, is predicated on this notion that we can change. Its every word and melody and moment of silence seeks to disturb us from our selves, to spur us to new life. And sometimes, it really works. It works because, by its nature, life isn’t stable. And it’s not just Judaism that says so; science does as well! Natural historians such as the Count de Buffon and Jean-Baptiste Lamarck have asserted for centuries that all life on earth is in constant flux. Today, the concept of evolution is the starting-point for biology, geology, medicine, and even some forms of computer science. It is a basic principle of our society. Like all such principles, evolution can teach us as much about ourselves as about the world. So I’d like to turn to a scientific approach toward evolution as a way of understanding change in our own individual lives. For over a century, the prevailing theory of evolution was “gradualism,” championed by none other than Charles Darwin himself. According to this approach, mutations arise regularly over time, causing individual members of a species to develop features that persist from generation to generation. Over the course of millions of years, these tiny variations amount to significant differences, and thus, slowly, new species evolve from their ancestors. However, a competing view of evolution has gained favor in recent decades, a concept called “punctuated equilibria.” The theory of punctuated equilibria argues that species do not gradually accumulate and maintain mutations; rather, they remain fairly stable from generation to generation. Then, relatively quickly, new species branch off of common ancestors. In the words of the theory’s creators, a new species “does not arise from the slow transformation of all its forbears” but rather through “rapid and episodic events of speciation.”[1] This approach is grounded in the fossil record, which often has long gaps between older species and their descendants. Take giraffes, for example. Giraffes today have necks that are about six and a half feet long. According to Darwin’s gradualism, you’d expect that we’d be able to find fossils of giraffes from millions of years ago with necks one foot long, two feet long, three feet long, and so on. But that simply isn’t the case. Rather, we see distant ancestors of giraffes with relatively normal-sized necks and then, a geologically brief twenty million years later, we have the giraffes of today. No intermediate fossils have ever been discovered.[2] And this goes for many, many species.[3] So in sum, the theory of punctuated equilibria argues that evolution does not generally take place gradually and incrementally over a long period of time; rather, evolution occurs rarely and rapidly, with major changes taking place seemingly overnight. Our lives, too, experience punctuated equilibria. From year to year, we usually remain relatively stable; but sometimes, our lives take a dramatic turn, and we’re never the same again. I believe that this is what happened to me during college, and I believe that the High Holidays remind us that this kind of “lightning bolt change” is a possibility for every one of us all the time. Big changes are inevitable. We start college or take a new job, not knowing what to expect. We meet a new significant other. An illness strikes or—God forbid—the death of a loved one. I even know someone whose family won the lottery. From time to time, our routine will be ruptured. But that doesn’t mean we’re helpless pawns of fate. On the contrary, big changes come with big challenges and big opportunities. With every major juncture in life come some pretty significant decisions. Take Jake, for instance. Jake is a member of one of the small congregations I served as a student rabbi. He isn’t Jewish, so when he married his Jewish wife, he became introduced to an entirely new community. He and his wife agreed to raise their children Jewish, and just like that, Jake became part of a Jewish family for the first time in his life. Meeting his life partner gave Jake an opportunity first to enter a new religious community, and from there to experience a new relationship with God and to open himself up to a new understanding of himself. But there was an obstacle in the way. At the time when Jake got married, the congregation where his family belonged was not very welcoming to non-Jewish spouses. So, Jake had an important decision to make: He could reject those who rejected him, or he could keep trying to embrace a community that wasn’t comfortable with him. Both options could have led to a full and interesting life, but fortunately for Jake and his temple, he chose to stick with the community. Even long after his children were grown, Jake has continued to attend the congregation, which has become much more welcoming to non-Jewish spouses. Today, Jakes is the community’s lay cantor, singing music at Shabbat and High Holy Day services. Jake’s life changed profoundly and suddenly when he entered the Jewish community, and what he did with that change was in his hands. At a moment of transition, his life could take many different directions, and he steered a course of inclusive community for himself and his family. Faced with a chance for change, he made a commitment and held fast to it. In allowing himself to be transformed, he transformed himself. We can’t control all the events that take place in our lives. That’s the central message of Unetaneh Tokef, the prayer we recited a few minutes ago. It reminds us that the fate of who shall live and who shall die is out of our control. But we can control how we shall live and how we shall die. We are not merely passive recipients of a divine plan; rather, we are active participants in creating meaningful lives. So how do we make the most of the most significant changes? Where do we turn? How do we prepare to transform ourselves for the better when facing unfamiliar horizons? One option is to turn to the infinite depth of our tradition. Jewish holidays and festivals return year after year with the reassuring message that we can start over. They teach us that Jewish wisdom and Jewish ritual can support us in uncertain times. And today—Yom Kippur—stands out as our grandest treasure house of transformation. The most stirring Yom Kippur story I know takes place exactly one hundred years ago today. On that day, a young scholar named Franz Rosenzweig walked into that treasure house and emerged a completely different man.[4] Franz was born in Germany on Christmas Day as the only child of wealthy, secular Jewish parents. His great uncle attempted to teach him the traditions of his ancestors, but the allure of Western philosophy was too great for him to ignore. It quickly became apparent that Franz was a gifted philosopher, and he earned a PhD at age 26 with his brilliant dissertation, “Hegel and the State.” His analysis of and belief in Hegel’s view of history led him to a profound conclusion: God is revealed in the here-and-now, in the world that we encounter every day. God is not in heaven or across the sea; God is very close, revealed to us in the air we breathe and the ground we walk upon. It wasn’t long after he came to this conclusion that Franz found himself in a late-night conversation with a dear friend and colleague. Perhaps you’ve been in such a conversation yourself, a conversation where old ideas look new, and you can gain a fresh perspective on your life. On this particular night, Franz’ friend was determined to change his mind about Christianity. And he succeeded. Franz had previously believed that Christianity was anti-world and therefore the opposite of his newfound understanding of reality. But through his conversation with his friend, Franz came to see Christianity as a worldly religion and therefore a pure reflection of his own philosophy. That fateful night, Franz was forced to confront a Jewish past that no longer held meaning for him. He wrote later that after his friend left, he spent hours alone, “face to face with the Nothing.” Despairing, a pistol at hand, Franz questioned deeply the life he had lived. And when the sun rose, he faced the reality before him: He had to convert to Christianity. But he was determined to do so as a Jew. Franz’ Jewish practice had lapsed while at University, and he did not want to convert to a new religion without engaging with the old. So before he left Jewishness forever, he decided to attend one last Yom Kippur service. His intention was first to confirm his Jewishness and then resolutely to leave it behind. And so, on Yom Kippur 5674, Franz entered the synagogue with the intention to leave it as a Christian. But that’s not what happened. No one knows exactly what transpired for Franz that day, but it’s clear that he had a genuine epiphany. The power of Yom Kippur shook Franz to the core, and a few days later, he wrote to his friends, “I shall remain a Jew.” He came to see being Jewish as an essential part of worldly redemption, and this realization opened the door for Franz Rosenzweig to become one of the twentieth century’s foremost scholars of Jewish thought. Could the same thing happen to you? Could this be the year that a tug of conscience or a flash of insight or a pang of regret will offer to take your life in a new direction? If so, how will you meet it? Martin Buber, another preeminent scholar of Judaism, was a dear friend of Rosenzweig’s. And he, too, felt strongly that religious revelation can shake us to the core if only we let it. He wrote, “Grace concerns us insofar as we proceed toward it and await its presence” (I and Thou, p. 124). In other words, we must be prepared to hear the call and to embrace the change that confronts us. We may be confused and afraid of the unknown that lies ahead, or perhaps we are thrilled with excitement at the prospect of a new adventure but don’t know exactly where to turn. In any case, Yom Kippur assures us that we can rely on the love of friends and family, on the wisdom of Jewish tradition, and on the unending compassion of the Holy One, Who sustains life even during profound transition. The deepest changes in our lives occur with a mix of resolution, adventure, and response. My weight loss, for example, emerged through my readiness for a change, through my moving to a new place, and through my crafting a new story of who I am. A change like that hadn’t happened in my life up till then, and from that time forward, my life will never be the same. Every Yom Kippur, I pray to remain open to even more life-changes that can lead me to further undiscovered aspects of my potential self. I am eager to see the world in years ahead through the eyes of a different Daniel. I realize that such change probably won’t happen this year, and it probably won’t happen next year. I can never be sure of when that change is going to come. And so it is for most of us: now is not a time of transition. We remain in equilibrium, passing through this holiday like we have so many times before. The horizon remains far away. Nevertheless, Yom Kippur speaks to us, reminding us that change inevitably will befall us. And Yom Kippur offers us its toolbox of supplies to help when that happens: faith in God, trust in community, and inspiration from prayer. Meanwhile, some of us are precisely where Franz Rosenzweig was a hundred years ago, considering questions of deep meaning and seeking a new life for ourselves. In this period of significant transition, we summon the courage to ask: What horizons am I pursuing? What do I hope to find on the other side? And how will I dare to reach for them with all the hope in my heart? I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said, “You can never —” “You lie,” he cried, And ran on. [1] “Punctuated Equilibria: An Alternative to Phyletic Gradualism.” Niles Eldredge and Stephen Jay Gould, 1972 pp 82-115 in “Models in Paleobiology,” edited by Schopf, TJM Freeman, Cooper & Co, San Francisco. p. 84. Available: http://www.blackwellpublishing.com/ridley/classictexts/eldredge.pdf. [2] “The Evolution of the Long-Necked Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis L.) – What Do We Really Know? Part 1.” Wolf-Ekkehard Lönning, 2006. Available: http://www.weloennig.de/Giraffe.pdf. [3] Examples can be found at the peer-reviewed, open-access encyclopedia, Scholarpedia, at http://www.scholarpedia.org/article/Punctuated_equilibria. [4] Sources for the following include: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/rosenzweig/#191NeaConRet http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/judaica/ejud_0002_0017_0_17025.html http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/143410/rosenzweig-yom-kippur-conversion?all=1 http://www.commentarymagazine.com/article/frank-rosenwig/
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