Rosh Hashanah Day 1 Sermon: What Can I Do? Do Something with Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz

Shira and I were in Israel this summer for two weeks. We had planned to spend our last evening having dinner with our dear friends Micah Goodman, who has been here so many times over the years, and his wife Zippy. For the last several years, we have had dinner with them at a restaurant in East Jerusalem, on Mt. Scopus. It sits high on a mountainside, with a gorgeous view of Jerusalem's city lights.The four of us sat down overlooking the city. We had so much to talk about. We had just begun our conversation when suddenly I did not feel right. Something felt off. I could not focus. I excused myself to go splash some cold water on my face and recenter. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. I had fainted.Micah and Zippy, Shira, the restaurant owner and several waiters were standing over me. Someone had called an ambulance. I assured everyone that I was fine, no ambulance was necessary, and made my way back to the table.A few minutes later, while sitting at the table, I fainted again.When I woke up, Micah and Zippy, Shira, the owner and several waiters were gathered around me—this time with a Hatzalah crew. This time there was no debate. I was headed to Hadassah Hospital.The whole experience was embarrassing, to put it mildly. What was supposed to be a special farewell dinner with dear friends ended with me being loaded into an ambulance. It was a brush with mortality I had not seen coming. As they were putting me into the ambulance, Micah said: "Rabbi, it’s not so bad. It’s going to be okay. You're going to get a sermon out of this." And the sick thing is, I was thinking the exact same thing.Before getting to the sermon, let me just say: I am fine. The physicians at Hadassah did every test imaginable. Their diagnosis was simple: dehydration. Too much walking in the hot Jerusalem sun and not enough water. I was discharged that night and have had no issues since.But here is the sermon. As we approach the third anniversary of October 7, and think about all that has happened since, the Jewish people are living through an age of anxiety.Tal Becker, one of Hartman's great teachers, tells the story of walking through Paris with his family. One of his daughters, eleven years old, was wearing a Jewish star outside her shirt.Tal found himself caught in a dilemma. He did not feel entirely comfortable having his daughter identified publicly as Jewish. But neither did he want to teach her that being Jewish is something to hide. So he gave her a big hug. And while embracing her, he gently tucked the Jewish star beneath her shirt. Tal Becker—who has represented Israel before the International Court of Justice—found himself hiding his daughter's Jewish star in Paris. That is our age of anxiety.We worry about Israel.We worry about antisemitism.We worry about our own beloved country.We worry about our children and grandchildren.We worry about our health, our families, our future.And beneath all those worries lies a common question:What will be? Will everything be okay? What will be with Israel? What will be with the Jewish people? What will be with our beloved country? What will be with our own lives?