A Legacy to Live By
Sermon for Kol Nidre Eve
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
October 4, 2022
[To the Congregation:] With your permission, I would like to dedicate the following remarks to my grandson, Zev Simon, also called by his Hebrew name, Avraham Ze’ev ben Yonatan.
Dear Zevi:
One year ago tomorrow, on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, the most sacred day in the Jewish year, you came into our life, and you immediately captured our hearts. Watching you grow and develop has been a constant source of love and delight. Your most recent achievement has been mastering the art of walking—though not yet without the occasional stumble. As you will see, life is like that. It’s full of challenges, and once in a while we stumble. So, as you learn to negotiate the curves along the road, I would like to offer a few tips that will help you remain steady on your feet.
Your parents named you Zev, after my father, z”l (of blessed memory). My father was the sole survivor of his family—the others were all murdered by the Nazis during the Shoah. Never one to give in to despair, he took upon himself the responsibility of rebuilding family and nation. An ardent lover of Israel, my father was on a flimsy boat that ran the British blockade, and on a dark night in April 1939 arrived on the shores of the Land of Israel. He found his way to a kibbutz, where, during the next few years, he helped build homes, pave roads and plant orchards. Together with your Savta Ruth—your great-grandmother Ruth—they built a home where they raised my brother and me. My father served in the Israel Defense Force, and later taught Hebrew, Jewish history, literature and Bible to generations of young men and women.
My father’s name, Zev, means “wolf,” and while in some cultures the animal is associated with witchcraft, in others it carries the more positive connotations of bravery, loyalty, curiosity, intelligence, and a passion for freedom—all traits that my father possessed. And it’s these qualities we hope you will cultivate within yourself as you become the person you already are—and are still meant to become.
In some Jewish communities, a child is introduced to Hebrew at the age of five, or sometimes even younger. However, I’ve spoken and sung to you in Hebrew from that first day that you came into our lives. Today, one year later, your language skills are progressing beautifully. You love books and are quickly learning that everything has a name. Or two. One in Hebrew, one in English. You’ve always loved the English alphabet song. Now it’s time that you learned some of the Hebrew as well.
You are still young, and it’s almost your bedtime, so I won’t try to cover the entire set of Hebrew letters. I’m going to focus only on the first three: aleph, bet and gimmel.
Now, Hebrew is different from most other languages. Not only does each letter have a sound, its name carries an image or idea that, like a seed, grows and develops, all the while carrying with it its original meaning and message.
Take Aleph, the first letter. Aleph signifies a ram, projecting confidence and excellence. It conveys authority and power while also reminding us that a true leader does not impose their will on others, but rather leads by teaching or setting an example. Words that stem from this letter include ulpan—a school for the intensive study of Hebrew; l’aleph—to teach or to train; and aluf—a champion (and also a general in the army).
Now, your dad is a swim and diving coach, and I’m sure that at least in his heart he hopes that one day you might become aluf—a medal-winning champion. For myself, however, I would be just as happy if you grow to know and be yourself, confident of your skills and abilities, and that you dedicate yourself in the best way you can to bettering yourself and the world around you. You will always be an aluf in my eyes.
Bet is the second letter in the Hebrew aleph-bet. Its name comes from the Hebrew word for house or home, bayit. Your home is where your family is. It is the place where you will always find love and support.
A home is a shelter not only for people, but also for things that are important. A home—bayit—can become a school—beit-sefer—if you fill it with books and learning.
Some say that the word for “book,” sefer, in beit-sefer, refers to the Torah, the book of the Jewish People. But there are also other books: books of general knowledge; books that will open your eyes to the wonders of nature; that will teach you about yourself, and which will provide you with the tools you will need to hone a skill. Let your home, too, be a beit-sefer—a shelter for books and knowledge.
Bayit—a home—can also turn into a beit-knesset. That’s what this place is [gesture around]: A temple or synagogue. Since our earliest days, beit-knesset is where the Jewish People have always gathered to pray and study our texts. It’s where we come together to learn about our traditions and celebrate them. We come here to rejoice and, at times of sorrow and mourning, to be here for one another. Home of the Torah and other sacred texts, Beit-knesset is where we come for guidance, comfort and companionship. It’s our home, the place where the Jewish People’s heart has always resided.
Gimmel, the third letter, comes from the ancient word for camel. In many places around the world, the camel was—and still is—used to transport people and cargo. Caravans would bring goods from one place to another, in return for money or other commodities. The letter gimmel has thus come to mean to share or trade, to offer and receive in return.
In Judaism, g’millut chasadim, a concept that derives from this letter and meaning, is considered one of the most praiseworthy mitzvot, Commandments. The term describes acts of trust and loving-kindness: extending a hand to the needy; giving shelter, or sharing a meal or an item of clothing that we no longer need. Living a life of g’millut chasadim means that just as we offer kindness, so we can expect to receive it in return. G’millut chasadim is the building block of society; it’s the keystone to creating a better world.
Each letter in the Hebrew aleph-bet contains a message, a lesson that will prove valuable in your life. But we learn best of all from our own experience, and from the people that we meet along our many paths.
Just a few months ago your Abba and Daddy took you to meet my mother, z”l, in Israel. There is a photo that was taken during that visit, a photo that captures a very special moment in your interaction with your Savta Ruth, your great-grandmother Ruth. As you look into each other’s eyes, a river of love and understanding flows unimpeded between you. In a show of caring and trust, your hand reaches out to her, and she is poised to take it in hers. It was a moment when trust and blessing met, one going out to meet the other.
My mother had many qualities: She was kind, loving and generous. Her fridge was always full, and one never walked away hungry from the kitchen table. But my mother also was a fighter. Through sheer strength and determination, she won every battle she ever fought. Her motto was, “We never give up.”
Holding you in her lap was proof that she lived up to that ideal, and won.
It’s a lesson she taught all of us, her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and everyone else that she met and touched throughout her life. We never give up. I’m sure it’s a lesson she would also want you to always remember. We never give up.
Zevi, the hour is late, and though there is so much more that I would like to tell you, I think these few lessons are enough for one night. And so I’ll close now with a Native American story:
An old man told his grandson: “My son, there is a battle between two wolves
inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger and hate, jealousy and greed, resentment, lies and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy and love, hope, peace, humility, kindness, empathy and truth.”
The boy thought about it and asked:
“Grandfather, which wolf wins?”
The old man quietly replied: ‘The one you feed.’”
[To the Congregation:] On this night and day of fast and meditation, let these lessons be our food for thought. Life’s experiences shape us and give us direction, but the values we try to live by become our legacy, our gift to all who follow us. Living up to them becomes the proof that even as generations come and go, love and goodness are never gone from this world. By our words and deeds, we can feed the hungry, bring hope to the disheartened and light to those who are oppressed by darkness and despair.
This is the true purpose of Yom Kippur. We have this one day, 24 hours, to examine our lives and decide what values we want to live by and uphold. We may not always succeed, but that doesn’t stop us from trying and trying again. We pray for the courage and strength that we will need as we try to better ourselves and the world around us, this coming year and always.
G’mar chatima tova—may we all be sealed in the Book of Life for a year of health and joy. May 5783 be a year of gratitude, trust and blessing. Amen.
© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman
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