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Moonshots, Hidenness, and Return

Devarim-Chazon 5764 Sermon, July 23, 2004

Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon

I don't know if you were paying close attention this week, but we had a pretty amazing anniversary. Last Monday marked 35 years since the landing on the moon in 1969. I can still remember going across the street to our neighbors home in LA to watch it live, because they had the only color TV in our neighborhood. And when Neil Armstrong took that small step for man, it really felt like a giant leap for humanity. In just ten short years or so we had gone from small rockets trying to orbit the earth to having human beings play golf on the moon… And if most of the promise of that phenomenal early accomplishment hasn't quite materialized-you know you're in trouble when people start off by quoting the great accomplishments of the space program by talking about TANG and those silver moon blankets-but there is still a romance and excitement attached to that remarkable time when we really did seem to reach out and touch the stars, or at least the planets-or at least our own celestial asteroid.

Why we Jews even got into the act eventually, with Jewish astronauts- I still remember the late, great Alan Sherman's paean to the potential for a Jewish astronaut-I don't' have a recording of this; if any of you do, I'd love to get a copy of it! It went something like this "Shine on, Shine on Harvey Bloom, up there on the moon…" And a bit later, maybe not in the early Apollo stages, we had real live Jewish astronauts like David Wolf and Jeffrey Hoffman, and the tragic figures of Judith Reznick and Ilan Ramon, who died on their missions.

In any case, this week the anniversary of the moon landing happened to coincide with the Jewish Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the new month, which we celebrate with the new moon every 28 days or so. This particular month, called Av, is far from the happiest one in the Jewish calendar-more about that later-but it was still a nice convergence. You might even call it slightly bashert, that is meant to happen rather than a pure coincidence.

You know, as long as we're on the subject of the moonshot and the cosmos, I have to quote Albert Einstein on the subject. If he wasn't the smartest man ever-and certainly, we Jews lean towards that interpretation-he was pretty close. He captured the sense of what those halcyon days seemed to mean at the time when he said, "A human being is a part of the whole that we call the universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest-a kind of optical illusion of his consciousness… our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living beings and all of nature." When we broke out of our gravity-based prison we began to sense that we indeed were truly part of the great whole of nature that God has made. And when we remember that feeling, those of us who saw it clearly 35 long years ago, we can have some sense of just what Judaism means when it speaks about our profound connection to one another and, so, to God.

Sometimes that connection can seem to be damaged, but it is never broken… And in that concept lies a lesson of profound meaning.

This coming week, on Monday night, is the time when we commemorate Tisha B'Av, the 9th day of this newish month of Av that we marked last Monday with that new moon in the Jewish calendar, the sad day of remembrance of the destruction of both the first and second Temples in Jerusalem, a time of terrible loss and exile. At this time of year we recall how our ancestors mourned-by the waters of Babylon-that is, today's Iraq-as we sat down and wept and remembered Zion and Jerusalem. All seemed to be lost, then, but in spite of the horrific trauma of the terrible destruction and slaughter and Exile, we sang "If I forget thee, Jerusalem, may my right hand lose its cunning, for I must place the holy city of Yerushalayim above my chiefest joy…"

You see, even at that time of greatest separation from God, and from Israel, and from all that would seem to have been good and beautiful and holy, even then we recognized that while we could be exiled from our homeland we could never truly be estranged from our God. We are always connected to one another as Jews, to God, to Israel. That mystical tie is always there, if we choose to remember it and sense it and feel it-if we are only aware of it.

There is a concept in Jewish mysticism called hester panim, that is, the hiding of the Presence; the idea that God actually hides from humanity at times… Hester panim, God's deliberate choice to be concealed from humanity is sometimes the result of our withdrawal from God and holiness-that is, of our indifference to God and to goodness; sometimes it is the result of our actual embrace of evil; and sometimes, most frequently, it is the result of our failure to cultivate holiness and awareness of God in our own lives. In a way, we have the power to expel God's presence from us, just as we have the capacity to bring God, and holiness, closer.

Tisha B'Av marks one such traumatic time when God seems to have abandoned us, hidden from us and remained aloof throughout the terrible struggles that followed immediately thereafter. But in Jewish tradition God does not abandon us for very long. Immediately after the destruction of the Temple the prophets begin to teach of God's return to the people; nachamu nachamu ami, Isaiah tells us, God's name: be comforted, be comforted by my people, for I hid myself for a moment, but I will return to you with complete love.

When we are estranged from God, it is in part because we have chosen to hide ourselves from God. When we are estranged from our family or friends it is often similarly true that we have chosen to hide ourselves from those we love and need. But the promise, even at times of isolation and alienation, is that return, restoration, connection, and great love are available always, should we choose to open ourselves to them.

For us, the message is simple: we need not ascend again to the moon itself to know of the infinite capacity for human achievement, or to sense how remarkably connected we all are and can be. For that one small step for man to become a giant leap for humankind is dependent on how we choose to be.

On this Shabbat before Tisha B'Av, the Sabbath of vision in Jewish tradition, may we come to sense the holiness around us, to feel God's presence, and choose to reunite with those around us, in love and blessing and Shabbat peace.

Ken Yehi Ratson.