My father used to tell me a story. I think it was about his first congregation in Riverhead, Long Island, though I’m not completely sure anymore.

Towards the beginning of his tenure there, he gave a sermon about the Vietnam War, about Jewish teachings on war, about what makes a war just or unjust and why that war was not defensible.

On Monday morning, the synagogue president asks to meet with him.

He comes in: “Rabbi Lerner, very thoughtful sermon. Very well researched; but some people were uncomfortable. Maybe stay away from politics.”

So the next Shabbat my dad talks about Shabbat. The holiness of the day. The gift of stopping. Taking the day off from work.

Monday morning, the president is back.

“Beautiful sermon. But many of our members have businesses that are open on Shabbat. You didn’t make them feel so great.”

So the following Shabbat, my dad speaks about kashrut.

Monday morning, the president comes back again.

“Again, Rabbi Lerner, really compelling. But most of our members don’t keep kosher, and so I think it made some of them uncomfortable.”

A bit exasperated, my dad asks:

“So, what exactly would you like me to talk about?”

The president thinks for a moment and says:

I love that story. Whether it’s only my dad’s or not.

In the Haftarah on Yom Kippur, the prophet Isaiah is talking to people who are doing something very Jewish.

They are afflicting themselves. 

They want to be close to God.

And they cannot understand why God does not seem impressed.

“Because on your fast day you see to your business and oppress all your laborers. […] Your fasting is not such as to make your voice heard on high.” הֲלוֹא זֶה צוֹם אֶבְחָרֵהוּ

“Is this [really] the fast I choose?”

And then he tells them what God is looking for: פַּתֵּחַ חַרְצֻבּוֹת רֶשַׁע

Break the bonds of wickedness.

Let the oppressed go free.

Share your bread with the hungry.

Bring the poor into your........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)