Sermons and Divrei Torah
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff
by Rabbi Elyse Goldstein
(Sermon - Yom Kippur 5760)
A Zen parable for Kol Nidre: Two monks are walking in silence
together when they come upon a large, muddy river. There they
see an attractive young woman struggling to climb up a muddy riverbank.
One of the monks picks her up, lifts her, and carries her , putting
her down safely. The monks continue on their way in silence, until
they reach the monastery. At nightfall, the other monk finally
blurts out, “How could you have done that? We aren’t allowed
to look at, let alone touch a woman! What have you done?” “Friend”
the other monk said quietly. “I let go of her at the riverbank.
But you- you are still carrying her.”
Friends, what are we still carrying? Is there a way for us to
let go of the many details we get so anxious about; the many seemingly
minor annoyances that have turned in our mind into major catastrophes;
the many moments of hurt and righteous indignation and insult
and offense at this infraction or that missed opportunity. We
persist over and over again at how so-and-so hurt our feelings,
at how we could have said this or done that had this or that not
happened or had we been at a different place at a different time.
The appliance that didn't work, the workman who came late, the
room that’s too messy, the car that's too small, the friend who
didn’t call immediately.
Friends, what are we still carrying?
We carry so many remnants of the past, sensitivities from what
has already happened, things we cannot change. When we fight,
we bring in ancient history to buttress us, we remember what a
child or partner or friend said or did years ago though we can’t
remember the date of their birthday this year. “It was a great
party but the food didn’t come on time.” “It was a challenging
lecture, but the air conditioning didn't work.“ “It was a beautiful
Bar Mitzvah but the rabbi didn’t remember my aunt’s name.” “It
was a wonderful date, but she didn’t laugh at all my jokes.” “It
was a powerful sermon, but a child came in the back.”
And we carry so many worries about what might happen, future contingencies
and possible possibilities, things we cannot change.
My mother-in-law is fond of saying, “Most of the things you worry
about don’t happen, and most of the things you don’t worry about
do happen, so even though you are worrying the right amount, you
are worrying about entirely the wrong things!” On Rosh Hashana
I spoke about all the people who take up large amounts of space
in our heads without “paying rent.” Tonight I want to talk about
all the “stuff” that clutters up the other rooms. Everything in
our lives seems to be such a big deal, after a while we start
to believe it really is a big deal. We run around trying to solve
problems that have no solution, wanting to fix things that may
not be able to be fixed. We live lives of high drama, battling
demons both imagined and real. So much worry, so little time.
This spiritual angst clutters up the mind and soul, and leaves
little energy or room for the true drama of being alive.
The serenity prayer now associated with the 12-step recovery programs
is instructive for all of us: “God, grant me the serenity to accept
the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I
can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
We need to refocus our energy, because sweating the small stuff
of our lives doesn’t leave us enough energy and time and inclination
and confidence to work on the big stuff, the stuff we should sweat.
Stephen Covey in his Seven Habits books uses this wonderful metaphor:
“Imagine that you’re standing behind a table, and on this table
is a large open mouthed jar that is almost completely filled with
small pebbles. On the table beside the jar are several large-sized
rocks.” The pebbles represent all the little, petty things that
fill your life; the rocks represent the bigger, more significant
and meaningful things. As you stand behind this table, imagine
your task is to fit in as many big rocks as you possibly can.
You begin to work at it. You try to force the big rocks into the
jar, but since the small pebbles take up so much room, you’re
only able to get in maybe one or two. You work at it and rearrange
the rocks but still, you can’t get them all in, no matter how
hoard you squeeze them around the many pebbles taking up most
of the room. Now, Covey suggests, try another strategy. What might
happen if you took out all the small pebbles and put the big rocks
in first? Once you have a jar full of big rocks, you can pour
the pebbles over them, and the pebbles will merely fill in the
spaces that the big rocks have left! If we fill the jars of our
lives with the pebbles, it will always be a struggle to find room
for the big rocks. If we fill the jars of our lives first with
the big rocks, the pebbles will only fill in the gaps.
Can we do that? Can we put the big rocks in first? Can we stop
sweating the small stuff so that we have the strength to lift
those big rocks? Richard Carlson turned the popular phrase Don’t
Sweat the Small Stuff...And Its All Small Stuff into a little
pocketbook filled with practical suggestions as how to refocus
that energy into paying attention to the large rocks. Here are
four I would like to offer to help us in this new year.
First, we can admit that nothing is perfect. We’re not perfect.
Your spouse, your friends, your doctor, your parents, your rabbi,
even your kids. Carlson writes, “Make peace with imperfection....The
need for perfection and the desire for inner tranquillity conflict
with each other. Whenever we are attached to having something
a certain way...we are, almost by definition, engaged in a losing
battle. Rather than being content and grateful for what we have,
we are focused on what’s wrong and our need to fix it.”
Now that doesn’t mean we don’t care. That doesn’t mean we don’t
get frightened when there is danger. That doesn’t mean we ought
not get anxious when a loved one is ill, when a child is hours
late, when a neighbor’s house is robbed. That doesn’t mean we
don’t continue to work to change the world, make it a better and
safer and gentler place for all. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t
strive to excel, expect high achievement, or pay attention to
details. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare or preplan; dot
the i’s and cross the t’s. But noting the particulars is not the
same as obsessing over small, insignificant trivialities.
Second, we can put things on the back burner. Like a soup simmering,
with only a need to be stirred now and then, we needn’t solve
all problems immediately and fully. We needn’t always interfere.
As Carlson writes, “The back burner is not a prescription for
denial or procrastination...you want to gently hold the problem
in your mind without actively analysing it.” There are so many
times our kids or spouse or coworkers or supervisor wants an immediate
answer, and we give them the wrong one, one we regret later, out
of pressure to solve all problems instantly. We have to learn
to say, “Let me think on that one and call you back later.” Our
director of outreach, Rabbi Loevinger, often asks, “Is that a
now problem, or a later problem?” We can learn to deal with later
problems...later.
Third, we can resist the urge to criticize. We have developed
into a culture of complaining. Like that old joke about the hotels
in the Catskills, “The food was terrible- and such small portions,”
we chip away at the beautiful in favour of the small, and the
inconsequential. A personal example: we could leave this service
tonight and not remember a single lovely thing about it, if we
concentrated on the cavernous gym, the squeaking folding chairs,
the less than perfect acoustics, the air conditioning, the usher
who didn’t have an extra prayer book. That would take up all the
space in our heads that supposed to be filled with Kol Nidre.
We can, however, resist the urge to criticize, for as Carlson
writes, “When we judge or criticize another person, it says nothing
about that person; it says something more about us.”
And fourth, we can remember that everything has God’s fingerprints
on it. The Talmud reminds us to say everyday, gam zeh ya’avor:
“This too shall pass” whether the ‘this” is something bad- or
good. Our task as humans is to find the holiness in what appears
to be unholy situations. Carlson writes, “When our life is filled
with the desire to see the holiness in everyday things, something
magical begins to happen..We begin to see the nurturing aspects
of daily living that were previously hidden to us. When we remember
that everything has Gods fingerprints on it...while we are dealing
with a difficult person or struggling to pay our bills, it broadens
our perspective. It helps us remember that God also created the
person you are dealing with, or that, despite your struggle to
pay your bills, you are truly blessed that you have all that you
do.”
Don’t sweat the small stuff- and it's all small stuff.
But that's not quite true. It's not all small stuff. We have big
rocks in our lives, and I believe we sincerely want them to take
precedence in the jar. Yom Kippur requires of us that we pour
out the pebbles and begin again, this time with the big rocks
in first. Yom Kippur deprives us of the ability to care about
the small stuff for on this day, we are stripped down to our barest
necessities. We fast, so we can’t worry about food (a hard thing
for Jews!). We are supposed to wear simple white clothing–in fact
in traditional synagogues men will often wear a kittel for the
next 24 hours, a simple white robe or even shroud that hides the
clothing, and many of us will be wearing sneakers as part of our
festive outfits for the simplicity of non-leather shoes. We’re
even prohibited from having sex for 24 hours, so we can’t worry
about our appeal or our bodies. We simply cannot sweat the small
stuff for the next 24 hours, and thus our tradition wisely demands
us to face the big stuff.
What is the big stuff in a Jewish life? Yom Kippur gives us one
powerful answer in the final lines, the crescendo of the prayer
Unetaneh Tokef, that humbling litany of who shall live and who
shall die, which pares the question down to its raw essence: either
we will live or we will die this coming year, and really, nothing
else matters much in that light. Unetaneh Tokef ends with this
line:
"uteshuvah, utefilah utzedakah ma'avirim et ro'a hag'zerah."
Three things can change the harshness of life’s decrees: teshuva:
repentance, the ability, the will, the longing to do the kind
of serious self-reflection that changes bad habits and attitudes;
and tefillah: prayer, faith, hope, belief in something bigger
than oneself; and tzedakah: deeds of lovingkindness, tikkun olam,
projects that make a difference, feeding the hungry, clothing
the naked, small steps that change the world. This is the big
stuff in a life lived Jewishly: teshuva- reaching in; tefillah-
reaching up; and tzedakah-reaching out.
Reaching in takes inner fortitude, to face your your own inner
demons both real and imagined and slay them. Reaching in takes
time and patience and a certain fearlessness as you assess what
you need to do in order to truly be a better person this year,
better than last year, but not perfect. Reaching in is scary,
reaching down and back into your memories and your family dynamics
and your patterns learned and relearned is serious soul-work and
its not always fun and it produces tears and real sweat. Reaching
in is where therapy leaves off, it is not the beginning of the
process of self-awareness but indeed the middle. It is the act
of cleaning up the messy residue we find inside when we reach
in deep enough. Inner peace is achieved only at the end of that
struggle.
Reaching up takes a leap of faith, to live in the “perhaps”; the
“what if” realm that maybe there is a rhyme and reason to this
life, and maybe I am answerable to a Higher Power, and maybe I
am not the end-all and be-all of the universe, and maybe life
is like a beautiful tapestry but all we see is the back side,
the lose ends of strings, the pattern from behind, and maybe there
is a pattern we can’t see from the front but there is an Eye–capital
E, that is,– that does see it. And I ought to be reaching up to
know and experience and become attuned to that Presence or I am
living only in this world, only in the world of material reality,
only in the world of physical fitness as I suggested on second
day yontiff, only in the world of the here-and now, of the world
I can see but not the world I can imagine.
And reaching out takes courage, to walk the downtown streets of
Toronto and not harden the heart, to reach into the pocket of
a non-judgemental self and offer a kind word and a coin. It takes
courage to write postcards of protest, to send letters to the
editor, to speak up everytime and everywhere there is sexism,
or racism, or homophobia, or sinat chinam, senseless hatred. Daring
to make a difference means changing your life-style, buying extra
groceries for the food bank, giving tzedakah daily or weekly,
choosing others over the self. Reaching out means building a community
that cares.
And because it takes so much inner strength, and faith, and courage,
we go the easier route. We just keep pouring in the pebbles that
will prevent us from dealing with the rocks.
Rabbi Simcha Bunem used to tell his disciples his story on the
High Holidays: Once, there was a king whose son rebelled against
him, and so was banished from his father’s kingdom. After a while,
the king was moved to pity his son’s fate, and decided to send
messengers to find him, and to grant him anything he might wish.
It took a long time, but finally one of the royal messengers found
the son, far from home. He was at a village inn, dancing barefoot
and in a torn shirt in the midst of drunken peasants.
The courtier bowed low and said, “Your father, the king, has sent
me to ask what you desire. Whatever it may be, the king is prepared
to grant your wish. Hold nothing back, ask freely, for whatever
riches or honour or title you seek it shall be yours, for that
is the message of the king.” The prince began to weep. “I have
forgotten what a prince might need. I have lived for so long as
a poor peasant, I ask only for some warm clothing and anew pair
of shoes.” “See” said Rabbi Bunem, “that is
how we whine for the small things of the hour when the King comes
calling for us. We have forgotten that we are princes, and we ask
only for clothes and shoes.”
The Ruler of the Universe is opening the gates for 24 hours, starting
now. Let's not ask for clothes and shoes, the pebbles of our lives.
Let's ask for strength and help, in setting the big rocks back
on top.
Shana Tovah.
Sermons and Divrei Torah
Additional Resources
Elul: Period of Preparation
Yamim Noraim: Days of Awe
Rosh Hashanah: Introduction
Shofar Symbolism
The Custom of Tashlich
Yom Kippur: Introduction
G'mar Chatima Tova...
