"Gimilut Chasadim: Toward a World of Human Dignity"

Well, we’ve passed what’s for me the most difficult part of the High Holy Days. It came last night at the very beginning of services, the moment when I stood up to greet all of you, and prayed I wouldn’t say, “Shabbat Shalom.”

Believe me, it’s harder than it sounds. The force of habit a pretty strong. Perhaps that’s why the tradition provides us with a number of different greetings for this time of year. There's the all purpose, "Chag Sameach - Happy Holiday"; the Yiddish version "Gut Yontif'; and the specific Rosh HaShanah greeting, "L'Shanah Tovah Tikatevu - may you be inscribed for a good year." After a year of economic challenges, environmental disasters, and local floods of biblical proportions, I think there’s a new greeting we ought to employ: "L'shanah YOTER tovah tikatevu. May you be inscribed for a better year!"

Wouldn't it be nice? To welcome a new year filled with nachas and celebration, peace and prosperity? Of course it would. But realistically, at services' end our dilemmas and challenges will still be here. How does Rosh HaShanah prepare us to deal with them?

The story is told of a person facing a critical life decision. Finding herself at an impasse, she sought the counsel of a holy man. Upon hearing her dilemma, the Holy man advised: I cannot tell you what to do, I can only tell you who you are. Once you know who you are, you will know what to do.

That is what Rosh Hashanah provides: a vital reminder of who we are, and as Jews, what we value.  Once we know that, we’ll know what to do.

This season's message begins with the fact that today's celebration, the first day of the seventh month of Tishri, is not even called Rosh HaShanah in the Torah. It is called Yom HaZikkaron - a day of remembrance, and also Yom Teruah, the day of the sounding of the Shofar. Yet, this was not the only time in antiquity the Shofar was sounded, and though it's called Yom HaZikkaron, the Torah doesn't tell us what it is we're supposed to remember.

Thankfully, the rabbis of the Talmud do. They declared this day to be "Yom Harat Olam," the birthday of the world; for by their calculation, the first day of Tishri was the sixth day of creation, the day God created the first human being.

The rabbis noted that, unlike all other creatures - schools of fish, flocks of birds, herds of cattle, swarms of insects - Adam and Eve were created alone.

Why was this so? According to the Mishnah (Sanhedrin), Adam and Eve were created alone to teach us that every human being is born with three intrinsic dignities.

First, like Adam, we are each of infinite value. God began with a single human, says the Mishnah, to teach that whosoever destroys one life is considered as if he has destroyed an entire world, and whosoever saves one life is considered as if he saved an entire world. Just as the entire human line began with Adam, so too does each individual represent a lasting legacy.

Second, we are created as unique individuals. The Mishnah illustrates this by comparing God to a coinmaker. When humans strike many coins from one die, they emerge identical. But when God strikes every person from the die of the first human being, all emerge different - so different, that even identical twins have different fingerprints. So it is that each of us is a singular blend of nature and nurture, the sole bearer of our genetic formula, the solitary sum of our life's experience.

And last, we are created equal. If Adam and Eve are our common parents, then we are all brothers and sisters, members of one human family. As the Mishnah reasons, our having common parents insures that no person has the right to claim, "my lineage is more distinguished than yours." Our common ancestry means we are fundamentally connected and related.

These three characteristics - infinite worth, uniqueness and equality - form the basis for the Jewish value of Kavod HaBriot, human dignity. Created in God's image, we have Kavod, an inherent right to be treated with respect. Linked by our shared destiny, we have an obligation to treat each other with compassion.

Why does our tradition point us to the story of creation year after year? Perhaps because it is one thing to assert that we possess human dignity, but quite another to treat each other and ourselves as if we are of infinite value. Rosh HaShanah reminds us that we should.

Why is so difficult to treat each other with Kavod, with dignity? For one thing, we live in a world filled with acts that negate human worth - from unspeakable crimes against humanity in the Congo, violence in Afghanistan and Iraq, to political and religious repression in China and Iran. The continual cascade of images can't help but inure us to human degradation.

In our own community, not more than a few miles from here - we encounter manifestations of human inequality, poverty, homelessness and hunger; crime and its resulting victims. The widening gap between the haves and the have nots signals a corresponding loss of human dignity.

And even in our personal lives, human dignity can get short shrift. The sheer number of people we interact with makes it difficult to see them as unique individuals and what's more, not every interaction is a positive one. No wonder we find it hard to recognize the dignity of others; no wonder we fail too often to affirm it.

On Rosh HaShanah, we return to the story of creation and proclaim that our most profound role as human beings is to build a world in which Kavod HaBriot, the fundamental dignity of every person is respected and enhanced.

This proclamation is founded on a basic Jewish assertion: even our most heartfelt values are worthless unless they are embodied in action. Thus, our concern for life and human dignity take form in the following Mitzvot, or commandments.

-The mitzvah of Tikun Olam - perfecting this imperfect world. We fulfill our role in completing creation by recognizing injustice and suffering and doing what we can to correct it.

- The mitzvah of Tzedakah - doing acts of justice by providing for the physical needs of others. Tzedakah speaks to our role in feeding the poor, clothing the naked, protecting those least able to protect themselves.

- The mitzvah of Pikuach Nefesh - Saving a life. When life is threatened, nearly all other commandments yield. To save a life, even the most observant Jew is compelled to drive on Shabbat, eat on Yom Kippur, even to sell a Torah.

These Mitzvot speak to our role in responding to human suffering. They maintain that we can make a difference. So, as we did last year, we will distribute special bags at the conclusion of Yom Kippur services. We ask that you fill them with non-perishable foods, preferably in cans, and return them before Yom Kippur. This year it’s more important than ever, both because the need has increased and the Jewish Food Pantry was wiped out by the flooding in July.

While such efforts enable us to respond to human suffering, Rosh HaShanah reminds us that human dignity is endangered closer to home. While global conflict and poverty devalue life's worth, the indignities we bring upon each other every day do damage as well.

At this season we recognize the times we've negated the worth of others:

• the nasty gibes or belittling comments calculated to inflict hurt;
• the pointedly sarcastic remarks;
• the accusations aired;
• the confidences betrayed; the malicious gossip shared;
• the times we criticized others for the very faults we find in ourselves.

The Talmud says "to shame another person is like shedding blood." And as we consider the gallons we knowingly spilled, think about the damage we do unintentionally: the times we grew impatient or angry, and cut someone off on the freeway or in midsentence; or made a thoughtless, but hurtful, offhand remark. Or the occasions when we failed to take notice of the person standing right in front of us.

Why do we allow this to happen? What leads us to be so inconsiderate?

Sometimes it's because we're rushed. Or in a bad mood. Other times, it is simply because our attention is elsewhere.

Or the setting seems anonymous or inconsequential - like standing in line at the market, or at the bank or asking for information on the phone.

But there is another dynamic at play. Consciously or unconsciously, we tend to sort people, those who matter more and those who matter less, and ration our attentiveness accordingly. Those who matter can include family and friends, teachers and students, clients and employers. There are our superiors, to whom we defer; our peers whom we acknowledge; and our subordinates who we acknowledge if we have time.

Although the sheer number of people we interact with may necessitate this interpersonal triage to some degree, there's a hidden danger. We can begin to treat those less important to us, as if they don't matter at all.

To understand the moral problem this creates consider how you would feel:

- If the person you just honked at in traffic turns out to be someone you know.

- or the email containing your critical comments intended for one person was inadvertently sent to an entire distribution list.

When we accidentally treat someone who should matter as if they don't matter at all, our embarrassment should drive home this season's message: On Rosh HaShanah, we reassert that every person matters ultimately and that their human dignity, their Kavod, is ours to protect. The story of creation suggests that we should treat everyone as if they mattered, as if they were Adam and Eve, unique individuals, upon whose well being the world itself depends.

Before we can recognize the Kavod of others, however, we must recognize our own

unique character, and affirm our own infinite worth. In a world in which self-esteem is too often determined by external criteria - salary, status, physical appearance, dress - we are expert in comparing ourselves to others and coming up short. We need to remember the words of Martin Buber: "Every person born into this world represents something new, something that never existed before, something original and unique. It is the duty of every person ... to know and consider that she is unique in her particular character and that there has never been anyone like her before; for if there had been someone like her before there would have been no need for her to come into the world. Every single person is a new thing in the world and is called upon to fulfill her particularity."

From a Jewish perspective, then, self - esteem is not a luxury. It is a necessary acknowledgment of our uniqueness and inherent self-worth.

For only when we have affirmed our own human dignity, will we be able to find it in others. How can we recognize the unique qualities in others? By being open and patient. By setting aside preconceived expectations. By being willing to seek out the good in others rather than focusing on their faults. By being a mentch.

From a deeper appreciation of the uniqueness of others we can move to a greater sensitivity to human worth. Jewish tradition provides a number of mitzvot that resensitize us to issues of human dignity and Kavod and provide an outlet for our heightened awareness. They are called Gimilut Chasadim, acts of lovingkindness. Unlike tzedakah, which responds to physical needs such as food or shelter, Gimilut Chasadim addresses our responsibility to meet the spiritual needs of others, the need to be noticed, the need to be affirmed as worthy.

Gimilut Chasadim begins with the smallest gestures: a smile at the checkout counter; taking the time to say "thank you"; the post card that says "we were thinking about you"; the phone call to relatives or friends with whom we've been out of touch; the question that asks with genuine intent, "are you okay?" and, "what can I do to help you?"

Gemilut Chasadim involves what a bumper sticker once called "random acts of kindness," and points to a critical responsibility: Judaism demands that we reach out to others around us with compassion. It is among the most direct of Jewish ways to save lives, to save souls.

Gemilut Chasadim is not found only in the moments of grace that affirm the humanity of another. Gimilut Chasadim includes fixed responsibilities that extend and multiply human healing.

• providing clothes for the naked;
• visiting the sick and those who care for them; comforting the bereaved;
• accompanying the dead to the grave; celebrating with bride and groom;
• welcoming a newcomer or a guest into our community;
• maintaining what is known as Gimilut Chesed societies that provide no-interest loans for those in need, like the Hebrew Free Loan association here in Milwaukee.

The Talmud says that Gimilut Chasadim is more spiritually powerful than Tzedakah. Whereas Tzedakah often involves money, Gimilut Chasadim requires personal involvement. Tzedakah is given only to the poor; Gimilut Chasadim can be done for anyone.

Gemilut Chasadim can be helping people find jobs, visiting the elderly, making recordings for the blind, teaching people to read, providing shelter for the homeless, saving animals from suffering, lifting the spirits of the depressed, caring for orphans, even perpetuating the memory of someone who has died. Anything we can do to protect and affirm the dignity, the Kavod of another human being.

For unlike Adam and Eve, we were not created alone, but surrounded by others. And through acts of Gemilut Chasadim we can build a community of caring. Like the tabernacle in the desert, constructed from the heartfelt donations of the Israelites, the communities we build today are founded on the small acts of consideration, compassion and kindness we extend to each other.

In this new year 5771, on this Yom HaZikkaron, day of remembrance, may we be reminded of our own infinite worth and uniqueness;

may our renewed self awareness enable us to recognize and affirm the Kavod of others;

And as we leave this place,

may we greet each other,

and may we treat each other,

in ways that respect our fundamental human dignities.

If we do, then truly it will be a Shanah Yoter Tovah, an even a better year, for us all.