One day long ago, a wise man named Honi was travelling along a road, when suddenly he came across an old man digging in the dirt beside a house.  The man looked like he was in his late seventies, and Honi was taken aback to see the man toiling so hard under the midday heat of the sun.  After watching for a few minutes, Honi inquired as to his purpose: “Good day, sir!  Might I ask why you are working so hard?”  The man looked up, seeing Honi for the first time.  He was chewing on a piece of straw and as he turned, he eyed Honi up and down.   After a moment the man replied “A’m plantin sum carob trees, is all.”  Honi was perplexed.  “But it takes seventy years before a carob tree matures and bears fruit!” The old man narrowed his eyes.  “Ay, that be so.”  “Well,” said Honi frustrated, “do you expect to live another seventy years?” The man chuckled, “That I do not.” “So why plant a tree that you will never see yield fruit!?”  The man smiled, with a wistful look in his eyes. “When I came into the world, I found many beautiful carob trees fully grown and fruit-baring.  Just as my forefathers planted for me, so too do I plant for my grandchildren.”

Babylonian Talmud, Taanit 23a

What is captivating about this story, is that the old man toils without any possibility of reward or recompense.  He simply sees himself as another link in the chain of humanity.  He chooses to continue the work of the past despite knowing that he will never complete it.

Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt and guided them through the desert for forty years.  It was Moses who fed them, disciplined them, chastised them, answered their annoying questions and intervened when God wanted to wipe them out.  It was Moses who helped mold a rowdy bunch of slaves into a unified nation.  Can we truly imagine what Moses felt when God told him that he would never enter the land of Israel?  Despite his outstanding leadership, his steadfast dedication, his strength and compassion, he would never… ever… see his dreams fulfilled.

What comes to mind for me as I think about this is the pithy proverb from Pirkei Avot: “You don’t need to complete the work, but you aren’t free to desist from it either.”  (Avot 2:21)  We shouldn’t be intimidated by the difficulty of a sacred task because “Rome was not built in a day.”  We simply need to commit ourselves to the task of moving forward, without the paralyzing hubris of thinking that we will close the book for good and have a photo of ourselves on the cover.

I am deeply humbled by your choosing me as your rabbi.  In taking on this sacred role, I hope to build upon the work of Rabbi Barnett and the rabbis before him.  I know that Rabbi Barnett, through his menschilchkeit, tremendous learning and his pastoral presence, has been invaluable to the congregation.  I myself feel very blessed by the warmth and generosity of spirit he has shown me over the past few weeks.  I hope to build upon what he has accomplished, while realizing that – as God taught Moses – reaching the promised land is not what is important – rather it’s the journey that takes us there.

However God’s message to Moses – that he would never complete the journey – has something to say to us as individuals too.  I’d like to tell you an extraordinary story about one of the early rabbis that I found hidden away in a dusty old book called Leviticus Rabbah (23:4):

R. Eleazar came to a certain place. They said to him: ‘Recite the blessings accompanying the shema‘.’ Said he to them: ‘I am not learned therein.’ ‘Recite the blessings for the shema’,’ they begged. ‘I am not learned therein,’ he repeated. They exclaimed: ‘Is this R. Eleazar? This the man of whom you boast so much? It is for nothing that he is called “ Rabbi ”.’ His face turned pale and he went to R. Akiba his master. The latter asked him: ‘Why is your face so Wan?’ He recounted the incident to him and said to him: ‘Are you willing, O Master, to teach me?’ ‘Yes,’ he told him. He taught him. After a time he came to that place and they said to him: ‘Recite the blessings for the shemafi’ He recited them. ‘Act as reader,’ they said. He did so. They exclaimed: ‘R. Eleazar has recovered the power of speech’!

There’s something I have to tell you, and – there’s no easy way to say this – I’m worried you may disown me.  I’m a recovering perfectionist.  For me it is difficult to accept my work when it seems (to me) to be deficient.  Two recent examples?  My Torah reading earlier and this sermon I am reading.  God’s imperative to Moses and us is that we must reconcile ourselves to the unresolved situation.  Nothing can be perfect.  We must learn to live with our best efforts as being “good enough.”

For me, this message says a lot about our prayer services here at Temple Emanuel.  Why is it that the services are run by such a small group of people?  Those people are, of course, very generous, but I believe that for many of us, the idea of standing up and presenting an imperfect rendition of Torah or the prayers is very intimidating.  Learning to put ourselves “out there,” knowing that it won’t be perfect, is certainly difficult.  Yet, what we should remember is God’s message to Moses: What we do need not be perfect.  It’s the contribution that counts.