by Rabbi Judy Kummer
Change doesn’t
come easy for most of us. Many know the joke about the Buddhist monk
who says to a hot dog vendor: "Make me one with everything."
Chuckling, the vendor assembles the hot dog, gives it to the monk
and says "that will be $4, please." The monk hands over a
$20 bill, which the vendor pockets. After a moment, the monk asks for
his change, at which point the vendor taps his chest and responds,
“Change? Ah, change must come from within.”
I grew up in a
family not known for a love of change. My late grandfather was in
fact so set in his ways that for some 50 years, he used a particular
hair oil — in the days when men wore hair oil— and it turned out
he hated this brand. So why continue using it? “I’ve used it all
these years,” he said — “why should I change now?”
Why change, indeed?
Well, there are things we might do better, or might do at all, if
only we were to try to change…
Our Jewish tradition
actually encourages us to change! When we wish each other a shannah
tovah, a happy New Year, we can remember that the word shannah comes
from the verb l’shanot, to change – so in fact we are wishing
each other “a good change.”
* * * *
I’m a distance
swimmer. Lately, I have faced a somewhat distressing situation: in
the middle of blissful summertime lake swims — with blue skies
overhead, green trees all around and sunshine spangling the silky
water through which I glide, my body exulting with good health and my
soul feeling full to overflowing— it’s been distressing that I
have run aground, not once this summer but several times. It seems
this year that my kick is off; one stroke has me swimming in less
than straight lines. As I come ashore unwittingly, my hand will
suddenly graze an underwater rock, my foot will touch the muck at the
bottom of the pond. Limbs that had expected to feel nothing but the
steady glide through water are now coming into contact with objects
—and I will admit that I find the muck especially yucky. It feels
slimy and rotten; while it’s been lying there placidly, it makes me
wonder about any small creatures whose homes I had just disturbed
who, creepily, might be swimming up to join me.
But this is my new
reality: until I get my stroke straightened out, I may be swimming
ashore, whether I’ve aimed there or not. It seems like encountering
this newness, this muck at the bottom of the pond, may be an
experience I will need to learn to accept.
And then, if I can
accept this, who knows what other newness I might be open to, might
even embrace?
As we approach the
High Holidays, we are asked to do a cheshbon hanefesh, a spiritual
stock-taking, identifying patterns of behavior that might not have
served us well in the past and experimenting with changing them.
Perhaps we don’t have to go wading gleefully into the muck we might
find, but putting a toe or even a foot down onto unfamiliar terrain
can lead to a realization that it’s not so bad, that there’s been
no harm, that newness could even possibly lead to good things – and
it might result in our broaching some things we might have shied away
from trying until that point.
Our Jewish tradition
holds hope that a new future might unfold for us, sparkling in the
sunlight, if only we will be willing to try to change.
Shannah tovah, a
good change!
Rabbi Judy
Kummer is a board-certified chaplain in private practice, offering
skilled spiritual care visits, eldercare programing and warm
lifecycle events. She has served as Executive Director of the Jewish
Chaplaincy Council of MA and other nonprofits, and has served
congregations in DC, NY and NJ. She is happiest outdoors hiking in
the woods, swimming in a lake at sunset or tending to her Boston
organic garden. She can be reached at rabbikummer.com.