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From Loneliness to Communities of Kindness – Yom Kippur Kol Nidrei 5785
From Loneliness to Communities of Kindness: Yom Kippur Kol Nidrei 5785
When I was in second grade, we lived on Long Island. My Zayde had taken me to a Knicks game where they gave away team basketballs. I took home that ball and started to dribble and drive.

Photo credit: Wikipedia
One major problem, though: I didn’t have a basketball hoop.
But I didn’t let that stop me.
There was a screw on the back of the chimney bricks, which was around the height of a hoop. So, I would drive and try to hit it or shoot for it. According to the home court rules, you just had to hit the screw.

Photo credit: Pixnio
Those of you who have played with me now know why I have such a bad outside shot!
But there was another problem. For three years before we moved to Teaneck, NJ, my neighborhood in Franklin Square, Long Island, did not have many kids my age, and I was pretty shy.
So, on many Shabbat afternoons, I played by myself – I tried to make it fun with made-up teammates with nicknames like “Shreider” and Tissue,” (how I came up with names I’m going to skip), and we played another team with three made-up players.
And there I was, calling the game while dribbling and passing off the wall and then shooting at the screw.
It sounds kind of funny.
But thinking about it now, it was kind of sad.
Thinking about it now, it was pretty lonely.
At the end of the day, it was just me.
* * *
Loneliness is a real thing—not just for seven-year-olds playing alone but for all of us.
You can feel lonely in many situations, even among people.
But for so many Americans, there is a deep loneliness that is hurting people’s mental and even their physical health.
Last year, United States Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy released an advisory “calling attention to the public health crisis of loneliness, isolation, and lack of connection in our country.

Photo credit: Picryl
“Even before the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, approximately half of US adults reported experiencing measurable levels of loneliness.
“Disconnection fundamentally affects our mental, physical, and societal health.
“In fact, loneliness and isolation increase the risk for individuals to develop mental health challenges in their lives, and lacking connection can increase the risk for premature death to levels comparable to smoking daily.”
Listen to these statistics:
“The physical health consequences of poor or insufficient connection include a 29% increased risk of heart disease, a 32% increased risk of stroke, and a 50% increased risk of developing dementia for older adults.”
It’s also especially pronounced in 18-25 year olds.
The problem is so pervasive that last year, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared loneliness a “global health threat” and launched the WHO Commission on Social Connection to combat loneliness.

Photo credit: Creazilla
The surgeon general points out that “lacking social connection increases the risk of premature death by more than 60%.”
Feeling alone can hasten one’s death.
It’s that serious.
There are many causes.
We live in a world where we can avoid almost any human interaction. You can live in a city filled with people and not speak to a soul – ordering your food delivered, Amazon, working from home, watching TV and playing video games, or getting sucked into the rabbit holes on YouTube.
Loneliness started appearing as a word and a concern only in the 1820s as changes in communities accelerated.
Writing in a New York Times Magazine article a month ago entitled “Why Is the Loneliness Epidemic So Hard to Cure?,” Matthew Shear writes: that “when we talk about loneliness, what we’re actually talking about are all the issues that swirl perilously underneath it: alienation and isolation, distrust and disconnection and above all, a sense that many of the institutions and traditions that once held us together are less available to us or no longer of interest. Further, to address those problems, we can’t just turn back the clock. You have to rethink the problem entirely and the potential solutions, too.”
It’s an important article to read.
* * *
Two thousand years ago, our rabbis knew it was dangerous to be alone.
And it was.
In the pre-written ancient world, if you were alone, you could not survive. From the earliest times, relationships could save your life – without your tribe to protect you, you could be eaten alive – literally.
The rabbis understood the psychological toll. This is why their worst punishment was to put someone in herem, to excommunicate someone, to place them outside the community where no one could talk with them.
Two thousand years ago, our great sage, Hillel, warned people about this danger, stating: “Al tifros min hatzibbur – do not separate yourself from the community.” (Mishnah Avot 2:4)
He knew it was destructive not only to the fragile and vitally important structure of the kehillah—the community itself—but also to the one who is leaving, who is separating, or who feels separated from the community.
Rashi, our great 11th-century French commentator, explains that this means we should “hishtatef b’tzaratam”—we should participate and help the people of the community when they are experiencing tza’ar, tzoris, pain. If you are not a part of the community, you cannot bring consolation to others, the Bartenura, a 15th-century Italian commentator, adds.
We have seen this most acutely this year – where many Jews chose to continue to be part of the Jewish community and connected to Israel or not. Even those who had many, many issues with Israel or its government or its policies, many of them had to decide how they would be part of the community.
An 11th-century compilation of midrashim, Beresheet Rabbati, warns “al ta’amin b’atzmekha – Don’t just trust in yourself.” (Parashat Vayishlah 3)
Our tradition knew that if you think you can go it alone, you should rethink that. Look at Florida today or North Carolina—you need help to survive.
Leaving the community was destructive in both directions. Maimonides places it as a sin above things: robbing from the poor, an orphan, or a widow!
* * *
So what can we do about loneliness?
Since the time we spend alone has increased in the last twenty years, one solution is to spend less time alone.
As weekly attendance at religious services has decreased, loneliness has increased.
Only 16% of Jews in America go to shul weekly, and most of those are Orthodox Jews.
So what can we do?

Photo credit: Temple Emunah
Don’t just come to shul for peak moments like today; come more often!
The easiest first step is right here.
It’s shul!
Harvard psychologist Dr. Richard Weissbourd said in a talk held in March at the Kennedy School: “I’m not suggesting that we should become more religious, but I want to just suggest to you that religious communities are a place where adults engage kids, stand for moral values, engage kids in big moral questions, where there’s a fusion of a moral life and a spiritual life.
“A sense that you have obligations to your ancestors and to your descendants, where there is a structure for dealing with grief and loss.”
That’s shul.

Photo credit: Temple Emunah
That’s Emunah.
While some may need to invent this, and Weissbourd suggests we create it for people who have no religious identity, spiritual home, or sense of peoplehood, we have all of these.
But we need to utilize it more fully, more deeply.
Bret Stephens, in another must-read piece in the Times, wrote that since October 7th, this has been the year that American Jews woke up.
We woke up to the growing antisemitism. We woke up to realize that the alliances we built are not as strong as we thought or hoped.
He then posed the question: “Are we going to be proud Jews or (mostly) indifferent ones? And if proud, what does that entail?”
He wrote:
“To have been born a Jew is the single most fortunate thing that ever happened to me. It is a priceless moral, spiritual, intellectual, and emotional inheritance from my ancestors, some of whom were slaughtered for it. It’s a precious bequest to my children, who will find different ways to make it their own. It is, therefore, worth the time it takes to explore and worth the cost — including, tragically, the cost in bigotry and violence — it so often extracts.”
So what will we do?
Well, we have a shul community!
How should we take advantage of it?
Will we work to strengthen it?
Will we be more engaged in the community?
Community is the secret sauce of the Jewish people.
It is how we survived for the last 4000 years.
It’s not just a timeless message but also a timely one.
And it starts with being our authentic selves.
It’s about not judging others.
It’s about creating meaningful connections.
It’s about truly listening.
It’s about following up with someone.
It’s being vulnerable.
It’s not about just being with other people on a superficial level of community, but it’s when we show up and truly share – something that is not easy.
It’s about opening our hearts to others as we try to move past our own cliques and prejudices.
* * *
So let’s do it.
Let’s commit to being in community more deeply.
It begins by finding something new that connects us to shul and each other.
And, don’t forget – it’s good for our health!
And I don’t care what it is.
I don’t care if you are religious or not.
Shul isn’t about religion.
Well, I mean, there’s some religion.
But it’s more about our finding our way as Jews.
Yes, I’d love to see you in minyan, at Havdalah, on Friday nights (especially then since it’s the most fun), or on Shabbat morning, but it’s fine if that’s not what works for you. JFK it! Just for Kiddush is also great.

Photo credit: Temple Emunah
Come to a class, or get a cup of coffee at our Café Emunah on Sunday mornings from our professional barista—it even comes with one of those white foam, artistic creations.
I have always wanted a coffee shop, a place to hang out. You can have a free latte or espresso thanks to Fred Ezekiel and the Ladle Fund. Thanks to Liza Shirazi, our member who owns Revival Cafes, we even have high-top tables and stools to hang out on!

Photo credit: Revival Kitchen + Café (used with permission)
Hopefully, in the coming years, we will transform our entrance into a coffee shop hangout space with books, sofas, and more.
In Hebrew, a synagogue is called a beit knesset, which means gathering place—so come and gather, take a class, watch a movie, hang with the Sisterhood or Brotherhood, come to a Sunday breakfast, learn about Israel, join the Rosh Hodesh group, bring your kids to our youth groups, join a family education program, Tot Shabbat, Learner’s Service, and join me next fall in Spain, Morocco, and Portugal.
Stay up eating, hanging, and learning on Shavuot all night, and then read the Ten Commandments while the sun rises. Come on—does our tradition get any better than that?
Or even easier than staying up all night, come on our first multi-generation Shabbaton – save the date May 2-4, 2025!
Support each other – join the bereavement committee and support mourners. Come to a shivah or funeral – even when you don’t know the mourners – it’s a mitzvah! Come to an aufruf or a Bar/Bat/B’Mitzvah, even or especially if you do not know the family – bringing more joy is a mitzvah!
Join us in performing hesed even beyond the Emunah community—deliver our leftovers to a food pantry, volunteer for Family Table together and thank you for bringing food tonight, clean up the Charles River as we did last week, and join our mission to increase the level of meaning in our lives, to be more spiritually alive, to fulfill our mission of tikuun olam and justice by participating in our interfaith justice work with the Greater Boston Interfaith Organization is an excellent way to do this.

Photo credit: Greater Boston Interfaith Organization
We are always building a community, but it takes some work.
We build it: by our presence.
By our words.
By our smiles.
By how we greet each other.
By praising instead of pet-peeving.
By rejoicing together.
By inviting people over.
By connecting outside the building.
So, let me practice this and start creating this right now.
To all those who are new to Emunah, brukhim haba’im – welcome.
We hope you find this a spiritual home.
If you haven’t been here in a while—I know that COVID chased many of us away—welcome back home.
And for those who are here regularly, it’s always a gift to see you.
Let’s all gather with kindness and a renewed sense of purpose this year.
We are a community that blends the best of our thousands of years of our tradition with modernity; we are inclusive, dynamic, spiritually alive, and focused on how we can help each other and the world.
Whatever brought you here this evening, know that Emunah is a place for you.
We live in a time of brokenness in the world—it may be more broken than it has been in 80 years—but as we come together, let us know that we can be the agents of change, bringing healing to that world and caring and kindness to each other.
That is what community is all about.
* * *
A couple of weeks ago at Monday morning minyan, we lifted up an aveil, a mourner from his seven days of sitting Shivah. After you sit – literally and metaphorically – shivah those seven days of mourning, often on a lower chair at home, and you don’t leave your house for that week unless it’s to go to shul on Shabbat or to switch locations, the community lifts you up.

Photo Credit: Charles Glick (used with permission)
In this case, Charles Glick, an old friend, whom I have known for 30 years since we were in the Wexner Graduate Fellowship in the 90s, was completing his seven days of mourning. Charles is a member of our shul who lost his mother, Myra Glick, z”l, a few weeks ago.
The funeral and shivah were in NY and Charles came to spend the last evening of shivah in his home in Cambridge. We had minyan at his home the previous night with his wife and two young boys, and he decided to come to shul for his last minyan of shivah.
When you are home, you are lifted up by leaving your house and walking around the block. Those who come to the house literally walk the mourner around the block as they reenter the world, go to work, and the regular business of life.
When someone comes to the shul for their last minyan, which is usual these days, instead of walking around the block, they walk around the shul.
So, after we recited the traditional words of condolences to Charles, he stood up and went through the outside door of the Wolk Chapel, and the two of us proceeded to walk around the shul.
While I expected it just to be me and him, several others from the minyan joined us.
Charles didn’t know them, but they asked him about his mom, and he started to talk about his mother.
She was descended from Iraqi Jews. She was born in Rangoon, Burma, and then went to India when the Japanese invaded Burma.
After the war, she left India for England. She stayed there for ten years, then went to NY via the Queen Mary and from there to LA to join the large Iraqi Jewish community.
When her husband died at a fairly young age, she moved to Long Island to be near her daughter and her children.
Charles told us of his mother’s deep involvement in the community there. She did volunteer work and opened a small daycare.
Suddenly, we were transformed from a group of strangers into a little community that had learned something about someone they had never met.
And there was the feeling of closeness that developed in just a few minutes.
That’s the power of community.
May this be a year when we become less lonely, grow closer, and build and strengthen our connections and our community.
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