We Can Be Heroes Like Them©
Rosh Hashanah Day 2 - 5781/2021
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Imagine if people you led, the people who supposedly looked up to you, described you in this way:
“He or she is a tyrant, a dictator, a sadist. He was Attila the Hun with headphones, Gen. George Patton on the sidelines.”
The person to whom I am referring to is ex-NFL football coach Tom Coughlin.
Coughlin is a two-time Super Bowl-winning coach with the New York Giants, and build the Jacksonville Jaguars football franchise. A consummate winner, his teams almost always made the playoffs.
After a 12 win season, his players gave him a kinder description: he’s an “autocratic tyrant” and a “distant, dictatorial figure.”
If you were to ask athletes to describe the perfect coach in the 1980’s they would likely say: winner, tough, dictator, and distant from their players.
Ultimately, his leadership style may have led to Superbowls, but it didn’t lead to longevity on the field.
Tom Coughlin’s role has changed since he’s left the football gridiron. He wrote the following:
“As so many of you are gearing up for another N.F.L. season, I will be sitting far from the sidelines, at the bedside and holding the hand of my biggest supporter, my beloved wife, the mother of our children and a grandmother to our grandchildren…Admittedly, transitioning from being with an N.F.L. franchise to full-time caregiver wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy. The playbook is either changing by the minute or so numbingly repetitious, you lose track of time and self.”
His wife Judy is suffering from a brain disorder that erodes an individual’s ability to walk, speak, think and control body movements. It steals memories and the ability to express emotions and, sadly, is incurable. Coach Coughlin wrote, “I’ve spent my entire life preparing for some of the biggest games a person could play, but nothing can prepare you to be a caregiver who has to watch a loved one slip away.”
Coughlin isn’t the dictator with a whistle anymore, now, he’s a caregiver.
Which Coughlin do you want to lead you? What kind of hero do you want?
If I was looking to hire a coach, and I had the two Coughlins in front of me, Coughlin 1, Attila the Hun with headphones screaming at me, or Coughlin 2, the coach who will hold my hand through my most difficult moments, I would choose number two.
I believe that we can be heroes and also compassionate, but we have to redefine what it means to be a hero.
We love the people who fight for life, liberty, justice and the American way.
We love the people who take action without a moments thought to the repercussions
We love the people who fill up space with their presences and words
But think back to who has been our greatest heroes over the last year and a half, the people to whom we looked to at our most desperate hour.
They certainly haven’t been football coaches. Most of our tough-talking politicians on both sides of the aisle have turned out to be dangerous leaders; almost all of them have gone from heroes to zeroes.
Like Hagar who had a well right in front of her that would quench their thirst; or Abraham who missed the ram that could have taken his son’s Isaac’s place, our heroes have been in front of us the whole time.
I will never forget the videos from the early days of the pandemic in New York City which became the epicenter of the pandemic. They left their homes in the early mornings in darkness, and they returned home at night in darkness. When they returned home though, they were created by cheers and the banging of pots and pans. We put up banners at hospitals saying, “Heroes work here!”
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We thanked the people who worked in the stores, who we may have even finally called by their names even though they’ve been wearing name tags for years. But as the pandemic wore on, essential workers were lucky if we made eye contact with them; the banners are gone, and the cheers that were reserved for our health care providers are now heard back in the stadiums that were previously empty, the hospitals are full, and the caregivers walk home in silence.
My sister in law, Tara Shearin, an ICU nurse who served here in Florida during this pandemic, told me: “I never thought I would reconsider my career path, but after this last year and a half, I don’t know if I’m cut out for nursing anymore. I don’t think people really know how much we as healthcare workers have been carrying on our shoulders and minds during all of this. And to now be back at square one, in even worse shape than at the worst time last year, I have a feeling many of my colleagues could agree.”
There isn’t much I want to bring with me from this pandemic, but if I were to take anything with us from the pandemic, it is the way that these beautiful souls changed how we view a hero.
They are the caregivers.
- The doctors, nurses, and janitors in our hospitals
- The cashiers and shelf stockers who went from menial laborers to essential workers
On Rosh Hashanah, we recall our greatest hero, the one who started it all: Adam, the first human.
Today, Rosh Hashanah, is called Yom Harat HaOlam - the day the world was created. We don’t read the creation story today, but it is a part of our liturgy and an integral part of this holiday. The creation story is the oldest story in the book - I’m sure most, if not all of you, can tell the story by heart, but if you re-read the story, you will find that there are actually two creation stories, Genesis 1 and 2, and, two Adam and Eves, two lessons to learn how to be human.
Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, the 20th Century Modern Orthodox philosopher, introduced the idea of the two Adams in his book, The Lonely Man of Faith. In chapter 1, Adam and Eve are created together and charged with filling the world, and conquering the earth. In chapter 2, Adam is created first from dust, then his partner Eve, but only after God acknowledges that it is not good for man to be alone. The second Adam and Eve are given a different charge - לְעׇבְדָהּ וּלְשׇׁמְרָהּ- protect and serve the garden.
The second Adam’s greatest quality was anavut, humility, and also the quality that led to God creating the world. The Zohar teaches us that the only way for God to create the world was to withdraw from it, in Hebrew, Tzimtzum. God let others fill up the space.
Want to be a hero for someone this year? When they are down, when they need help, don’t fill them up with inspirational quotes, make room for them by sitting with them and listening.
That’s the mitzvah of today, the mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah; not to sound the shofar, but to listen to the sound of the shofar. The sound of the shofar is a wail, a cry. It is the cry of a family member who just learned that their loved one passed away: a series of short cries which leads to a deep sobbing cry after the full realization of loss sets in.
And our nurses and doctors listened to our cries this year. They held phones up to patients so they could have a connection to their loved ones before they died.
They listened to the cries of those who gasped for breath, trying to give them some hope.
When the chaplain could not visit, they prayed with our loved ones.
When we couldn’t be there, they were the last people to hold their hands.
We can be heroes like them - all it takes is a listening ear, an open hand, and space to give to another who is suffering.
We can be heroes like Abraham, but also like Isaac.
Abraham was a born leader who left the old country behind, bringing his family and many others with him to a new country. In Canaan, Abraham takes action: he leads an army to rescue his nephew Lot. Yes, you heard that correctly, Abraham was a general! He has the chutzpah to argue with God to save two cities. He listens to God when God tells him to sacrifice his son Isaac, and Isaac is only saved at the last minute.
Abraham is a man of action; he walked and people followed.
But Abraham is one side of what we think a hero is; the other side is Isaac.
Isaac, like many who survived being bound to a bed, survived, and his survival changes his outlook on life. What happens to someone who stares death in the face and lives to tell about it?
In Isaac’s case, he redefines what it means to be a hero.
After the Akedah, Isaac starts praying. After the Akeidah, we read the following (Genesis 24:63)
…וַיֵּצֵא יִצְחָק לָשׂוּחַ בַּשָּׂדֶה לִפְנוֹת עָרֶב
And Isaac went out walking in the field toward evening…
The Torah says that he was L’asuach Ba’sadeh, which Rashi translates as meditating. Rather than try to conquer the outside world, he becomes more attuned and connected to his inside world. His journey isn’t like his father’s, it is his own, and because of his journey, he knows himself better than any of our forefathers.
Isaac digs three wells which are contested by Philistine chieftains, so what does Isaac do?
He doesn’t conquer like this father, he makes peace.
Rabbi Bradly Shavit Artson writes the following about the choice that Isaac makes not to fight:
“Isaac did not measure wealth by the number of wells one possessed, or even how much money one has stockpiled. His life, his family, the safety of his own followers was worth more than a few wells of water. Having himself been offered on an altar, Isaac was not going to sacrifice young lives for material wealth. Isaac was a man who knew the profound value of peace, a commitment that was well-rewarded. Three times he permitted the Philistines to claim his wells. God blessed him and made him prosper. The Philistines were taught a lesson in human kindness and priorities by Isaac’s behavior. Impressed by his grandeur and magnanimity, they sought Isaac and exchanged oaths of friendship. In converting the Philistines into allies and friends, Isaac demonstrated that special wisdom.”
(Rabbi Artson - The Bedside Torah : Wisdom, Visions, and Dreams)
Many of us spend our time on the internet going to battle for what we believe in; we get a dose of adrenaline when we intellectually vanquish our enemies but is that really who we want to be?
I learned something a long time ago at overnight Jewish summer camp. How do you get a room of Jewish teenagers to be silent? The answer isn’t to scream at them, to be the loudest voice; on the contrary, it is to be the quietest voice. You whisper, "if you can hear me clap once, twice, three times." Eventually, it always works, the room quiets down.
Believe it or not, people want to follow someone who listens to them; someone who wants to work with them, rather than fight against them.
God is described in our tradition as Ish Milchamah, a warrior, but also Rofeh Israel, healer of Israel; today, during Musaf on Rosh Hashanah, we celebrate God’s Sovereignty during Malchuyot, but also God’s compassion in mercy when God hears our cries during the Zichronot service.
The Shofar is the sound of God’s voice, but the pauses in between the shofar blasts - that’s God too.
Life is a struggle between the two voices, the loud one, and the quiet one; the conquering voice and the listening ear. Like God, we also hold those two identities. We’ve done a great job of conquering the world, but now we need to follow the heroes who have helped us most during this pandemic - to listen more, to give others space, to hold hands rather than clench our fists, to seek peace, not war.
Heroes know when to step up, and when to step back
Heroes know when to speak up, and when to stay silent
Coach Coughlin ended his words by answering a question he’s been asked for all those wondering how they can help, it’s simple: "Don’t forget about the caregivers.”
To the caregivers in our community, the doctors, nurses, therapists, and essential workers of all kinds who risked and sacrificed everything - thank you.
Let us give thanks to those holy people who did not take up space, but made space for others, the Adam and Eves and the Isaacs - the caregivers, the doctors and nurses, the essential workers who kept us going.
My sister-in-law’s words resonate with me, “I never thought I would reconsider my career path, but after this last year and a half, I don’t know if I’m cut out for nursing anymore.”
We cannot afford to lose our heroes, we must join with them in the sacred obligation to bring comfort and hope to the suffering. We must listen to them and continue to support them.
After this holiday, we should continue to send those special people, those who never worked from home, thank you letters, and food, and anything else that can keep them going, but the real mitzvah of this year is emulating the qualities of those special souls: to be caregivers for our loved ones, our community, and our country. Perhaps that is the greatest gift we can give them.
We can listen more, and speak less.
We can make space for others, rather than fill it.
We can open our hand, instead of making a fist.
We can be heroes just like them: the second Adam and Eve, like Isaac, like Tara, my sister-in-law, an ICU nurse, who, like millions of others, is saving the world one life at a time.
In the coming year, we can be heroes just like them, if we choose it.
Shannah Tovah U’Metukah, and let us all choose life in the year ahead.
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