The Chance for a Second Chance (Yom Kippur, Yizkor, 5785)

The Chance for a Second Chance
Rabbi Sarah Berman, Yom Kippur, Yizkor 5785

This is our yizkor service—a moment of memory for those we lost in the past year, and beyond. And while I will talk about death—I’m going to start with life.

In seventh grade, I had a friend named Abigail* (*not her real name). We talked about books, and music, and our homework. We were pretty nerdy, but that didn’t matter to us. Until one day, it mattered to me. To make myself seem like I fit in with the cooler kids, I said some hurtful things to Abigail, in front of other people. I was cruel to her; I diminished her to make myself seem bigger.

But middle school reputations don’t change just like that. I became the mean girl in that moment. And, rather than being invited to join a cooler group of kids, all I did was make my friend feel bad.

I felt horrible, almost immediately. Maybe 3 seconds passed before the guilt and regret set in. I can’t remember, but I apologized either that same day or the next day.

Somehow, with all the grace that I couldn’t muster, Abigail forgave me.

She is the hero of this story—not me.

I don’t know what convinced Abigail that I was worth a second chance, but she gave me that gift—and the gift of years of friendship that blossomed after. That second chance has helped me strive to become more self-aware, more humble, and a better friend in all the years since. I’m grateful to still have her in my life.

My story is just one about second chances. We all have these stories.

Second chances are top of mind for us this time of year. Teshuvah (return or repentance) is the overarching theme of the High Holy Days. Teshuvah is all about seeking that second chance, that we may or may not feel like we deserve.

This afternoon we heard one of the greatest stories of second chances in our tradition: the tale of Jonah. His second chance is offered by no less than God.

After “hightailing it” from God’s call, and sitting in a quiet corner (of a big fish’s belly) to think about what he did wrong, Jonah responds to God’s second call in a different way. He learns from his mistake, and chooses the right path the second time around.

Jonah conveys God’s message of return and repentance to the people of Nineveh, who also receive their own second chance. They, too, choose the right path—turning to God in atonement.

Jonah and the Ninevites change and grow, they learn and flower. It’s a story of true teshuvah, of reconnecting, recentering, and replanting.

We’ve heard some incredible stories of second chances this past year. Over these months of fear and loss, of violence and grief, we have invited both Israelis and Palestinians to share their stories of teshuvah, of forgiveness and second chances, with our Central family.

We heard from two members of the Parents Circle, both of whom have lost family members in the ongoing strife between our peoples. “I knew I wanted to do something to prevent other—particularly mothers—from experiencing this pain,” said Robi Damelin, an Israeli mother whose son David was killed by a Palestinian sniper while serving in the army. “[T]here isn’t anything like this pain, it’s like someone comes and slashes at your heart,” she told us.

Next to her on our bimah was Mohammad Abu Jafar. “I only saw Israelis as soldiers… they killed my brother and then they took my house,” he told us.

Despite the unimaginable losses they each suffered in this conflict, both Mohammad and Robi made the difficult decision to enter into conversation, and eventually into relationship with each other, and with other Israelis and Palestinians. They were able to see through their grief and find “the humanity in the other side,” as Mohammad said. They are among scores of “From Pain to Purpose: Israelis and Palestinians Pursuing Peace” program at Central Synagogue, bereaved Israelis and Palestinians who have somehow found the strength and generosity to give one another a second chance.

And this afternoon we heard incredible stories from Sue Adler and Larry Williams about the second chances they have given and received.

Second chances, the opportunity to make new choices, need not play out on the stage of geopolitics, nor be of the scale of war and peace or societal change. They can be small. Intimate.

The Talmud tells us about Rabbi Akiva, offered a second chance at professional satisfaction and meaningful identity by his wife—whose support sends him at age 40 from the flocks he tended as a shepherd to the yeshiva where he becomes one of our greatest sages.

The most important second chances aren’t the ones given to someone in middle school or someone else in mid-career. They are the ones we give to or get from our loved ones—especially when it becomes clear that our time with them is running short.

Some of us are mourning the death of a loved one after getting time with them in hospice or palliative care. That time together helped us prepare by saying all of the things we needed to--giving and receiving the comfort we sought.

Some of us said goodbye to a loved one after we had finally shared our anger or hurt with them. Our honesty opened space for their apology, and allowed their final moments to be ones of reconciliation, and possibly of peace.

And some of us buried a loved one with whom nothing went unsaid, and the process of teshuvah was more a constant conversation and recalibration according to each other’s needs over many long years.

But life and death are fickle, and we don’t always get the time we need.

The hardest deaths—the “bad deaths,” are those that force us to leave things unsaid and unheard. When we don’t get that chance for teshuvah, when we don’t seek or grant forgiveness until it’s too late—how can we deal with that?

Abusing your trust, taking your love for granted, turning a blind eye to your pain or grief--there are some who aren’t worthy of your forgiveness. But even in those—hopefully very limited—cases, it need not mean that second chances are off the table.

For those carrying guilt or anger or resentment that you can’t—and shouldn’t—release, maybe you can offer a second chance to yourself. Maybe you can give yourself the generosity, the kindness of a reset, a releasing of the grief in order to plant something new.

The “good deaths” are those that come after a long life, or release a loved one from suffering. But even more, a good death is the one that comes at the end of a life where what we needed to say was said—where mistakes were acknowledged, forgiveness sought, and second chances granted.

What can we do in this next year, so one day we can achieve this kind of good death, for ourselves and our loved ones?

“Repent one day before your death,” Jewish tradition teaches us. Most of us have no idea when our death will come, so we learn we should seek teshuvah every day. Each day brings the opportunity to offer a second chance—or to embrace one ourselves.

How can we do that?

Have that conversation, even if it’s hard.
Admit our mistakes and try to make them right.
Assume good-will.
Lead with love.
Offer that second chance, when it feels healthy and constructive.
And accept the second chances that are offered--by others, and by yourself.

Each day this year we will have the opportunity to offer a second chance—or to embrace one ourselves. May we accept those opportunities so that we may move through this next year open, changed, and growing anew.