The center fielder drops an easy fly ball. When she returns to the dugout, the manager demands an explanation.

"The sun got in my eyes", the center fielder says.

"But it's cloudy out", says Charlie Brown.

Lucy answers: "Then the clouds got in my eyes."

It is ironic that each of the past two years, I have quoted the first verse from the book of Lamentations, the Biblical book of mournful dirges, during my sermons on the first day of Rosh Hashana.

Two years ago, I surprised more than a few people in the congregation by speaking about Tisha B'Av, the fast day of the 9th of Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. On a beautiful fall morning, I urged you to make Tisha B'Av a part of your Jewish year and, more importantly, make its message part of your spiritual perspective. Quoting Lamentations, I begged you to realize that we have to seek out for ourselves and teach our children more than the uplifting, joyous aspects of Judaism. I pleaded with you to recognize Judaism's power in our lives, at bad times as we so naturally do at good times. I wanted you to discover how meaningful it is when Judaism sings the blues. I wanted you to balance Purim with Tisha B'Av.

Then, last year, only a few short days after September 11, I quoted the opening of Lamentations again. Eicha Yashva Badad, "How does the city sit solitary, she that was full of people?" The words seemed so appropriate to describe New York City but even more appropriate in the emotions the words evoked about our fears and our sadness as Jews and as Americans.

So much seemed uncertain on that Rosh Hashana day. The road ahead loomed dark and full of danger. Few of us dared to think what this Rosh Hashana, one year later, would feel like. And, I dare say, that some of us, adults and children alike, sought some form of assurance, divine or otherwise, that we would even gather in this place one year later.

And today we say in the spirit of our Biblical ancestors: Hinenu. We are here. We say to everyone who hears us, here at home and across the seas: We are here.

To be sure, most of us have spent the year in relative security and comfort. We haven't had to face directly what others face every day. But, after having properly mourned those who have lost their lives, we now turn to recognizing the treasure of our lives. So, please rise and say with me the sheheyanu grateful to God for the miracle of this new day and the promise of this new year.

So many aren't here. So many died that day and so many have died since in other acts of senseless terror and violence, in Israel, in the United States, everywhere. We are here and we must commit ourselves to remembering those who are not, acting for them, and building a better world in their memory.

This has been a year of sadness and concern, a year of pain and anguish, of pessimism and fear. It has been a year of more clouds than sun.

So we gather our children a little bit closer to us and we hold them for the security we provide them and the hope they nurture in us.

Yes, this has been a different type of year. It is a year in which we have stood up for who we are as Jews, as strong supporters of Israel, as proud Americans and pray for a safe future for our children.

And that is what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about the future. Because, frankly, there is something that worries me deeply about where we are today as a Jewish people.

Before I get to what it is that worries me, let me tell you what my remarks are not about.

My remarks are not intended to ignore reality or to be seen as equivocating or rationalizing evil acts. There is hatred in the world, a large part of it directed at Israel and Jews in general and few of us are as idealistic as we were 12 months ago. The acts of the 9/11 hijackers, suicide bombers and other terrorists who target innocent people are horrendous, unjustifiably immoral acts.

My remarks are also not centered on Middle East politics. I have given my perspective on issues in the Middle East many times from the bima over the past year. There is legitimate and realistic concern about Israel's security and future in the face of the attacks of the last two years and the reemergence of virulent Palestinian and Arab rhetoric. We must stand firm and stand strong for Israel.

But the moral standing of Israel's policies and the rights and dignity of Palestinians who desire to live in peace with Israel can not be ignored and can not be shunted away. These are real issues and must be addressed.

I believe that there needs to be an honest and open dialogue in the Jewish community among all Jews who support the idea and the reality of a secure and flourishing Jewish state. Those who engage in such reflection and debate are to be praised and this dialogue needs to continue and we at Beth Israel need to be more a part of it. I hope we can be this year.

But, this is not the focus of my remarks. I am neither trying to be subtle about some statement about Middle East politics nor ignoring the realities of the world.

My remarks are about something else entirely.

My remarks are about our agenda for our Jewish lives in 5763 and beyond.

In one sentence based on the brilliant statement of Charles Schulz, it is time that we stopped letting the clouds get in our eyes.

There are two vital aspects of the Jewish experience which have been downplayed this past year. They have been downplayed in public forums and downplayed in private discussions, they have disappeared from community agendas and they have been absent from school curricula. Yes, we have had other things on our mind. But, as the New Year dawns, let us remember what these two vital aspects are.

The first is the spiritual aspect of Jewish life. Judaism is more than politics. Political realities are part of what it means to be a Jew but there is so much more and we do ourselves a great disservice when we focus so much on issues of politics that we forget the unifying and uplifting power of Judaism as a religion and a way of life.

Especially as we struggle with the clouds around us, we must find a way to let the study of Torah, the celebration of holidays, the experience of prayer, the observance of the mitzvot, the beauty of Jewish literature, the passion of a good theological or philosophical debate, even, the satisfying aroma of a good bowl of chicken soup, cut through the clouds, light our lives and give an expression of joy and meaning to our Judaism.

In past years, we have been guilty of ignoring the difficult aspects of Judaism in trying to teach our children that Judaism is fun and games. This year, we have learned, once again, how wrong that is.

But, it is equally as wrong to rob our children of the joys, the pleasures and the uplifting sense of what Judaism can be and that is exactly what we do when we view everything from the perspective of fear or anger.

Our children and those of us who have not been raised in a world of blatant anti-Semitism will not buy into this. It will not be enough of a hook for our children to find meaning in Judaism when it is presented as anti-anti Semitism. It is our responsibility to give them a reason to act as Jews besides teaching them that Jewish acts serve as expressions of pride in the face of adversity.

Acting Jewish must have a meaning and a context beyond the op-ed page of the New York Times.

And, the second aspect of my concern: we can not and must not give up on the outside world.

I am so afraid of the direction of rhetoric in the Jewish community. For example, what begin as legitimate and relevant and justified discussions about security flow seamlessly into the statements which declare that we can not trust anyone. We hear that it is us against the world and that no one else understands and no one else cares, that we can only trust each other.

Then, the rhetoric drifts into anger or hatred towards others of other faiths and other nationalities while placing our own actions and beliefs beyond reproach. When this happens, we not only stereotype others but we also deny for ourselves the need every individual and every community has for teshuva, self-evaluation. We cease questioning our own actions and our own actions by focusing on the external danger.

When finished, our vision for the world seems only to encompass our own survival.

This simply can not be what Judaism is all about.

We need to find it in our hearts to guard our tongues from speaking hatred about others and other faiths in the name of Judaism. We must continue to impress upon our children the beauty and the love for our world which must be at the root of our tradition and to continue to dream of and work for a world which brings us closer to other peoples and which shows our children that the true light of our traditions is meant to shine not only for our own survival but for the betterment of the world.

No doubt there are those of other faiths who teach and practice virulent anti-Semitism as part of their religious dogma. I don't ask you to ignore this. In conversations I have with others of other faiths, I certainly don't gloss over the virulently anti-Semitic or anti-Israel statements that come from some religious organizations. I am not and I can not ask you to be as idealistic as you might have been last September 10.

But, I am asking you not to bury your dreams, not to give up on others and on the world. I am asking you to watch what you say and watch what you teach your children, especially in the name of Judaism because, God willing, this time will pass, the clouds will clear and the world will move on and we must move on with it, not find ourselves hopelessly mired in an archaic, private, self-centered world.

The clouds are in our eyes. We are not be responsible for putting them there in the first place but we have to learn to see through them.

I read a story this year which moved me tremendously. It was a story about how blind people living in New York City had been affected by the attack of September 11.

Describing the changing life of a man named Eddie Montanez, blind since his youth, the article calls the subway: "fresh terrain. He used to come to work on the PATH train to the World Trade Center. Now, he must tune his face, his ears, his skin to the currents of the crowds at 42nd Street.

The lost streets near the Trade Center had been rich with invisible clues about where things stood, how people moved, when traffic surged. Suddenly these were gone or unreachable. For blind people with some light perception, small streets that were once dim, in permanent shadow, now bounce with sunlight for the first time in more than 30 years.

He tries to listen. He wants to be heard. So, in his hand, Mr. Montanez holds his cane, a few ounces of fiberglass and aluminum shaped into a long skinny rod. "I hit the cane harder so people notice".

I mention this article for two reasons. First, I mention it because it is a sobering reminder of how crucial it is that we try to see events from others perspective, how important it is to look beyond ourselves when we seek to understand a particular event, how important it is to see it through the eyes of others.

But, more importantly, I mention it because it reminds me of us.

The Torah in Deuteronomy warned that if the commandments were ignored, the people would grope at noon like a blind person gropes in the darkness.

Rabbi Yose asked: Why does the Torah say like a blind person gropes in the darkness? What difference would it make to a blind person whether it was light or dark? He answered his own question by describing a time when he saw a blind person walking at night holding up a torch. When he asked him why he had the torch, the blind man said: kol zman sheavukah biyadee binay adam roeem oti umatzilin oti meen hapichatim u min hakotzeem u min habrarkaneem. Whenever I hold the torch in my hand, other people can see me and save me from the pitfalls and thorns and bushes.

This has been a year of darkness: a darkness foreign to many of our generation and our upbringing. We have been saddened. We have been tense. We have been tearful. And this is newfound territory for many of us. Our landscape, our route in life, has changed drastically.

And yet, from where I stand and from what I see, the worst part of the darkness has been that so much that we have grown to believe in as important in Jewish life, the very things that can help us break through the darkness, are overshadowed by trepidation and pessimism and, most sadly, by a closing into ourselves and a closing out of others.

We need to carry the two lights that we always have carried: the light of our spiritual tradition which can bring meaning to our lives and hope to our future and the light which shines to others so that we can see them and they can see us. Oherwise, we will continue to stumble and grope for meaning in a world which is suddenly cloudy.

Two years ago, I urged you to add Tisha B'Av to your Jewish perspective. This morning, I urge you to balance out the fear and the sadness with joy and hope and a determination to find better times.

I urge you to reach down inside to find the spiritual spark in Judaism and to reach out to others to trust and be trusted, to guide and be guided and to work together with those of all faiths and all nationalities who do desire a better world.

Of course, our first responsibility is to our people. Let us never underestimate or overlook the dangers so many face. Let us stand with Jews, here, in Israel, in Europe, in South America and let us stand for them loudly and clearly.

But, let us find plenty of room for more than suspicion and more than fear and more than ourselves. Let us continue to search and to work for a more secure people, a more meaningful Judaism and most importantly, for a more perfect world.

Robert Dobrusin, Rabbi
Copyright © 2002, Robert Dobrusin.
Permission is granted for distribution of this message providing that it is distributed in its entirety and with full attribution, including this copyright statement.

This message was originally posted on September 24, 2002.

Please send comments or suggestions to Rabbi Robert Dobrusin.