I spoke about the obligation this nation has to see that health care is accessible to all. I said it clearly and simply and, I hope, passionately. But in retrospect I believe my sermon would have been more poignant, more passionate, and perhaps included even stronger words had I, for whatever reason, chosen to give that sermon this week.

This has been a difficult and sad week for our country. For this Bostonian, it is a sadness that is personal as well. The death of Senator Ted Kennedy has brought back many deep feelings of connection and of personal loss, but along with it feelings of commitment and determination.

We have lost a great man.

To be fair, especially around the High Holy Days, I must say that some of his choices and some of his actions were not admirable (to say the very least); and one is allowed to speculate whether at times in his life his name or his political connections enabled him to survive politically where others� careers and personal lives would have been destroyed. But that would have been a tragedy for this country because what Senator Kennedy accomplished through his life, and particularly in his later years in the Senate, was so important for our nation. He wrote, sponsored and supported legislation which invariably stood up for those often without a voice. He perfected the art of the politics of standing firm to his ideals and yet seeking compromise where necessary, which is evidenced by the praise coming eloquently from both sides of the aisle. And, most critically, while he was in a position which could have removed him from everyday concerns, he continued to care for the individual citizen and the members of his family; and that is a model that we rarely see and, sadly, may never see the likes of again.

While I can�t dedicate my health care sermon to him, I can dedicate today�s sermon to his memory which, in fact, I wrote the day before he died and amended only slightly by adding a new final sentence at the end. It is ironic that today I had planned to speak of idealism and vision for a better time as it plays out on the big stage of world affairs and the smaller, but at times more important, stage of our individual lives.

In many ways, the book of Devarim is the most idealistic book of the Torah. It speaks of matters of the heart, of the spirit, of loving God and of loving human beings. It speaks poetically and glowingly of being children of God, of finding our way with God and with our family, and finding the joy and beauty in life.

But it also is very realistic, and nowhere is that realism seen as clearly as in Ki Taytzay. It begins with a clear statement: Ki Taytzay limilchama al oyvecha -- �When you go out to war against your enemy.� Right there, Ki Taytzay lets us know that enemies are real: there are those whom we must fight and there are fights we must take on.

However, when Devarim mentions war it is in the context of setting out rules of battle which attempt to bring some measure of light to the tragedy of war. Here and in other places, whether it is treating a captive with more kindness or sparing fruit trees, the Torah addresses the tragic necessity of war with a plea for mercy and a vision of a better time when the wars will end forever.

The parasha talks about much more than war. One of the mitzvot in this week�s Torah portion concerns the returning of a lost animal: Lo tireh et shor achicha o et sayo nidachim -- �You must not see the ox or lamb of your brother wandering and close your eyes to it, rather return it to your brother.�

A beautiful comment by the commentator Rabbi Bahya points out that in the book of Exodus, in Parshat Mishpatim, this law is found; but it reads: �If you see the ox or donkey of your enemy wandering, you should return it.� In Devarim, it speaks of the animal of your friend, while in Exodus it had spoken of the animal of your enemy. This is deliberate, says Bahya, and teaches that we must not only return the lost object but also try to remove from our hearts the hatred towards our enemy; and by the mere fact of performing an act of kindness, an enemy will be turned into a friend.

Talk about idealism.

The world does not always work that way, acts of kindness do not always turn an enemy into a friend. Appeasing an enemy by acting against our values or acting against our own survival is dangerous and unwise. But working to try to remove the hatred, trying to stay on a higher moral plane wherever possible, may very likely do some small part to begin to unravel enmity.

No, it doesn�t always work; and often it doesn�t because of the intransigence of those offered the act of kindness.

I, and I�m sure many of you, can think of situations in your own life where you tried to perform an act of kindness only to have it rejected. And, since it is the High Holy Day season, we should also think about the acts of kindness we, ourselves, have rejected. There are examples on the larger scale as well. Think about the number of times that Israel has offered to aid other countries in the Middle East in times of natural disaster and that help has been refused by those who couldn�t get past their hatred to accept the help. How many people could have been saved had that help been accepted? And how might it have helped people to have a change of heart, if not in the short run then somewhere down the road? No, it is not always accepted, but an act of kindness is not appeasement. It is being a mentsch.

But I want to return to the personal level. As we approach the high Holy Days and find ourselves in the season of teshuva, there are many actions that we can take to improve our lives and improve the lives of those around us. Perhaps we could take a lesson from Bahya�s commentary and look around our lives and find that person who is an enemy, whatever that means in the context of our lives, and take some steps to turn that enemy into a friend by performing some simple act of kindness. It won�t always work. It might sometimes be perceived as a sign of weakness. It might sometimes be turned against us and mocked. It might be ignored. But it might just be the one simple action which could help not only remove the hatred from our hearts and warm a relationship with another, but -- in the spirit of the book of Devarim, which tries to take a sense of reality in the world and inject it with a sense of idealism -- it might just be the step that brings the world that much closer to redemption � and anything we can do in that regard is worth a try.

In Pirke Avot we read: Ayzehu Gibor � �Who is the strong person, who is the strong one? The one who conquers his or her own inclination, the one who conquers the negative feelings and direction and works for good.� But in another text we read: Ayzehu Gibor � �Who is the strong one? The one who turns an enemy into a friend.�

It takes two to build a friendship and nothing good ever comes from denying our own values or our own basic needs for survival. But, by reaching out to another in an act of kindness, perhaps we can, in fact, move that process forward and bring our lives and the lives of those with whom we share this world to a better place.

That dream -- that this world can be a better place � is, in the end, the most critical message of Judaism and, God willing, that dream shall never die.

Robert Dobrusin, Rabbi
Copyright © 2009, Robert Dobrusin.
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This message was originally posted on September 1, 2009.

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