Sermon by Rabbi Joel Soffin on Yom Kippur Morning - 5754. The sermon deals with writing letters to God. A Rebbe is a rabbi for the Hasidic sect of Judaism.
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Rabbi Elie Spitz' mother says to him: "This is my kvitl. When you get to Jerusalem, put it between the stones in the kotel for me."
When my mother visited me during my first year in rabbinical school in Israel, she brought with her a shopping bag full of these kvitlach - these pieces of paper with notes on them for G-d. She also had with her three blank pads in case I had not had the opportunity to complete all of my own messages and to place them in crevices in the Western Wall.
How did this tradition arise? When did we first begin to write letters to G-d?
A kvitl was originally a note given by a Hasid to his Rebbe. It contained a brief description of his physical and spiritual needs. It was accompanied, of course, by a contribution to support the Rebbe's household and his work.
It was given to the Rebbe in the belief that his prayers would be more likely to be heard by G-d. Because of his great piety, the Rebbe was seen to be an effective conduit to G-d. He had a much closer, more personal relationship with G-d than the average Jew.
By the eighteenth century, this tradition of writing notes was transferred to the Western Wall. After all, it had served as the outer retaining wall of the Holy Temple itself and was as filled with holiness as any place on earth. The stones in the wall became a spiritual mailbox with countless correspondents.
That's how Jews began to write kvitlach, crumple them up into a tight ball and wedge them into every crack and crevice in the awe-inspiring stones of the Kotel. While at the Wall, they would kiss the stones and standing very close, whisper prayers to G-d. Some say it is from this practice that the expression arose that "the walls have ears." In any event, express mail was delivered faithfully every moment of the day and night from Jews to G-d.
When my mother came to visit me with her shopping bag full of kvitlach, I wasn't very pleased. Who had time to put all of those notes into the Wall? If you have ever been to the Kotel, you know that there are few if any spaces left. There is a great temptation to pull out other people's notes to make room for your own. Regardless of how careful you try to be, they will inevitably fall to the ground anyway.
I also had grave theological doubts about this whole endeavor. It felt too much like idol worship. Just as I didn't believe that the Rebbe was holier than any other Jew or closer to G-d, so I didn't believe that this Wall was a special chute to G-d's mailbox. Surely, G-d would hear the prayers of all Jews equally whether they were excerpted and stuffed into the Wall or not.
My mother, on the other hand, would not be waylaid on her way to the Kotel, shopping bag in tow. She was a rather short woman but very determined. So soon I found myself standing alongside her, squeezing those kvitlach into their spaces. Embarrassed or not, there was a spiritual job to be done.
I still feel a great reluctance to write such notes and place them into the Wall. I am not enthusiastic about turning one of our Religious School rooms into a mock Western Wall, complete with slotted shoe boxes to receive our children's notes. And when I read of how you can now FAX a message to G-d, I am even more dismayed.
Yet, when we went to visit Israel several years ago and one of my sons put together the things he was bringing, there they were again: seven pieces of paper with notes to G-d written on them. "Let all the Soviet Jews go free." "G-d, let there be peace in the world." As I read the notes, my theological objections melted away. Without comment, I helped him to pack them carefully into the suitcase.
Now, I was a willing participant in the process. I lifted him up so he could find out-of-the-way places in which to put his precious kvitlach. I did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm or to discourage him in any way. Instead, I found myself thinking about my mother.
Why had she been so set on placing notes into the Wall? Why did she make such an effort to help her friends prepare their own notes to G-d and then carry them across the ocean? And why did she want me to write dozens of them for myself?
The answer couldn't be that she saw the Wall as an idol or as a postage free passage to G-d's Post Office. Her connection to G-d was deeper and truer than that of any person I've ever known. She spoke to G-d often, praying for us behind shielded eyes after she had blessed the Shabbat candles, talking to G-d many times during the day.
These letters and notes were just one more way for her to stay in touch with G-d. While in Jerusalem, it seemed imperative to do so. The fact that those notes which fell out of the Wall would be swept up and buried, like holy books, just added to the sense of spirituality my mother felt.
Psychologists tell us that writing letters can be very helpful and therapeutic. Imagine writing not to G-d but to your parents. So often, there are things that were never said, feelings we had but could not share -either because we were uncomfortable verbalizing them, or because our parents couldn't hear them.
It hurts us to have our feelings closed off in this way. We need to be able to share the truth of our lives with our parents, to express gratitude for the sacrifices they made and the love they shared - and to reveal, in a kind and gentle way to be sure, the pain and sadness we experienced with them as well. Sometimes, the only way to do so is through a letter.
Such a letter can bring us closer to our parents and can reestablish the bonds between us. It can let them know that we have some understanding of what life was like for them, that it was not always so simple and so easy. It can tell them that we have much love for them and that we forgive them. And such letters can be written, if not sent, to our deceased parents, ALAYHEM HASHALOM, as well. They can bring closure to the unfinished business of a life cut short by death.
Think about it. Isn't this the kind of New Year's card we ought to be writing?
And then there are the letters to our children. One of my colleagues, Rabbi Richard Israel, wrote his daughter Alisa four special letters over the course of the first twenty-seven years of her life. The first one, he wrote in the hospital waiting for her to be born:
"May you be able to be either kind or angry for others' sakes. Even more, may you be willing from time to time to risk doing something that may turn out to be foolish, for the sake of a wise concern. I promise you that I will try hard and hope that you will not have to pay too much for my on-the-job training as a father. If you try to forgive my mistakes, I'll try to forgive yours."
He wrote again when she was eighteen and going off to college, when she was twenty-four and about to get married, and finally, when the cycle was complete and she was soon to have a child of her own. At that time he wrote:
"You already seem to know what to do with babies, something I never quite learned. I was determined to be an outstanding parent - an outrageous goal. You are more likely to want to be a good-enough parent. Undoubtedly, you will not make the same mistakes we did. Rather, like us, you will make your own new and improved mistakes. Just don't assume that by doing the opposite of what we did, you will be more likely to be right."
There is nothing more precious than these letters and the love found within them. They will be saved and treasured forever. Wouldn't you want to be able to read and reread four letters like these written to you by our parents? Don't deprive your children of this precious gift.
I have left the most personal letters of all for last. These may be the hardest to write at first, but they will be well worth the effort. They are like the kvitlach my mother used to write. They are full letters to G-d. Yes, without the Kotel and without the Rebbe, I am suggesting that you write your own letters to G-d.
This is a uniquely Jewish way of communicating with G-d. It is a reminder that an audience with G-d is easily accessible. It underscores the importance of expressing our deepest yearnings, gratitude and concerns directly to our compassionate G-d.
The power of these letters to G-d will be felt the first time you try to write one. It won't be easy. We are not very comfortable communicating so directly with G-d. Rarely do we open our hearts to G-d.
In a letter, there will be no choice. We have to be honest with G-d. There can be no deception. We trust G-d too much for us to hold back or to cover up anything. The letters will be between us and G-d alone. Great will be the emotional release and the insight gained by such direct and truthful sharing.
A woman once came to see Rabbi Elie Spitz for counseling. She had cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy. Her husband was being very supportive. Yet, she still felt a fundamental aloneness due to the ordeal of her treatment. The hour she spent each week awaiting the report of her hormone levels, which might indicate the need for stronger treatment, was filled with anxiety and a deep loneliness.
The rabbi told her of the Jewish practice of kvittel writing. He suggested that she find a quiet time before going to the doctor's office to write such a letter. It would allow her to feel G-d's presence and to express her anxieties and fears.
He has encouraged many others - some who are ill and others who are physically well - to write letters to G-d also. Listen to what a twelve year old wrote:
Dear G-d, It seems like there are so many wars. So many bad things in the world. I don't understand why these terrible things happen to certain people. So many innocent people are murder victims. It scares me to think that these things could just as easily happen to me as anyone else.
And this is the letter written to G-d by an adult physician:
Dear G-d, First, my thanks for all the wonderful blessings I've received. My religion has helped me mold my understanding of You as a loving, forgiving and helpful G-d. I wish for little else beyond what I already receive. My hope and request rather are for the perpetuation of our religious ethics, of the best tradition and character of our people and for longevity, happiness and love of G-d by my family and descendants. Keep up the good work!
Difficult as it may be to write kvitlach like these to G-d, there is one even more challenging letter that remains to be written. Rabbi Spitz told the woman who had come to him for counselling and the others who wrote letters to G-d, that now they had to write answers from G-d. That's right: they had to write themselves letters back from G-d.
It is not easy to write from G-d's point of view, to see yourself as G-d might see you. You are not taking G-d's place, just trying to imagine how G-d might respond. These letters will surprise you with their depth and insight. They will give you a sense of G-d's compassion and will teach you to listen for the still, small voice of G-d that speaks within each of us.
Listen now to how G-d answered the letters I described to you earlier. The woman awaiting news about her chemotherapy wrote a reply from G-d that offered her the reassurance that "she would receive no burden greater than she could bear" and offered her an opening to G-d's comfort and accessibility in confronting her aloneness.
The twelve year old wrote this letter: "I know that there are many wars and innocent people being killed. I myself can't control mentally sick people. So many people are dissatisfied with their life that they want to ruin other people's. Love, G-d."
And the adult physician received this response from G-d: "Fear not for Jews, for your family or for those you love. They will be helped and protected by the same values and ethical precepts that guide you and will [... omitted]. Remember, I will always be here to talk to, to write to, to lean on. Keep up the good work yourself. Love, G-d."
I wrote a sermon letter to my father before Jeremy's Bar Mitzvah. My mother did not leave me any letters like Rabbi Israel's to his daughter, though I wish she had. But my mother did speak to G-d and write to G-d, and she taught me to do so as well.
May you be blessed with parents who will write to you, and may you write to them and to your children in return. Most of all, may you have the faith and the courage to write letters to G-d and the chutzpah and the blessing to receive letters back in return.
AMEN.
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