My lovely father was quite well known for his sermons. During the year, he thought about them in advance, and made 5 or 6 notes on a scrap of paper as an aide-memoire. When the time came, he stood up and spoke without a written text. Erev Shabbat he would usually speak about what was happening in the world. On Shabbat he discussed the Torah portion. His references were often diverse - they could be anything from Hannah Arendt to Rabbi Akiva, from Homer (both the Greek poet and the cartoon Simpson) to Heinrich Heine, from Freud to Finkielkraut. He had a great sense of humour and, for me most importantly, when he spoke you felt like he was speaking to you, not at you.
For those rabbis blessed to have a pulpit position, the High Holydays can require up to 5 sermons in a 10-day period. And since the services tend to have the largest attendance of the year, there is the sense that you kind of need to wow people. In fact, these sermons were the only ones that my father would type up beforehand. Anyway, the time came when I was blessed with a pulpit position, and was required to write some High Holyday sermons.
So, I wrote my sermons and, each year, the night before I was due to preach, I would telephone my father long-distance (in the far-off days when there was no internet chat, only e-mail) and read him what I'd written so he could check I hadn't made any major mistakes. He'd make some suggestions. I'd argue with them all. I'd make some changes and then we both could get some sleep.
In 2003, just before Rosh Hashana, I phoned my father as usual, and asked if I might read what I'd written. "You know what?" he said to me, "I don't think so. You don't need me any more." I was really surprised, but didn't argue. We chatted a little and said goodnight. When I'd finished my final draft, I emailed him a copy. He wrote back that it was the best I'd written so far. And the congregation seemed to agree with him.
That was the last High Holydays of his life, as he died the following summer. And when Rosh Hashana came round again, and I cried because I couldn't phone and ask him to check my sermon, I heard his words - "You don't need me any more" - and realised that, for sermon-writing, he was right.
I'm thinking of my father tonight, as I prepare for Yom Kippur services. I still worry about my sermons, but I mostly do ok. I'm recalling that the night before my ordination, I asked him if he had any tips he might share with me for my future rabbinate. He told me: when preaching, remember James Joyce! I was a bit perplexed, and he explained: "the end of the book went right back to the beginning. Wherever you end up, make sure you connect back to where you started. It gives a sense of completion. And, at least be brief. You always get points for that." Now this I can do!
Ok, time to get back to my prep. Wishing all those who fast a g'mar tov. Shana tova!
