"Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh"--Creating Communal Kedusha

[Rabbi Cohen's Inaugural Drasha at CBI]

The famous Jewish German philosopher, Franz Rosenzweig, was known to tell the story of a man named Mendele, who lived in a southern Black Forest village. One day when he was busy at chopping wood in the square beside the synagogue, some local boys decided to have a bit of fun. They called out Mendele’s name and then hid to watch his reaction. “Mendele, Mendele!” and they would hide. “Mendele, Mendele!” and they would hide. Finally, at the third call, Mendele threw down his axe, ran into the synagogue, up to the bimah where the Torah is read, and called out in Hebrew: “Hinneni” “Here I am.”

One of the questions that I often struggle with is in what ways is the shul a place of Kedusha, a holy place? In other words, in what ways is the shul a place where we sense the presence of God, calling us, beaconing us? I know for myself, that there are days where I find myself dreaming of becoming Mendele. If only…If only I can have his simplicity, his pure faith, his open heart. Indeed, there are times when I long to hear the call of God: “Yonatan, Yonatan!” inviting me to the beit Knesset, calling me to prayer. Imagine, I tell myself, imagine coming to shul with Mendele’s sense of “Hinenei,” “Here I am,” fully believing that in being here right now, I am responding to the direct call of God. In fact, not long ago, I expressed my spiritual anxiety to one of my friends. He kindly responded: “You are in the wrong profession Yonatan. Rabbis don’t get called. Ministers get called. He then added: “Just be happy the shul hired you!”Despite my friend’s advice, it seems that our sacred texts tell a different story, offer a different answer. This morning I would like to focus on just one of these religious writings. A central text in our teffilot, our prayers, is the kedusha. It is an integral part of the first blessing before the Shma. And perhaps most importantly, it is the defining moment of the kedusha of the Amidah prayer. Indeed, experientially speaking, kedusha is the crescendo of communal prayer. With your permission I would like to argue that more than any other text, Kedusha, offers a model for creating a holy community, a community that senses God’s presence in their midst. Consider its opening words: “Nekadesh et shimcha baolam keshem shemakdishim otto bishmei marom.” “We can sanctify and sense God’s presence in the world as the angels do in heaven.” What an audacious claim! “We can sanctify and sense God’s presence in the world as the angels do in heaven.” Kedusha plainly states that the angelic community is a model for the earthly community. By following the angels’ example, we too, may experience God here, in our midst. Kedusha is a paradigm. By delving into its meaning we may become better equipped for creating kedusha here in Beth Israel. As many of you know, Kedusha first appears in the book of Isaiah. There we find the prophet’s esoteric description of the angels proclaiming the sanctity of God. Isaiah has a vision of God seated on a throne surrounded by the ministering angels, each angel had six wings, and they called out to each other: “Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh! HaShem Zevakot! Meloh kol ha’aretz kevodo!”—“Holy, holy, holy! The Lord of Hosts! His presence fills all the earth!” What is the meaning of this vision? Why do the angels call to each other: “kadosh! kadosh! kadosh!”? Why is the word “kadosh” repeated three times? Reuven Kimelman, professor of Jewish liturgy at Brandeis University, argues beautifully that the plain sense of the text is that right before the moment of sanctifying God’s name and proclaiming God as Kadosh, God as holy, each angel would turn to its fellow, asking: “Kaodsh?”—“Are you ready, are you ready to proclaim Kadosh?” At which point, the fellow angel would respond: “Kadosh! Indeed, I am ready to proclaim Kadosh.” They would then, and only then, proclaim together, in unison, the third and final Kadosh, “Holy is God!” This beautiful interpretation high lights the underling connection between kedusha and consensus. Isaiah’s vision teaches that for a community to sense God’s presence in their midst, its members, just like the angels, need turn to one another and engage in dialogue. Like the angels, the members of a community must turn to one another and ask: “Are you ready to move forward with me?” This is a difficult question that we as a community must grapple with. As a community we need to ask each other: What are we ripe for? What are we not ripe for? And, what are we never going to be ripe for? Again, not individually, but as a community. And if some of us are ready and some of us are not, what can we do to find a middle ground. What can we do to ensure that all of us can experience Godliness together, and not at the expense of one another. In other words, what will it take for us to proclaim the final “kadosh” in unison? I believe that there is yet another central idea that we may derive from the text of Kedusha. When we stand in shul during the kedusha and we turn to one another—“ve’kara ze el ze ve’amar”—as the angels do. And then we proclaim—“kadosh, kadosh, kadosh”—we are in fact calling each other “holy.” [Demonstrate in all directions:] “You are kadosh, you are kadosh, you are kadosh.” In recognizing the inherent kedusha, sanctity, of each member of the community, we begin to recognize the kedusha of God. The holiness in our midst is an echo of the holiness from beyond. We turn to each other, because it prepares us to turn to God. We face each other, because we prepare to face God. We call each other holy, because we prepare to call God holy. The holiness in our midst echoes the holiness from beyond. That’s all nice and well. Lofty and poetic ideas, I might add. But what do these ideas practically mean, what do they mean to us? During this past month I met with many of you, and I hope to spend more time meeting with each of you individually. Thank God, when I stand in front of you today, I see so many familiar faces and many familiar names come to mind. More than naything however, when I look at us, I recall the beautiful and personal stories so many of you shared with me. This room is filled with religious biographies, incredibly deep, multy layered religious biographies. Look to your left, like the angels do…Look to your right, like the angels do…And ask yourself: what brought the person sitting next to me to shul today? What circumstances and life choices, trials and acheivments, highs and lows—what life journey led this particular individual to Beth Israel today? When I think of this question and I look at the people sitting in this room, I am overwhelmed by the feeling of—kadosh, kadosh, kadosh—how holy are the people who belong to our community. Each of us is inherently holy because each one of us represents a face of God, a facet of the Divine, a path that deepens our communal sense of kedusha. Many people would argue that kedusha, begins and ends here, in the sanctuary of the shul. I would like however to argue that kedusha may continue, and may even begin, for some of us at least, out there, in the social hall. Kiddush can be Kiddush. Ah, but Kiddush can also be kedusha—a spiritual moment, a moment to connect with each other, and through each other with God. Let’s challenge ourselves. Let’s take time during Kiddush to get to know each other, to re-learn each other’s names and hear each other’s stories. I am certain that whatever happens in the Kiddush out there will affect the kedusha, the spiritual atmosphere, in here. Let’s turn Kiddush into kedusha. The challenge of every shul is to become a true place of kedusha. On the one hand, kedusha requires consensus. The shul needs to be a place of concensus because concensus, through dialogue, allows us to move forward. On the other hand, the shul must also be a place where the voice of each member is heard, is honored and celebrated. Every one here has something holy and unique to say and contribute. “We are no angels.” Everybody keeps telling me that here: “We are no angels!” That may be true. We are no angels, but our community can be angelic. I believe that deeply and that is the reason I want to lead and grow with you. And yes, we can grow. And we will grow. Our youth programs and family programs, our adult education classes and communal gatherings, our prayers and rituals, our board and our committees, our Kiddush and our Shabbat meals, must and will continue to reflect our holy diversity, our striving for consensus and our deep desire to honor the individual needs of each of our members. Beth Israel’s dream is to be an angelic choir. An angelic choir of children’s voices, poetic voices, activist voices, textual voices, prayerful voices. I came here to dream. I came here to join your dream. We may not share Mendele’s simplicity and pure faith. I, for one, am no Mendele. Nevertheless, the words of Kedusha remind us that if we are to sense God’s presence in our midst then we must begin by being fully present for each other. As we turn to one another, as the angles do, let us evoke their angelic cry: kadosh, kadosh, kadosh. Holy, holy, holy. “Melo kol ha’aretz kevodo.” May God’s presence fill the entire earth. May God’s presence fill the walls of Beth Israel. Amen.