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"Faith in God, Faith in Self"
Just a few weeks ago, shortly after my husband and I had fallen asleep, we heard these breathless gasps coming from the bedroom of our oldest child, Emet. We ran to discover that he was struggling to breathe. And in that moment I felt paralyzed with fear. I wanted to pretend this was just a nightmare and it would be over as soon as I woke up.

As my heart was racing, my mind was fluctuating between begging God, “Help him!” and telling God “I cannot do this.” I realized in that moment that I could have all the faith in the world in God, but without taking action, it wouldn’t matter. God needed me to have faith in myself just as much as I needed to have faith in God.

In the midst of the hysteria—because I have two other children and a husband, I don’t know how I did it but I did what needed to be done. Within moments we were on our way to the hospital and he was being treated. In the waiting room I was thinking about what had happened and I was surprised how much fear I felt in the moment. I thought I would feel powerful; and instead I felt utterly powerless.

My story is not unique. Although the details may differ, most parents at one time or another have this terrifying experience with their children. What I expected is what I think most people expect—that my reaction would be automatic and effortless.

We never expect that we will have to overcome the circumstances and will have to overcome our fears towards them, as well. The transformation of our fears in those moments of complete difficulty is the very definition of faith.

Imagine how Abraham must have felt as he prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac. In Genesis 22, God commands Abraham, “Take your favorite son, your love, Isaac, and offer him on the altar.”

The Torah sees this command as the ultimate test of Abraham’s faith. If Abraham follows God’s command and overrides all of his human conscience then he is a believer. If he disobeys, well, then he is not. We all know the story. He saddles his ass, takes his son and his two servants and prepares to sacrifice him on the altar. He does not say a word.

But I imagine in that moment Abraham had plenty of questions. Why would God make me do this? What kind of God is this? Will I actually be able to kill my own flesh and blood? Can I really do this?

I think about Abraham and all the fear and trepidation he must have felt. He could have protested along the way. God had already told him in Genesis 12 that he would become the leader of the nations. He knew his destiny. What need was there to sacrifice his son? Yet he is silent and he’s obedient. And he takes his son, he places him on the altar, and in that last moment, God provides a ram and Isaac is saved.

Everyone thinks this is the end of the story, case closed, and we’re done. But there is a surprising twist. An angel calls to Abraham a second time from heaven and basically reiterates Abraham’s entire destiny. Which is surprising. He tells him what he already knows. The angel says, “I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars of the heaven and sand of the seashore. And all the nations shall be blessed by you.”

It seems repetitive. Abraham already knew this about his future. Why would God need to tell him yet again? Here’ the theory. Perhaps, it was through this harrowing experience that Abraham truly discovered his own faith. He discovered that he could be full of fear, tremendous fear, and yet still go on. Maybe that’s the secret.

God was not testing Abraham’s faith as all the commentators suggest in the Bible. Rather the binding of Isaac was to teach Abraham that he had internal faith, the capacity to go on even in the worst of circumstances. That’s when Abraham became a true leader, when he realized inside of him that he had God, he had the divine spirit, that power, to go on when he was completed filled with fear and with doubt.

There is a famous medieval Jewish story of a boat of passengers and crew that were besieged by plague and strife. The captain and all the passengers were thrown to this uninhabited place. Just a few remained alive and so they gathered their strength. One man, his wife and two sons tried to make the journey. But along the way his wife fainted. He grabbed her and he carried her until, exhausted, they both collapsed. When the man regained consciousness, he looked over and he saw that his wife and his two sons were dead. From the depths of his sorrow he rose to his feet and he said, “God in heaven, my wife and my children are dead. What do I have left? I cannot go on.”

Then he gathered earth and leaves and buried his wife and his children. He gathered all his strength, he stood up and walked on to find a new place. What made this ordinary nameless man extraordinary is in tremendous pain and tremendous grief, when he was sure he could not go on—he even told God he couldn’t—he discovered he could.

In the Jewish tradition we usually read Psalm 23 at a funeral. It begins, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” Yea, though I walk: it emphasizes to the mourner to walk on even in the face of complete grief.

It seems all too often after tragedy, we become paralyzed emotionally and spiritually. Our faith has been tested. Our will is weakened and our spirit is so dim. But in those moments, as difficult as they are, we have the possibility of discovering our true greatness. That we can go on even when we think we can not. That we are courageous, we are brave, and we are strong. And we are powerful. We are made in God’s image and God designed us. We are exactly the way God envisioned. Then and only then we will realize we have found an even greater faith, both in God and, more importantly, in ourselves.

I know it’s true. For when my husband and I walked out of the hospital hours later, holding our son’s hands, we had found a new faith in God. We had found a new faith in each other. And we had found a new faith in ourselves.

Conversation with Sherre Hirsch

Lydia Talbot: A wonderful message, Sherre, on how one can be sustained by faith. Your example of your child, Emet, in medical crisis at the beginning of your message and your reference to the 23rd Psalm at the end, which is often read at Jewish funerals. I wonder, were you thinking of your father then?

Sherre Hirsch: I was. You know, Lydia, I’m not sure if you know, but my father passed away at 58 from pancreatic cancer. It was six months from start to finish. When I had to read that psalm at his funeral, I really felt God was speaking to me, to walk on, which, in that moment, is so difficult, but that’s what God wants from us.

Talbot: And that kind of walking on in the midst of intense grief is different than stoicism, isn’t it, because of faith?

Hirsch: Absolutely. Stoicism is just sort of putting on a happy face so other people feel comfortable. But it’s really about finding that inner strength within yourself and, I think, relying of God to feel powerful.

Daniel Pawlus: And you did that in your spiritual practice after the fact. I read an article that you wrote about the daily morning practice that you did. Can you share with us those questions you asked yourself on a regular basis?

Hirsch: Well, it’s interesting, Daniel. As a Jew it’s traditional to pray three times a day, but in the mourning period you have to pray, after a death, three times a day with a minion, with ten people. And within the prayer service are those series of questions: What are we? What is our life? I would just sit there. For the years when my father was alive and well, I passed over, I glossed through the questions. I didn’t think about them. Every single morning I would drag myself out of bed and think, “Why do I have to do this?” And then, sure enough, I would get to those questions. It would force me to look at: What is my life? What does this matter? What am I supposed to be doing? For a year! Can you imagine a year of asking those questions? But it was transforming. I’m not a subscriber to believing that there’s meaning to my father’s dying but I had to make meaning after the fact and it helped me do that.

Talbot: You say that transformation of the fear in the midst of our crises defines our faith. I want to ask you, how your prayers that you’ve just cited are different than when you were ten years old praying in the closet of your bedroom?

Hirsch: They are so different, Lydia! I’ve always felt a personal relationship with God. It’s waned and waxed over the years, especially when my father died. I had to get up in front of the pulpit to 2,000 people and I was expected to say my father had died and now God is great. That was the last thing I felt. I got up and I said to them, “I’m struggling to believe.” I think my prayers, to answer your question, have gotten more honest, that God is big enough to hear my anger, my frustration, and my disbelief; that God can help people in Africa but also God can hear and help me even if I’m frustrated with God. I think as a child I thought God would get mad. I don’t think that any more. I think God wants my honesty.

Pawlus: To follow up on that, in another article you wrote that I had read, you talked about as a child being bored in temple. I wonder if you could share that with us a little bit because it obviously informed your process on the way to becoming a rabbi, but also in the practice of making your spirituality active, alive and vibrant in the communities that you’ve been in.

Hirsch: I don’t think I’m unique being bored in synagogue! You have to open this book in words you don’t understand and you have to sit for hours. It’s very different than a Christian service. Everybody comes late, there’s talking, there’s coming and going. It’s not very focused and for me it was very boring. I think part of it is learning how to make this exciting. I think that’s been one of my tasks as a rabbi. It’s one of the reasons we brought into our synagogue a live band because we’re competing with MTV, we’re competing with all this exciting media. And then you come to synagogue and you sit. For me, it’s been really hard to say to people to get engaged, so I have to make it engaging. I think that’s my responsibility.

Talbot: When you confessed to the rabbi of that temple that you were bored, he told you he was bored, too.

Hirsch: Yes! He absolutely told me he was bored. I think that was a turning moment for me.

Talbot: I’ve got to ask you, prior to that, you took a backpack trip throughout Asia alone as a contemplative. In those three months a contemplative experience as you were struggling to decide whether to go into the rabbinate.

Hirsch: Yes. You know, sometimes it’s like the “Wizard of Oz.” Sometimes you have to take the long way around to find your way back home.

Talbot: What was that moment that you decided to continue your studies?

Hirsch: I think when I realized I didn’t have to be a rabbi. I didn’t have to carry this mantel of a rabbi because a rabbi to me was what a rabbi was to all my contemporaries: an old man, a wise man with a beard. I could be myself and be a teacher—that’s what a rabbi is—whether that was in a pulpit or whether that was writing a book, I had a lot more choices. That’s when I realized.

Talbot: You became the first woman rabbi at Temple Sinai.

Hirsch: It wasn’t easy!

Talbot: I have to ask you, you are a rabbi in the Conservative tradition of Judaism. What does that mean these days?

Hirsch: Well, it’s so confusing to people because automatically people look at you, they see your gender, they see you’re a woman and say, “Oh, you’re Reformed,” which is not the case. Woman were ordained in the Conservative movement starting in 1985. I was the 60th. Now there are over 300 women. But it’s hard for women to ascend in any field and to be the first woman in a pulpit of that size was shocking. I mean the first sermon I gave, I was speaking and looked out and nobody’s eyes were blinking. I paused and I said, “Blink! Blink!” to 1,200 people because they had never seen a woman in that position. I am grateful for what they were open to.

Talbot: What does a Conservative Jewish rabbi think about Jesus?

Hirsch: Well, he was a Jew and he’s been a leader for significant other faiths, but he was a Jew. He was one of many Jews.

Talbot: And that rootedness is important for Christians to remember.

Hirsch: Yes. Absolutely.

Pawlus: Thank you for coming today to share with us this important story. I think you’ve challenged us to look at those really difficult times in our lives as teaching opportunities to deepen our faith and to continue on the daily journey that you’ve lived yourself.

Hirsch: Thank you, Daniel. Thank you, Lyida. It was a pleasure.

    

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