An off-the-cuff Yom Kippur Sermon

I really want to feel the "awe" in the Days of Awe this year, but as it happens, so far I'm not.

The High Holy Days find me this year in a time of boredom and burnout in my career, serious strain on my abilities to parent my kids and support my spouse, and not much personal fulfillment to speak of. There is stress leaking into every corner of my everyday life as I try (sometimes in vain) to keep my household running, get my kids to school on time with all of their various accoutrements, and stay even half a day ahead of the prep and grading my teaching schedule demands. My community is still recovering from a massive hurricane, even as we hear of more natural disasters hitting more places in the news every week. It feels like a world on the edge of falling apart.

Sure, I'd have liked to take Rosh Hashanah as a time to, in the titles of YouTube videos popular with my kids, "get clarity" about "starting over" on the path to "the book of good life." But it feels to me like there is practically nothing about my life that I can change right now. 

That job I'm bored with and burned-out on? Stuck with it, assuming I want to keep my family fed and clothed and housed and all that. Sure, it has its good sides, like getting to spend parts of my days interacting with interesting people, but I'd so like to be able to "start over" and find a career that would have me jumping out of bed in the morning to do something that would use my creativity and feed my soul at the same time. 

That family that puts so much strain on my time and my energy and my emotional reserves? Stuck with them, too. Not that I have any desire to get rid of my family life, not at all, but the tenor of those relationships seems so set and stuck that I don't feel like I can even "start over" on having a positive home life instead of a constantly draining one. 

And all that stress that keeps dragging my days down? No amount of bread on the water is going to clear that out of my life right now. That would take major structural changes to how I live my life...

So, you see, I'm not feeling the Rosh Hashanah reboot this year. It was just another day that came and went, just another trip to shul that happened to include some peppy shofar blasts, just another holiday meal that happened to have some apples dipped in honey. But that world, that life, standing on the edge of being a new creation? I'm not feeling it.

And so now we come to Yom Kippur. And I'm supposed to feel sorry, convicted of all my manifold sins, compelled to come before my Creator to grovel for mercy, for a reprieve, for atonement.

But here's the thing: I don't feel sorry.

I feel like I've worked my touches off this year trying my hardest to be a good father, a good husband, a good teacher, a good Jew, an all-around good person. Maybe I didn't always get it right, but I sure don't feel sorry for all the work I put in to trying.

Why should I feel sorry for not being perfect when the world God put me in is so visibly not-perfect: sending us massive hurricanes and killer earthquakes, riddled with anti-semitic outbursts and self-centered politics, so full of tedious ho-hum tasks we have to do just so we can keep on keeping on, so discouraging of taking risks like reinventing ourselves or hoping for a better world or chancing a real human interaction?

So, no, I don't feel sorry. I feel mad-at-the-world today. 

I guess you could say that I have an attitude problem. 

My attitude is just stuck. Clouded by so many stressful, negative, daily-grind events and interactions that I just don't see the beauty in my own life anymore. Shaded by stress from failure to keep up with every little detail of my home life, my work life, even my religious life (I completely punted on Erev Rosh Hashanah this year, and I still haven't managed to fit a family tashlich into my hectic schedule). Darkened by boredom and burnout from home and work routines where I can't seem to change anything without breaking something else that at least works right now, even if it isn't at all soul-stimulating. All of the optimism seems to have been drained out of my life with the receding floodwaters of a month ago.

And maybe that is what needs Rosh Hashanah renewal. Maybe instead of praying for some big-picture change to my life, I need to pray for G-d to renew my attitude. To give me some more optimism, some more hope, some more ability to see what beauty is already there in my life, some more ability to envision little changes that -- while they might "break" something that "works" in the short run -- could in the longer run bring some more sunlight in my day, or my week, or my life, and some self-confidence that I have what it takes to make those changes, even if it requires a little help from my friends. 

All-of-a-sudden, I do feel sorry. 

I'm sorry for not seeing how many blessings G-d has already bestowed upon me: for not treasuring the several fun and enriching places my family got to go and things we got to do this summer instead of mourning the formal week-or-two-long "vacation" I remember my family having in my youth; for not cherishing that family, it's health and (for the most part) happiness, instead of bemoaning how hard it is to keep that family fed and (somewhat) organized and (mostly) going where they need to be; for not waking up every day thankful for a dry and intact house, when so many have suffered the loss of that; for not being thankful that my spouse has a good and satisfying job instead of bemoaning the loss of her time as she gets that job started; for not treasuring every chance to have a quality moment with one of my children or my students instead of hating the interruptions to my busy schedule. Who do I have a busy schedule for, anyway?

I'm sorry for not responding to those blessings by reaching out and being a blessing to others. For not searching out more ways to volunteer after Hurricane Harvey. For lacking the self-confidence and the energy and the personal organization to finish baking any of the half-baked ideas G-d has blessed me with having. For not being more of an outgoing presence in my home, my work, my synagogue. For ever giving a child or a student "the look" or the tone of voice that says "don't bother me now, I don't have time for you." For losing some of my interest in my career, when there is still so much good for me to do there. For fearing that any sort of going-out-on-a-limb might risk a painful fall.

I'm sorry for harboring such a dark attitude, when in the words of everyone's favorite Jewish musical, "God expects us to be joyful, even when our hearts lie panting on the floor." My heart has been doing more than its fair share of panting lately, and I keep forgetting to be joyful. And that forgetting has been having bad consequences in my life: a vicious cycle.

So yeah, I am sorry. 

Avinu Malkeinu, please accept my apologies. I'll try to do better this year.