There’s a classic story told about a rabbi who was the beloved spiritual leader of his community for many years. There was only one problem – this rabbi gave the same sermon every year on Rosh Hashanah. Having heard the same sermon for fifteen years in a row the board voted to pay the rabbi a visit and ask him to prepare a new one for the coming year. So as not to embarrass him they waited until Chanukah to confront the rabbi about his repetitiveness.

Chanukah came and the executive officers paid the rabbi a visit at home. After a pleasant cup of tea, the president said, “Rabbi you know how much we love you. Our only problem is that you’ve been giving the same sermon on Rosh Hashanah for fifteen years. Don’t you think you it’s time for a new one?”

The rabbi thought for a moment and then said, “Of course, I’d be glad to give a new sermon. By the way, what did I speak about this past year on Rosh Hashanah?” There was a long embarrassed pause. Then the rabbi said, “You seem to have forgotten. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give the sermon one more time so you’ll remember it and then I’ll prepare a new one!”

I was tempted this morning to give the same sermon that I delivered last January shortly after the Tsunami in Southeast Asia. While the situation is obviously different, the images and the response are the same: mass devastation, loss of life, homeless, and profound suffering that can’t be captured in words. Following the Tsunami, I called on our congregation to get involved and offer assistance to the survivors. I spoke about the fact that the real question that we must ask at such a time is not “why?” or “where?” – Why do such tragedies happen? Why do innocent people suffer? “Where is God at such a time?” But “how?” and “what:” How should we respond? What do we do? How can we relieve the suffering of others?

What I said then is just as relevant today as we witness the bewildering aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. Who could imagine that such images could be photographed and videoed right here in our own country? The other morning I heard a newscaster ask, half in jest and half seriously, “What’s the difference between the United States and a third world country?” His answer: “About three days.”

I don’t know whether this newscaster realized just how frightening and how true his comment was. We like to think that we are safe and secure in the United States, even after 9/11. In just a few days, however, we have witness an entire region of our country reduced to rubble and its population to refugees. The truth is, those with money and means are not among the people at the Superdome in New Orleans or the Astrodome in Huston. They had the wherewithal to get out and make do. They too will loose homes and businesses, but most likely they have insurance and family to help get on with their lives.

The people they we’ve been watching on television this week are different. Many of them were just getting by to begin with and what little they had is now lost forever. I fear that we are witnessing the creation of a caste of homeless, disenfranchised, and hopeless people similar to the many folks who lost their farms during the depression and the dust bowl in the 1930’s. And I fear that our nations response has been too little, too slow, and too indifferent. Suddenly the world can see us for what we are – not just a land of wealth and opportunity, but a nation of people hidden between the cracks struggling just to survive.

So how should we respond? What should we do?

Our Torah portion this morning contains one of the most important passages in our tradition about Tzedakah. After telling the people to allow their land to lie fallow every seven years Moses reminds them of their responsibility to one another. As the commentary in Etz Hayim tells us, the purpose of this chapter is not simply to command the people to give charity but to ensure that there is no permanent underclass in Israelite society – a group of people who are unable to dig themselves out of poverty. The Torah teaches us that we have a responsibility not only to feed the hungry but to make sure that the hungry can feed themselves.

Two things are really startling about this chapter. First, the needy are repeatedly referred to in this chapter as “your brother,” or “your kinsman.” In other words, we are not to think of these people as strangers or outsiders. To paraphrase the words the man, who, upon witnessing a criminal being led to the scaffold, said “There but for the grace of God goes I,” we are not so very different from the victims of Katerina. The people in New Orleans are our brothers and sisters. And to be completely honest I can’t tell you that if I was hungry or thirsty enough that I wouldn’t break into stores to get food and clothing for my family.

The second thing that’s startling about Chapter 15 of Deuteronomy is that it teaches us that poverty is a fact of life that will always exist in the world – even with the coming of the Messiah. The Torah says: “For there will never cease to be needy in your land, which is why I commanded you: open your hand to the poor and needy kinsman in your land.” The Torah suggests that poverty and need are not a punishment or necessarily a consequence of our actions but a simple fact of life. The rules of nature (and economics) are immutable. There are always going to be earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis and fires. The stock market will go up and down. There are always going to be people in need. There will continue to be people who fall on hard times because of bad luck, poor decisions, and bad health. This is not a judgment –it’s a fact. God does not make these things happen – they are simply a part of the hard wiring of the universe and we need to recognize this basic fact of existence. It is the ultimate chutzpah for someone, for anyone, to imply that people are getting what they deserve, or that this is part of some divine plan. Lousy things just happen, plain and simple, and no one knows what’s in the mind of God.

What does the Torah tell us to do when confronted with such tragedy and suffering? Naton titayn lo v’lo yay-rah levavcha bititcha lo. “Giving, you shall give to him; you shall have no regrets when you do so.” The opening words in this verse are strange. Naton titayn – “giving you shall give.” In most biblical translations the repetition of a root word is a way of giving emphasis: “You shall surely give.” I’d like to suggest that the literal meaning of this expression can also teach us something. “Giving, you shall give,” reminds us that not only is what we give important but the very act of giving is significant in and of itself for a desperate person. Our compassion makes a difference to such a person so that even if I don’t have much to give the very act of giving, of offering a kind word, of reaching out in a sympathetic hug or simply the taking the time to listen will give the needy person hope. Naton Titayn lo, the Torah says: “Give giving to the needy person.”

The people of Louisiana and the Gulf Coast are devastated right now, not only because they’re hungry thirsty and homeless but because our nation has been so slow to respond to their anguish. After three years of preparation for the worst of all scenarios by homeland security, one would have thought that our government would be better prepared to respond to a catastrophe. Yet five days after Hurricane Katerina, there are still people waiting for the basic necessities and others sitting on the roofs of their homes waiting to be rescued. It would seem that our president is more concerned about fighting wars around the globe than in helping a bunch of poor people in the South.

Today’s Torah portion begins with the words, “Behold, I have set before you today a blessing and curse.” The Torah goes on to suggest the blessing is a product of our obedience to the will of God while the curse will result from our rebellion against God. We’ve wrestled with this idea for thousands years. What about the good people who suffer and the bad people who seem to profit?

My colleague and friend, Rabbi Michael Gold, suggests another interpretation of this verse. He suggests that we are God’s hands and feet. It is not that God will give us good things when we do good and hurt us when we’re bad. Rather, it is that when we follow God’s will we become the blessing in the world and when we are callous and selfish we become the curse. We are the blessing and curse – and we always have the free will to decide which one we will become.

Hurricane Katerina is a fact of nature. It is not a blessing or a curse. It’s not even good or bad. But how we respond to this situation, how we help our neighbors, whether or not we make them feel loved and cared for is a blessing or a curse. God has given us a choice and it’s up to us to decide what we will do and how we will respond.

We ultimately have responsibility; not only an obligation to do the right thing, but the ability to respond. That’s the real meaning of the word responsibility. What will our response be? Will it be a blessing or a curse? The answer is in our hands….

Right now there’s not a lot that we can do. But great amounts of money will be needed in the coming weeks and months, not just to rebuild these communities but to help the victims of Katrina put their lives back together.

At a time like this we pray for the victims and the homeless. And we pray for ourselves. May we be a blessing and not a curse…

May we make a difference in the world.

Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat Shalom