Yom Kippur Sermon '11
Yom Kippur Sermon
October 8, 2011
Rabbi Steven Glazer
A number of years ago, on a deserted side street in New York City late at night, a menacing character approached me and said that his car, parked several blocks away, was disabled, and that he desperately needed my help to drive him to it. The story didn’t make sense and I was quite scared, so I said the first thing that came into my head. I told him that my car was company-owned and that it was against company policy to pick up strangers. That confused him long enough for me to get into my car and quickly drive away. Did I tell the truth? No! Am I here today to talk about it? Yes!
Today I want to discuss with you the question: “should we always tell the truth”? If you think that this is a simple question and that the answer is “of course,” then please think again. For there are times when telling the truth may in fact not be the best, nor even the right, thing to do. Let me cite several examples for you.
In his book, “Winning Life’s Toughest Battles,” the late Dr. Julius Segal describes the following moral dilemma: His father had died on a Shabbat and the funeral was scheduled for Sunday on Long Island. At that time, his brother, Jack, was rapidly losing his battle with cancer and was in the last months of his life. In Detroit, on that very Sunday night, the congregation that Jack had served as rabbi for 35 years would be celebrating his life and career with a testimonial dinner, a final tribute from the community that his brother loved and served so passionately. If Julius told Jack of their father’s death, he would surely insist on attending the funeral, aborting the gala celebration. If he kept the sad news from Jack, would his brother ever forgive him and understand that the skirting of the truth was done for his benefit as well as for his congregation’s? After a conversation with his sister-in-law, Dr. Segal decided to delay telling the truth. Immediately after the funeral, he flew to Detroit, took his place at the head table, regaled the audience of over 800 with vignette’s of Jack’s life, and, looking into Jack’s eyes told the crowd of his undying love for his dying brother. Then, afterwards, in the quiet of Jack’s study, Julius told his brother of their father’s death and funeral, and they cried together. Did Julius do the wrong thing? Should we always tell the truth?
My second example is a personal one. Families sometimes ask me to help them talk through the ethical dilemmas facing them when a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness. In one particular case, it was concluded that the truth would be too difficult for the patient to handle. She was told she needed treatment to prevent her problem from getting worse. Much to everyone’s surprise, she began to respond to the treatment. She then paid a visit to her family physician of many years, who was not involved in her cancer treatment. The doctor, who believed in telling what he felt was the absolute truth, told the woman that her case was hopeless. No longer believing that there was any hope that she would get well, the woman gave up and died very shortly thereafter. In this case, the “absolute” truth was not the real truth, because it lacked both compassion and good sense.
I don’t know how many of you have ever considered the fact that truth and falsehood are uniquely human character traits. There is a charming story about a man walking by a horse-drawn wagon. He hears the horse softly calling out, “Mister, could you spare some change so I can buy myself a cup of coffee”? The man stops in his tracks. “Wow, a talking horse!” And the horse continues: “Listen mister, I don’t want you to think I’m just a panhandler. I used to run at Belmont and Aqueduct. Now I’ve been reduced to doing this.” The man is simply flabbergasted, and, turning to the driver, says: “Sir, do you know that you have a remarkable horse!” To which the driver replies: “Has he been telling you those bubba meises about running at Belmont and Aqueduct? Don’t believe him, he’s such a liar”! Of course, animals don’t lie, only people do. Professor Arnold Goldberg, writing in the New York Times, commented that “the ability to lie is a human achievement, one of those abilities that tends to set them apart from all other species.” Animals can deceive and mislead by camouflaging themselves, but only we humans can deliberately lie.
Judaism has a great deal to say about truth, as we might expect. But here, too, contrary to what you might think, not everything is simply either “all white” or “all black.” In the Talmud, the question is asked: “How do we sing the praises of a bride?” The schools of Hillel and Shammai disagree. Bet Shammai held that one must tell the absolute truth, no matter what the consequences; while Bet Hillel held that one must always say “The bride is beautiful and pleasing.” The followers of Shammai argued that one must adhere to the torah verse admonishing us to “keep far away from falsehood” by speaking truthfully. But, Bet Hillel, though not insisting on literal truth, was more correct in their understanding that every bride is beautiful, certainly to her groom. Hearing the words of Bet Hillel, even a plain-looking bride begins to feel and actually look more beautiful. A truth that gratuitously hurts or wounds another human being is not really the truth. In a similar vein, it is interesting to note that according to the Hafetz Hayyim, the concept of “lashon hara,” the sin of slander or malicious gossip, includes saying anything negative about another person, even if the information is true.
Although I have just cited several sources which show that we are not always mandated to tell the absolute truth, Judaism without a doubt extols “truth.” According to Jewish law, deviation from the truth is never permitted in the business world or the market place. The Talmud teaches that when each of us stands in judgment, the first question asked will be “Were you honest in all of your business dealings?” Furthermore, the rabbis teach that truth is one of the 13 attributes of God.
The Hebrew word “emet,” which we translate “truth,” is most interesting. It is spelled ‘aleph,’ ‘mem,’ ‘tav,’ the first, middle and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The rabbis say that this teaches that truth should be the beginning, middle and end of everything we do in life. The last word of the third paragraph of the Shema is joined together, without pause, to the first word of the prayer following it. We say “Adonai Elohechem emet”; there is no interruption between ‘Elohechem’ and ‘emet’ to teach that God and truth cannot be separated. Truth is one of the names for God, and is also his seal.
The rabbis of the Talmud apply the word ‘emet’ to the absolute character of God’s justice. But in the torah itself the word is frequently associated with the word ‘hesed,’ i.e., ‘lovingkindness,’ ‘compassion.’ In order to properly understand the Hebrew word ‘emet,’ we need to distinguish between the two English words, ‘fact’ and ‘truth.’ Sometimes, to be ethical and compassionate, truth, ‘emet,’ has to deviate from objective fact. The word ‘emet’ is also related to the word ‘amen,’ which means to be loyal to something that sustains you. Without ‘emet,’ truth coupled with compassion and good sense, much of life would be uncomfortable, if not unpleasant. This is why the sage, Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, chose ‘emet’ as one of the core aspects of human existence when he taught in Pirke Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, that truth – not ‘absolute’ truth, but rather ‘emet,’ “compassionate truth” – along with justice and peace, are the three principles on which the very existence of the universe depends. May our truths always be coupled with compassion and common sense!!
