View a video of this sermon here.
“The students came to their teacher with a quandary: What can be done about all the evil in the world. “There is so much darkness – what can we do to dispel it?” The wise Rabbi ruminated over the problem in silence for a moment. He then asked each of them to fetch a broom. He told them that his cellar was very dark and that they should go down to the cellar and sweep away the darkness. The students were confused, but they carried their brooms to the cellar. They soon returned and informed the Rabbi of their failure to clean out the darkness. The Rabbi then asked each of them to grab a stick and beat the darkness until it went away. So the students went away again. After a while they returned with abject faces, having failed once again to get rid of the darkness. The Rabbi then told them to go back to the cellar and shout at the darkness. The students tried this and returned even more confused and frustrated. Finally, the Rabbi gave each of them a candle and asked them one last time to return to the dark cellar. And so, they went down to the pitch black cellar and one by one they set their candles alight until the darkness disappeared.”[1]
I want to talk about the plague of darkness. After all the other plagues – after rivers flowing with blood, and cattle dying from disease, and locusts eating the last of the crops – the penultimate plague was darkness. The Torah says (Exodus 10:20-22)
וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יְהוָ֜ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֗ה נְטֵ֤ה יָֽדְךָ֙ עַל־הַשָּׁמַ֔יִם וִ֥יהִי חֹ֖שֶׁךְ עַל־אֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם וְיָמֵ֖שׁ חֹֽשֶׁךְ׃
21: The Eternal said to Moses, “Hold out your arm toward the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched.”
וַיֵּ֥ט מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־יָד֖וֹ עַל־הַשָּׁמָ֑יִם וַיְהִ֧י חֹֽשֶׁךְ־אֲפֵלָ֛ה בְּכָל־אֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם שְׁלֹ֥שֶׁת יָמִֽים׃
22: Moses held out his arm toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days.
לֹֽא־רָא֞וּ אִ֣ישׁ אֶת־אָחִ֗יו וְלֹא־קָ֛מוּ אִ֥ישׁ מִתַּחְתָּ֖יו שְׁלֹ֣שֶׁת יָמִ֑ים וּֽלְכָל־בְּנֵ֧י יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל הָ֥יָה א֖וֹר בְּמוֹשְׁבֹתָֽם׃
23: People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings.
This was not the ordinary darkness of night. This was a darkness so thick it could be felt and touched. This is a darkness that kept you from seeing your neighbor, even when they were standing right next to you. It was a darkness that held you in your place. It was a darkness that enveloped and incapacitated.
The midrash refers to this darkness as a darkness that crept up from Gehinnom, from Hell. It says it was the thick, goopy darkness that preceded creation, that existed before God said, “let there be light.” Harold Kushner writes that this hellish darkness is the darkness of “those who cannot truly see their neighbors, who cannot feel the pain and recognized the dignity of their afflicted neighbors.” This is the darkness that separates people from each other. This is the darkness of isolation.
Isolation is a tragic reality of our modern society. It’s ironic that in an age with more and more technology to stay connected, people are finding themselves increasingly isolated. It has led some to call this “the age of loneliness”[2] It is why this week, British Prime Minister Theresa May appointed an official “Minister for Loneliness” to coordinate her government’s response to this growing crisis.[3]
And it is a crisis. The UK is responding to a recent study that revealed that more than nine million people in the country report that they often or always feel lonely.[4] And the problem is just as bad on this side of the pond. While in the 1970’s and 80’s, 10 to 20 percent of the population reported frequently feeling lonely, some recent studies have found that today the number may be as high as 45 percent.[5] “The General Social Survey found that the number of Americans with no close friends has tripled since 1985.… The average number of people Americans feel they can talk to about ‘important matters’ has fallen from three to two.”[6] The AARP reports that “42.6 million adults over age 45 in the United States are estimated to be suffering from chronic loneliness”[7].
And the consequences of this epidemic are dire. People who experience chronic loneliness have significantly greater risk for physical and mental health problems, including heart disease and depression.[8] One study found that “social isolation and feelings of loneliness increase a person’s chance of premature death by 14 percent — nearly double the risk of early death from obesity.” [9] Another showed that chronic isolation is worse for your health than smoking 15 cigarettes a day.[10]
This is the 9th plague. The darkness of separation from other human beings. How apt is this description for this kind of depressive and oppressive loneliness the Torah provides: a darkness that was so thick people could not see their neighbors. People could not even move.
It is also the isolation we inflict upon ourselves. The Hassidic Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter has a different way of reading this verse. He flips the words around saying, “the worst darkness is the blindness in which one person will not ‘see another’ (Exodus 10:23) refusing to look upon his misery and help him. Such a person will be incapable of ‘rising from his place’ – of growth and development.”[11] How true it is that when we choose not to see one another, we are in darkness! It is like the Psalmist says, we have eyes, but we cannot see.[12]
So what do we do when we live in the “age of loneliness” – in a time of increasing isolation? What can we do to combat the forces of darkness that threaten to envelop us? That threaten to pull us apart from other people? Perhaps this is why we are here in synagogue this evening. Perhaps this is the work of sacred community. The Torah says:
“People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings.”
Somehow, even in times of darkness, the Jews build sanctuaries of light. That’s why we’re here this evening. Not just to say kaddish, not just to hear the music or recite the prayers. We are here to be together, countercultural as it may be. We come here, on this Shabbat – a holiday that begins with the kindling of light, so that we can see each other. The ancient farmers who invented this holiday did not light candles on other nights. When the sun went down, they went to bed to rest up for another long day of work. But on Shabbat, they would kindle lights in their dwellings and feel the job of seeing their families faces illuminated in the candle’s warm glow.
This is why Jews must say kaddish in a minyan of ten people. Because our tradition knows that mourning can be isolating and lonely. Grief threatens to force us into darkness. But ‘no,’ says our tradition. You cannot mourn alone in the dark. You must bring your sadness out into the light, where we can share it with you.
To bring light into a darkened world is sacred work. The prophet Isaiah quotes God, saying, “I have grasped you by the hand. I created you, and appointed you a covenant people, a light of nations — Opening eyes deprived of light.”[13] This is our sacred calling as a Jewish people, to bring light to dark places.
We know that we cannot combat the darkness by adding more friends on Facebook. It will take more than Tweets, more than Instagram photos and JDate profiles to open eyes deprived of light. It takes calling the elderly family member or friend who has been shut in during the cold this week, and seeing how they are holding up. It is asking your neighbor “how are you doing” and then not taking “fine” for an answer. It is writing a thank you note to a person who touched your day.
If the darkness is the inability to see our neighbor, then we must choose ways to open our eyes. We must focus on people and not policies. We cannot let the complexities of our nation’s biggest decisions blind us to the realities of the lives of the people they affect. We cannot choose to be blind to the needs of our neighbors, for that is how the darkness gets in. When we avert our eyes from their pain, we court darkness. Rather, we must seek them out, we must hear their stories, for that is the pathway to light.
We can train our brains to do this, and resist the trend towards darkness. We can call the grocery store clerk by the name on their ID badge, so that we can start to see them as a person and not just a checkout machine. We can make conversation with the other people in line. We can look a panhandler in the eyes, instead of glancing away. And if fighting back the darkness isn’t a good enough reason, then chew on this: Research from Julianne Holt-Lunstad at Brigham Young University has found that the greatest predictor of longevity was social integration. More than weight or exercise, the amount of connections you have to other people make you more likely to live a longer life. It’s the strong and the weak connections, it’s friends and family, but it’s also your bridge club, and the people you see at services, and the people you smile at in the store. If you want to live a long life, Julianne Holt-Lunstad finds, interact with people. Fight back the darkness with light.
The Egyptians sat, stuck in their darkness while the Israelites moved around freely in light. They may choose to sit in the dark – they may chose not to see their neighbors. But we can choose light for ourselves. We can choose to see other people as people, and not things. We can choose to try and see their pain, and see their struggle, and in so doing, we bring light and freedom to this world. And then, we can try and offer that light to others.
Think of the rabbi, who taught his pupils that you cannot sweep the darkness under the rug, any more than you can swipe it away on Tinder. You cannot beat the darkness back by force. And you certainly cannot shout it away. All you can do is be a light, and add your light to the light of others around you, until the darkness disappears.
I’m going to ask you to do something now, that may feel scary because it’s counter cultural. In a minute, I’m going to ask you to turn to your neighbor, and ask them a question. Try and ask someone you didn’t come here with. You may even have to get up and move. And as you listen to their answer, try to look them in the eye. Try and see the light that is hidden there. The question I’d like each of you to ask each other is “what was a source of light for you this past week”. Let’s take a few minutes and ask each other.
Time for people to talk
Shabbatones sing Or Zarua.
The Psalmist declares – light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright of heart. May this room and this community of light continue to be a sanctuary from the darkness.
[1] Adaped slightly from https://mustafahameed.blog/2011/12/30/candles-in-the-dark/
[2] https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/21/science-loneliness_n_6864066.html
[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/17/world/europe/uk-britain-loneliness.html
[4] ibid
[5] http://fortune.com/2016/06/22/loneliness-is-a-modern-day-epidemic/
[6] https://www.forbes.com/sites/carolinebeaton/2017/02/09/why-millennials-are-lonely/#5c9073a17c35
[7] https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2017/08/170805165319.htm
[8] http://healthland.time.com/2013/03/26/social-isolation-not-just-feeling-lonely-may-shorten-lives/
[9] https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/21/science-loneliness_n_6864066.html
[10] https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/17/world/europe/uk-britain-loneliness.html
[11] Torah Gems: Shemot, p 74
[12] Psalm 115:5
[13] Isaiah 42:6-7