I've always played Jewish geography. If you aren't familiar with the game, its where, when Jews meet, they try to see whom they know in common. Usually the pastime gets really exciting when you find out you do know people in common.

Since moving to Texas, this game has become even more fun for me—finding a connection with the east coast is all the more challenging, making “winning” more rewarding. When I find someone who knows someone Jewish from my little part of the country, I feel as if I have reconnected with my hometown, and my childhood.

In addition, with my experiences as a student rabbi in Sioux Falls South, Dakota, and Pine Bluff, Arkansas, its so rewarding to meet people who are also bonded to places that are so special to me.

Somehow, when you have a person in common, a bond is created—instantly. That link adds an intimacy to a brand new relationship.

I believe that Jewish geography is fun because it underlines the amazing the connections that we have in our lives. Relationships help us to put the picture of our lives together. Harold Kushner believes that our lives, and the relationships in them, are like puzzles. We build the picture of our life piece by piece, receiving, and giving pieces, all the time. This provocative image is explained further in this poem he wrote:

Each lifetime is the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
For some there are more pieces.
For others the puzzle is more difficult to assemble.
Some seem to be born with a nearly completed puzzle.
And so it goes.
Souls going this way and that
Trying to assemble the myriad parts.
But know this. You do not have within yourself
All the pieces to your puzzle.
Like before the days when they used to seal
jigsaw puzzles in cellophane. Insuring that
All the pieces were there.
Everyone carries with them at least one and probably
Many pieces to someone else's puzzle.
Sometimes they know it.
Sometimes they don't.
And when you present your piece
Which is worthless to you,
To another, whether you know it or not,
Whether they know it or not,
You are a messenger from the Most High.

Kushner's words remind us that we touch people in deeper ways that we often realize—and that our connections with each other are sacred.

This poem is significant to me, not only for what it teaches us, but personally as well. While Charlie and I were dating, we each, without knowing it, sent it to the other via email. It was, needless to say, pretty amazing! We believe that this poem defined our bond to each other, and is the philosophy by which we view connections to all the people in our lives. Indeed, we even had these words interpreted artistically into our ketubah, our marriage contract, and our chuppah, our marriage canopy

As Charlie and I learned from this poem, I believe many can benefit from this powerful image. The sacred pieces that we bring to our relationships should guide us, especially during the high holy day season.

The fact that we offer and receive puzzle pieces from diverse people leads us to understand our obligations to these relationships. As part of the goal of the High Holy Days, we have to understand that our associations are not only vital, but sacred, and that we do have responsibilities to ensure that we are ready to be messengers of the Most High.

We start to with the relationships we know about—our friends, family, and colleagues. Because we interact more regularly with these groups, it is obvious that these links make up the majority of the pieces of our puzzle. Therefore, we have to be most cognizant of them.

It takes work to make sure the pieces to the pieces continue to fit together. As we grow, they will fit together in different ways. We have to continue to be aware of how the fit together—or when the fit isn't quite working. When the sections disconnect, jarring our picture, we have to try to repair them. The High Holy Days are about refurbishing our relationships—with God, with ourselves, and with each other. On Sunday night, we will usher in the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur. We will read these words: “ For the transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another.

We have serious obligations on Yom Kippur. We must ask forgiveness for our wrongs not only against God, but against each other as well. Our prayers reach God—but they cannot repair damaged bonds.

There is a tradition that many have heard of, and several follow, which exhibits the serious nature of this statement. In it, we physically make reparations with those whom we have hurt. By apologizing for our wrongs, we repair the broken pictures—ours, and the person to whom we've offered repentance. We must do that work. We must begin to make amends for sins we have committed against people we know—by asking their forgiveness. The piece that we present to the other, if in full sorrow, and repentance, will certainly be from the Most High.

We have all been touched by someone unconsciously—whether through an unexpected smile from a stranger, or a helping hand in a parking lot—these pieces are presented to us. These are simple examples of offered connections; they are also quite profound as well.

Rachel Naomi Remen is the author of two bestselling books, both containing stories about her amazing journey as a medical doctor and therapist. In the book Kitchen Table Wisdom, she shared this: “ My medical partner, who had never been ill a day in his life, died suddenly of a massive heart attack at 56. He was a consummate healer and a magnificent friend, and he left both his colleagues and his patients bereft. For weeks we numbly went through papers and made referrals for the many people who called in, many of them weeping. Finally, the last details were attended to and we settled down to a future without Hal.

Then the patients started coming. For almost a year afterwards, several times week I would open the door to my office and find one of Hal's patients sitting in the common waiting room. At first I would worry that they didn't know about Hal and I would have to tell them, but they all knew. They had just come to place where they had experienced his listening, his special way of seeing and valuing them, just to sit there for a bit, perhaps to think about difficult decisions which currently faced them. Many patients came. It was terribly, terribly moving.

Hal's puzzle piece is clear—he was definitely a messenger from the Most High, offering his kindness and support, as well as medical expertise. I'm sure, though, at the time that he was treating these patients, that he had no idea that his gifts went so deep, and were so appreciated. Hal simply handed out his puzzle pieces to his patients in the best way he knew how. And his pieces were truly gifts.

At this High Holy Day season, we must realize that our actions-- the way that we talk or interact-- does make a difference. As we offer a puzzle piece—and may not know it—our life's picture in turn may become more complete. As we become more aware of the way that we touch and effect others, we can become more aware of the gifts we offer each other.

The jigsaw pieces of our lives are hard to assemble. With work, we can be sure that the pieces we've assembled already will remain solid, intact, forming the image of the lives we have worked to create. With awareness, we can become attuned to the gifts we give—and to the treasures we receive, creating a fuller, more vivid picture of our life. We are intricately connected—by giving pieces of our puzzle, and receiving them, we indelibly connect ourselves to each other. Our life's picture cannot be complete without these connections, as writer Kuan Tao Sheng comments in this poem:

Take a lump of clay
Wet it, pat it,
Make a statue of you
And a statue of me
Then shatter them, clatter them
Add some water
And break them and mold them
Into a statue of you
And a statue of me
Then in mine, there are bits of you
And in you there are bits of me
Nothing ever shall keep us apart.

May the pieces that we give, and that we receive, continue to be gifts, connecting us to each other.

Amen

Home