I am always amused when children going to overnight camp, such as Greene Family Camp begin their countdown: “39 days, 12 hours until I'm at camp!” 38 days, 9 hours, 34 days 2 hours. . . . the countdown is often enough to drive parents and siblings to distraction. The amusing piece is-after three weeks or so at camp, the countdown begins again in the reverse: This is the last time we have instructional swim. Then, this is the last time we eat dinner together . . . this is the last time I'll sleep in this bunk bed. . . .

Camp is ready made to mark beginnings and endings-because they are clear, because sentiment is built into the fabric of sleep-away experiences. Our lives are not always like that. We can make distinctions easily based on larger events in our lives-before and after that horrible vacation; before we had our first child, after your aunt died . . .

But what about the ways that we mark the rhythm of our every day lives? This is much more difficult. For some, we're so busy, we can't even believe an entire week has gone by. For others, life is so predictable that a break in the rhythm would be a gift. Either way, these patterns blend, one moment slides one into the next.

This sermon is about time-sort of. What it is really about is adding ritual to sanctify the patterns in our lives. We can take the often indistinct beginnings and endings we experience and make them holy.

Judaism sanctifies time. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel teaches: “Judaism is a religion of time, aiming at the sanctification of time. Unlike the space-minded man to whom time is unvaried, iterative, homogeneous, to whom all hours are alike, quality-less, empty shells, the Bible senses the diversified character of time. There are no two hours alike. Every hour is unique and the only one given at the moment, exclusive and endlessly precious.. . . Judaism teaches us to be attached to holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events, to learn how to consecrate sanctuaries that emerge from the magnificent stream of a year.”

A year or so ago, the band Green Day had a hit called “Closing Time.” One line read: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” This line has stayed with me, long after the raging popularity of the song has faded. To me, these words exemplify a struggle that many of us share: Our time is blurred. We don't deal well with transitions.

Judaism teaches that every beginning also has an end, clear and distinct. For example, Yom Kippur has a distinct end, for which we are most grateful.

Judaism sanctifies one day, so holy it is second only to Yom Kippur: Shabbat. From Shabbat, we can learn how to punctuate the normal rhythms of our lives. Shabbat begins with familiar ritual. We light the candles, we say Kiddush What is not well known is that just as we begin Shabbat with ritual, Judaism offers us the opportunity end it with ritual. This ceremony is known as Havdalah, a Saturday evening ritual to usher out the Sabbath. Havdalah takes place, as Harold Schulweis writes, “between the suns-between the setting of the sun and the appearance of the stars, at a time when faces and forms are indistinct.” Remember the line by Green Day? “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” Sunset, the time of blurred lines, is exactly when we mark the end of Shabbat, and the beginning of a new week. The sacred moment so easily slip away, unmarked and unholy, if it were not for havdalah!

The word havdalah means distinction or separation. Our tradition invites us to mark a formal distinction between holy and ordinary times, a ritual division that would allow for the resumption of ordinary work after a holy day. We learn in the Babylonian Talmud that "the men of the Great Synagogue instituted blessings and prayers, sanctifications and Havdalot for Israel" for this purpose. For our ancient rabbis, the blessings of Havdalah were required in order to return to the work week; one could not end Shabbat without making a distinction between the holy time and the work week.

Few of us, though, require permission to return to the week of labor. For us, havdalah provides an opportunity to add holiness in time. Blessedly, our ancient rabbis also devised a magnificent method for creating sacred separations.

This brief ritual contains four blessings utilizing all of our senses. Havdalah, teaches us so simply, so eloquently, how to make sacred the separations that could so easily slip away. A brief explanation of the ritual is in order:

Beginning with wine, we remind ourselves of the sweetness of Shabbat. The Talmud teaches that at the beginning of the Sabbath, the special sanctification, the Kiddush, is recited. We mark the termination of the Sabbath with a cup of wine as well, creating, as it were, a symbolic connection between the beginning and end of the Shabbat.

The second prayer, over the spices, begs us to breathe in deeply to the sweet moments of Shabbat. With this ritual, as the blessing is said, or sung, a spice box-or even an orange with cloves poked into its skin-is passed around the room. Community connections are strengthened, as we each breathe deeply the sweetness.

Reish Lakish, a third century Rabbi, believed that on Shabbat we gain an extra soul, a Shabbat soul. As the Sabbath departs, we are saddened to let our second soul leave, if only temporarily, until the next Shabbat. We try to hold on to Shabbat, and our extra soul as long as possible. By breathing in the smell of sweet cloves and cinnamon, we entice the Shabbat soul to remain with us just a few seconds more.

The third blessing is said over fire. The representative for the fire is a braided candle of at least three wicks. Yose, the pupil of Rabbi Akiba relates: "Fire was one of the things God had left uncreated when the first Sabbath set in; but after the close of the Sabbath, God endowed humankind with divine wisdom. Adam and Eve then took two stones, and by grinding them together produced fire; after which they recited the benediction: 'Blessed be God who creates the lights of the fire'" When the Sabbath ends, we celebrate the renewal of creation. We light a fire emulating God's first act of creation, “Yhi Or”, “Let there be light!”

The Havdalah candle holds a minimum of three wicks. The blessing refers to the lights in plural: borei me'orei ha-esh, which means God who creates the lights of fire. The special braided candle gives off so much more light than if all the wicks were separate. Thus, the wicks of the candle are said to represent the diversity of the Jewish people, intertwined to display unity, and resulting strength.

To end the service, we offer the final blessing extinguish the flame of the Havdalah candle in the wine. Wine, which is precious and sweet, is not typically used to extinguish a candle. By using it to put out the flame, it is a sign of the blessing of the Shabbat just ended, and the promise of a sweet new week to come.

The last blessing reads Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, who separates between the sacred and the profane, light between darkness, the seventh day from the six days of labor. Blessed is the Lord, who separates between the sacred and the profane.

The word “between” in Hebrew is “bein”. In the midrash, this word connected to “binah,” or wisdom. Howard Schulweis, contemporary thinker, translates “bein” as “wisdom of discernment”. The paradox is intriguing: we must mark distinctions, and make separations, at exactly the moment when the light is fading and the world looks a little less clear.

After we complete the blessings, we share in one more custom: the singing of “Eliyahu Hanavi”, “Elijah the Prophet” Familiar to us from Passover Seder, Elijah's role at Havdalah is no less meaningful. Elijah is the prophet that will herald the messianic age, a time of permanent peace, freedom, and tranquility for both the Jewish people and for all humanity. Elijah is a symbol of hope, reminding us that the moments of sacred separation are a foretaste of the world to come.

These four blessings, and Eliyahu HaNavi-said or sung-complete the ritual. This evening, we will all be part of this ritual as we separate Yom Kippur, Shabbat Shabbaton, the Sabbath of Sabbaths from the rest of the week. Using our beautiful Havdalah set, recently dedicated to the memory of Stanley Goodman, we will all be able to participate in this ritual together.

Even more, I pray that the continued presence of the gorgeous Havdalah set displayed in the Stahl Gallery, will remind us all-invite us all- to engage in this beautiful, brief ceremony, adding sacred separation to our lives, in our homes, every week. I know that many have not participated personally in this ritual, and may not know how to go about it. In addition, you may not have your own havdalah set. Not to worry: please join me, on October 23, in the Barshop Auditorium, at 6:30 P.M. You will have the opportunity to make a havdalah set and learn how to conduct the ceremony. In addition, our Sisterhood Judaica Gift Shop has some lovely options, too.

Havdalah is used to make sacred distinctions, separations, in our lives. With it we distinguish between the sacred and profane moments in our lives: between the dark moments and the ones filled with light. Havdalah provides us with the vehicle to remember that endings are as important as beginnings. After all, endings are paradoxically, beginnings themselves!

Havdalah's message speaks to me. The simple beauty of this ceremony is captivating. Those few moments are an island in time. I often become lost in the dancing flame of the candle, sometimes thinking of the past, or the future. . . or sometimes not thinking at all, just enjoying the sacred separation. I remember Havdalah as a child at camp, singing this song happily when the service ended; as a youth group member, linking arms with my friends. I remember singing the Shavua Tov Song,-- the “Good Week” song, popular with youth for more than a generation now, which reads in part:

The twisted candle brightens our hearts,
As together we watch the Sabbath depart.
We smell the spices, taste the wine,
As the stars in the sky begin to shine.

I am not alone in my enthrallment with Havdalah. Many who experience it for the first time are captivated, and have successfully woven into home ritual. A Temple member told me that Havdalah has become such an important custom in her family's life that, if all their children are busy, they will say the blessings on Sunday, rather than Saturday, evening. For her, that moment of family time, of making sacred separations, is too significant to let it simply fade away. She felt that even if she had done it “wrong”, it was much more meaningful to do it “wrong” than not to do it at all. Imagine her surprise when I told her that, Havdalah, according to strict Jewish law, may be recited up until Tuesday! This is because first three days of the week are viewed as still colored by the beauty of Shabbat, while we may begin to prepare for the next Shabbat as early as Wednesday. She was thrilled that she wasn't conducting the ceremony “wrong”.

However, what she understood, intuitively, was the wisdom of creating sacred separations in her family's life, and Havdalah was a beautiful way for them to acknowledge it. As it is for their family, may we be inspired to create sacred separations in our week with the Havdalah ceremony. May the sweet wine, bright candle, and pungent spices mark our endings and our beginnings as holy.

Tonight, as a congregation, when we celebrate Havdalah, dividing between the sacred and the profane, I pray that the simple ceremony will indeed mark the end of Yom Kippur as holy. May we rise from our seats, refreshed and cleansed by our prayers, and by Havdalah. May its' simple majesty help us to mark every ending sacred; and every new beginning holy. Amen

Amen.

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