I know exactly when I'm getting a cold. A few days before I actually get sick, I get a short lived case of insomnia. And then I get a bizarre surge of energy, especially odd given my lack of sleep. And then it happens: what I call the sneeze of doom. One huge sneeze, and that's it. I've got a cold.

I know, it's weird. But it's what happens for me, every time!

This year, more than any other, we are attuned to symptoms of illness. With the seasonal flu and H1N1, or “swine” flu looming large, we are warned to stay home if we show any signs of becoming ill. To help ward off illness, we are told to wash our hands often, and to carry hand sanitizer to clean our hands whenever possible. See, I've even got some here on the pulpit!

I'm fascinated by hand sanitizer. Anyone who has been around children knows that hand sanitizer does not remove the dirt from under fingernails! While a pump of hand sanitizer will likely help us to stay well, what we are actually creating is “sterile dirt”! With hand sanitizer, we do effectively remove the germs, but we don't do a solid cleaning; we get the germs, but not the dirt.

Perhaps hand sanitizer can be a metaphor for us on this Yom Kippur. We come to Temple; we fast; we read the words found in our prayerbook. So, it seems that we have fulfilled our obligations-we are clean, right? But are we doing this task as if we are truly washing our hands, removing both dirt and germs, or are we simply applying hand sanitizer, eliminating the germs, and not looking any deeper?

This Yom Kippur, I want to challenge us to clean ourselves more deeply than we ever have before. Let's do that by looking at just one area that I believe needs our particular attention. In our prayer book this morning, we read a confessional of sins. One of them reads: “We have sinned against ourselves and paid scant heed to the life of the spirit.” Al Chet Shehatanu L'fanecha: We have sinned against You, God; we have failed to embrace blessing and beauty; awe and wonder. We have failed to engage in the restorative, energizing and fulfilling power that You have given us.

How many of us are trying to refrain from checking our phones? Worrying about the time of break fast? Indeed: How many of us are fully present, using this sanctuary as a “sanctuary”, a respite from our world? Rabbi Ted Riter wrote, “By latching on to a life of busyness, we are missing the gift of presence.”

Somewhere along the way, being busy became a value. We compare notes on who is busier and, even while we complain about it, proudly over program our kids. It has become an American value to eat quickly, to do more, to pack too much into the day.

We multitask constantly: we nod absently to our children when they ask for something because we are checking email or looking at facebook. We are not present in the moment. I know I am guilty of this: racing down the hall in the Temple, feeling pressured to be on time for a program or to return a phone call; I am not in the moment.

When Moses was leading the people in the desert, he believed he was to be everything to the people. He listened to all their disputes; helped them with their hardships. The line of people was constant; flowing from morning to evening. Jethro, Moses' father in law, pointed out that Moses was not doing the right thing by serving the people in such a way. Jethro admonished Moses to delegate, to work to balance the needs of the people with his own needs.

We too, can learn from Jethro's example. Because we are so busy, because there is so much going on, we do not make time for reflection or renewal. We do not take the time to clarify our dreams, our needs, to feed our spirit. In the busy-ness of life, we have stopped hearing ourselves. Our world does not value quiet time. On Yom Kippur, let us place less value on “busy” and more value on our spiritual lives.

In addition to being busy, we also live in an age when we are constantly entertained. We expect things to come out of different types of boxes, as it were, and make us laugh, click, or watch the time away. From handheld video games to iPhones to television, to facebook to Youtube: we are entertained. Rabbi Hayim Herring teaches that we live in an era of “anything, anyone, anytime, anywhere”. Anything is available, anyone can do it, or learn it at anytime, and in anyplace. You can dream it at 3 AM-hop on the internet; it's possible. You want to talk to someone? Jump on facebook at 6:30PM, there's sure to be someone to drop a line to. I can't help but think of Veruca Salt, in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory: I want it NOW, Daddy!

What happens when our need for constant newness minimizes our interest in prayer, learning, and the mysteries of nature?

This overwhelming newness has created, I believe, a crisis in how we deal with the life of the spirit. For many, we don't disconnect from a spiritual life because the experience feels stilted, stale and meaningless. We're bored. This isn't a regular kind of boredom, though: it's “spiritual boredom.” Erica Brown, in her book Spiritual Boredom, writes, “In religious terms, boredom is sapping spirituality of its mystical and wholesome benefits, slowly corroding our ability to recognize blessing and beauty in our lives, to experience wonder and awe.

This summer, I watched-and loved- the television show Royal Pains. Dr. Hank Lawson, his CPA brother Evan and physician assistant Divya Katdare team up to become the concierge medical service for the wealthy who live the exclusive life of the Hamptons. In one episode, Hank and Evan are hired for the weekend to care for a very pregnant woman and her family on a completely tech-free island. There, the phones, the video games the televisions-all gone. The tween boy on the show falls apart. He can't handle life without his DS. He is unable to connect, assumes everything is stupid. He asks, “What am I going to do all weekend?” And for every suggestion, was met with: “that's lame” or “who would want to do that?”

In the end, after a car crash, and an almost fatal head injury, the boy steps up to the plate. He engages in the situation. He offers to help, even at his own risk. Rather than life coming at him-he came at life.

Like this boy, we wait for life to come at us. We wait for prophetic moments and spiritual rushes. We wait for it to come to us, rather that us seeking out the moments that can fulfill our lives. When they don't come, we are dismissive. But, like that child learned, we must not wait for the world to come at us; we have to come at it. Erica Brown writes, “If we take responsibility for lack of stimulation, then we will also be more likely to manipulate situations and states that are not stimulating, and fine, to the degree that we can, a way out of boredom.” Spiritual boredom can be overcome if you are willing to remove it.

One way we struggle with spiritual boredom is to walk into Borders or Barnes and Noble, and go to the large section marked, “spiritual” or “religious”. Marketing books on personal spiritual growth is quite an industry. We open books, looking for answers to our existential dilemmas. An interesting fact: it's widely believed that 1 in 5 Americans calls themselves “spiritual but not religious”. Pushed to define what that means when someone says that me, I usually hear that it means a belief in God and a connection to a Divine Presence in their lives. We are in a trend of popular culture right now: review yourself, your life, you accomplishments, your shortfalls, your goals. But, I hear a disconnection from regular ritual, or as they sometimes term it, “organized religion”. Many things have turned them off. Pushed even further, to define how they experience God, find community, or act on their spirituality, some begin to equivocate. They brush the subject away, saying “I just don't know how to express it-it's just my personal faith.” They just know God is there, and that is enough.

That's not enough: it's only the beginning. Stopping there is like washing your hand with hand sanitizer: you've only done part of the job! Letting one's self off the hook with “spiritual but not religious” is spirituality lite.

We have, over time, come to understand that when we speak of “spiritual”, we are talking about personal matters of the sacred, the private realm of thought and experience, while “religious” is associated with the public realm, such as membership, participation in ritual, and acceptance of a specific belief system. The problem with rooting oneself only in the spiritual and not also in the religious can be summarized in one phrase: “Sheila-ism”. Sheila, a woman who, in an interview about faith, said “I believe in God. . . My faith has carried me a long way. It's Sheilaism. Just my own little voice.” Spiritual but not religious risks Sheilaism; a religion of one, disconnected and disassociated with community and with ritual practice. Robert Fuller, author of Spiritual But Not Religious writes, “ . . . in the long run Sheilaism deprives us of a language genuinely able to mediate among self, society, the natural world, and ultimate reality”.

Spirituality that is “lite” is absent meaning, education, and community.

Whether it is because we are too busy, bored, or disconnected from the community, let me offer some ways for us to slow down, engage, and connect:

Make time for silence and personal space. Turn off your phone. Let it go, for just one hour. Some of you might be thinking, I can have my phone on and still complete this assignment. I can multitask. But, you're missing the point-to adequately take time for you and to adequately reflect on your life, on God and your religion, you have to be immersed in your self. No distractions, no multitasking, just you. Or, try to sit in silence. Not for a few seconds, as we do during silent prayer. But for a real, full minute. That's a LONG time. What does it feel like? How hard is it? What do you learn about yourself? Judaism at its very core teaches us the value of sacred quietness. The first time that God offers a blessing, in the creation story is not over an animal, a plant, or even humans. And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy”. About Shabbat, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time.” Let us remember the preciousness, the sacredness, of each moment of the day, and be present in them.

In this morning's Haftarah portion, so beautifully read by Bernard Harris, the prophet Isaiah is dramatically reprimanding the Israelites. He accuses them of empty ritual and self serving worship. He challenges the Israelites to care for the needs of others, reminding them of what God wants: “Is not this the fast I look for: to unlock the shackles of the injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your house?”

One of the most inspiring things we do; one of the ways we connect and find meaning is when we fulfill our mandate to unlock the shackles of justice-to doing tikkun olam. So it's close to noon. Those of us who are able to fast are beginning- or already hungry. Imagine feeling that way all the time. All the time. Over 1 billion people in the world struggle with being hungry. This morning, our hunger drive will help hundreds to fill their bellies. Resolve, today, to be Gods' partner in healing the world, helping to alleviate the incredible problem of world hunger. Help our Feed the Hungry committee, who regularly cooks and brings food to the needy. Donate to MAZON, a Jewish response for hunger. Contribute regularly to the Food Bank.

Our story-the story of the Israelites, and the Jewish people, is anything but boring. We were called by God; we listened. We were enslaved. We became free-after very interesting plagues, including visual wonders like frogs and blood, and the sea parting. Wandering in the desert, God appears in a pillar of fire and a pillar of smoke. We heard lighting at Sinai. We complained a lot. We learned a lot about ourselves.

And that's just Genesis through Deuteronomy! That doesn't mention the exile, the creation of the Talmud, the commentaries, the miracle of survival after survival, the creation of a Jewish culture, a Jewish homeland, the involvement in religious freedom. We are anything but boring.

And in addition to being an awesome story, Judaism has perpetual light to shed on the meaning in our lives. Like the Burning Bush, the steady flame will never go out. It is there for us, burning its steady and supportive light, awaiting our arrival.

This morning, God reminds us that the commandments are ours, in our Torah portion: “For this commandment that I command you this day is not too hard for you, nor too remote . . no, it is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, and you can do it.” We are made up of stories, of wonderful, dramatic, lesson-filled narratives that challenge and inspire, uplift and amaze. They are yours: they are near to you. You can do it: learn; read; study.

We have been too busy. We have been bored. We have been unwilling to push into a deeper relationship with our spirit and our religious community. Today, we acknowledge that we paid scant heed to the life of the spirit. And so today, God, we resolve to move forward; to make personal time for stillness; to engage in our mandate to make the world a better place, and to embrace the stories and lessons of Your Torah. Amen.

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