Cosmic Yardsticks - Rabbi Sandra’s Kol Nidre sermon 2022

“Eeyore, the old grey Donkey, stood by the side of the stream, and looked at himself in the water.

“Pathetic,” he said. “That’s what it is. Pathetic.”

He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at himself in the water again.

“As I thought,” he said. “No better from THIS side. But nobody minds. Nobody cares. Pathetic, that’s what it is.”

There was a crackling noise in the bracken behind him, and out came Pooh.

“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Pooh.

“Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it IS a good morning,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he.

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

“Can’t all WHAT?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose.

“Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush. ...I’m not complaining, but There It Is.”

Poor Eeyore. It's not easy being a blue donkey with a missing tale and a penchant for sadness. We all know an Eeyore, or have Eeyore moments ourselves sometimes. No matter what side of the stream we are on, sometimes it is hard to see the positive side. 

If Eeyore had ever ventured into a Yom Kippur service, he might have felt rather comfortable, at least part of the time. The theme of the High Holy days and indeed much of our textual tradition is not “Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush”. Eeyore would probably have quite liked some of the texts that we read in these days of contemplation;  ”What are we…a leaf in the storm, a fleeting moment in the flow of time, a whisper lost in the vastness of the universe” (p. 224 LJ Machzor Ruach Chadasha). 

But the liturgy also says “This is the day of God…it summons the Children of Israel from all their habitations and says to them: Be ready to meet your God”...Every soul is precious in Your sight” (p.224). There’s a balance between the two sentiments, between a leaf in the storm and every soul is precious

The dichotomy at the heart of is summed up in a popular quote written by a 17th century hasidic rabbi with enlightenment leanings, Rabbi Simcha of Przysucha  or ‘Reb Bunim’ (1765–1827). He used to say, "Keep two pieces of paper in your pocket at all times. On one [it should say]: “I am a speck of dust,” and on the other “The world was created for me." (from Tales of the Hasidim, by Martin Buber).

On the one hand everyone of us is just one speck of dust among billions, and at the same time, each human, with all their potential, their love and personality are unique and irreplaceable. That's the balancing act of life according to Reb Bunim.
The note that says “The world was created for me” can lift us when life is hard, when we are suffering or doubting, or blown of course in our lives, to be reminded that we are special, and that we matter, is important. I’ve always found the other quote much harder to understand constructively, “You are but dust and ashes' seems unnecessarily harsh; a tough way of reminding people to be humble and grateful.

Such juxtaposition of pessimism and optimism, of both despairing at the futility of it all on the one hand; while at the same time celebrating how much potential we have and what we can do with it, are the choppy seas that we navigate during these high holy days and throughout our lives. The treacherousness of these waters feel especially poignant right now, and in the aftermath of the pandemic, as we still grapple with its effect on us, on our society and throughout our world. You’d be forgiven for feeling seasick.

I am but dust and ashes
We are constantly encouraged in our modern culture to think that to live a meaningful life will require us to do something extraordinary, something big, something that impacts lots of people, and as Steve Jobs once said; putting "a dent in the universe". And yet, how much will even the iPhone or its creator truly be remembered in 500 years? How much of a dent was that really?

We live in a world where we are constantly told to fulfil our potential, that we are singularly unique, we feed on narratives that tell us that to be anything at all you have to big, you have to be visible, you have to be known, by not only your own small circle of friends and colleagues, but the world. You have to be the first in the world to do something, or the fastest, or the richest, or the most followed. And if you are none of these things, well what are you really? Do you even matter? The pressure is immense.

The realisation that perhaps we are closer to being fleeting moments in the flow of time goes all the way back to the Stoics, but it has been playfully updated by the thinker/writer/guru of time management Oliver Burkeman who has coined the term ‘Cosmic Insignificance Therapy’ by Oliver Burkeman;
“The (conscious or subconscious) belief that what you do is incredibly consequential has the effect of making the stakes too high for enjoying life. You end up feeling like you're perpetually holding the world on your shoulders, so that if you don't make it through your to-do list, or fulfil your various obligations, or "realise your potential", something truly calamitous will happen. You live in a defensive posture, treating life as a sequence of problems to be solved, in which the best-case scenario is that you might squeak through to the end without completely ruining everything for everyone”.

Cosmic insignificance is about taking a realistic look at ourselves, our size and our potential to have impact. It’s like a great big sigh of relief, to realise that even though we haven’t written a bestseller, or become a household name in our field, or won a nobel prize, or any prize for that matter, it is absolutely ok. It does not matter. Instead our lives can be modestly meaningful in a really empowering and outstanding way. Fundamentally, it does not mean that our lives are meaningless. But rather, thinking that we are of any great importance to the universe is unrealistic; and yet we still matter to those around us, we still have to feed our children, we still have to pay our mortgages, or go to school. Just because no one in a 1000 years time will know or care about how well we did on a test, or on our latest project, that does not make such matters unimportant now. 

And yet we are not insignificant or don't need to be to one another.To those around us, our family, our friends, our community, those in our neighbourhood, those whose life we touch directly and indirectly we can matter. By recognizing that we will all return to dust, and that that is ok, we can get on with meaning something to our families, to our communities, by taking on active roles. If we don’t do to others, they won’t do to you, and only then are we perhaps insignificant. 

“To be reminded of your cosmic insignificance therefore isn't just relaxing, but actively empowering. Because once you remember the stakes aren't anywhere near that high, you're free to take meaningful risks, to let the unimportant things slide, and to let other people deal with how they might feel about your failing to live up to their expectations”. 

“What cosmic insignificance therapy™ does, though, is to recalibrate the yardstick with which you measure what's important, from your perspective”. 

It’s what the process of the high holy days is about, recalibrating our yardsticks, so that we measure what is important from a different perspective. How do you measure what's important in your life? What is your yardstick?

A yardstick based on validation

For several months last year my oldest child's main comment to any conversation topic was ‘but are they famous?’, or ‘was that person more famous than this other one?’ It was funny and tedious all at the same time. But he’s not alone in this way of measuring the world around him. And it is not just tweens and teens who do it. And it goes to the heart of the issue of living a modestly significant life - how do we measure what’s important? How do we know? And where do we get our validation from?

The yardstick has changed over time, as the world we live in has changed. And it begs the question: is this the yardstick we want? As the world has become more connected, our approach to validation has changed, as our approach to religion has changed so too how we measure what is a good life. The 20th century dismantled notions of deference, and of duty, and replaced it with a passion for individuality and a celebration of the self and identity. We have gone from one end of the extreme to the other, without finding a way to balance in the in between. 

If you don’t get at least 10 likes to your post, are you then insignificant? If only you know that you helped your elderly neighbour, was it then a significant action/use of your time? One end of the yardstick can easily become a narcissistic and superficial experience of validation. 

And so we come back to the question: what do you measure your life by? What is your yardstick? Is the job title, the prestige, the awards, the projects? Is the amount of people you reach? When you look back on your life, what would you say were the most important things you did? And what did not actually matter. 

Our yardstick changes with where we are in life. For a child, the measure and validation hinges on the parents, and usually on play and enjoyment. For a teen the focus changes to the validation from friends as well as family, and on slowly becoming more independent. As grown ups it's mostly about work and career and finding life companions. Once you have children the yardstick moves again, and when you retire, a whole new yardstick has to be created. There is no eternal yardstick (at least not in the 21st century), the importance is that the yardstick changes, and that you are aware of where you are now and whether your yardstick fits? 

It is not necessarily easy to accept the idea of a dust and ashes note, to see oneself as cosmically insignificant. Some might find it a bitter pill to swallow, and others I know are appalled. But that is why the image of the two notes is so powerful, for we can be reminded of our insignificance when we feel grand and of our importance when we feel small. We might be cosmically insignificant, but we are wholly significant to one another.

We all carry two notes, one that tells us to look up and be amazed at how amazing the world and our lives are. And the other one reminds us that in the grand scheme of the ever expanding cosmos we are insignificant. Together these two notes remind us to look at our yardsticks and to ask ourselves - what is important to us? 

How do you measure your life? And are you happy with it?