Tifereth Israel Congregation
Washington, DC
January 18, 2003
We have a poster in my school, Julius West Middle School in Rockville. It says “don’t just talk … say something.”
Say something.
I like this poster because it tells me that if someone is going to take the time to listen to me, then I must be honest in what I am saying. And sometimes being honest means saying something that is painful.
Most of you already have probably noticed that I cannot pronounce certain words properly, clearly, or correctly. For me, the simple act of speaking makes my jaw and tongue and brain feel like they are running a marathon or lifting a thousand pounds. It’s pretty exhausting, both physically and mentally, for me to speak.
You see, people think I’m shy but I’m really not; because I don’t talk correctly, I just don’t like being completely embarrassed when others hear me talk.
So while everyone in my bat and bar mitzvah class says how nervous they are about their ceremonies --- which I am --- not everyone starts crying tears when they wonder if their jaw and tongue will be too tired to let them finish reciting what they studied for almost a year.
I did.
There’s a part of me which would rather be doing anything else in the world than what I’m doing right now, giving a speech after reciting the longest Torah and Haftara portions of the year.
But then I thought about the Torah portion which I just recited, “Beshallach.” Perhaps the most famous segment of today’s portion is “Az Yashir,” the Song of the Sea, found at Exodus chapter fifteen verses one through eighteen.
Moses and the children of Israel have just escaped from Egypt. A reluctant Pharoah has finally said “yes” to the Israelite plea: “Let my people go!”
Ten plagues have rained down upon Egypt and even Pharoah has not been spared. Angrily, he has his army give chase to the Israelites. Terrified, the Israelites press forward through the sea which has parted for them, not knowing whether they will live or die --- and, if they live, whether they will do so freely or as slaves.
But they trust in Hashem, in G-d. They don’t know what is on the other side of the just parted sea, but they do know what is on the side from which they’ve come. The side they are coming from is full of despair. The other side is full of hope.
So they make the leap from despair to hope, from slavery to freedom. They trust in Hashem, in G-d, and they make the crossing successfully.
And Moses --- who also had a speech impediment --- and the children of Israel sing a song to the L-rd. It says: “I will sing to the L-rd, for He has triumphed gloriously; horse and driver He has hurled into the sea. The L-rd is my strength and might; He is become my deliverance.”
All of us, I think, have times in our life when we need to cross our own seas. We go into the water hoping, even praying, that we’ll make it safely to the other side.
For Moses and the Israelites, it was an actual sea that separated them from the life they knew to the unknown life they prayed would be better.
For my Saba, my grandfather, his sea was overcoming a life-long belief that girls and women should not be called to the Torah and teaching me everything I chanted today. Saba, thank you for being my teacher.
For my grandparents, their sea was moving from New York to Maryland in their seventies to start a totally new life.
For homeless people at the shelter near this synagogue, their sea is trying to be happy every day when they don’t even have a home.
And, today, right now, by making a really hard decision and deciding to leave my fears behind and speak to you, which I didn’t have to do, I am crossing my own sea as well.
And it is both scary and exciting for me, just as it must have been for the Israelites after they finally reached dry land all those years ago.
I started my speech by telling you of the physical and emotional pain I have because of my speech problem. Yes, my mouth is very tired now and yes, my jaw and tongue really, really hurt a lot.
But I still wanted to end by telling you how totally awesome it feels to be speaking in public like I’m doing now. I bet this feeling of “oh, wow, I really did it,” is probably the exact same feeling the Israelites must have had after they made their crossing.
So, in conclusion, I want to thank you for sharing the most scary and wonderful day of my life with me, the day I crossed my own sea by telling you the story of how the children of Israel, led by a man who also had a speech problem, crossed theirs.
For today is the day I decided with G-d’s help that the embarrassment and pain my speech problem has caused me all my life --- it’s gone! It’s gone!
Shabbat shalom.