“What are you listening to?”
Rosh Hashanah Morning, September 13, 2007/1 Tishrei, 5768

Earlier this year I was visiting a man whose medical problems I was told included a slight case of dementia.  He was very friendly, although it was sometimes hard to tell exactly what we were talking about.  At one point, after we had been sitting together in silence for a while, he leaned forward and asked me earnestly, “What are you listening to?”

The first thought that popped into my mind was:  “NPR”!  That’s what I listen to as I drive around Tucson.

Then I remembered that this man had been an astronomer as well as a music lover, and maybe he wondered if I was listening to the music of the spheres.  Perhaps he already knew what I had recently read:  according to scientists the universe emits a sound, a musical note, a B-flat, actually.  Maybe he was hearing it, and wondered if I were listening intently enough that I could hear it too. 

When I asked him what he meant by his question, he just laughed pleasantly and changed the subject.  But his question lingers in my mind, and I would like to explore it with you today.

What are you listening to?

Let’s begin with where we are, which is outside in this beautiful natural setting.  I invite you all to close your eyes…take a deep breath…exhale…and turn your attention to the sounds around us.  (wind, birds, human sounds, far-off sounds, etc)  See how many different sounds you can hear, sounds perhaps you had not noticed up until now.  Truly listening to the sounds around us is one of the most profound ways of being in the present moment, of fulfilling the injunction to Be Here Now.

Keeping our eyes closed, let’s now listen in a different way.  Not with our ears, but with an inner awareness.  Let’s listen to our bodies.  As we listen with an inner ear, do we notice any subtle messages?  Our joints, our organs, our muscles speak to us all the time, giving us feedback on how we are treating our bodies.  Are we listening?

If you wish, you may open your eyes now.

Listening to the sounds around us.  Turning an inner ear to what our bodies are saying.  Each of these is an important answer to the question “What are you listening to?”

But it is not enough to listen only to ourselves.  How well do we listen to others?

The dictionary makes a distinction between listening and hearing.  “Hearing” is the physical act; “listening” has to do with a conscious effort.  Even though “Shema Yisrael” is translated “Hear O Israel,” the real import is “Listen up, you Israelites!  Pay attention!”  That kind of listening--that kind of paying attention--is what we refer to when we ask:  What are you listening to?

I think of the mother in the supermarket who chats on her cell phone while her young child tugs on her sleeve saying “Mommie!  Mommie!”  Sometimes this sight breaks my heart as I watch a young, earnest soul trying to get Mommie to listen, to pay attention. 

When my children were young I read a wonderful book about parenting:  The Magic Years by Selma Fraiberg.  Of all her good advice, the piece I remember most clearly was her suggestion that we interact with our young children as if they were adult visitors from a foreign country.  Think of how we would treat such a guest who did not speak the language well and for whom our customs were unfamiliar.  We would be attentive.  We would be kind.  We would be patient.  Think of the quality of our listening to such a guest.  Is this how we listen to our children?

And how do we listen to other adults?  When someone approaches us who we consider a total nuisance, what are we listening to?  To the words or behavior that gets on our nerves?  Or can we listen, instead, to the soul that is perhaps in pain, the soul that struggles--however ineptly--to connect with another human being?  Truly listening to another means listening with compassion.

There’s a rabbinic story about two farmers who are quarreling over a piece of land.  They come to the rabbi who they hope will judge between them.  The first farmer states his case, the rabbi listens, then says, “You’re right.”  The other farmer gets angry and says, “What do you mean he’s right?  This is the way it is,” and he states his case.  After the rabbi listens to the second farmer, the rabbi says to him, “You’re right.”  The rabbi’s wife, listening at the door, says to her husband, “What do you mean?  They can’t both be right.”  The rabbi says to her, “You’re right, too!”

When we truly listen with compassion to another person, listen from their point of view, no matter how one-sided or self-righteous they might be, then we see the “rightness” of their position through their eyes.  “You’re right!” the rabbi says to each of the farmers, because he can see the situation as they each see it.  Yet his wife’s logic is also “right,” in a more legalistic sense. 

Sometimes there is the need for adjudication; perhaps one farmer’s claim will win out over the other.  But we are talking today about listening, not about judging.  When we listen, we put aside our mental chatter, our constant judgments.  Rather, we take care to listen with empathy, with compassion, below the words.  If you ask your partner or a friend, “How was your day?” and the answer is “OK,” -- true listening would be sensitive to the inflection, to the nuance in the voice.  True listening begins with our response.  For example, “Are you upset?  Did something happen?  Tell me more.”

The question is:  “What are you listening to?”  Are we listening to other people?  Do we merely hear what is said, staying on the surface, or do we deeply listen for the truths below the words?

There’s yet another kind of listening, in some ways the most challenging of all.  I am speaking of what our scripture calls the “still, small voice” within.  Some know this voice as God.  Others call it “soul,” or conscience, or the voice of our own deep wisdom.  That still, small voice is very soft.  To listen, we need quiet.  That might be time alone in nature or in meditation or in prayer.  The voice guides us, but only if we are willing to listen, willing to listen even when we do not like what it says. 

These High Holy Days-these Days of Awe, these Ten Days of Repentance--are the time that Judaism sets aside to listen, especially to listen to that still, small voice, which tells us truly where we have missed the mark, to whom we must apologize, what our path should be for the coming year. 

Today is a special day for listening because today is “Yom Teruah” -- a day when the shofar is sounded.  According to Maimonides the sound of the shofar is a spiritual wake-up call, rousing us to self-scrutiny, remorse and repentance.  Like an alarm clock, the shofar startles us from our spiritual slumber, telling us to get moving before it is too late.

In a few moments we will be blowing the shofar.  I invite you not merely to hear the shofar, but to use the sound as a reminder to listen as well.  I would like to offer one way for each of us to fully engage in these High Holy Days.  At least once a day between now and Yom Kippur, let’s each of us consciously and deliberately listen:  to the world around us, to our bodies, to other people, to the still, small voice within.  Just once a day to consciously listen:  who knows, a great teshuvah, a great returning, may emerge from our listening during these Days of Awe.

Ken y’he ratzon:  may this be God’s wil