With the passing of Yitzhak Navon on November 7, 2015, we’ve come to an end of an era. Born in Jerusalem on April 9, 1921, he was a proud and vocal scion of Sephardic culture and tradition. His family had lived in Jerusalem since the 17th century, descendants of the Jews exiled from Spain in 1492. He was part of the old Sephardic yishuv that had been dwelling in the land of Israel for centuries. Few of these Sephardic veterans are still alive, and none has had a larger impact than Yitzhak Navon.

The election season is filled with slogans, sound bites, campaign posturing. Candidates employ experts who can best market them. The candidates are instructed on what to say and what not to say; the tone of voice they should use; the type of clothes and makeup they should wear. The goal is to create an electable image. News items are subject to p.r. spins; polls are used as signs of gained or lost momentum and are interpreted by candidates in a way that most favors themselves.

Rabbi Harold Kushner told a story of a man who stopped attending his usual synagogue and was now frequenting another minyan. One day he happened to meet the rabbi of his previous synagogue, and the rabbi asked him where he was praying these days. The man answered: “I am praying at a small minyan led by Rabbi Cohen.”

The rabbi was stunned. “Why would you want to pray there with that rabbi. I am a much better orator, I am more famous, I have a much larger following.”
The man replied: “Yes, but in my new synagogue the rabbi has taught me to read minds.”

The rabbi was surprised. “Alright, then, read my mind.”

The man said: “You are thinking of the verse in Psalms, ‘I have set the Lord before me at all times.’”

In the opening pages of his book “The Upright Thinkers,” Dr. Leonard Mlodinow reports an incident in his father’s life as an inmate in a Nazi concentration camp. The elder Mlodinow was then a young Polish Jew, who had not received formal education past seventh grade. In the camp, he met an older inmate, a mathematician, and they struck up a friendship.

(Much of this essay is excerpted from my book, Losing the Rat Race, Winning at Life.)

During the course of a lifetime, a person may wear many masks. In order to curry favor with others, one adopts their attitudes, opinions, styles and behavior patterns. Above all, one wants to belong, to play an acceptable role. At the same time, one also has a separate individual identity within, the hard kernel of one’s own being. When one loses sight of his separateness from the masks he wears, he becomes the masks; i.e., a superficial, artificial human being. A person may go through life without examining carefully who he really is. One simply becomes an assortment of ever-changing masks, living life on the surface.

When visitors first enter the sanctuary of Congregation Shearith Israel in New York City, they often gasp in awe and amazement at the sheer beauty and dignity of this sacred space. It is grand without being overly ornate; it is graceful, understated and powerful.

Years ago, I led a tour of visitors to the synagogue. Upon entering the sanctuary, almost all of our guests reacted as almost everyone does: what a beautiful synagogue! As our forefather Jacob said in a different context: How awesome is this place, this is nothing else but the house of the Lord, and this is the gate of heaven!

“Not with you alone do I make this covenant and this oath; but with those who stand here with us this day before the Lord our God, and also with those who are not here with us this day” (Devarim 29:13-14).

As Moses approached the end of his life, he gathered all the people and affirmed the special covenant between God and Israel. He wanted everyone to understand that this covenant transcended time. It did not relate only to the generation then alive, but to all generations “who are not here with us this day.”

The theme of Shabbat Teshuvah is repentance. This does not refer only to those who are not religious who now need to repent. It refers to each of us, whatever our religious level is. Each one of us is called upon to examine our weaknesses and deficiencies and to make a determination to improve ourselves during the coming year.

When we contemplate our personal religious lives, we often find ourselves thinking of those people who have had a strong positive impact on us—our parents and grandparents, relatives, rabbis, teachers, pious and righteous individuals. In many ways, these role models have helped us fashion our individual philosophies, attitudes and behaviors. When we contemplate repentance, we draw on their strengths and insights; we strive to emulate them at their best.