Though we were living in NYC at the time, my wife and I got
married in Georgia. We both have family here, and it was a lot easier to get
married in Atlanta than Manhattan. When we came down a couple of weeks before
the wedding to get our license, we went to the county probate court and filled
out the appropriate form. At the desk, as we handed in our completed form to
the clerk who asked us to raise our hands and swear that the answers and
information we had given were true. As a rabbi, I was intrigued. The Talmud
discusses vows and oaths at length, and in general discourages people from
making them. Our words have power and meaning, and it's best not to take oaths
if they can be avoided.
I was also fascinated by the fact that someone might lie on
the official government form, but when asked to swear that they had told the
truth in front of a government bureaucrat would suddenly get a conscience and
be forced to tell the truth. I asked the clerk if anyone ever got to the desk
and when confronted by the oath went back and changed their answer. Her
response surprised me to say the least. She said: “Every day.”
Every day!
Now maybe she was exaggerating, but still. It wasn’t so
surprising that someone would lie every day, but that the oath administered at
the desk would deter them from lying. What is it about such a declaration that
kept them so honest?
This morning in shul, we read the final chapter of the book
of Genesis. In the final days of his life, Jacob makes arrangements for his
burial, and asks Joseph, his son, to make sure that he is not buried in Egypt,
but instead in the Machpelah cave that his grandfather Abraham bought as a
family burial ground. Jacob, like many still today, wants to be buried close to
his family. Joseph agrees, but Jacob, needing assurance insists that Joseph
swear to him. Joseph’s word is not good enough. His father insists on a
formally spoken oath, and without hesitation, Joseph swears.
In just a couple of days, millions of Americans will take a
kind of oath. They will make New Years resolutions, and if past experience
tells us anything, most of them will not be kept. We all know the typical oaths
we make – lose weight, go to the gym, eat less chocolate, stay in touch with
friends more. We never vow to do the unchallenging or the easy things. (I doubt
anyone has to make a resolution to eat more chocolate, or go to the gym less
often.) And perhaps just the making of a vow at New Years helps us to identify
the things we want to do better.
I certainly believe that being reflective is important, and
if you want to make improvements in the coming year, I think there is value to
making a resolution. I have made a few in my time, but I must admit, they have
not been my most successful commitments, and there is also a serious down-side
to making an oath we are pretty sure we will break. Each time we promise or
resolve to do something and then do not keep that promise we erode our self
confidence and create an image of ourselves that is unable and too weak to keep
our own word. And we get the bad kind of debilitating guilt that keeps us
yo-yoing through our desired commitments.
At the beginning of the Jewish new year, on Kol Nidre night, instead of making
promises for the year ahead, Jews practice an ancient and controversial ritual
called hatarat nedarim – the
annulment of vows. Recognizing the peril of hasty vows, the rabbis invented a
way to formally “un-declare” your vow, and through words in a formal process,
in public, you could undo the other formal public declaration you had made.
It seems to me that Kol
Nidre specifically reminds us how bad it is to make formal, spoken vows,
and how seriously we should consider the consequences of breaking these oral
contracts. This underlying notion, that promises are too easily broken, also
accounts for another Jewish tradition, the ketubah.
I am often asked by non-Jews whether Jewish weddings include
vows like many Christian traditions. You know the scene in the movie when the
minister says; “for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in
health.” Jews do not really have vows in our marriage ceremonies. Instead we
insist on a much more stringent kind of promise – a contract, a ketubah. This
is a written document, signed and witnessed. It has real teeth; real
consequences and specific terms, not simply a spoken promise. After all, if
promises guaranteed results, there would be far fewer divorces in times of
worse/poorer/sickness. Do you think your bank would accept a spoken promise to
pay back the mortgage, or even a vow with your right hand raised. No way. They
insist on a contract, and give it as much explicit consequences for violation
as they can.
So what does all this have to do with my New Year’s
resolutions?
I want to offer two suggestions about how to make better
resolutions this year. First, if it is something you are not sure you will
really be able to keep, then do not speak it out loud. Instead make a silent
intention not a voiced resolution. Keep the idea to yourself and share it only
with the One who knows all of our intentions. Create a set of pathways in your
mind and spirit, but don’t fill out any public forms, or make a big deal about
joining a gym. These kinds of internal intentions can be tremendously powerful,
they can grow and gain strength in the protected atmosphere of our spirit, and
they change us from the inside out without pomp or fanfare.
If you are resolving something more serious and you really
need it to stick, consider putting it in writing. Make a contract with
yourself. Actually write it out. Ask a friend or loved one to witness it, and
give it some teeth to insure that you follow through in the moments of weakness
that beset us all from time to time. Be as specific as you can be, and don’t
let yourself off the hook too easily.
Mostly, be generous with yourself, and don’t set yourself up
for failure. Quiet intentions, and contractual obligations can help us become
what we really want to be. May this be your blessing in the year to come.
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