Kol Nidre, the annulment of vows between ourselves and God, echoes in the soul on this night. It is an ultimate acknowledgment of our humanity, our innate fallibility, and our desire for hope on the most profound levels. Is it not interesting that this supreme moment of awareness of the possibility of failure is one that does not drive us into isolation? Rather, it is at this particular moment when we seem to most seek out community. Instead of hiding this element of our humanity, we put it on public display. In our gathering, in our shared experience and need, there is strength. Mercy and understanding are the elements that we crave as we stand before the open Ark. We implore God as both our sovereign (a symbol of judgement and justice) and as our merciful parent (a symbol of forgiving mercy). The words are “Avinu Malkeinu.” In the crescendo of the last verse, repeated in each of our services we say “choneinu va’aneinu,” be gracious and answer us.

But what does this entreaty of graciousness on the part of God really mean? It is not just be kind or take notice of us. This is one of the few places in all of Judaism where it seems that we are truly invoking God’s grace. “Be gracious,” is far too sanitary a translation for my taste on this night, at this moment. Standing together, ideally with all pretense stripped away, Avinu Malkeinu in the end has us make a statement of true humility. We say Ain Banu Ma’asim, we have no merit. Therefore, humbly, as our lives hang in the balance, we look to a God who can grant us kindness whether we deserve it or not, and that is called “grace.” Grace, by definition, is a gift of merciful kindness which is unearned. Sometimes it may even be unwarranted. Pastor Ben Larzelere has taught me that in sign language, the sign for grace is rain falling from heaven, repeated. Which means that grace is an act which continues through time. Grace is a gift to be given, and when given, it has redeeming power. Which is why Avinu Malkeinu ends with the plea, “save us.”

Save us from death of the spirit. Save us from loneliness. Save us from despair. Save us from repeating the same mistakes over and over again in our lives. Save us from being miserly. Not just financially, but with all of the Divine gifts that fill our lives, and which we could share with others, but for whatever reason have chosen not to.

Grace is such a Divine gift. And yet, the term is misunderstood, and misused. Ballerinas are said to be graceful. Does that make them kind? When a bill comes from a credit card company it may come with a grace period. Does that give it redeeming qualities? Musicians even refer to grace notes. Does that make their music loving?

Grace is a gift of loving kindness, the ultimate act of “G’milut Chasadim.” deeds of loving kindness. This Hebrew expression, can be the key to understanding the Jewish concept of grace. Chasadim, can be understood as kindnesses, but it can also be understood as merit. In Judaism, our merit comes through the kindness we bring to the world. G’milut, the verb for bestowing, is used to describe an action which God performs for humans. Yet, it is also used to describe an action which one human being performs for another.

In other words, the bestowing of grace, an unearned act of loving kindness, is something God is capable of doing, and so are humans. In part, this is what it means to be made in the Divine Image. We are God-like, when we grant grace to another human being. So grace, a Divine attribute, can be a human attribute if we but choose to make it so.

I have been fortunate enough in my life to experience the bestowal of grace, a number of times. Friendship is an act of grace, because true friends, in the words of Charles Shultz of Peanuts fame, know your faults and love you anyway. In choosing to befriend someone, we grant them the ability to be themselves, and we accept them, as they are without harsh judgment. We grant them grace. Even in its most mundane manifestation, grace elevates the soul.

This summer when Janet and I were on vacation with our friends, Gordon and Diane Kane, we were part of a group that went for a walk through a forest. I, as usual, was lagging behind, so that I could take pictures of the beauties of nature which caught my eye, like the light filtering through the trees to illuminate a bend in the river. It made me aware of, and brought me closer to, the Source of Creation. At such moments, I am used to being alone, and then trying to catch up with the group. On this hike, without a word spoken, I found Gordon hanging back from the group, waiting for me. I no longer had to pay the price of aloneness for my dallying along the way. It was an act of friendship, and it was an act of G’milut Chasadim, an unearned, unrequested, but much appreciated act of kindness, of concern, and of caring. In short, it was an act of grace.

Gordon just does these kind of things to me and for me, not for anything in return, but simply because we are friends. True friends grant each other grace. When Pirkei Avot, that section of the Mishnah called the “Sayings of our Ancestors,” tells us to, “Find a teacher and acquire a friend...,” it does so because the ancient rabbis knew that such things nurture the soul. This is reflected in the friendship and mutual respect which Pastor Larzelere and I share. It is reflected in the friendship and mutual respect that Rabbi Morrow and I share. We each have different theologies, and yet by granting each other grace, we create an arena of caring, appreciation and understanding. Our congregations and our larger community are richer because we share these gifts with each other.

On this night of seeking and acquiring forgiveness, I ask you to seek friendship and grace. Not just to receive, but to bestow as well. Not just for yourselves as individuals, or even as families, but as community. This congregation is a wonderful place, but it has the capability of being even better. It has that capability, because each of us has the capability of being graceful, literally full of grace, when we deal with one another. Grace, as a guiding principle is capable of transforming us and our community. We can be the kind of synagogue that inspires a whole city. We can be what is truly called a caring community. We have the framework and the basics of it now.

We have a new member of our congregation who loves to attend Friday night services. She has no car, and cannot drive. A few members of our congregation have taken on the Mitzvah of bringing her when they can. Could we not have a committee which would see to it that all who seek to come here are able to do so by providing transportation? Why be bothered for someone we do not even know? Because kindness should not be bounded, and restricted only to friends.

We have a Mitzvah Committee that brings meals to those who are bereaved, or have had a medical procedure, or even had a new baby. Yet, should not every member of this congregation who has a kitchen be signed up to be in the rotation of providing food? We might have to cook one meal per year.

I know that through our pre-school because of Leah Gibbons, through our religious school, because of Deborah Weinberg and through our youth group, because of Ellen Zieselman, we have various donation drives that go on. We collect coats for those without. We collect children’s videos for St. Vincent’s Hospital to give to children to watch and then take home when they are discharged. We collect food throughout the year for the local food banks. The Rabbi’s Discretionary Fund, because of your generosity, is able to help local charities, and families in financial crisis. We also have a Hebrew Free Loan fund here at Temple Beth Shalom, to help those with larger, longer term needs. All of these projects should make us feel proud.

Yet, now and then I hear of someone who has come to a service, and had no one speak to them at the oneg. How graceful is that? How friendly and community oriented is that? Would it be too much to ask that each week, two people, other than board members, volunteer not just to greet people, but to introduce them to others at the oneg. If you are afraid, that you do not know enough people, this is the way to meet them - introduce them to others and yourselves.

The very first congregation that I joined as an adult, was in Medford, Oregon. Thirty years ago, Bill and Florence Schneider came to our house, picked up the two strangers, and brought us to services. They introduced us to people I still call friends. Bill and Florence have since passed away, but their kindness, their act of grace bestowed on a stranger, continues to live in my heart, and so do they. Once a year, might you be able to volunteer on a Friday evening and transform it into Shabbat by welcoming not a stranger, but a guest, into our Beth Shalom, into our house of peace and completeness?

There is a time-bound urgency about all of this as well. These are matters of life and death that unfold in ways we cannot imagine. Let me tell you about Francine, the only daughter of the Ruhalter family. Her rabbi, Chaim Listfield, had given a sermon about families healing breaches. So she sent him an email which said: I have one brother, and we have been estranged for 10 years. Because of your sermon I decided it is time for me to heal. I’m going to call him, after all these years of bitterness and separation. He’s married now and I hear he has two children. Say a prayer for me.

The rabbi did and then called her, and encouraged her. So Francine called her brother, Adam. Understandably, he was a bit guarded at first, but receptive. They talked and caught up on each other’s lives, and their children. Francine’s son had just become a Bar Mitzvah, and of course Adam and his family had missed that. Ultimately though, they did decide to get the families together, so that cousins could meet cousins, really for the first time. Francine was nervous and sent her rabbi another email again asking for a prayer for success. Again he prayed and he called her, encouraged her, and asked her to keep him informed.

That Sunday the families met. At first, they took tentative steps toward forgiveness. The children loved each other, and after 10 years of enmity, brother and sister befriended each other. Adam got to see his then 13 year old nephew and his 11 year old niece for the first time in ten years. The date of that meeting was September 9. The year was 2001. Adam Ruhalter worked for a firm called Cantor Fitzgerald. Two days after the reunion of Adam and Francine and their families, Adam, at age 41 died in the collapse of the twin towers. He vanished forever into gray ash and acrid smoke. Adam left behind a wife, and two small children. He also left behind a sister, a brother-in-law, a niece and a nephew who could mourn with, and comfort them. Francine’s act of forgiveness, of healing, of grace, came just in time. It was transformative and it was redemptive.

On this night when we ask grace of God, should we not grant it? Rabbi Harold Schulweis said that the purpose of prayer is not the adulation of God but the imitation of God; not the admiration of God but the emulation of God’s ways. The ancient rabbis taught that as God is merciful, so we must be merciful. As God is compassionate, so we must be compassionate. As God is forgiving, so we must forgive. In other words, we are required, commanded it you will, to bestow grace on others and elevate the soul through friendship.

On this night, we must all seek to leave the sanctuary as beings different than we were when we entered it. Therefore, let us make a vow to treat each other with greater compassion and caring. Without such a vow to change, to strive for the Divine, there is no service to God, no honor to our people, and no real atonement. Kol Nidre tonight does not end when you walk out. It begins when you arrive at home. God forgives, God seeks reconciliation. God grants grace. We dare do no less in our own lives. Through the grace we bestow and the grace we receive may we each merit a Chatima Tovah, may we be sealed for life, blessing, and goodness. Amen.