A man comes to see his rabbi in search of help. “Rabbi,” he says, “my life is a mess. I can’t pay the bills. I don’t know where else to turn, can you help me?” The rabbi replies, “Sir, the answer to all our problems is in the bible. Go home, open up your bible and you will find the help you need.”

A month later, the rabbi sees the man in town. He asks him, “So, what happened? I never heard from you again?” “Rabbi,” the man replies, “you were right. I opened up the bible, and the answer was right in front of me—chapter 11.”

I was telling this story to my Frankel Jewish Academy students, and before I reached the punch line, one student suggested an alternative ending. She said, looking in her bible, “This will help him—Job.”

This cute story has become a painful reality, as more and more in our community, and in our midst this very day, are suffering from the continuing economic crisis.

To say we have been going through “tough times” is an understatement. We are a community of people who have lost jobs, or lost hours at existing jobs, endured skyrocketing health care costs coupled with shrinking benefits, and watched in horror as retirement funds plummeted in value.

Salt has been added to the financial wound, when we read about the crimes of Bernard Madoff or the money laundering rabbis of New Jersey.

As the hour of Yizkor is approaching, as we face the pain of living without our loved ones, the emptiness we feel due to their absence, it is also a time to acknowledge all the pain in our lives, very real pain which afflicts our spirit.

If you are hurting, and I’m sorry that you are, you are nonetheless in the right place. The synagogue is where you must be able to seek and find comfort. It pains me when I hear that someone has left our synagogue because of inability to pay bills. This is exactly the time when one needs a community, a faith community, more than ever.

You might ask—how can the synagogue, the Jewish community, be of help to one in financial distress?

Our Federation continues to do all that it can, in these trying times, to bring financial assistance to those in need. If you are having trouble making ends meet, please be in contact with the Jewish Family Services, right around the corner from us. Also, if you are able, please support the synagogue and the Federation, to the extent that you can, so that those in need can be best helped.

But beyond being able to hand you money, there is still a lot of benefit that the synagogue and Jewish tradition can provide to those feeling the pain of financial hardship.

Reason #1--it is good, even comforting, just to be together. We are a family. The room in which we currently sit is purposely called a sanctuary. Though outside of this building you might be struggling to make ends meet, when you walk into this room you can find peace and comfort for a few hours.

Reason #2-- Jewish tradition recognizes the real need for financial security. You don’t need to be embarrassed to feel in need. Even though the famous 23rd Psalm begins, The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, there is much today that we want, with legitimate reason.

The Pirke Avot expresses it well in saying, im ein kemach ein Torah—without food (literally, flour), without sustenance, there cannot be Torah. In the daily Amidah, we implore of God three times each day—Barekh aleinu et Hashanah hazot—Bless us with a good year, a year of sustenance. And today, on Yom Kippur, we recall how the High Priest in the Temple would conclude the holiest of ceremonies by saying:

May it be Your will, Lord our God . . . to grant us. . . a year of prosperity, . . . of abundance . . . of commerce . . . a year in which Your people Israel will not require support from one another or from other people, the work of their hands being fully blessed by You.

Reason #3—Judaism helps us put the role of finances into proper perspective. As I quoted just earlier, the Pirke Avot teaches that there is no Torah without first having a means of putting food on the table. But then the opposite message is stated—im ein Torah ein kemach—all the money in the world doesn’t create a meaningful life, unless there is something of value, in our case, the Torah.

The biblical book of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, teaches (5:9) that: He who loves silver shall not be satisfied with silver. More of us are familiar with another message from Pirke Avot (4:1) which reminds us that wealth is not related to the amount of one’s money, but rather to the level of one’s satisfaction. Better to be among the satisfied poor than the rich who never seem to have enough.

One of the central features of the Jewish religion is that we can always survive with a little less. That is why we preach the mitzvah of Tzedakah, of how vital it is that we give away a portion of what we have, even the poorest among us, so that all will learn that it is possible to survive with a bit less.

That is why we have a Shabbat. Sure, one could work that extra day and earn a few more dollars. But if it isn’t necessary, then don’t do it. And if it is—if one’s life depends upon earning a living on Shabbat, then that, too, is understandable, but for most of us, thank God, we have the ability to tighten our belts, and join with our sacred community.

You might not feel immediate sympathy for John McAfee, but his story is moving, nonetheless. McAfee, the founder of the computer antivirus program, was worth $100 million just a few years ago. Bad investments in a bad economy have reduced his net worth 96% to $4 million. He flies coach instead of private planes. But he is, by self description, the same person he was when he had much more money, and the same person he was, essentially, before he ever made it rich in the first place.

Sure, we’d be willing to trade places with John McAfee, but the underlying message of this story is relevant—a significant loss in money does not change who we really are. Having less money doesn’t diminish the value of our neshama, our spirit, our soul.

R.H Macy, the founder of the department store that still bears his name, was often seen writing numbers in a small notebook he kept in his pocket. When asked why, Macy explained, “I keep an account of the assets I control.” The inquirer pressed on, “You mean your stocks, bonds, factories, real estate?”

“No,” Macy replied. “I keep track of what I’ve given away. The other stuff—it can all disappear due to market changes, floods and fires. But only what I’ve given away was truly under my control.”

Which brings us to the Jewish concept of Shemitah. The Torah commanded that every seventh year would be a year of Shabbat for the land. Just like with the weekly Shabbat, every seventh year farmers of ancient Israel would not work the land, yet no one would be without enough to eat. And the poor in the community would be extra secure, since they would be free to take from others’ land without payment or guilt.

Shemitah still exists in modern Israel, but Rabbi David Golinkin points out that it no longer serves its original purpose. Without a number of legal fictions in place, whereby the ownership of privately held Jewish land is temporarily transferred, Shemitah would create a serious economic disaster for Israel every seventh year.

Rabbi Golinkin points out that this is not a new situation. Even though Shemitah teaches that the community can endure a year of not working the land, and that a little less sustenance will not break us, the reality in ancient Israel disproved these lofty ideals.

None less than the great Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi was most lenient regarding Shemitah, and even sought to eliminate it altogether. Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi’s motivation for this leniency was that his community could simply not afford to survive its economic consequences.

We have endured tough times before. We don’t ignore the plight of our people. We work together to find solutions.

Hopefully, being in the synagogue gives you comfort. Hopefully, you are able to express the pain of your hardship, yet also put some perspective on the real meaning of money, and rather appreciate and adopt more sustaining values.

Which brings us to reason #4 for finding help from Judaism in your darkest hour. In the evening service each day, we recite a simple, yet meaningful description of the world God has created for us—darkness follows light, and light follows darkness. By connecting to Judaism, one is reminded daily that as dark as our lives become, we can remain hopeful that nothing bad lasts forever.

In a Buddhist tale, a farmer awakens to find his horse has run away. His neighbors say, “what rotten luck,” but the farmer just says, “maybe.” The next day the horse returns with a few other horses. The neighbors say, “what good luck,” but the farmer just says, “maybe.” The farmer’s son tries to ride one of the new horses and instead breaks his leg. Everyone is sad. The next day army officials arrive to draft the son, but they don’t take him because of his broken leg. Everyone is happy. And sometimes, even often, this is the pattern of our lives. In the face of crisis, remain strong and hopeful, and this too shall pass.

We have reason to be hopeful, because for every greedy and criminal Bernie Madoff, there is a Leonard Abess. After selling his City National Bank of Florida, founded by his father in 1946, Leonard Abess didn’t pocket the money, rather he gave away $60 million of profits to his loyal 399 employees, and to 72 retirees. Many received more than $100,000.

We can find strength, courage, hope and a bit of Torah in the advice of financial advisor Jean Chatzky, who writes the following for those feeling the stress of not having enough money:

For the next three days, notice and write down five good things happening in your world. You’ll start to notice more good things. This will make you more optimistic. Studies show that people with faith in themselves and in the future get more, and keep more jobs. They save for tomorrow because they’re convinced there will be a tomorrow.

After the battle of Austerlitz, Napolean Bonaparte called before him representatives of the various nationalities among his troops, and told them that he wanted to reward their valour by granting one wish. A Polish soldier cried out, “Grant Poland freedom!” A Slovak asked for a farm. A German soldier asked for a brewery. To each, Napolean responded, “Your wish shall be granted.”

Then he asked a Jewish soldier for his wish. The Jew requested some chopped herring. Napolean ordered the chopped herring delivered at once, but then demanded to know why the Jew made such a seemingly minor, even ridiculous request.

We shall see, said the Jew, who is really the fool. Who knows if Poland will be freed, if the Slovak gets his farm, or the German his brewery. Maybe yes, maybe no, but in the meantime, I am enjoying my herring.

Keep the matter in perspective. Find contentment in what you have. Be hopeful for the future, but don’t put too much emphasis on the value of money. And whatever your place in life, find a home, comfort and a family here in the synagogue, in your sanctuary. And we pray together, that the coming year 5770 be a year in which we enjoy good health, suffer little pain, and God willing, always be able to put enough food on our plates, and on those of our children.