I’ll never forget my very first Rosh Hashanah sermon. I was a second year rabbinic student, serving at a small congregation in Upper Michigan. As I walked up to the bimah to deliver my sermon that Erev Rosh Hashanah, an old woman sitting in the front row leaned over to her husband, and, in a whisper loud enough to be heard in Greenbay, said, “If he talks about Abraham again like they do every year, I think I’m gonna toss my brisket.”

Well, that was more than twenty years ago, and she was in her mid-eighties back then. I think that by now, after so many years, it might be safe to mention Abraham again.

Last week, Jews around the world read a story from the Torah – our sacred scripture – that is the stuff of horror movies. It tells of when God instructed Abraham – the father of all Jews – to offer up his beloved son as a sacrifice, and Abraham, it seems, was ready and willing to obey. What kind of a God would issue such a command? And what kind of a patriarch would heed it? Later, an angel tells Abraham that, thanks to his willingness to do this horrible thing, centuries hence, Abraham’s offspring would be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sand at the shore of the sea. Abraham shows himself willing to perform an act of utter horror, and for doing so God gives him a reward that will last for eternity.

Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and their fellow religion bashers cite this story as proof that religion is barbaric and evil. Might they have a point?

Well of course it’s a barbaric story, but so are many others that we like to tell. Our most popular lullaby, for example, Rock-a-bye Baby, tells the story of baby falling out of a tree. It’s a good thing that most infants don’t speak English; otherwise, that little ditty would probably keep them up all night. In the original Brothers Grimm version of the Three Little Pigs, the pigs eat the Big Bad Wolf for dinner. That’s barbaric, too. The Wolf also gets eaten in Little Red Riding Hood …as does Grandma…as does Red Riding Hood herself, almost.

These stories are all horrifying, but we tell them anyway, because they have important moral lessons to teach. What truths might we be able to find in the story of the Akedah – the binding of Isaac? I believe there are many, and I’d like to share one of them with you today.

I first became aware of this lesson about ten or eleven years ago – it was an experience I may already have shared with some of you in the past. I was teaching the story of the binding of Isaac as part a weeknight adult education class. At home beforehand, I had just finished dinner and was about to leave, when my daughter Shoshana, who was about 3 years old then, said, “Daddy, let’s play a game.”

“Oh, Shoshana,” I said, “I’d love to play a game with you now, but I have to go to Temple.”

She said, “But I want to play a game with you,” and her eyes began to well up with tears.”

I held that little face in my hands and said, “Shoshana, you’ll stay here and have fun with Mommy. And tomorrow night, we’ll play two games.”

Reluctantly, I gave her a kiss, walked out the door, and went to Temple to teach how horrible it was that Abraham was willing to give up his child for his religion.

Was it wrong to leave? I don’t think so. I had responsibilities at Temple that night. And despite my absence, Shoshana seems to be turning out pretty well.

Yes, I love my wife and kids with a love so deep I can’t express it in words. But there are other things I love, too. I might not love these other things with the same passion that I have for my family, but they’re still important. I love being a rabbi; I love teaching; I love reading, and trying to stay healthy, and taking hikes, and watching Dick Van Dyke reruns. Does the fact that I love my family mean that I should give up all of these other things? Of course not! There is enough time in the day for me to be a good father and for me to do these other things, too.

If I never spent any time with my kids, that would be a problem, but if I only spent time with my kids, that would be a problem, too. It wouldn’t let me do anything else, I’d lose my job, and we’d starve.

One of the most horrifying elements of the Akedah – the story of the binding of Isaac – is that in it Abraham seems so cooperative. Not only does God tell Abraham to kill another human being, but that human being happens to be his own son! Abraham is the father of our people – he’s supposed to be the model of a Jewish father. “Abraham,” we want to say, “you’re supposed to love your son more than anything. You’re supposed to protect him, not kill him! Even if it’s God who tells you to do it.”

We want Abraham to love Isaac, but do we really want him to love Isaac more than anything? Is there nothing that should ever be more important?

Let’s say a father discovers his teenage son has committed violent crime. And to keep it simple, let’s say that this crime is part of an increasingly violent pattern of behavior on the son’s part. Should that father turn his son in to the authorities? Of course he should! Not only could turning in the kid in be the best way to get him some help, but it would also to protect the people his son might otherwise harm. Not turning him in would make the father complicit in his son’s crimes, and I would like to think that, painful though it might be, decent parents everywhere would have strength of character to call the police in such a situation,.

There are times in which even the best of parents need to remove their children from the top of their priority lists. I imagine that Martin Luther King was a loving father, but I don’t think at the height of his career, he spent too many evenings at home playing Parcheesi with his kids – he was busy doing other things, like helping transform a nation. Barack Obama seems to love his daughters very much, but do we really want him spending most of his time with them. No. He too has other important things demanding his time.

People who are deeplydevoted to their kids are admirable. People who are onlydevoted to their kids are lackeys.

To put it in religious terms, parents who value children above anything else could also be said to practicing idolatry. What is God, after all, if not that which gives meaning and purpose to our existence, the force around which we organize our lives, making it worth the trouble to get out of bed in the morning? Most of have one of those. Most of us see something out there that gives meaning and purpose to our existence. And whatever thing is – whatever it is that grounds a person’s existence – is effectively his or her god.

The problem, of course, is that many people have gods that aren’t…God. For some, the most important thing in the world is making money – that’s what gives them a sense of purpose; it’s their God. For others, perhaps the pursuit of fame is what keeps them going. Many teenagers ground their existence in the pursuit of popularity, and if they come upon something that interferes with this pursuit, they will destroy it.

Many people claim that there is no God, but most of them see something beyond themselves that makes life worth living, they just don’t want to call it God. But if that something is truly worth living and dying for, then isn’t it appropriate to call that thing a god?

By that definition, most people have a god of some sort, for without one, the only option is utter despair. Even those who claim there is no god, embrace something to give their life meaning, so I don’t buy their denials for a second. Atheists, you see, claim not to believe in God. For the most part, I don’t believe in atheists.

And parents whose devotion to their children trumps everything else – they too have become idolaters – kid-olaters, we could call them. For these people, childrearing is the meaning of their existence, and nothing ever trumps it.

We hear about these parents all the time – sometimes we even meet them. Often, they’re the ones who scream at coaches and referees during soccer games, or sabotage the competition at cheerleading tryouts, or insist that if a district needs to close a school it should close the school other kids attend rather than the one where own children go.

What they do is what all modern idolaters do. They take a good thing – in this case, the love of their children – and treat it as thegood thing – the only good thing at all.

What might God have been trying to tell us through this horrible story about Abraham and Isaac? I think it might be this: Nothing in life is worth your total devotion – not your job, not your stuff, not your synagogue (though if you want to increase your dues, it sure might help) not your popularity, and not even your kids. And to prove it, God called Abraham to let go of what he cherished most of all. “His son, his only son,” as the bible says, “the one he loved, Isaac.”

Nothing is worth your total devotion, that is, except for God. And for a Jew, total devotion to God doesn’t demand that you lock yourself up in a monastic cell like it does in other religions. No, in Judaism, devotion to God means being out in the world and doing a lot of things – 613 things, to be precise. That’s the number of commandments in the Torah. Devotion to God means working six days a week; it means creating a warm and loving home, it means being part of a community – Jewish and non-Jewish; it means cherishing your kids. It means doing it all!

With God as only thing that merits our complete devotion, in other words, we find ourselves called to do everythingthat is important, to prioritize everythingof value, and never to embrace one important pursuit to the exclusion of all others.

Think about what it is that you cherish most, what you love more than anything. You’re a morally grounded person, so I know that you can imagine times when your love of whatever it is you’re thinking of needs to take second stage to other endeavors.

The story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, therefore, isn’t one that we should write off as the tale of a religious fanatic. Rather, it is a universal story. It is the story of everyone who has ever had to sacrifice something they love for something even more important. It is the story of the soldier who kisses his new bride goodbye and goes off to fight and risk his life for what he knows is a noble cause. It is the story of parents standing at the door on a rainy night, not allowing their drug-addicted son or daughter to come inside and abuse their trust any longer. It is the story of people who hold the hands of a suffering, terminally ill parent, and say, “Mom, we’ll be all right. It’s OK for you to go now.” All of these people, like Abraham, loved deeply, and they also knew when letting go of what they cherished was the right thing to do.

These are particularly important days for us to remember this lesson. At this time of such widespread economic deprivation, we must remember that for us, aside from God, no single thing of value is the only thing of value. Many of us – yes, even us here in this room – have lost our jobs. Many of us are watching our life savings dwindle. Some of us fear that we might need to move out of our homes, and live more spartan lives.

And if a job, and a spacious house, and a big juicy 401k were all that mattered during our days here on earth, then there would indeed be good reason to despair. But they’re not all that matters. For starters, just look around you right now – look at your Kol Ami family. I mean, you might not like everyone you see, but there’s gotta be at least some people here you enjoy spending time with. And if you’re new to our congregation and don’t yet have those connections, know that we want to build them with you. Think of your friends, and family, and of your very humanity – your ability to live and laugh and love and learn. Those are precious gifts, and you’ll have them regardless of the vagaries of stock prices and the housing market.

You might lose some treasures during these difficult days; but life is complex, and there are sure to be other precious treasures left.

The great Jewish philosopher, Moses Maimonides marveled at this world of ours. He pointed out that God made it so that, for the most part, the things we need are readily available to us, whereas the things we want are costly. We need air and water, and some sort of a roof over our heads. We want trips to Tahiti, Jacuzzis, and cars with heated seats. If you’re struggling, is it because of a lack of what you need, or a lack of what you want?

Yes, it is a time of growing deprivation. But we Jews and we Americans are going to make sure that, whatever happens, you’ll have a roof over your head and clothes to wear and food in your belly, and together these will afford you the blessing of life itself.

We dare not cherish anything – not even what we love most – as the be-all and end-all of life, for such a value system denies the sanctity of everything else that is important, too. Only the balance of a God-centered existence can provide the perspective we need.

I’ll confess. I often sacrifice my kids for God. I do it when I drag them here to Temple after a long day at school. I do it when I go to meetings on nights when I could otherwise be spending time with them. I do it when I make them sit through my sermons when they’d rather be doing anything else at all. And frankly, while I hope that you love your kids deeply, and show them your love whenever you can, I hope that there are also times when you direct your mind and heart to the mountaintop, and do what’s sacred instead, even if it’s sad and difficult. This is what it means to engage in the complexities of life.

And maybe – just maybe – when you do that, you, like Abraham, will hear an angel call out to you from heaven, assuring you that your deeds have allowed you to do nothing less than touch eternity.

Shanah Tovah.