You may wonder how we chose the times that services begin. When I was a rabbinic student in Israel, morning services began at 6 or 6:30 AM, and the "Late Service" began at 8 or 8:30, depending on the synagogue. Because of this, and because I was, in culture, a Reform Jew whose synagogue, er, excuse me, Temple attendance was focused almost exclusively on evening services, I did not go to many morning services.

When I returned to the US of A to continue my rabbinic studies, most morning services began between 9:00 (on the Conservative side) to 10:30 (the latest Reform service). Hebrew Union College services started at ten AM, and so did all the High Holy Day services of the Reform congregations I served during my Rabbinic school career.

Etz Chayim has its own way of doing things, of course, so our Religious Practice Committee sat and studied the Talmud on this subject. Luckily we did not have to go far into the Talmud, for in the first tractate, B'rachot, all about Blessings, in the second Mishnah, we read this:

From what time may one recite the Sh'ma in the morning?From the time that one can distinguish between blue and white (the color of the two tzitziot). Rabbi Eliezer says: between blue and green (thus making it at a later, lighter, time when the sun is closer to rising. His view was rejected, and the law is that the Sh'ma should be said by the time you can distinguish between a blue tzitzit and white tzitzit, like the ones on my Kittel. Those colors are where Israel got the colors of its flag. If you can see an Israeli flag clearly without artificial light, it is time to say the morning Sh'ma.

Of course, we realized that in order to be saying the Sh'ma by the time the dawn has allowed us to tell a blue cord from a white cord, we should probably be starting these services around six in the morning. That did not feel right to us, so we started looking for a Talmudic loophole. We found it in the very next sentence in the same Mishnah:

(They) may finish (saying the Sh'ma) until sunrise. Rabbi Yehoshua says: (they may say the Sh'ma) until the third hour of the day, for it is the custom of kings to rise at the third hour.

The ancient Jewish daytime was divided into twelve hours, from sunrise to sunset, that is, the twelve hours from our modern six AM to our six PM were numbered from one to twelve. The "third hour" of the morning was, thus, 9AM. Even living like Kings, we were still an hour before our congregation's normative starting time. And it takes us about 15 or so minutes to get to the Sh'ma.

So we still needed another loophole. The Mishnah goes on to finish like this:

If one recites the Sh'ma later he loses nothing, being like one who reads in the Torah.

It turns out that it is not a sin to pray later. On the contrary, we still get "credit," just like people who read parts of the Torah: though they have not fulfilled the obligation of reading the Sh'ma as a prayer, they still get "Divine Brownie Points" for studying the text of the Sh'ma in the Torah.

In the end, we did what we wanted to do, anyway. We start at ten, just like I did in Rabbinical school. And we found a text that allowed us to do what we already wanted to do, like all the other congregations around town, Conservative or Reform, that begin at nine or ten. Even the Orthodox start at nine on Shabbat in Palo Alto. But traditional Jews start much earlier on the High Holy Days, for they have a lot more words to pack in to their day than we do.

Being that it is Yom Kippur, I must confess that I made up the story about the Religious Practice Committee. We never discussed it. I set the same times the congregation had been used to already before me. I just wanted to bring this Mishnah to your attention.

Why? For this reason: We live even better than Kings. Kings had to say the Sh'ma by nine. We don't get to it until after ten fifteen.

And why were Kings given this benefit? Kings were used to staying up late and getting up late. They could afford the oil to turn their nights into longer days, unlike the common folk who, with rare exception, would only do this on the eves of Shabbatot and Festivals, which was the origin of our lighting candles on those days.

A digression: there is a law in Exodus (chapter 35:3) that reads, "Do not burn a fire throughout your dwelling places on the Sabbath day." What did this mean? It became a big issue back in the first century, when two theopolitical groups argued about it.

One theopolitical group was called the Sadducees. They were led by the priesthood. They said, "Burn no fire means have no fire burning at all in your houses."

The other theopolitical group, the radicals, called Pharisees, whose very name means both "Interpreters" and "Separatists," said: "Burn no fire" means do not ignite or adjust a fire. If a fire is already burning in your home (like a candle or in an oven-not a house fire, for all would allow you to fight the fire that was burning your house down), that candle or over is burning by itself, we are not burning it."

They argued about this, and in the end, the Sadducees sat in dark cold homes eating cold food on Shabbat, while the Pharisees sat in well-lit, warm, homes eating warm food that had been covered in the warm ashes of the hearth-fire. All Jews today (except Karaites) are, as my late professor, Jakob Petuchowski, wrote, "Heirs of the Pharisees," Like them, we do not believe we should say, "Don't worry, I'll sit in the dark." So we light candles. The Pharisees even invented a blessing to precede their lighting, attributing it to G0d, and making the act of a lit home one of Divine imperative, a mitzvah.

To return to the main them, we live like Kings, today. We stay up to all hours of the night, eat the fat, drink the sweet, and hire swarms of servants to do our bidding: cleaning, gardening, childcare. Our commonest homes today, in this country, and in Israel, are Kingly compared to the dusty hovels our people used to live in. We have also come to be measured not only by our wealth in purchasing power, but by our weight in gold.

Kavod, honor, in Hebrew, actually means weight. Kings were weighed, and their subjects were expected to pile up gifts until the weight of the King, his Kavod, was balanced by the weight of their tribute.

You may probably see where I am going. We also measure our worth, like ancient Kings, not only by the number of servants we have, and by the late but well-lit hours we keep, but also by the weighty mass of toys we own, as well as, unfortunately, by our own weighty masses.

We live like kings and eat like kings, Every day is a yom tov, a holiday, a festival. There are no special days anymore. It is no wonder that Shabbat is not special, for we hold nothing back from any day.

Every day can be the occasion for a pig-out in a restaurant or fast food feeding trough. We attend meetings where cornucopiae of pastry are put out. We snack on superlatively salted, massively sugared, fully fatty snacks. So now we are getting the same diseases that kings, queens, princes, and princesses used to get, diesases that stemmed from their living the rich life: Diabetes, gout, heart disease-you name it, we are getting it. Just as we drink the sweet, we pee the sweet, the sweet pee of diabetes.

And we think of our selves like kings, which was foreseen by Moses in both last week's and this week's Torah portion (Deuteronomy 32: 13).

Last week's portion (Deuteronomy 31: 20) read:

"When I have brought them into the land which I swore to their ancestors, that flows with milk and honey; and they have eaten, filled themselves, and become fat; then they will turn to other gods, and serve them, and provoke me, and break my covenant."

This week's Torah portion (Deuteronomy 32: 13) says:

"(G0d) made (YisraEl) ride on the high places of the earth, and eat the produce of the fields;

G0d let (us) suck honey from a rock, oil from flint;

14. Cow butter and sheep cream,

lambs' cream, and rams' cream and goats' (cream, too), with "kidney cream" of wheat; you drink grapes' blood brandy.

15. But you became fat, Yeshurun, and kicked; you got fat, got thick, got gross; then (you) rejected G0d who made you (what you are), you were dimwitted about the R0ck of your success."

The Torah's condemnation of a rich life lived too richly continues, but I think we all get the point. Life among the affluent, among the kings of industry and the queens of style, and the princely children who grow up in our palaces, is a life lived, we must say, too richly.

This is, of course, not just a Jewish thing. We begin our services at the hour of kings because America is a country of kings, and most of America's religions begin at similar hours. It is the hour of convenience for us late risers who have lived late into the evenings watching artificial light and life flicker across our TV screens and computer monitors. Did you check your email last night before turning in? Did you really need to? Or are you an email addict?

And, of course, Moses' "prophetic," words: "You became fat, and kicked; you got fat, got thick, got gross," do not merely apply to the people called YisraEl and Yeshurun, but to all Americans.

So, enough of the food kvetch. What is the action item here? What if we, personally, are just normal sized eaters, with normal sized bodies? What would we care to do for our people?

Let me first start with my own sins. I used to put a candy bowl out during Shabbat evening talks to keep the kids pacified, until concerned congregants called me to task for it. And I would also too often let myself indulge in the congregational candy jar that we put out for volunteers, and I used to feed my face with the candy and cookies that our congregational leaders hospitably put out for those meeting with them. I don't do that any more, but it does take a lot of will to refrain from past bad habits, almost as much as it did to stop thinking about cigarettes when I first quit decades ago. And when I quit a second time. And third time. For well past two decades I have quit for good, but I should say that I still know the heart of the stranger, for I was a stranger in the land of candy and cigarettes.

I confess also that I still keep a candy jar on my desk for bar/t mitzvah kids to enjoy during or after a lesson. It is a tradition I learned from other Jewish educators, who see this as one easy way to keep bar/t mitzvah student motivation high while they learn difficult skills. Luckily, the students rarely take it during the session, and if they forget to take a piece, which they frequently do, I do not remind them to do so.

And maybe giving the new Kindergarten a taste of honey on an apple as their introduction to Jewish learning might be done without the honey. But that is an old tradition, and at least we have them eat mostly apple.

But that brings me to the traditions of our synagogue. At every meeting, and at every Oneg and Kiddush we put out a bounty of sugars and empty carbs and fats in quantities that, sitting there on the table just waiting to be scarfed, are also in waiting to be pasted to our waists, and slapped onto our hips.

Maybe we should scale back on that. It did not negatively affect service attendance when I stopped putting out the Dvar Torah Candy Bowl. It probably won't affect attendance by scaling back on sweet, salty, fats either. It isn't the food that primarily brings people together. Witness today, for example. No food after this morning's service.

At the very least, we should put out as much whole fruit and veggies as we can, alongside the chocolate chip cookies, to make the point of "everything in moderation."

That is the point of fasting on Yom Kippur. If you are healthy enough to fast, and are not pregnant or nursing, you should fast. Otherwise you have not experienced the deprivation this day is supposed to engender.

I personally hate to fast. I do not look forward to it, For me, the worst part is going to bed hungry. Not that I am ever hungry at bedtime, but the thought that I can't eat makes me hungry. Still, I do look back on the end of this day, after having completed a successful fast, as a statement that I can control my appetites and lusts. I can diet. I can quit bad habits. I am in control of me.

And I also look back at the experience of going to bed hungry, and I am better able to empathize with those people for whom hunger is not a ritualized affair, but a daily sentence of deprivation and despair.

Some will, no doubt, say, Rabbi Cartun should not tell us what to do. Many will remember that I said that if healthy people do not fast on Yom Kippur, their day is less valid than if they had fasted. Where does this Rabbi get off telling us what to do? I am sure the board will get some calls asking what business a rabbi has making people feel guilty about their level of Jewish practice or non-practice on Yom Kippur, when he should be making us all feel good about whatever we have chosen to do.

Actually, that is not exactly what I am saying, but I know that is what some will remember. Here is where I am actually saying. I believe that words without deeds are empty words. I believe that fasting, if one is healthy enough to do so, is a way to demonstrate the self-control we need to remember that we are not really kings, but really just people. Just people, and there but for the grace of G0d go we, able to eat when and where we want to, like kings, when so much of the world does not know when or where their next meal will be.

Additionally, I believe that the cumulative effect of many Jews fasting makes it easier for all of us to fast. Just as one cannot have a political party of one person, one cannot have a religion of one. The difference between a private, personal spirituality and a religion is that personal spirituality is lonely, and usually invisible to others, while a religion gives us communal back-up. Americans are big into private, personal spirituality, because we don't want anyone to tell us what to do or think. And so we are all living rich fantasy lives, all plugged in to our personal spiritual ipods, paying attention only to ourselves, and wondering why our need for community is left vacant, unfulfilled.

Knowing that others are fasting makes it easier for us to fast, for there is communal support. There are a lot of kids in our congregation who do not even know that Jews traditionally fast on Yom Kippur, because no one they know fasts: their parents don't, their parents' friends don't, and, of course, these people's children do not because nobody models this in front of them.

So I will tell you that the main point of Yom Kippur is to say that we have appetites and lusts to curb, and that those appetites and lusts will control us if we do not control them. Jews or not, religious or not, we can fast, and gain the benefit of practicing self-denial and self control on this day. We who live our lives as if we were kings and queens and princes and princesses, who make rules for others but do not live by our own rules, will end up not only eating the fat and drinking the sweet, but also peeing the sweet and wearing that fat.

Yeshurun got fat and kicked, says the Torah. So I am kicking back.

It is time we realized we are living like kings, trying to reign over our lives, like kings, so we can begin to take better care of ourselves and each other, and "reign in," so to speak, our lives.

If we limited ourselves to basically one day a week for living like kings and queens, say, maybe, that that day was Shabbat, we would probably be a whole lot better off.

Do you drink sugar soda all week? Restrict it to Shabbat, and call it Shabbat Soda.

Do you eat sugar cereal all week? Restrict it to Shabbat, and call it Shabbat Cereal.

Do you eat pastries and sweets all week? Restrict them to Shabbat and Festivals, and make these days special with your lives. What, you think we are any different than Pavlov's dogs? We can institutionalize regular treating of ourselves, and make one day different from the rest. That was the original purpose of Shabbat and Festivals, to give us a reason, as well as a reasonable amount of time, to celebrate and splurge and enjoy life.

Do you keep all your machines on all the time? Why not turn off our computers on Shabbat? According to a recent study done for an article in Discover magazine (August 2005), the annual cost, in carbon dioxide poured out by the powering of plugged-in but otherwise idle home computers, is 430 walnut trees worth. That is, if we tried to soak up atmospheric carbon that is released into our air by power plants by planting walnut trees, it would take 430 trees per year just to soak up the carbon released by our idle computers. Turn them off on Shabbat, and you need four less per year. Do the same with other chore-type appliances we don't need on Shabbat, and save some more greenhouse gas emissions. Remember, one reason we can live like kings and queens and princes and princesses is because of our robotic servants. Power down on Shabbat, and indulge your diet, and turn Shabbat into a special day that helps make a weekday diet more bearable, and slows down the greenhouse gas emitting we do to live like royalty.

OK. Enough ranting. It's time for chanting: for example, the Aleynu:

VaAnachnu kor'im, umishtachavim, umodim,

Lifney Melech, malchey hamlachim

HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

Those of our ancestors who wrote this prayer for the Shofar service on Rosh haShanah, and who added it to the end of every service, did so to remind all those who considered themselves to be Emperors, that is, Kings of Kings, that G0d was the Melech, malchey hamlachim, the King of Emperors, the King of Kings of Kings. There is a sacred principle, a Kadosh Baruch Hu, an unbreakable Y0universal Law that says that we Ape-people can only stand so much fat and sweet before we bend over dead. And so it is important that Anachnu kor'im, umishtachavim, umodim, that we bow, bend, and acknowledge that the Y0universal laws we keep trying to break do, indeed, apply to us. If we don't bow before natural law, it will bend us over.

Gravity applies to all of us, rich or poor. We can say to the Y0niverse, "You're not the king of me," but the truth is that the Y0niverse is the king of us. And we can bow, bend, and acknowledge that truth, which then leads us to stand up straight again, or we can bow, bend, rot from the inside out, and fall prostrate, stone cold dead.

We may live like Kings, but we are not the King of Kings of Kings. There is only 0ne of those, the 0ne Wh0 made us: the Y0universe.

Let us to resolve to live a bit sparer, a bit more lean, that we live well, and long. Fasting today, even just for the rest of today, is step one. Tomorrow will also be step one. To every one of us who is a recovering King-a-holic, addicted to thinking of ourselves as kings, every day is step one. Every day is a battle for self-control, and a striving for self-worth.

But, as the doctors say, no matter when we quit bad habits, our health begins to improve right away.

As individuals, we can make a big difference in our own lives, and in the lives of those around us. As a congregation, we can do even more.

Let's do.