When I was a child, there was a photograph on my bedroom wall of the actor Michael J. Fox. He was a teen idol, who had his break in Hollywood playing Alex P. Keaton on "Family Ties". Alex was the teenage son of two “flower children” from the 60’s. In his own form of rebellion, Alex had rejected their liberal ways to become an ultra-conservative person who idealized Ronald Regan. His boyish charm allowed him to pull this off, and Americans on both sides of the aisle fell in love with Alex P. Keaton, and, by association, Michael J. Fox.

His celebrity status was cemented when he played the lead in the "Back to the Future" films. Traveling through time as Marty McFly, Fox captured the heart of America and the world.

While he went on to star in other films and TV series, these two roles seem to be his classics. He is made almost ageless, not only by his baby face but also through the cable stations that rerun the works of his youth over and over again. For many of us, he was frozen in our minds as a teenager.

And then, overnight, our vision of Michael J. Fox changed when he announced that he had Parkinson’s disease.

Parkinson's disease is a chronic, degenerative neurological disorder that affects one in 100 people over age 60. Parkinson's is a disorder of the central nervous system that results from the loss of cells in various parts of the brain. While the average age at onset is 60, people have been diagnosed as young as 18. Michael J. Fox was 30. There are treatments that control the symptoms and slow the progression of the disease. There is no known cure.

The kid whose smiling face graced magazine covers, bedroom walls and lockers had a very “grown up” disease. It was a disease that I knew all too well, as I watched it take my grandfather from us during the early years of my childhood. I am sure many of us have known someone who has been affected by Parkinson’s disease.

Fox’s announcement that he has Parkinson’s disease came over a decade ago. I was a member of a generation that was, at the time, coming out of adolescence. One hallmark of the transition from adolescence to adulthood is the recognition of one’s own inevitable mortality. Looking at Michael J. Fox and seeing him, for the first time, not as one of his immortal characters but as a grown man facing a devastating disease was a wakeup call to generation X, asking the question: “What does our future hold?”

Unetaneh Tokef
What does our future hold? That is the question we face today. The prayer Unetaneh Tokef, which we will recite as part of the Musaf service, asks this question in a simple, yet harrowing manner. "Mee yeechyeh oomee yamoot -- Who shall live and who shall die?” Our prayer provides a litany of types of human suffering" “Who by fire? Who by water? Who by hunger? Thirst? Earthquake? Plague? "

Each time we recite Unetaneh Tokef we are forced to remember our frail state as humans. Being confronted with an exhausting list of potential personal hardships and tragedies is terrifying. Who will be troubled? Who will be disturbed? Who will be tormented? Half way through the prayer we may even tune out, feeling impotent.

It is at this point that the tenor of the text changes. Teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah remove the severity of the decree. The traditional understanding of this text explains that we are able to change God’s plan through repentance, prayer and charity. A more modern theological outlook on the text would tweak it slightly to explain that through engaging in these three practices regularly, we are partnering with God, taking some semblance of control in our own fate.

I’d like to think about the text a little differently this year, through reimagining our understanding of the words teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah.

Teshuvah
Teshuvah is traditionally translated as “repentance.” It is understood that this is a process that involves inward reflection. While our sages of old might argue that inward reflection will necessarily lead towards repentance, I’d like to keep our focus exclusively on the introspective element of teshuvah.

If we are honest with ourselves when we “look inward,” we are likely to be met with a deluge of difficult emotions. At this time of year when we are given the opportunity to look back on the months that have past, we face difficult realities. Disappointment. Loss. Places where we know that we were not our “best selves.” While reflection for the sake of repentance is a hallmark of this season, reflection must not be limited to as simple of an exercise as naming what we did right and what we did wrong. And so, when we look inward, we likely feel overwhelmed. So much has happened, where do we start?

Teshuvahh is an exercise that we engage in not only during these days of Awe, but also throughout our lives. When we face a tough decision or difficult news, we turn inward. Human emotion is varied and not fully predictable, yet many of us have similar emotional experiences. Think about a challenge or obstacle that you have faced and overcome. Knowing the outcome, reflecting back on a difficult moment is particularly hard to do honestly. But, if we think about a personal scenario, we might see that our immediate response upon learning about the challenge was not energy or acceptance, but rather something more along the lines of frustration, anger or sadness.

It is along these lines that Elizabeth Kubler-Ross indentified the 5 stages of grief. The first four are denial, anger, bargaining and depression. These “stages” are accounted for in teshuvah.

While Michael J. Fox is known today for embracing his condition, acceptance was not his first inclination. He writes candidly in his memoir of the real emotion that marked his original diagnosis. “Exasperation, frustration and fear were my constant companions in those early days … (page 147).”

True teshuvah asks us to make time and space for raw emotion. There is no prescription for the amount of time we will spend in this deep state of reflection when we face a challenge. Yet our sages recognized that it was a step toward something more. They would say that teshuvah leads to forgiveness. I’d like to suggest that teshuvah leads to tefillah, but perhaps a different type of tefillah than we are used to.

Tefillah
Tefillah, or prayer, is commonly understood in one or two ways. The first is as the statutory repetition of fixed liturgy -- in the Jewish tradition we are the inheritors of a substantial body of “prayer” that falls into this category. A more global understanding of prayer might focus on asking for something, from the mundane to the magnanimous. These definitions are not incorrect. However, clinging to them alone gives us too limited an experience of prayer.

Tefillah, like teshuvah, is a way of exploring our emotions. Prayer is a conversation, one in which we express our hopes and needs, our concerns and fears. It is an exercise in processing our own reality, one in which we seek to be heard. The verb that signifies the act of praying is l’hitpalel -- to assess. At its root, prayer is a reflection of matching our reality with our innermost desires. Kubler-Ross’ fifth stage of grief is Acceptance. And we find that through tefillah.

In exploring the concept of prayer, we often use passages from the morning’s haftarah. In reading the story of Hannah, who is desperately seeking to mother a child, we read, “va’eshpokh et nafshee Adonai -- I pour my soul to the Lord.”

Prayer is entering into a productive conversation about our needs. This can take the form of an intimate discussion with God. It can also exist as a dialogue with our loved ones or “professionals.” These discussions, whatever form they take, symbolize an element of acceptance. It empowers us to “own” our situation, no matter how dire.

Fox writes in his memoir about a document, a manifesto of sorts, which he wrote to himself several years after his Parkinson’s diagnosis. He refers to it as a “remarkable, disturbing document ... a ledger of faults and failures, resentments and recriminations.” But it also included glimmers of hope. He writes: "I keep referring to an intense desire to be … someone who was more dependable and self reliant.”After engaging in this exercise for several hours, Fox finally stopped. He reviewed the document and identified it as “an instrument of surrender.” This was not him giving up, rather letting go. Letting go of the initial reactions he experienced following his diagnosis -- the denial, the destructive self pity, the sense of futility. This conversation with himself led to conversations with others, a more open dialogue with his wife, and finally accepting the help of a therapist.

Accepting isn’t embracing. It is very challenging to embrace a difficult situation, to be given lemons and make lemonade. Yet amazingly, many of us -- after much introspection, time to process and support -- are able to do just that. To live life to its fullest, despite real obstacles, that is what makes one a tzadik.

Tzedakah
We traditionally understand tzedakah as “charity.” Be it a monetary donation or a dedication of time, by giving tzedakah, we help others. The root of tzedakah means "right," as in righteousness. Through our charitable actions we are righteous, but there is more to righteousness than charity. To be a tzadik is to lead an exemplary life. Our Torah gives us examples of such people: Noah, who stood out amongst all of the others in his generation, meriting the honor of sustaining life after the devastating flood. Moses, whom the Lord singled out face-to-face, to lead the generation in the wilderness.

Early on in his book, Fox refers to Parkinson’s as a “gift.” He acknowledges that others with this disease have criticized him for this, and reframed the point to identify that it is “the gift that keeps on taking.” He goes on, saying: “This unexpected crisis forced a fundamental life decision: adopt a siege mentality, or embark on a journey.” After spending a few disastrous years on the first road, he was led by some power -- courage? Wisdom? Acceptance? -- to the second. To live life on this journey, says Fox, “was unquestionably a gift.” I am humbled to even speak about a man who is able to frame his seemingly harrowing reality in this way. And while he sees it as a gift to himself, for the rest of the world, the gift lies in what he has done for us throughout the last decade.

Fox transitioned from a Hollywood power player to an international advocate and fundraiser. He founded The Michael J. Fox Foundation, an organization dedicated to finding a cure for Parkinson’s disease through an aggressively funded research agenda and to ensuring the development of improved therapies for those living with Parkinson’s today. The Foundation has funded nearly two hundred million dollars in research projects since its inception in the year 2000, making it the second largest funder of Parkinson’s research in the world. He has testified in front of the Senate Appropriations Subcommittee on the importance of stem cell research and become politically active, supporting candidates who are committed to stem cell research.

Fox’s acting career is now entering its fourth decade; and while he has, of course, slowed down, he still does guest appearances, often on sitcoms, allowing the world to continue to benefit from his comedic talent.

When we encounter the line “ooteshuvah ootefillah ootzedakah maavirin et ro-a hag’zeirah -- teshuvah, tefillah and tzedakah have the power to transform the harshness of our destiny,” we can take it literally and turn to repentance, prayer and charity, imagining that this will reverse a Divine ordinance of our fate. Alternatively, we can wrestle with the meaning of the text, seeking to find instructions -- or at least some guidance -- for life’s real challenges.

Teshuvah, tefillah, tzedakah. Reflect, engage, be righteous.

It is not merely a process for these high holy days, it is a guide for approaching the many obstacles that accompany life’s journey.

There is power to knowing that we can choose how we frame our story.

Over the past few weeks I have posed this question on Facebook, and let me ask you to think about it for a moment today: What would you title your autobiography? How would you choose to frame your life’s journey?

Over the last few weeks, I have received some wonderful answers ranging from humorous to reflective. Here are a few that some of you, and my friends and colleagues, were kind enough to share:

Detours, speed bumps and traffic jams!
She was good to her mother....
Wait ... I'm not done yet.
Planting roots
I told you so.
Better Than I Dreamed
How Do I Get There from Here?
Tales of a Chameleon
Contentment is Not Complacency

What did Fox title his memoir? Lucky Man.

Kim Blumenthal, Rabbi
Copyright © 2010, Kim Blumenthal.
Permission is granted for distribution of this message providing that it is distributed in its entirety and with full attribution, including this copyright statement.

This message was originally posted on October 26, 2010.