There's a story told of a rabbi who served his congregation for many years. He was a wonderful pastor and a great teacher. The congregation had only one complaint: every year he would give the same High Holy Day sermon. After so many years, the people would roll their eyes, take a deep breath and half listen as the he delivered his sermon.

The board finally decided to address this matter. After some discussion, it was decided that they would ask the rabbi to deliver a new sermon the following year. So as not to embarrass the rabbi, they decided to wait before raising this issue with him. Two months later, the officers made an appointment with their spiritual leader and said: "Listen Rabbi, you know how much we respect and care about you. We hope you'll be with us for many years. We only have one complaint: you've given the same High Holy Day sermon for almost twenty years! Don't you think it's time for a new sermon?" The rabbi replied, "Based on what I see, it hasn't sunk in yet."

It is a challenge for rabbis to continually come up with new material for sermons. I like to think that I never give same sermon twice. However, there are certain High Holy Day themes that we come back to year after year because they are so central to our mission – teshuvah, community, mortality and forgiveness to name a few. Hopefully, we can rely on the saying attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus that one can never step into the same river twice, because, between the first and the second step, the river has been flowing, so the water in it is not the same. Each year I am a different person than I was last year and you too have changed along the way.

Each Yom Kippur we confront our mortality. It is a small foretaste of death – the kittle that I'm wearing is reminiscent of tachrichin, the burial shrouds that are traditionally worn when one dies. We eschew our bodily desires for this one day; no food, no drink, no bathing, no sexual intimacy. We conduct no business, run no errands, play no games; we disengage from the world around us. Every human being at some time suffers the loss of a relative, a friend, or an acquaintance. Without exception, we all die. That reality should have a significant impact on the way in which we live our lives.

First, living with the consciousness of death should give our lives more urgency, intensity, and focus. It is impossible to come to the synagogue on Yom Kippur knowing that one focus of the day is Yizkor and not think about death – our own, a loved one or someone famous. The death of Steve Jobs this week, co-founder of Apple Computers, certainly made me stop and think about my life. At the end of a life we take stock, in a eulogy we share a person's accomplishments, their relationships, their involvement in the Jewish community. Steve Jobs has such a long list of accomplishments; the Apple computer, iTunes, the iPhone, the iPad; it is humbling to think about. But as the famous Hasidic tale of Reb Zusya reminds us, we are not judged by the standards of a Steve Jobs. For those who don't recall the tale, Reb Zusya, a pious and revered sage, was lying on his deathbed, weeping. His students stood by him perplexed.

"Rabbi, why do you weep?" one of them ventured to ask, "Surely if anyone is assured a place in the kingdom of heaven, it is you!"

The sage turned his head toward his beloved students and began to speak softly: "If, my children, when I stand before the heavenly court, I am asked 'Zusya, why were you not a Moses?' I shall have no hesitation in affirming, 'I was not born a Moses.'"

"If they ask me, 'Why, then, were you not an Elijah?" I shall speak with confidence, 'Neither am I Elijah.'"

"I weep, friends, because there is only one question that I fear to be asked; 'Why were you not a Zusya?'"

Each of us is called upon to live up to our own potential, not be measured against anyone else. But on Yom Kippur, when we pause from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and examine our accomplishments, our relationships and our involvement in the Jewish community to see if they indeed measure up to our own standards; for most, there is some readjusting that needs to be done.

We need to ask ourselves what kind of person to do I want to be? Am I living the kind of life that I want to be living? On this score, here is some advice that Steve Jobs gave in a 2005 commencement address at Stanford University, which was recently posted on Facebook:

"When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself, "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "no" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important thing I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life, because almost everything--all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure--these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

Mr. Jobs then revealed that one year earlier he had been diagnosed with an incurable pancreatic cancer of a type that brings about death in a matter of months. "My doctor advised me," said Jobs, "to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctors' code for "prepare to die." It means to try and tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next ten years to tell them, in just a few months. It means to make sure that everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes."

He lived with that diagnosis for one day before a biopsy proved that the original diagnosis had been wrong. He did have pancreatic cancer but the type he had was treatable. In fact, he lived for another seven years after that diagnosis. But that experience changed an intellectual truth to an actual truth for him. As he told the Stanford U graduates:

"No one wants to die, even people who want to go to Heaven don't want to die to get there, and yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent; it clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now, the new is you. But someday, not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it's quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

Our traditions try to teach us what is important, so that we don't waste our valuable time, but can make the most of every precious moment. The Bible and the teachings of the rabbis try to highlight for us the best values to insure that we instill to give our lives meaning. One of the core Yom Kippur stories is that of Jonah. If you knew that we read the book of Jonah every Yom Kippur, take a moment to credit yourself with the quality of your Jewish education. The reason that some people don't know, is that the book of Jonah is read as the haftarah at minha, the afternoon service; and I've discovered that not all of you return to hear it.

Jonah is a reluctant Prophet. God tells him to go to Nineveh and instruct the people there to repent, but Jonah runs in the other direction; he hops on a ship heading out to sea. Jonah discovers that you can't run away from God, the ship is beset by storms that prevent its passage. Jonah tells the sailors to throw him overboard and save themselves, reluctantly they do so, the seas calm and they pray to God asking for forgiveness.

Jonah meanwhile is swallowed by a great fish where he spends three days in prayer until God has the fish spew him out upon dry land. Finally, Jonah reluctantly accepts God's charge, goes to Nineveh and calls on the people to repent. As Jonah anticipated, and much to his dismay, the people repent and God forgives them. So why was Jonah so reluctant and so unhappy with the results? My colleague, Barry Leff, has pointed out that Jonah is a man of justice, but not mercy. Justice is an important Jewish value. The Torah teaches us Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – Justice, justice shall you pursue. We teach people to be just, honest and fair in business. We establish a justice system to insure that society runs smoothly; without justice we would have chaos. So if Jonah is such a strong advocate for justice, why is he so reluctant and unhappy with the results? Justice is about being fair; it is about seeing that people get what they deserve. The people of Nineveh deserved to be punished for their actions, but Jonah anticipates that if he brings the word of God to the people that they will repent and God will forgive them and in the end they will not be punished – to his way of thinking that's simply not fair; you do the crime, you do the time.

Jonah is one of those people who very concerned about fairness, they want to make sure that everything is divided evenly, that everyone gets the same amount of game time, that if you break the rules, you get punished. We all know people like this. They are good souls, but like Jonah, they miss the point that Yom Kippur tries to bring home to us.

The ancient rabbis tell us that on Rosh Hashanah, which is called Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgment, God sits upon the Throne of Judgment. On Yom Kippur we fast and pray in the hopes that we can move God from the Throne of Judgment to the Throne of Mercy. If God judges the world by the standard of Din/strict judgment, then all life is forfeit and the world would be destroyed. Only by judging the world with Rachamim/mercy and compassion; can we survive God's judgment.

Always seeking justice makes one an angry person, because there is always someone who falls short of the ideals of fairness. Jonah is a sad and angry person because he cannot move from Din to Rachamim, from justice to mercy. On Yom Kippur we seek to realign our values to parallel God and the rabbis from justice to mercy. It is the act of forgiveness that God demonstrates in the book of Jonah that is the highest of Jewish values, that allows relationships to flourish in spite of the shortcomings that each of us has. It is only when we can look mercifully upon the other and forgive them their shortcomings that we can move forward in peace into the New Year and make the most of this annual new beginning. Judaism is all about second chances, and third chances, and even 5772 chances to get it right. The sins of yesteryear need not be carried into the New Year that has now begun, but it is up to us to follow God's lead.

I think that part of the reason for Yizkor at this time is to remind ourselves that the people we have loved and lost were not perfect, but it is our ability to forgive them their sins and shortcomings as we remember them, that can help us to forgive ourselves our own shortcomings and to forgive the living their sins and shortcomings. So make the most of every day, go forth from this Day of Atonement, inspired and committed to living your life to the fullest each day. As our loved ones would have wanted us to do; at this time we rise to remember our loved ones lost as we join together for Yizkor which is found on page 290 in our Mahzor.