Erev Yom Kippur, 10 Tishri 5774/October 3, 2014
Al cheit she’chatati! Beloved Yavneh community, I come before you this Kol Nidre eve stricken with remorse for having failed to convince all of you that Yom Kippur is meant to be a joyous holiday, a guarantor of forgiveness and blessing, rather than a day of suffering, doubt, and anxiety. J We have well learned, I believe, that reconciliation between people comes about when we note our errors, offer repentance and restoration, and commit to changed behavior. Yet, when we arrive at the Days of Awe, my sense is that many of us feel weighed down because we fear we haven’t, perhaps couldn’t, do enough to erase our past transgressions.
The ancient rabbis taught that feasting on erev Yom Kippur was as sacred as fasting not only throughout the day tomorrow, but as meritorious as fasting through both tomorrow and the next day. (BT Yoma 81b) Our early teachers understood the theme of the holiday as not only about seeking forgiveness, but more importantly, about having faith that forgiveness is forthcoming. According to the 16th-century scholar and mystic R. Moses Cordovero, “worship comprised of somberness and suffering is not acceptable to God. Only a worship of joy and celebration. Therefore, we begin Yom Kippur with festiveness and a lavish feast.” (See 2006 High Holy Day Message, R. Gershon Winkler.)
Apparently, this viewpoint is a tough sell, as we tend to hold ourselves – and others – to high standards. Not to be picky, of course, merely out of respect for traditional expectations. And, not just here on Earth.
A prominent rabbi died at the ripe old age of 96 and went straight to the heavenly Gan Eden. There, in the shade of a luxurious tree, he found a large table surrounded by several learned scholars, some of them his former students, engaged in lively Talmudic debate. The table was laden with wonderful food, pastries, kugle, the tenderest brisket, steaming chicken soup, soft rolls, and much more, and the men noshed and slurped happily as they disputed the text before them.
One of his students rose to greet his teacher: “Rebbe, we’re so happy you’ve finally joined us! Come, have something to eat.” The rabbi looks at the array of food and asks severely, “Who’s the mashgiach, the one who makes sure all this is kosher?” The surprised student replies, “This is heaven! God is the mashgiach.” The old man ponders this for a long time, eyes closed, deep in thought, while his students await his learned conclusion. At last, he speaks: “Fine, I’ll have some fruit. On a paper plate.”
A good story, we are told, gives the mind a chance to surprise the heart, so I’m going to take it as a good sign that we find this story funny. Perhaps, even, see a bit of our own resistance to self-compassion in the old man’s determination not to become lax in his observance, even in the world to come. Perhaps, to recognize in our capacity for harsh self-judgment permission to judge others harshly as well.
Personally, I like to believe that if I am aware of the benefits of something – a new superfood, exercise, dietary supplement – that is sufficient to receive the benefit, whether or not I change my behavior. (Stephen, as we all know, not only does the research, but actually follows the recommendations he finds credible. As his loving spouse, I find this a mixed blessing.) In the physical world, this attitude only helps me in my imagination; knowing people who run marathons has not loosened my hamstrings, you should pardon the reference. Spiritually, however, there is something to my fantasy. Awareness itself counts: while we are taught to use the High Holy Day season to undertake a detailed accounting of our souls, we are also taught that just opening to the possibility that we may need to do some soul work earns a pretty high score.
Constructive criticism, whether of others or of ourselves, most benefits us when it is rooted in the belief that we – and all others – are at one with God. If there is but one Source of Being, then everything we manifest, even those traits or behaviors we wish or need to change, expresses some aspect of the cosmic totality in which we participate. We, individually, arise out of divinity’s love of diversity, each of us with our particularities and quirks (some stray quarks, too, no doubt). As we see in the constant movement of the divine qualities arrayed on the mystical Tree of Life, no aspect (whether we experience it as good or evil) lacks a role in the eternal dance of balancing and rebalancing. It’s not that we are on a path away from our errors or transgressions. As soon as we note something we would wish to transform, we deepen into our essential divine nature. Whatever we choose to refine helps us settle more firmly into our divine Source and home. We come round right to where we need to be, as the Shaker hymn would have it.
Liturgically, High Holy Day prayers use a language that, for many of us, masks services’ kavannah, intentionality. Watch closely this year, as the movement of our prayers shifts from noting, acknowledging, and committing to correct our transgressions to wave after wave of reassurance that our heartfelt t’shuvah, our turning toward God and toward one another, our t’fillah, our yearning for sacred relationship, and our tzedakah, our sharing, have been accepted. Take to heart that when our rabbis seek to express “bottom line” Jewish teaching, righteous behavior can be netted out in a single Torah verse:
“Rabbi Simlai taught: Six hundred and thirteen commandments were given to Moses. Then David reduced them to eleven in Psalm 15, beginning, ‘He who follows integrity, who does what is right and speaks the truth in his heart.’ Micah reduced them to three, “Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. (6:8)’ Then came Isaiah and reduced them to two, “Keep justice and act with integrity. (56:1)’ Amos reduced them to one, ‘Seek Me and live. (5:4)’ . . . And Akiva taught: The great principle of the Torah is expressed in the commandment, ‘Love your neighbor as you love yourself; I am the Eternal.’” (Levit. 19:18)
We only have to begin, where we are, trusting that the only Place in which to do our work is the eternal here, within the eternal time/space of the living God. A familiar story:
An ascetic, seeking a revelation from Elijah, dressed only in white, was silent except for words of Torah and prayer, drank nothing but water, rolled naked in the snow, and put nails in his shoes. Yet, he received no vision of the prophet. Hearing that the Baal Shem Tov had experienced revelations from Elijah, this perush set out one winter’s day for Medzibuz to ask the great teacher why he himself had not succeeded.
The Besht took his visitor out into the courtyard, then told his coach driver to bring his white horse from the stable, along with a bucket of water, and to let the horse run free. The horse smelled the brisk, fresh air, snorted with delight, took a drink of water from the bucket, and then began to roll in the snow.
“Do you see this horse,” said the Besht to the perush. “He also wears white, drinks only water, rolls in the snow, has nails in his shoes, and hasn’t spoken a word in ten years, yet he’s never had a revelation of Elijah! [Even though I’m tempted to question how the Besht would know this, I will yield the point for now.] Why? Because all these things that you and the horse are both doing are merely external. Don’t worry about Elijah; worry about revealing your own soul.”
When the visitor departed, the Besht explained to his hasidim: “Being pious is more about attaching yourself to God than about neglecting the body and worldly affairs. Instead of fasting from food, eat in the presence of God. Instead of fasting from speech, infuse all of your words with holiness. I tell you, having heavenly revelations – for which the Besht is renown – is at a lesser spiritual level than having a revelation of your own soul, so that you may be totally authentic and live from your deepest self, your divinely-rooted soul.” (Adapted from Yitzhak Buxbaum, The Light and Fire of the Baal Shem Tov, pp. 258 - 9.)
[Usher passes box of pearls through the congregation. My thanks to the S’fat Emet, via Reb Chava Bahle]
The advice to begin with ourselves in a positive manner may seem to trivialize the importance of t’shuvah, of mindful self-examination and intentional repentance. Not so. Even the smallest shifts in awareness entrain others, and we do not have to wait for the High Holy Days to make these shifts. Contrary to popular comedic convention, Jewish spiritual tradition does not make much of guilt (although, Jewish child-rearing technique might).
Instead, we are guided to look inside and make the smallest of adjustments from day to day, beginning with a review of the day as we prepare for sleep, setting action directives for correcting what may be off-kilter at the next opportunity. We are guided to make peace with friends and family before entering into Shabbat, having reviewed the six days of the work week. We are guided to mark each new moon as a Yom Kippur Katan, “a little Yom Kippur,” to discern – ideally with a spiritual companion – whether there is some aspect of behavior we wish to focus on as the new moon waxes, then wanes. The entire month of Elul, prior to the Days of Awe, asks us to harvest eleven months of self-refinement, so that we enter the new year joyfully and welcome the certainty of forgiveness on Yom Kippur. As we read in Talmud, the day itself atones for us. (See BT Yoma 86b.)
Wasting soul power on excessive self-reproach diminishes our capacity to engage with the world according to baseline Jewish teaching: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself; I am the Eternal.” (Levit. 19:18) Over time, our understanding of “neighbor” has expanded to include all other images of the Holy One, not only the ones living next door or sharing our religious or political views. Re-membering – pulling ourselves together – to stand in God’s loving Presence, we recognize our soul’s holiness and the equal holiness of every other soul – Elohai, n’shamah she’natata bi, tehorah hi, every morning, every soul returns to its essential purity. Accepting that we always stand before the throne of glory, surrounded by the gentle wings of Shekhinah, we more easily discern our individual soul mission.
The one who tortures herself incessantly with the idea that she has not yet sufficiently atoned is essentially concerned with the salvation of her soul, . . . not with the work which her soul is deployed to perform in this world. Focusing excessively on our faults rather than on each opportunity for refinement, however small, robs us of energy for the work of t’shuvah, of return and transformation. In the time wasted on brooding over the flaws we find in ourselves, we could be stringing pearls for the delight of Heaven – we could be loving others as we have come to love ourselves, secure in the reality of the Living God. (Adapted from Buber, Hasidism and Modern Man, pp. 162 – 7.)
Hold onto the pearl you have chosen (that’s also the advice from our insurance carrier!). You may already know what gift of individual goodness it represents; if not, you will discover it as the year unfolds. We have been taught: “This is the secret of the unity of God: no matter where I take hold of a shred of it, I hold the whole of it.” (Buber, The Way of Man/Ten Rungs, p. 76.) Similarly, the pearl in your hand attaches to some aspect of your own evolving soul, and in touching part of it, you find an attachment to your entire self, to the widest possible range of potential, refinement, joy, and wholeness. Welcome to the day that atones, and to the awareness that transforms. Gamreinu chatimah tovah, may we all be sealed for blessing. Amen.
Al cheit she’chatati! Beloved Yavneh community, I come before you this Kol Nidre eve stricken with remorse for having failed to convince all of you that Yom Kippur is meant to be a joyous holiday, a guarantor of forgiveness and blessing, rather than a day of suffering, doubt, and anxiety. J We have well learned, I believe, that reconciliation between people comes about when we note our errors, offer repentance and restoration, and commit to changed behavior. Yet, when we arrive at the Days of Awe, my sense is that many of us feel weighed down because we fear we haven’t, perhaps couldn’t, do enough to erase our past transgressions.
The ancient rabbis taught that feasting on erev Yom Kippur was as sacred as fasting not only throughout the day tomorrow, but as meritorious as fasting through both tomorrow and the next day. (BT Yoma 81b) Our early teachers understood the theme of the holiday as not only about seeking forgiveness, but more importantly, about having faith that forgiveness is forthcoming. According to the 16th-century scholar and mystic R. Moses Cordovero, “worship comprised of somberness and suffering is not acceptable to God. Only a worship of joy and celebration. Therefore, we begin Yom Kippur with festiveness and a lavish feast.” (See 2006 High Holy Day Message, R. Gershon Winkler.)
Apparently, this viewpoint is a tough sell, as we tend to hold ourselves – and others – to high standards. Not to be picky, of course, merely out of respect for traditional expectations. And, not just here on Earth.
A prominent rabbi died at the ripe old age of 96 and went straight to the heavenly Gan Eden. There, in the shade of a luxurious tree, he found a large table surrounded by several learned scholars, some of them his former students, engaged in lively Talmudic debate. The table was laden with wonderful food, pastries, kugle, the tenderest brisket, steaming chicken soup, soft rolls, and much more, and the men noshed and slurped happily as they disputed the text before them.
One of his students rose to greet his teacher: “Rebbe, we’re so happy you’ve finally joined us! Come, have something to eat.” The rabbi looks at the array of food and asks severely, “Who’s the mashgiach, the one who makes sure all this is kosher?” The surprised student replies, “This is heaven! God is the mashgiach.” The old man ponders this for a long time, eyes closed, deep in thought, while his students await his learned conclusion. At last, he speaks: “Fine, I’ll have some fruit. On a paper plate.”
A good story, we are told, gives the mind a chance to surprise the heart, so I’m going to take it as a good sign that we find this story funny. Perhaps, even, see a bit of our own resistance to self-compassion in the old man’s determination not to become lax in his observance, even in the world to come. Perhaps, to recognize in our capacity for harsh self-judgment permission to judge others harshly as well.
Personally, I like to believe that if I am aware of the benefits of something – a new superfood, exercise, dietary supplement – that is sufficient to receive the benefit, whether or not I change my behavior. (Stephen, as we all know, not only does the research, but actually follows the recommendations he finds credible. As his loving spouse, I find this a mixed blessing.) In the physical world, this attitude only helps me in my imagination; knowing people who run marathons has not loosened my hamstrings, you should pardon the reference. Spiritually, however, there is something to my fantasy. Awareness itself counts: while we are taught to use the High Holy Day season to undertake a detailed accounting of our souls, we are also taught that just opening to the possibility that we may need to do some soul work earns a pretty high score.
Constructive criticism, whether of others or of ourselves, most benefits us when it is rooted in the belief that we – and all others – are at one with God. If there is but one Source of Being, then everything we manifest, even those traits or behaviors we wish or need to change, expresses some aspect of the cosmic totality in which we participate. We, individually, arise out of divinity’s love of diversity, each of us with our particularities and quirks (some stray quarks, too, no doubt). As we see in the constant movement of the divine qualities arrayed on the mystical Tree of Life, no aspect (whether we experience it as good or evil) lacks a role in the eternal dance of balancing and rebalancing. It’s not that we are on a path away from our errors or transgressions. As soon as we note something we would wish to transform, we deepen into our essential divine nature. Whatever we choose to refine helps us settle more firmly into our divine Source and home. We come round right to where we need to be, as the Shaker hymn would have it.
Liturgically, High Holy Day prayers use a language that, for many of us, masks services’ kavannah, intentionality. Watch closely this year, as the movement of our prayers shifts from noting, acknowledging, and committing to correct our transgressions to wave after wave of reassurance that our heartfelt t’shuvah, our turning toward God and toward one another, our t’fillah, our yearning for sacred relationship, and our tzedakah, our sharing, have been accepted. Take to heart that when our rabbis seek to express “bottom line” Jewish teaching, righteous behavior can be netted out in a single Torah verse:
“Rabbi Simlai taught: Six hundred and thirteen commandments were given to Moses. Then David reduced them to eleven in Psalm 15, beginning, ‘He who follows integrity, who does what is right and speaks the truth in his heart.’ Micah reduced them to three, “Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. (6:8)’ Then came Isaiah and reduced them to two, “Keep justice and act with integrity. (56:1)’ Amos reduced them to one, ‘Seek Me and live. (5:4)’ . . . And Akiva taught: The great principle of the Torah is expressed in the commandment, ‘Love your neighbor as you love yourself; I am the Eternal.’” (Levit. 19:18)
We only have to begin, where we are, trusting that the only Place in which to do our work is the eternal here, within the eternal time/space of the living God. A familiar story:
An ascetic, seeking a revelation from Elijah, dressed only in white, was silent except for words of Torah and prayer, drank nothing but water, rolled naked in the snow, and put nails in his shoes. Yet, he received no vision of the prophet. Hearing that the Baal Shem Tov had experienced revelations from Elijah, this perush set out one winter’s day for Medzibuz to ask the great teacher why he himself had not succeeded.
The Besht took his visitor out into the courtyard, then told his coach driver to bring his white horse from the stable, along with a bucket of water, and to let the horse run free. The horse smelled the brisk, fresh air, snorted with delight, took a drink of water from the bucket, and then began to roll in the snow.
“Do you see this horse,” said the Besht to the perush. “He also wears white, drinks only water, rolls in the snow, has nails in his shoes, and hasn’t spoken a word in ten years, yet he’s never had a revelation of Elijah! [Even though I’m tempted to question how the Besht would know this, I will yield the point for now.] Why? Because all these things that you and the horse are both doing are merely external. Don’t worry about Elijah; worry about revealing your own soul.”
When the visitor departed, the Besht explained to his hasidim: “Being pious is more about attaching yourself to God than about neglecting the body and worldly affairs. Instead of fasting from food, eat in the presence of God. Instead of fasting from speech, infuse all of your words with holiness. I tell you, having heavenly revelations – for which the Besht is renown – is at a lesser spiritual level than having a revelation of your own soul, so that you may be totally authentic and live from your deepest self, your divinely-rooted soul.” (Adapted from Yitzhak Buxbaum, The Light and Fire of the Baal Shem Tov, pp. 258 - 9.)
[Usher passes box of pearls through the congregation. My thanks to the S’fat Emet, via Reb Chava Bahle]
The advice to begin with ourselves in a positive manner may seem to trivialize the importance of t’shuvah, of mindful self-examination and intentional repentance. Not so. Even the smallest shifts in awareness entrain others, and we do not have to wait for the High Holy Days to make these shifts. Contrary to popular comedic convention, Jewish spiritual tradition does not make much of guilt (although, Jewish child-rearing technique might).
Instead, we are guided to look inside and make the smallest of adjustments from day to day, beginning with a review of the day as we prepare for sleep, setting action directives for correcting what may be off-kilter at the next opportunity. We are guided to make peace with friends and family before entering into Shabbat, having reviewed the six days of the work week. We are guided to mark each new moon as a Yom Kippur Katan, “a little Yom Kippur,” to discern – ideally with a spiritual companion – whether there is some aspect of behavior we wish to focus on as the new moon waxes, then wanes. The entire month of Elul, prior to the Days of Awe, asks us to harvest eleven months of self-refinement, so that we enter the new year joyfully and welcome the certainty of forgiveness on Yom Kippur. As we read in Talmud, the day itself atones for us. (See BT Yoma 86b.)
Wasting soul power on excessive self-reproach diminishes our capacity to engage with the world according to baseline Jewish teaching: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself; I am the Eternal.” (Levit. 19:18) Over time, our understanding of “neighbor” has expanded to include all other images of the Holy One, not only the ones living next door or sharing our religious or political views. Re-membering – pulling ourselves together – to stand in God’s loving Presence, we recognize our soul’s holiness and the equal holiness of every other soul – Elohai, n’shamah she’natata bi, tehorah hi, every morning, every soul returns to its essential purity. Accepting that we always stand before the throne of glory, surrounded by the gentle wings of Shekhinah, we more easily discern our individual soul mission.
The one who tortures herself incessantly with the idea that she has not yet sufficiently atoned is essentially concerned with the salvation of her soul, . . . not with the work which her soul is deployed to perform in this world. Focusing excessively on our faults rather than on each opportunity for refinement, however small, robs us of energy for the work of t’shuvah, of return and transformation. In the time wasted on brooding over the flaws we find in ourselves, we could be stringing pearls for the delight of Heaven – we could be loving others as we have come to love ourselves, secure in the reality of the Living God. (Adapted from Buber, Hasidism and Modern Man, pp. 162 – 7.)
Hold onto the pearl you have chosen (that’s also the advice from our insurance carrier!). You may already know what gift of individual goodness it represents; if not, you will discover it as the year unfolds. We have been taught: “This is the secret of the unity of God: no matter where I take hold of a shred of it, I hold the whole of it.” (Buber, The Way of Man/Ten Rungs, p. 76.) Similarly, the pearl in your hand attaches to some aspect of your own evolving soul, and in touching part of it, you find an attachment to your entire self, to the widest possible range of potential, refinement, joy, and wholeness. Welcome to the day that atones, and to the awareness that transforms. Gamreinu chatimah tovah, may we all be sealed for blessing. Amen.
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