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The Paradoxes of Yom Kippur

04/06/2015 07:47:05 AM

Apr6

Kol Nidre 2004 – 5765 by Rabbi Joshua Hoffman

There is a story about a young boy who enters a sacred space - just like this one - to pray in his community - just like we are now - on Yom Kippur. He cannot speak - he cannot read - he does not have the capacity to understand the complexities that the Yom Kippur liturgy encourages us to explore. He comes to the sanctuary with his flute - the only instrument he has to express himself. The boy tries to pull out his flute and play it, yet there is a father figure who continuously admonishes him each time he attempts to play it. Throughout the whole day the child fidgets and fumbles, struggling to fit in. When the time for Ne'eilah comes, the boy can no longer endure his silence and in a swift move is able to pull out his flute and blow the loudest, shrillest, most hideous sound. Naturally, the community turns to the boy and begins to chastise him for his insolence. After all, Ne'eilah is the time when the prayers of humanity reach up into the spheres of Heaven. And then the Rebbe, standing before the open ark and carrying on an intimate dialogue with God directly, turns around amidst the commotion and silences the community. He heralds this boy's prayer to the community that not only has it been accepted on Most High, but that his prayer redeems them all. 

There are so many levels to this story that make it an inspiration for us all. From the tenacity of the boy - to the sensitivity of the Rebbe. From the lesson the community learns to the father whose impatience quells the boy's desire. Each of them lifts us up - we need no other message than what this story provides for us to make our prayer experience complete. 

What I find most compelling about the story - and about stories we tell just like it - is the paradoxical nature of the lesson. Here is a boy - an illiterate - who cannot articulate his prayer by conventional means. Our first thought is that the boy's sound - shrieking and inconsonant - cannot truly engage God nor is an efficacious form of prayer. Yet the paradox - the unexpected outcome that is seemingly true - is that the child's outburst - is not only accepted by the Rebbe - but is considered the most accepted prayer of the entire community. 

We can relate to this story - many of us enter this space - myself included - feeling only partially equipped to master the words and concepts of the Mahzor - to be able to transcend our present state of consciousness - whether it is distressing situation we left behind us to get here - or the frustration of traffic and the VBS parking lot. Or perhaps it is the deeper and more genuine fear that what we have to say here is not good enough, smart enough, true enough, or honest enough. We walk into this space and become the paradox ourselves. We are the ones who enter into this space given the feeling that we are brought low - we feel the nagging sense of shame for what we lack. Our paradox is an unlikely conclusion - our time here asks us to take the superficial words on the page and internalize them - to make them our own. 

The message of the story is that we are like the boy with the flute - our prayer in whatever form it takes can be accepted too. We enter sacred spaces and desire to express ourselves in some way, we ay shirk at the possibility of expressing what is truly in our hearts, and we sometime do not know where to begin to ask for the courage and the strength to overcome those insecurities. 

Can we be satisfied with such a proposition? Can we accept that we too are the paradox of this story? Or, does this story inspire us to pray to the very best of our ability - to shut off all the fear and discomfort of entering a distinctly Jewish and distinctly religious space to connect with something greater than ourselves? 

Judaism is full of these inconsistencies, and the diligent student savors finding one or two of them to seek their resolution. To me, I find this day - the Day of Atonement - a case for study itself. 

In the first sounds of Kol Nidre - is the 15th century prayer - with its lulling melody and sharp tones - we are permitted to pray among those of us who sin. I find a call to give permission to pray can seem quite ironic on the surface. When we hear the chant of Kol Nidre - All vows are nullified. All of our failed attempts to achieve forgiveness - to fulfill our promises - to actualize and realize our expectations are wiped clean from the slate. All the efforts of acceptance - All further attempts to do teshuvah are void from this point on until we begin again tomorrow evening. We wonder if Kol Nidre is a prayer meant to be recited this year or for the year to come - the discrepancy leaves the slate anything but clean. Shall we start Yom Kippur clean, or do we begin these days wholly and completely broken, hoping through these words and the 25 hours of prayer, that we can repair some of that brokenness? 

We even find this tension in the throbbing beat of Vidui - with the stoic flagellation we inflict upon our breasts to single out each potential sin may have ever committed. We act now for deeds and behaviors we committed even a year ago. We recite these words in plurality. We explain as the greatness of our collective prayer, as we all stand guilty, we all pray for forgiveness. Certainly we have all felt, or all will feel for one moment that there are one or two in the list of sins that we clearly have not even considered, let alone seen another, commit such a sin. A paradox is when a proposition seems to conflict, and yet remains true. Our prayer is plural because we stand united in purpose. No one sinner is greater than the other. 

The entire notion of a fast - the one vestige of Jewish practice so many of us cling to with unrelenting dedication - appears to be a baffling encounter with death at a time when we are praying so fervently for life! 

On this day, we wear special clothes. One time a year we continue to wear our tallit into the evening. We also wear a Kittel - a white robe. We outwardly display that we have the right to stand among the pure and holy. We wear special shoes - at first the rabbis would have us walk barefoot. Over time, and probably over some hard gravel, the rabbis were inspired to suggest that one should not wear indulgent footwear - ultimately ordaining that leather shoes not be worn. The simplicity of the attire for the day suggests our behavior is singular in purpose. 

We do not wash our bodies, nor engage in sexual relations, we refrain from food and drink. We do not work, we do not write, we do not create. Our abstinence is our elevation - our denial is our entrance into the palace of divinity. 

At its essence, this appearance is how our Rabbis imagined the Satan - the prosecuting Angel - perceived the people of Israel as he prepared to render judgment upon them. The Midrash renders a conflict where the Adversary Angel complains that God protects B'nai Yisrael from his judgment for 364 days of the year. God wants to be fair to all His Creations so he permits The Satan to visit the people on the one day remaining day of the year - Yom Kippur. The Angel goes into the world looking for the iniquities and finds only people clad in white, looking like angels, pouring their hearts out, and fasting. Whereupon the Angel returns to God and declares that no one among the people is guilty. 

This is a day of joy - no sin is to be found in our midst. 

Yom Kippur should neither be a day of mourning and lament, nor should it be a day of solely somber reflection. When we prepare ourselves for this time - when we've truly accomplished to task set before us of performing Teshuvah and reconciliation - when we have sincerely engaged in Tefillah, or some form of prayer - and when we act on the principles of Tzedakah - we ought to celebrate this day. For today - we truly are pure - for today we will celebrate the changes we've made. 

We owe it to ourselves to look at why we do what we do on Yom Kippur for a moment from time to time. As our sages teach us, "Turn the text and turn it again - for you will find everything in it." This year we are permitted to see these 25 hours as a day of celebration. 

This realization begins two months prior to today. If there is any solemnity to be expressed - we ought to direct our attention to the day when the people Israel experienced a collective loss - the day of Tisha B'Av. Its unfortunate placement in the yearly calendar makes the day a slightly less well known point in the Jewish year, in addition to the fact that it is a historical event rather than a timeless moment, like Pesach. It is the day we commemorate the Destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem - the very antithesis of Yom Kippur. Tisha B'Av has become the paradigm of great destruction - the model of brokenness among the entire people Israel throughout history. On Tisha B'Av we also fast and wear special clothes - the clothes of mourning. Where our fasts and gestures are to mourn our loss on Tisha B'Av, our fasts and gestures can celebrate our wholeness and completion on Yom Kippur. 

As individuals, we begin to see through the lens of national brokenness, the destruction of our own self-made structures and expectations. We are reminded that what we build will not always endure. But it is from that point the journey toward this day of celebration begins. Over the following weeks we read special texts of comfort - assuring us a better day is on the horizon. In other words, we must mourn this brokenness - we must begin to walk the path toward acceptance. If we are to make a change - if we value change as the necessary and integral part of growth - we must chart a plan. We first accept that as a people we are not whole - and that as individuals we are imperfect - that our best human selves are tarnished. Real change begins when we contemplate our imperfection - Yom Kippur is the day where we affirm we can stand here together - we can find wholeness even though we do not ascribe to a sense of perfection we are persistent to attain. We cannot stand here today without contemplating this truth. 

Then we enter the month of Elul - the last month of the year. We continue to deepen our acceptance of loss and the turning inward toward change. During this time, we approach Rosh Hashanah - daily offering our petitions for forgiveness and the opportunity to show we can act differently when faced with the same situation again. The sound of the shofar blares in our ears and in our minds. Our pace quickens - and we now we stand - present in the moment - ready to transition and transform - to renew and recreate. 

Erich Fromm teaches us, "The whole life of the individual is nothing but the process of giving birth to oneself, indeed we should be fully born when we die -- although it is the tragic fate of most individuals to die before they are born." This is what our siddur and the Kabbalah captures when we read, "HaM'chadesh B'tuvo B'chol Yom Tamid Maaseh Bereisht." We give praise to the "One, who in His Goodness, renews the Act of Creation each day." Just as the Holy One generously renews Creation every day, so too can we celebrate the opportunities for fresh outlooks and invigorating spirits. Our spiritual lives are completely intertwined with our growth - we give can strive to give birth to our best selves - to build our highest aspirations and our most brilliant constitutions. This task - certainly a challenge - is the greatest purpose we can suggest for meaningful existence. 

Yom Kippur has arrived - there is a sense of great commemoration. Yom Kippur is the day our rabbis dreamed of when they concluded the section of the laws and guidelines exclusively dealing with this day. There, we read the famous and moving words of Rabbi Akiva: 

"Happy are you Israel to come before that which can purify you. And who purifies you? 
Your father in Heaven, For it says, I will pour upon you the pure waters and you will be purified. (Ezekiel 36) 
And further it says, The purifying waters of Israel is the Holy One. (Jeremiah 17) 
Here - mikveh Yisrael - means both the waters we use to purify ourselves, and the hope of Israel - like the word Tikvah - HOPE - found in HaTikvah - Israel's National Anthem. The teaching concludes. 
Just as the mikveh - the cleansing waters purify the impurities of the body and soul, so too will Adonai purify Israel. 

"Ashreichem Yisrael" Be joyous Israel! Let this day be a day of dancing and song - of true joy for we stand purified and hopeful. Let this day be as joyous as our own wedding day - we are prepared to stand under the wedding canopy once again - to renew our vows and commitments to God, to each other, and ultimately to ourselves. The Baal Shem Tov concludes, "Whoever lives in joy does the will of the Creator." We fulfill our duty on Yom Kippur when we enter and exit this space joyously. 

The joy of Yom Kippur- the great truth we learn from this day - can be found in the parallel customs a couple may perform on their wedding day. For some traditionalists, the groom dresses in a kittel, this shroud of joy and purity - as does the bride in her white dress. The symbol of white is the neutral color where no blemish can be found - it is the symbol of the blank slate we begin with on Yom Kippur. As the kittel is worn in joy at the wedding so too can the kittel be worn on Yom Kippur with the hopes of purity and joy. 

The couple may also choose to fast and to recite the words of Vidui - the same words of confessional we recite tonight - before entering the chuppah. On the one hand, the couple is preparing for their sacred moment by clearing their conscience and their minds of any divisive thoughts so they may stand fully aware and present. On the other hand, these acts can be done joyously, and the reward for their diligent preparation awaits them in just moments. 

The couple is about to stand together, to announce before the entire community and world their love is enduring - such expression can only be met with joy. Just as the union of two who share their love together culminates in Yichud - their divine union, we see that the end of this 25 hour period we can be brought to Yichud - true union with the Divine. At that moment, with the Shofar's blow more strident than a broken glass, we are permitted us to celebrate with delight that we are truly renewed. 

More than Yom Kippur sharing a similar process to a wedding day, we learn from our Rabbis that the people of their time would literally celebrate this day as a day of engagement for marriage. In the ancient times, as the day would conclude, the people would begin to dance in the courtyards and fields of Jerusalem - daughters and sons of Israel would gather together in dance and song. Young couples would come together to begin their new year together as they would announce their engagements to each other on Yom Kippur. Voices of joy and gladness can be heard in the hills of Jerusalem once again. These voices of renewal - these voices of hope can be our mode of celebration on this day as well. 

It was Kierkegaard who said, "The paradox, is really the pathos of intellectual life. Just as only great souls are exposed to passions, it is only the great thinker who is exposed to what I call paradoxes, which are nothing else than grandiose thoughts in embryo." 

Our grandiose thought is that we have been given a blessing - we have been given the intuitive faculties to recognize and celebrate the cycles of time, their culminations and twilights - their perpetuities and their brevities. Yom Kippur is a key into the greatest scheme we can offer. The day, like other festive moments throughout the year is called a Shabbat Shabbaton - A complete rest. Yom Kippur - despite the fact that this year the date actually falls on Shabbat itself - doesn't merely mimic the prohibitions of work, but it emulates the essential qualities the "palace in time" Heschel lovingly calls this time-out from the world. Shabbat teaches us presence - and Yom Kippur is the ultimately present moment. Just as a wedding between a couple is not formed from one interaction. Our union does not simply culminate from one day of sincere reflection. 

Tisha B'Av is the antithesis to Yom Kippur, and we find Shabbat as the thesis for our Yom Kippur joy. Shabbat is the opportunity to renew the growth and wholeness we attained today.

During this week we've looked inside - our heightened awareness has prompted our respectful treatment of each other and ourselves. If we stop - we can palpably and qualitatively feel the positive energy we have created when we behave this way. 

Every seven days we can turn to our loved ones and apologize for the attention we should have given when we didn't, or for the impatience where we should have listened. This cycle of time is the paradox of all nature. By stopping, by creating sacred time out of profane space, we enable ourselves to connect to the pulse of nature - to truly experience the qualities of peace. renewal, and of hope. 

Let us celebrate tomorrow afternoon - amidst the cacophony of all 5000 of us. Let it be that way for us year and in the year to come. L'Shanah Tovah, Gmar Tov, Shabbat Shalom.


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Thu, March 28 2024 18 Adar II 5784