Reflections on Yom Kippur 5770

It has been told that Shlomo Carlebach wrote his famed Krakover Niggun after riding an emotional roller coaster in one of the camps near Krakow. According to lore, as Carlebach stepped off of the bus he was hit with a deep wave of depression. While looking around at the survivors he was traveling with, he felt pain and sorrow for their past suffering and could not imagine what they were feeling having returned to such a horrible place. Just as soon as he felt the drop he hit the rise again. Suddenly, bursting through the doors of the bus were tens of children with Israeli flags, the grandchildren of the survivors, streaming onto the field at the entrance to the camp, filled with life and energy and happy to be off the bus. Carlebach, as is well known, claims to have never written a song in is life, rather to have served as a receiving vessel for songs that G-d decided to beam to him from up-high. It was at that moment, at the transition from sadness to happiness, that he "received" his masterpiece from the Heavens, the two part Krakover Niggun.

For those unfamiliar with the niggun (Yiddish for melody), it is compose of two seemingly unconnected parts. Though both in minor keys, the first is slow and ominous, a dirge mourning the loss of life in the camps and the pain embedded in the people who passed through them. Towards the end of the second round, the dirge breaks into a rollicking chorus reaching from low notes to high notes, sending the singers into the frenzy that was the children leaving the bus. It is the light at the end of the long tunnel that leads to Jerusalem, from slavery to freedom.

The Krakover niggun is one of the staples and highlights of Yom Kippur in Otniel. Right before beginning the intense prayers of the Mussaf repetition, Rav Benny Kalmason, one of the Roshei Yeshiva, leads the packed crowd of 500+ (in the mens section only) in the fabled melody. As the singing begins, I close my eyes and focus on the Yom HaDin, the day of judgment that I am facing. The slow chant sways me back and forth and instills in me a sense of awe for the position that I stand in. In the Courts of High, G-d is weighing my good deeds against my sins, measuring out my year, and deciding if I get another chance to prove myself, and with what means. Every single misstep is placed in front of him, and I would be a fool to think that the good outweighs the bad on the giant scale that, as we are taught from kindergarten, hangs among the angels and calculates our true yearly worth. Somberness fills the room and my soul. "If thou shall hold our inequities accountable, oh Lord, who shall live?," David writes in one of his "Songs of Ascents," and everybody in the room can feel the axe sharpened as the Satan reports on our every foul move.

And then...

Ecstasy. "This is the day that the Lord has made, we shall be happy and jubilant on it." The second part of the melody kicks in. True, it is the day of awe, the day of the world's judgment, the day when the future of everything we value hangs in the balance. But it is G-d's day to us; a day to stand in front of our maker and protest our cases, knowing that He is listening. "For he does not desire the death of the dead, rather a return from the [misled] path and life. Until his dying day He will wait for him. If he will return He will readily accept him," the Yom Kippur prayer reads. This is the holiest day of the year, and a day of love for the Jewish people amongst themselves as well as with their Lord. Like the Sabbath, it is a universal present that has been given to us, to stand in front of the Maker and pour out our hearts. The King has returned to his castle from the fields that are the month of Elul, but He is holding court with an open gate, beckoning for us to come forward. The capacity crowd on the yeshiva's floor comes to life, dancing around the long table in the middle of the room, extending to envelop the entire Beit Midrash (hall of study) in a chain of humanity. "As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil for thou art with me." And I know that thou loves me as well. How can one not dance for joy at the thought of G-d's eternal love for us?

Yom Kippur progresses, managing to be both the longest and shortest day of the year. Twelve straight hours of prayer, with no break in the middle. An entire day of standing and praying with not a morsel of food or drop of water to refresh the soul. Just prayer, confession, and beseeching. Finally, the closing prayer of "Neilah," the locking of the gates, arrives. It is impossible not to feel the reverence of the moment. This is it, the "Hail Mary" of the Jewish people. The one last chance to repent and fix our misdoing from the past year and change our fate for the new one. The entire 24 hours have boiled down to this one moment where the body quakes from the lack of nourishment and trembles in fear of the future. If I only had one more hour, sixty more minutes to pray for my soul and for all of the world. But the day has gone by too fast, and I have only a fleeting moment. As the sun sets, bathing Otniel in the auburn red and deep violet of dusk, our last prayers are being offered. All that remains is to reaffirm the fact that "Our Father, our King, we have no king other than you. My lips curve into a smile and I laugh a laugh of contentment. "No matter what the outcome," I think to myself, "I have but one G-d and He loves me. I've given it my all, now all that I can hope for is the love of my Father on high."

I have no choice but to sing and believe that despite all of my sins, despite every moment non-compassion, despite every wrongdoing, He will give me His blessing for a successful year.

May we know love, and faith in the great unknown,

Yoni

(Yom Kippur Dvar Torah (yes, sometimes I can be totally serious

Love in a Time of Judgment

Yoni Zierler

(Based on Discussions with Rav Meir Lichtenstein, Ra”m in Yeshivat Otniel)

From an early age we are raised with the idea of aseret yemei teshuva, the ten days of repentance that begin with Rosh Hashana and end on Yom Kippur. The idea of a period of return is second nature to us. A deeper look at the concept arouses the famous question of Pesach, how are these days different than all other days? Why is repentance relegated to one week as opposed to all year round? Should we not strive always to return to the proper path? Even more interesting is the idea of repentance between man and his fellow. Should we not strive to make peace all year long?

The haftorah for Yom Kippur is taken from the book of Isaiah. In the verses that we read, Isaiah prophesizes what awaits us at the end of days. As he describes throughout the entire book, few will be spared from the punishment that G-d will mete out to his people. Towards the end of the haftorah we are exposed to an interesting concept that is crucial in the understanding of the essence of Yom Kippur.

“Lama tzamnu v’lo r’ita ininu nafsheinuv’lo teda.”

“Why, when we fasted, did you not see? When we starved our bodies did You pay no heed?” the Jewish people will cry to G-d.[1]

In response the prophet declares, “hen b’yom tzomchem tmitzeu chefetz v’kol atzveichem tinogshu.”

“Because on your fast day you see to your business and oppress all your laborers.”

The proceeding verses elucidate the fault of the fasts:

“Ha’lo zeh tzom evchareh upateach chartzubot resha hater agudot motahv’shalach retzutzim chofshim v’chol motah t’nateku.”

“No, this is the fast I desire; To unlock the fetters of wickedness, And untie the cords of the yoke.”[2]

“Ha’lo paros l’raev lachmecha v’anyiim merudim tavi vayit ki tireh aros v’chisito u’mi’b’sarcha lo titalem.”

“It is to share your bread with the hungry and to take the wretched poor into your home; when you see the naked to clothe him and not to ignore your own kin.”[3]

In these pesukim, Isaiah berates his people for their misconception regarding fasting.

“Do you really think that it is about causing yourself to suffer? What about the suffering of others? Is it bowing your head like a bulrush and lying in sackcloth and ashes that you call a fast?.”[4]

A true fast, a proper fast, is not about inflicting pain on oneself, rather relieving the pain of others. One should refrain from eating bread not because you wish to repent through suffering, rather because you gave your last morsel of bread to your starving brother.

Many similarities arise when comparing the Yom Kippur haftorah to the verses of chapter 25 of Vayikrah (Leviticus) which deal with the shnat Yovel, the Jubilee year that occurs once every 50 years. Close examination reveals the obligations of the Yovel as being magnified versions of the obligations of Yom Kippur. During the year of the Yovel slaves return to being free men and the fields return to their original owners. There is a social equilibrium that is re-created on the fiftieth year, where the enslaved receive their freedom and the rich revert to having only that which they began with. This idea is the same as the one found in Isaiah, one of tikun chevra, a societal improvement that lies at the center of the essence of Yom Kippur

The selection of this specific portion as the Shacharit haftorah is a brilliant, daring, and appropriate move on the part of those who canonized the prayer. The haftorah is read towards the end of morning, an hour or so before one would normally eat lunch. As they read about the fast in Isaiah, everyone attending services is equalized by the hunger that they feel at that hour. All are without food. All lack proper shoes. All wear the same white garments. There are no rich, “hanging their heads in the bulrushes,” only brothers and sisters in hunger and repentance. As such, the social equilibrium found in the Yovel year is succesfully established on Yom Kippur as well.

Rav Yitzchack Hutner, in his book Pachad Yitzchack, takes this idea one step further. There is a concept in Judaism that after having asked forgiveness from a friend three times, one is absolved of his sin even if his friend chooses not to forgive him. According to Rav Hutner, this seemingly strange idea is in accordance with the very heart of the Yom Kippur mentality.

During the regular year when one harms his friend, the main issue at hand is the asking of forgiveness. The main focus around the High Holy-Days though is the receiving of forgiveness. Love, as all know, is a two way street. No relationship can survive if only one person cares. Around Yom Kippur it is not enough for someone to ask forgiveness, he must make himself someone who can be forgiven and loved. If one refuses to forgive after three requests, he clearly has no desire to forgive anytime soon. Therefore, if one has made every effort possible, if he has truly made himself a person who can be loved, it is no longer his issue. While it is true that the victim has no role in the hurt that was done to him, he in fact plays the greatest role of all in the outcome of the hurt. The issue Rav Hutner explains, is once again one of fixing our society; to create love amongst the Jewish people.

There is no better time to try to fix our relationships than in the days leading up to Yom Kippur. Towards the end of the seder ha’voda of the Musaf repetition, we read, “Yom asur b’achila, yom asur b’shtiya, yom asur b’rechitza… yom simat ahava v’reut, yom azivat kinah v’tacharut.” Within the description of the day of awe, right after admitting to our inequities, and adjacent to the various prohibitions that comprise the holy day, we acknowledge the fact that today is also a day of “Introducing love and friendship, and a departure from jealousy and competition.”

G-d has delegated this period as a special time where he opens the gates of Heaven to our prayers. The atmosphere of Elul and aseret yemei teshuva is one of forgiveness and new beginnings, allowing us to repeal our humility and confess the wrongdoings that we have committed to each other. It is a time not only to open the gates of prayer, but also to open our hearts. After all, if the Omnipotent is willing to forgive us for all of our transgressions, who are we not to forgive each other?

Shenizkeh….

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[1] Isaiah, Chapter 58, Verse 4

[2] Isaiah, “, Verse 6

[3] Isaiah, “, Verse 7

[4] Isaiah, “, Verse 5

"While I was traveling down G-d's highway"

On the plane back to Israel after my cousin Josh's wedding, there was a sentence stuck in my head:

"It's gonna be a banner year for Rydell High. A banner year."

For all of those contorting their faces in confusion and inability to identify, this is the pep-rally speech of the perenially defeated Coach Calhoun of the movie "Grease." And it is my mantra for the new year.

"It's gonna be a banner year, Yoni. A Hell-yeah, holy torah, hootenany, banner year."

Writing hopes and resolutions for a new year is a bit of a daunting task. Aside from the fact that there is a Wal-Mart sized amount of requests, you run the risk of boring people with a Christmas list (or I guess in my case, a Channukah) list of hopes. "Economy sized dreams of hope," in the words of the great Billy Joe Armstrong (Greenday for the perpetually-contorted faces). I hope that I can steer around the danger. Bare with me.

While lying on my back at my pre-Rosh Hashana massage session, my teacher/therapist/friend Matt began to investigate into the cause of my pain. Matt's theory was that the car accident (yes, three months ago I was hit in the left side, I'm fine other than some lower back stiffness) wasn't so much the problem as were the circumstances surrounding it.

"If you get hit in a game of football, while having fun with friends, you bounce back up without a problem. If you're head is filled with problems, your body won't heal well."

I began detailing the week before the accident; Noam's (of blessed memory) death, Tzvika's car accident, all of the shit-hitting-the fan that lead up to that Motzash where my head was swimming with tragedy.

Rewind five years. We had just moved to Israel from Memphis, after the shit hit the air-conditioning unit.I will never forget my discussion with my mother the week of our first Rosh Hashana in Jerusalem. The new year was a welcome event, covering us with so much hope we were nearly trembling with it. We were ready to put it all behind us, move on with the brighter and better future that the City of Gold, however painfully and annoying, seemed to promise us. To let the mikvah, the ritual bath, of G-d cleanse us not only of sin, but of the tears that we bathed in in the South.

This year was without a doubt one of the most exhilarating years of my life. I fulfilled what I once thought wad the impossible dream of being a mefaked in the IDF, taking care of my boys not for four or eight months, but for almost an entire year. Never have I felt more fulfilled or proud of myself than when I was in green, with three stripes decorating my arms, and the beautiful - but - ugly camo beret on my shoulder.

Today I realized though that it was a year of trials, tears, and fan hitting as well. As I lay there with Matt guiding me through the past, focusing on the presence of G-d in my life and in the room at the moment, I began to let go. Father in Heaven, take this crap and keep it for this year. There was too much death, first Noam and most recently my chanich in the Shalva center for the mentally disabled, Nachshon, who passed away from swine flu complications while I was in the States. There was too much stress with the soldiers and the missions. Too much anger because of all of the stress.

Tateh, make this a year of renewal for me and the Jewish people. Where we bridge the gaps within us and move onto bridging the gaps in the world. May we finally see Gilad at home with his parents.

On the personal side let me learn how to breathe properly, and improve my harmonica breathing techniques. Let it be the year where I get the guts to find Ashley, because just looking is never enough. Sit my derriere tight and properly in my seat in yeshiva and help me crack through the first layer Judaism. Help me to be happy with what I have, even when the picture is not complete.

Maybe this year you'll help me finish my unwritten songs, form a band and record them too. Maybe you can send me a guitar teacher who will inspire me to stop being lazy and learn to play the six string monkey. And maybe, just maybe, you can let the Indians win a World Series (ok, fine, I'll settle for a .500 season, but come on, it's just too painful the way it is).

The old year is closing, and with it the era of the restricted, though powerful, freedom of the army. In its place is the two year reign of freedom before the real world pulls me into its orbit. This is the first of are my banner years, the years that will give the extra shove into the tractor beam of the "grown up life" and send me spinning and smiling, although dazed and confused, for the rest of my time on the planet.

I don't think I ever got around to thanking the people who helped me out over the past year, I hope this will do you all justice (even though I know it won't). Thank you to my family, immediate and extended for reading every single long and graphic army update, and the ecouraging feedback afterwards. The week always started off better when I got to read one of your emails before going back. Thank you to my friends and their families for taking me in and loving me, as sad-eyed and puppy faced as I might have been. The laundry was clutch. You all know who you are. Thank you all for just being there, and letting me know you were reading my letters, even if that was the only bit of communication we had going between the two of us. It meant a lot to me to know that people were rooting for me.

So this is it. The closing of a window and the opening of the door. I am sure that the room that it leads to will have a fan in it and that it will be covered in feces. But at least they'll smell a little sweeter than the ones from this year. And if not, there's always the little blue thing that neglect to put in our toilet. those things work wonders in even the worst of our bathrooms.

Love you all, and may it be a banner year for all,

Yoni