You Say You Want a Revolution? -A personal reflection on yesterday's terror attack

Well You Know, We All Want to Change the World

In Washington, the leaders of the United States are trying to mediate peace talks between Israel and Palestine. In Israel it is 10:15 am. Seder boker, the morning learning period, has reached mid-session, and the entire Beit Midrash (study hall) has quickly and completely emptied of both students and staff. Outside everyone is reaching down to tuck in their tzitzit (the fringes worn ritually by Jewish males) in deference to the dead who can no longer perform this commandment.

Only yesterday I found myself performing the same ritual as I toured Chevron with a group from Herzog, my teacher's college. Throughout Chevron (Hebron) are various graveyards filled by settlers of Chevron who gave their lives in order to maintain a Jewish presence in the city of our forefather. Yesterday, in the Hebron Hills area that surrounds the historic city, Palestinian terrorists killed four more innocent civilians, in an effort to "torpedo" the current peace talks.

Otniel, the yishuv (settlement) that I learn in provided the service of the tahara, the ritual "final cleaning" of the body before it is returned to the ground, for last night's vicitims. Throughout the day, students and other volunteers held half hour shifts next to the deceased, reciting tehillim (Psalms) and serving as an honor guard. Mid-morning, we all left our respective places of learning to escort Yitzchack and Tali Ames, Kochava Even-Chaim, and Avishai Schindler out of Otniel to their final resting places. All four lived fifteen minutes from Otniel, in the neighboring yishuv of Beit-Chagai.

Arms crossed, lips moving in prayer, and eyes welling with angry tears, I waited with my friends for the bodies to be moved to the escort vehicles, and began to think back to my second year in yeshiva. That year Yossi Shock, a father of three, was shot on the same road while driving home to Beit Chagai. I was reminded of the infamous question of the Angels to G-d upon witnessing the deaths of the asara harugei malchut ("The Ten Righteous Martyrs"- a prayer said on Yom Kippur detailing the death of ten of Judaism's greatest rabbis) "This is Torah, and this is its reward?". Innocent people slaughtered on their way home. When will we know an end to these deaths?

Last night, PA president Mahmoud Abbas condemned the shooting stating that he " condemns all acts that target Palestinian and Israeli civilians," and that the attack was meant to "disrupt the peace process and can't be regarded as an act of resistance." True, the murders last night were not sanctioned by the Palestinian Authority, but that only makes it even more disturbing that we are still trying to arrange an agreement. The murders last night were carried out by members of Hamas, a terrorist organaziation that doubles as a leading political party in the Palestinian world. If they refuse to adhere to the lines set by the PA, then what difference does it make if we manage to strike an agreement with Abbas and co.? The Palestinians will have received their state, which we will be "at peace" with, while terrorists roams free and independent of their government. What then have we accomplished?

When it Comes to Destruction, Don't You Know that You Can Count Me Out

The close range drive by shooting left the six Ames children orphaned. Kochava Even Chaim's eight-year-old daughter is motherless, her husband is a widower, and her kindergarten class is without their teacher. Avishai Schindler's young wife is alone in their new home in Beit Chagai.

With regards to the PA and their response, Yarden Frankl of HonestReporting wrote in his blog this morning (http://www.crossingtheyarden.com/2010/09/lives-not-statistics/):
"When you can look at this act with same gut wrenching horror as a six year old who just lost his teacher, you will be ready to make a real peace."

I echo the sentiments. I am a peacenik, meaning that I believe in peace. But not the peace that they are discussing in Washington. The concept of peace that we have been fed for all of these years is nothing more than conditions for a large-scale cease-fire.

Golda Meir, Israel's only female Prime Minister, once said:
"We can forgive you for killing our children, we cannot forgive you for turning our children into killers."

When both sides can feel this way, when both sides are looking for a solution so that they do not have to kill anymore, then we will be ready to have peace. Until then, Israel is merely looking for a way to protect her children from being killed, and the Palestinians are looking for a way to advance their cause for an independent state. At best, both sides are looking for security.

It's Gonna Be Alright?

For the reasons stated above, I cannot believe in a land for "peace" trade anymore. The Palestinian side has once more proved itself divided, its leadership unreliable. Negotiations in my mind can only end in a loss of land for Israel with nothing to gain.

What is the price of security? Or, for that matter, the saying "Im eshkachech Yerushalayim tishkach yemini?" ("If I forget thee, oh Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill"). Is a secure Israel without her holy sites and cities truly Israel?

Yesterday's victims and Yossi Shock, along with those in Chevron whose murders I learned about yesterday, died while settling the land. Nobody believes that this side of the "Green Line" is completely safe. No tremp (ride) leaves a yishuv without reciting tefillat ha'derech (the traveler's prayer) as soon as it reaches the main road. The act of hitchhiking is approached with caution and warning. Many, if not most, of the settlers are armed, and well trained in the use of a firearm. Every yishuv has a kitat konnenut, an emergency response squad, ready for any emergency. We are all aware of the dangers of living here, yet people continue to settle here. The stories that exist in the ground and the brick, the character that walked on the streets of Chevron and her surrounding hills- Kalev ben Yefuneh (Caleb the spy), David Ha'Melech (King David), and of course, our forefathers and mothers buried in Chevron- are the foundations of our religion. This land is priceless.

I do not confess to have a solution. It is clear to me though that the price being set in Washington is too great. Is it going to be alright? Will this be the last time that my friends and myself abandon our learning so that we may honor the deceased? My heart prays yes, but logic tells me no. And as much as I know that family and my friends worry, for now all I can do is increase my precautions; travel by armored bus, increase my vigilance, and pray, because the alternative in my mind is far worse.

May we know only smachot and a new year of happiness,
Yoni

Post Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut

Even before Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) this year my mind began to fill with the imagery. Flashbacks to that night in Bir Zeit; the houses, the sound of the gunshot. A panicked sprint back to the armored vehicle, with me shooting glances behind my shoulder every other second to make sure that there was nothing going on behind the squad. Elad, the Company commander speaking to us as we gathered around him in between the three armored transports, his voice on the verge of breaking as he somehow managed to keep his cool and explain to us what had happened.

In my first year in Israel I woke up late for the high-school's tekes (memorial ceremony). I managed to make it on time to ride with everyone to Har Hertzl, the national military cemetery in Jerusalem. As the siren went off, I stood with my friend in the entrance to the cemetery in silence, trying to connect; trying to appreciate what it was that these soldiers who we talked about in States year after year had done for the country I was finally leaving in. My teeth were still cracking from the strain of the new language that I had not yet mastered, and connecting was not an easy task. I walked around Har Hertzl trying to find a grave out of the thousands on which to lay the flowers I had been given at the entrance.

Six years later, but not quite a year after the events in Bir Zeit, my efforts to connect stopped. One of the most painful realizations is when you realize that you no longer need to try to connect- Yom HaZikaron has become a day where you must actively participate whether you want to or not. Going to Hartman for the high-school tekes, the traditional gathering of the alumni, is no longer the appropriate option. The "holiday" that the country declared in memory of the fallen becomes a full day off- so that you can travel the five hours round trip that you need in order to stand by the grave of your fallen friend and brother in arms.

Beginning with the songs of remembrance that I sang with my friends on Sunday night, Noam Levi Z"L, HY"D, was the only chalal (fallen soldier) that I could think of. While others read passages from over the years- eulogies, articles, other people's memories- I spoke about the friendship that was stolen from me just as it was beginning to bloom. Somehow, the little American with broken teeth had entered into the black bereaved military family of Israel, while most of his Israeli friends had not (which is something to thank G-d for-that there have been relatively so few deaths in recent years). There are some memberships that you never want to have.

Graveside, I was quiet and morose. But Noam Z"L's family is one that understands the value of life after tragedy. His mother invited us all back to their house after the ceremony for both physical and spiritual refreshments. We reminisced, telling stories and looking at pictures of our fallen hero. Friends from his community, school days, and of course the army. "Everybody here loves (Noam) and everybody here hurts," said his mother . His father told us about how Noam learned to speak Hebrew on the basketball court behind their newly built house. "Noam learned a lot about Hebrew and being Israeli on the court, but we had to clean him up a bit after every game. Not everything that you learn on the court is appropriate to bring back home with you."

Israel celebrated her 62nd birthday today, and you can be sure that I celebrated, but celebration in this country always comes with a price. In one week I will be back up North in Mitzpeh Netufa to commemorate the passing of the first year since Noam's death- a reminder that the war began in 1948 has yet to end. This year the move from "Evel l'yom tov," "Mourning to holiday," that happens between the two juxtaposing days (Memorial day in Israel is the day before Independence Day) was especially difficult, but the extraordinary loving embrace of the Levi family and of all of Noam's friends gave me the strength to move on.

As the last of the grills are extinguished, while the final bits of hamburger and beer from the traditional BBQ are digested in my stomach, I pray to G-d that we only know the good days from now on, and thank him for the few moments that I had to know someone like Noam Levi, who sacrificed his life so that we could celebrate today.

__________________________

________________________________________________________________
I realize that this is a heavy post. These were things that sat on my heart over the past couple of days and I did not yet have the chance for catharsis. Yom HaAtzmaut was of course meaningful and beautiful, and I would be remiss if I did not actively thank G-d for this gift, despite the tragic costs. Next year in a rebuilt and peace-filled Jerusalem!

love,
yoni

Light is in the air

Dear all,

Truthfully, my channukiah isn't such a beautiful channukiah. It's a series of eight blue ceramic balls plus a shamesh. I bought it because it was the cheapest one in the tourist trap store on the Sunday before Channukah, with one hour to catch the bus back to base. My love for it has grown ever since the first candle last year.

You may remember my email from last year. For me, Channukah with my soldiers was one of my most emotional moments as a mefaked. To stand before them and realize that I was leading a group of "Modern Maccabees" was an incredible experience. But even more so was the light from the first candle. In case you don't remember, last year I spent the first two nights in the "shetach," the training wilderness, pretending to be an enemy for miluimnikim (reservists) to "attack." I was sent down to the shetach with another machlaka for some reason that I don't remember, and upon finally reuniting with Glazel and the boys the first thing I did was light that little ceramic channukiah. The whole day had been wasted waiting for a way to go down to the shetach. We spent our time doing nothing, only to be moved to the shetach where we did more nothing, but this time in the cold. That one little candle, lit on the background of the dark expanse of the Negev made the whole day worth it. One tiny little light, an "or lishma," good for no purpose other than its own light, lit up my heart in such a way that thinking about it a year later still makes me feel warm.

There is a song in Israel, "Banu choshech l'garesh, b'yadeinu or v'aish. "Darkness, we have come to expel you, in our hands we hold light and fire." This is the first candle. The tiny flame, full of fight and, as Reb Shlomo teaches, shaking with yearning and desire, extinguishes the darkness. Suddenly there is what to hope for. Suddenly it doesn't matter where you are or what you are doing, life is bright. The first candle brings light ot the world and establishes a hope.

The second candle is just as special. Where the first creates a new reality, the second joins the first in that reality. For the first time the candles do not stand alone. Once there was one flame, a single entity, individual and special in its mission. Now there are two individual flames, but both of them work together to make even more light. Two flames, like two eyes, complementing each other and peering out through the darkness of the world. Little by little the light grows until eventually the channukiah fills up. Eight holy lights, "l'ma'alah min ha'teva," a level of existence above the natural(seven represents the highest natural state- shabbat etc.) fill the room with their light.

In Otniel we have been discussing the dynamics of the individual within a community. In the discussion that took place on Thursday in memory of members of the yeshiva that have been killed in various terror attacks over the eyars Rav Re'em stated that one who davens by himself and does not feel the need to daven with a community is sinning. Avodat Hashem, the worship of G-d, takes place in a unique way in every individual. There is special spark that each person holds. But the spark is no good on its own. A light that remains by itself, that is not joined by another light, that does not fill both its natural and supernatural purposes, is useless. As Rav Yehoshua Shapira, the Rosh Yeshiva of Ramat Gan, said on Thursday, a person who chooses his halachic standards and his ways of avodat hashem only according to what he feels is proper, one who neglects the accepted ways of the community, does not worship G-d. "Religion is the heroin of the masses," contains a partial truth. G-d is in the masses. Religion does not lie in one person's belief, rather in the people's belief, with each person contributing their spark to the greater fire. "Banu choshech l'garesh, b'yadeinu or v'eish." The song continues: "Kol echad hu or katan, v'kulanu or eitan." "Everyone is a small light, and altogether we are strong light."

May we all learn from the essence of the second candle and join each other in lighting our lives, our people, and the world.

Channuka Sameach!

love,

Yoni

The Simchat Torah Manifesto

"Drunk."
"Plastered."
"Smashed."

I could hear them whispering amongst themselves. Everyone in the Baron Hirsch Synagogue around my age was positive that I was wasted. That I had snuck over to the kiddush club and had a few too many sips of the Gentleman Jack that was being passed around. I was excited, singing, yelling, and all together feeling good.

But I hadn't touched a drop.

This was Simchat Torah of eleventh grade. Together with a couple of other friends, we were the last men standing on the dance floor. Clutching the sefer torah like a child to a teddy bear. Dancing ecstatically in celebration of the completion of the entire torah. I was on a natural high (and a sugar-low which probably accounted from some of my rowdiness), thrilled that we had once again read through our age old history and were about to restart the tradition, stronger than ever.

Simchat Torah should be this happy. Nothing is as central to our religion as the torah. The stories and commandments in it are the basis for everything the Jewish people stand for. But for some reason, the happiness of eleventh grade has faded. Every year I get excited for the chag, stoked and psyched for the incredible occasion. Waiting eagerly to dance with the sefer torah as one would dance with a bride and groom on their wedding day. Every year I am disappointed again.

At first I thought it was just me. I walked around the minyan telling people that it was strange, that I just couldn't connect despite a total mental appreciation of the holiday. There was just no connection between the idea to the act. My mind began the calculations. How long will this hakafa last? Multiply by seven. Add on kriat hatorah. While the chag moved on, more and more people let it be known that they felt the same way.

"This has become an exhausting holiday," I comment to a friend from the neighborhood.
"It's been that way for years," he responds.

"I can't connect, it's weird," I continue.
"Why is it weird? Who connects?"

Looking around the shul, both at the hipper and hippier Carlebach minyan, and at the standard family variation at Nitzanim in Baka, people are either schmoozing or boozing (when available). The hardcore chassidim at the Carlebach minyan go at it full strength, stopping only to wipe the sweat out of their eyes and hydrate themselves, but slowly and surely the numbers diminish.

Which leads me to the main point. How do we fix it? What do we need to do o reconnect to a beautiful holiday that has become misunderstood?

I would like to offer an alternative idea for next year. Grassroots, run by us for us (us being whoever wants in). Below I will offer some of my ideas. Please add yours, argue, discuss, and be in touch with me. This is not an effort for one person, and it will not center around one person's will, rather the will of many to have a meaningful Simchat Torah.


To make this work (organizationally speaking)
1) There should exist some form of committee to develop the idea of the minyan and work together to put the minyan into action.
2)All are welcome to the minyan, providing that they understand that it it Everyman's minyan, and this is what has been deemed for Everyman. There are no restrictions to age, gender etc. but all should be prepared to be part of a serious effort for a meaningful chag and understand that this comes with side effects (longer tefilla, shorter tefilla, strange songs, old songs, women's roles, lack of or access of alcohol- whatever is deemed necessary).
3)The minyan that I am discussing will take place in Israel, most probably in Jerusalem, but I would appreciate the ideas of friends from all over.

In my opinion:

Musically-
1) As is the tradition is Rav Raz's minyan in Nachlaot- one niggun (melody) per hakafa. A niggun is a powerful tool that needs time to open up. Much like a glass of wine that requires decanting until the maximum flavor is released, a niggun needs to be shaken around a bit until the power is released.
2) Spontaneity is important, but beginning the niggun on the wrong key restricts people from singing properly, and is, in my opinion, a major turn-off from the hakafa. Therefore I propose that people are designated as niggun starters who know how to pick a comfortable key for all. The niggun starters would also be responsible for ending the hakafa. As Rav Re'em once said, "You need to know how to end at the high, with the energy of the niggun in tact. If the energy is still there, keep coming. If you are going to lose it, end it while you still have it." (Of course this could also be an argument for more than one niggun per hakafa- the main point is not to feel compelled to jump from niggun to niggun. Discuss amongst yourselves.)
3) In addition, while not necessarily specifying every move, there should be a list of niggunim on hand so that those facing the task of beginning the niggun do not find themselves blanking and choosing poor key or what someone so aptly described as "80's pop hits" for niggunim as an emergency response. A good nigggun can last for hours.

Atmosphere-
1)Preparation. If there is time to prepare something about the chag and the meaning to say before the festivities it could be nice. Not necessarily some high-flying chassidishe torah, but a dvar torah or even a story that would put the meaning of the chag in perspective.
2)Drinking- Drinks should be allowed but limited. Clearly, unless a bar system is set up with tickets for donated drinks, this is a hard thing to do. The idea is that people should be allowed to come with alcohol and make a L'chayim with each other, but should bear in mind that the idea is to celebrate the Torah, not to get plastered to the point of confusing Moshe and Korach. It's not Purim. The chassid in me appreciates the importance of mashke to the chag, but hearing stories of grown men vomiting on the torah... enough said.
3)At some point during the day it would be nice to take it to the streets, as used to be done in Nitzanim. The chag is a national chag, and should not take place only within a bubble of people. If it would be possible to organize a rondeavouz with other minyanim, batei avot (assisted living centers) etc. for some of the hakafot, it could be a nice change of pace and a good way to celebrate with the entire nation.
4)The minyan should not be rushed, but should not drag on. As I mentioned before, it is important to know when to end. If everyone is up for more, keep going, if the people are getting tired, know how to cut the losses. With regards to time, the important thing is to have an appreciation for what you are doing and not to be afraid of "wasted time." The food will still be there when you get home. A decent amount of time can, and should, be spent on the celebration. It is a matter of making the celebration deserving of the time.
5) A torah should be available for the women's side of the mechitza. Personally, I am not opposed to a separate women's reading (although not well versed in sources, so before you bite my head off, let's learn together), but it would definitely complicate logistic issues such as acquisition of a torah and a place, not to mention that not everyone would be comfortable with the issue.

This is what I have for now. Remember that this is just my opinion and that I welcome discussion and new ideas. I think that it would be great if whoever was interested would get together at some point over the next year to discuss, present, and ultimately vote on ideas. I know that I am tired of being disappointed every year, and if nobody makes an effort, the disappointment will only continue. Feel free to pass this on both to English and Hebrew speaker (I flow easier in English, I apologize). Please be in touch, and may we have the zechut of redeeming the beauty of this holiday together.

-Yoni

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….

---

[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