Yom Hakkipurim is a day of ideologically conflicting motifs: on the one hand, we afflict ourselves by neither eating, drinking nor bathing, but on the other hand, we feel great joy in that this is the day when "G-d will forgive us for all our sins in order to purify us"; on the one hand, it is a majestic day when we invoke the High Priest of the Holy Temple in all of his regal and ritual splendor, and on the other hand, we ourselves are garbed in white reminiscent of white shrouds and seem totally cut off from the physical world of earthly pleasures.
From a certain perspective, we seem to be transported into another world, a world which is starkly white ? in addition to white kippot and white dress of the individual congregants, there is also the white cover of the Holy Ark and the white "dresses" of the Torah Scrolls ? and a world which seems to almost be a taste of the other World to Come, the world of souls removed from their bodily encasements.
Both our law and liturgy enforce the otherworldly feeling engendered on this holy day. The great Ashkenazi devisor Rabbi Moshe Isserles (16th century), records in his halakhic code that before the onset of Kol Nidre evening every individual ought light a candle for him- or herself as well as for those parents who have died; it is as though each of us is preparing to enter the world of those who have departed and to spend the next 25 hours with them.
Indeed, the Sefardim of Mediterranean origin only recite memorial prayers for the departed on Kol Nidre eve, unlike the Ashkenazi Jews who recite those prayers of Yizkor on Yom Kippur day as well as on pilgrimage festivals. It is as though the curtain that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead has suddenly been removed, and all the generations are conjoining together before the presence of the Divine.
In a very fundamental way, the Biblical words we read last week seem to define the Yom Kippur experience I have just described:
When the Talmud in Tractate Rosh HaShanah queries why we do not recite the Hallel psalms of praise on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, our sages respond, "The books of the living and the dead are open before G-d and you wish to sing songs of praise?" Note well that our sages did not say the book of life and death, but rather the book of the living and the dead.
The Jewish nation at its very birth was given a Divine mission to bring the message of the G-d of justice, compassion and peace to the entire world. This mission can only be carried out during the lengthy historical process of world development; this mission can only succeed as a result of the cumulative cooperation of the march of the generations. An inspiring word at the right time from a parent or a teacher can change a child's life and result in a descendant of that child who can become a great Jewish leader; a wrong word at the wrong time can produce the opposite. Our deeds can therefore influence the Divine judgment upon the generations who came before us, hopefully to their credit, but sometimes to their debit.
It is for this reason that all generations stand together before G-d on this Holy Day of Judgment and Atonement, of assessment and purification. Therefore, in our confessional we cry out, "We and our forbears (avoteinu) have sinned" - and we seek forgiveness for them as well. Did we not cry out to G-d on Rosh HaShanah, "You remember the deeds of the world for ever and you gave a specific function to every creative being from the ancient times." On Yom Kippur, we must recognize the interdependence of the generations, our heritage from the past and our responsibility for the future; we are being given the opportunity to redeem ourselves as well as our past generations through our repentance.
Postscript
Exactly ten years ago, a young man with a heavy European accent appeared at my doorstep on a summer Friday afternoon and asked me to convert him to Judaism. I invited him to stay for Shabbat, and he introduced himself as the great-grandson of Rabbi Israel Zolli, who had been appointed Chief Rabbi of Rome in 1939. The Nazis took over the city in September of 1943 and Rabbi Zolli hid out in the Vatican. For reasons clouded in mystery, he, together with his wife and daughter Miriam, converted to Christianity on February 14, 1945.
One of my students prepared this young man for conversion and he moved to a religious kibbutz in northern Israel. Two years later, he came to me with his bride-to-be, asked me to perform their marriage ceremony, but stipulated that it be in his great-grandfather's synagogue in Rome.
The matrimonial service was the most moving of my career and it took place only a few days before Yom Kippur. As I intoned the final of the seven nuptial blessings, "Shall yet be heard in the streets of Judea and the great places of Jerusalem the sounds of joy and the sounds of happiness, the sounds of a groom and the sounds of a bride," the groom shouted out:
From a certain perspective, we seem to be transported into another world, a world which is starkly white ? in addition to white kippot and white dress of the individual congregants, there is also the white cover of the Holy Ark and the white "dresses" of the Torah Scrolls ? and a world which seems to almost be a taste of the other World to Come, the world of souls removed from their bodily encasements.
Both our law and liturgy enforce the otherworldly feeling engendered on this holy day. The great Ashkenazi devisor Rabbi Moshe Isserles (16th century), records in his halakhic code that before the onset of Kol Nidre evening every individual ought light a candle for him- or herself as well as for those parents who have died; it is as though each of us is preparing to enter the world of those who have departed and to spend the next 25 hours with them.
Indeed, the Sefardim of Mediterranean origin only recite memorial prayers for the departed on Kol Nidre eve, unlike the Ashkenazi Jews who recite those prayers of Yizkor on Yom Kippur day as well as on pilgrimage festivals. It is as though the curtain that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead has suddenly been removed, and all the generations are conjoining together before the presence of the Divine.
In a very fundamental way, the Biblical words we read last week seem to define the Yom Kippur experience I have just described:
You are standing this day all of you before the Lord your G-d, the heads of your tribes, your elders, your officers, every person of Israel, from the choppers of your wood, to the drawers of your waters as you pass before the Covenant of the Lord your G-d. And not with you alone do I make this Covenant, but with those who are here with us standing today before the Lord our G-d, as well as with those who are not here with us this day.We seem to be transported into the eternal world of the historic Jewish community, a world in which we have an opportunity to grasp the hands of those who have come before us and to prepare the way for those who are to come after us. Yom Kippur does transport us into another world, but not to the world of the dead, rather to the world of eternal life. This veil of eternity does not bring with it melancholy loss, but rather provides for eternal opportunity.
When the Talmud in Tractate Rosh HaShanah queries why we do not recite the Hallel psalms of praise on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, our sages respond, "The books of the living and the dead are open before G-d and you wish to sing songs of praise?" Note well that our sages did not say the book of life and death, but rather the book of the living and the dead.
The Jewish nation at its very birth was given a Divine mission to bring the message of the G-d of justice, compassion and peace to the entire world. This mission can only be carried out during the lengthy historical process of world development; this mission can only succeed as a result of the cumulative cooperation of the march of the generations. An inspiring word at the right time from a parent or a teacher can change a child's life and result in a descendant of that child who can become a great Jewish leader; a wrong word at the wrong time can produce the opposite. Our deeds can therefore influence the Divine judgment upon the generations who came before us, hopefully to their credit, but sometimes to their debit.
It is for this reason that all generations stand together before G-d on this Holy Day of Judgment and Atonement, of assessment and purification. Therefore, in our confessional we cry out, "We and our forbears (avoteinu) have sinned" - and we seek forgiveness for them as well. Did we not cry out to G-d on Rosh HaShanah, "You remember the deeds of the world for ever and you gave a specific function to every creative being from the ancient times." On Yom Kippur, we must recognize the interdependence of the generations, our heritage from the past and our responsibility for the future; we are being given the opportunity to redeem ourselves as well as our past generations through our repentance.
Postscript
Exactly ten years ago, a young man with a heavy European accent appeared at my doorstep on a summer Friday afternoon and asked me to convert him to Judaism. I invited him to stay for Shabbat, and he introduced himself as the great-grandson of Rabbi Israel Zolli, who had been appointed Chief Rabbi of Rome in 1939. The Nazis took over the city in September of 1943 and Rabbi Zolli hid out in the Vatican. For reasons clouded in mystery, he, together with his wife and daughter Miriam, converted to Christianity on February 14, 1945.
One of my students prepared this young man for conversion and he moved to a religious kibbutz in northern Israel. Two years later, he came to me with his bride-to-be, asked me to perform their marriage ceremony, but stipulated that it be in his great-grandfather's synagogue in Rome.
The matrimonial service was the most moving of my career and it took place only a few days before Yom Kippur. As I intoned the final of the seven nuptial blessings, "Shall yet be heard in the streets of Judea and the great places of Jerusalem the sounds of joy and the sounds of happiness, the sounds of a groom and the sounds of a bride," the groom shouted out:
Great-grandfather, do you hear these words? I wanted to come here to get married because I wanted to be a 'repair,' a tikkun, for your soul. You did not believe that these words would ever come to pass. You apparently thought that Judaism had been destroyed by the Nazi hordes. But you were wrong. I am the proof that you are wrong. I have come back, and since a great part of my returning is because of you, I have brought you back with me. Grandfather, the Eternal One of Israel does not speak falsehood. Grandfather, the nation of Israel lives!