On a Personal Note
Rabbi Shira Freidlin, Yom Kippur Morning, 2023
The purpose of the High Holy Days is to help encourage what is buried deep within our hearts and minds to rise-up to our consciousness, so we can begin to integrate it into the fullness of ourselves. During this season we take a Heshbon HaNefesh, an accounting of our souls. We practice honesty with ourselves, about ourselves. We imagine or acknowledge, that we are staring death in the face. We remember that any day, any moment, could be our last. Today is the last push to get our new observations, our fresh apologies, our promises to ourselves and others through the Gates. We are meant to imagine the Gates of Heaven slowly closing, minute by minute, as the sun sets lower and lower. Can we get our prayers through to God’s ears? Can we ensure that our upcoming year will be one focused on increasing the good in the world before the gates slam shut? Can we recognize our own fragility and still commit to move forward, to keep growing? You may feel that ten days, the days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, aren’t enough to properly do the job.
During the chilling Un’taneh Tokef Prayer we ask, “How many will pass away from this world and how many will be born into it; who will live and who will die; who will reach the ripeness of age, who will be taken before their time?” but what we mean is, “Will I live, or will I die?” Will I reach the ripeness of old age or will I be taken before my time.” The paralyzing answer is “yes.” Should we live just one more day or until 120, we will die, and it will be too soon. What are we supposed to do about that?
Do we push away the knowledge of our own mortality? Do we focus on it exclusively until we brood through days like Hamlet, “To be or not to be” that is not the question. Not in Judaism. In our tradition, God chooses if, and when, we are to be, and when we will cease to be. Our job is to serve the Good that created us. We are taught, “it is not our job to finish the task. Our job is to leave the world a little better than it was when we entered it.” The question is: What do we do with the limited time we have?
As we sit here during Yom Kippur services, we contemplate, if this were my last day on Earth, how would I spend it? For some of us, the question is more imminent than for others. For some of us, though one never knows, this feels like a theoretical exercise. For some of us, it does not. Regardless, we sit here as one community, whether we are in the room together or in the larger tent of our online community, we are together in this common vulnerability. Whether there is someone sitting right beside us or not, we can all take a hand, whether it’s another’s or our own, we can say, “I’m here now. I’m here today.” And it’s a beautiful thing.
It is traditional on Yom Kippur to wear white. In some communities, worshipers wear kittles, white shrouds that are worn both under the wedding canopy and as death shrouds as we are laid to rest. White is a sign of purity or holiness, whether it be the holiness of marriage, or the holiness of rejoining the Divine after death. In Hebrew, Kadosh, the word for Holy, means to set apart. Today, whether we wear white or not, we are each of us set apart to contemplate the purpose of our lives.
When we allow ourselves to sit with our fear and discomfort about our own fragility, we open ourselves up to confront additional fears that we might also be pushing down. Is it possible to process all these fears in one 25-hour period? One ten-day period? Of course not.
As a pulpit rabbi, I have been focused on the High Holy Days for months. I’ve been staring at my own fragility since March. You can already tell what I’m afraid of if you’ve been listening. I’m afraid that we will let the lure of comfort and convenience destroy our relationships and our community. I’m afraid that we will forget to reach out to our friends for support, that we will forget to cultivate new friendships.
I’m concerned that our expectation of growth is that it’s easy, and that if we hurt, we think we’re doing something wrong, that we’re breaking and not transforming. I’m concerned that our difficulty recognizing growth as growth will stunt our growth! I’m concerned that our ideas of success are based on outdated models which occlude our ability to see the significant markers of our success.
I’m worried that we will abdicate our responsibility as God’s partners to re-create the world every year, every day, every minute. I’m worried that we won’t recognize the power that we have to affect transformation and that we will squander our precious resources, our precious community. I’m afraid we’ll give up before finding the next best way to transform ourselves into what comes next. I’m afraid our community will die. I’m afraid you will die. I’m afraid I will die. It’s dark. Yom Kippur is dark. It’s supposed to be dark. It’s supposed to be the Yomim Nora’im, the Days of Awe, the Days of Terror.
You know what’s really great about terror? It’s unsustainable. As human beings our bodies literally can’t sustain the adrenaline, the increasing heart rate, pumping blood, the laser focus, all of it. It passes. Just like the Gates of Heaven. They close. We sit in this awe today. We sit in this terror today. Judaism doesn’t demand that we recite the Un’taneh Tokef every day! The Gates of Heaven will close this year after Ne’ilah just like they do every year, and we will sing out with hope.
I hope and I plan to choose inconvenience over comfort, to dedicate myself to growing our beautiful community, with you. I hop and I plan to recognize and appreciate our transformation into a Santa Monica Synagogue in which we can continue to take pride, with you. I hope and I plan to continue to be God’s partner in re-creating our beautiful world, with you.
The Gates of Heaven will close this year after Ne’ilah just like they do every year and this coming Shabbat evening, we will be back in the Santa Monica Synagogue sanctuary, welcoming in the Sabbath bride, rejoicing with gratitude and joy again. Today, we give ourselves time to sit with what is difficult; then, the day ends, and we raise the Kiddush cup and celebrate the life that we have, this day that we have, with all its sweetness and beauty. May you have an easy and meaningful fast and may you be sealed for Good in the Book of Life.