At the beginning of Elul, the Hebrew month that precedes Rosh
HaShanah and begins a season of introspection and repentance, a friend asked me
a difficult question: What is the
significance of a specific day, once a year, on which we atone for our sins and
make amends to the people we have harmed, when ideally we take accountability
for our wrongdoing day by day as it happens? It’s a good question: What are
we doing here, tonight and tomorrow? What do we accomplish with a day of
prayer, fasting, and confession? How much power can a single day have to change
our lives, when weighed against the thousands of days that have passed and the
many days yet to come?
I’ve been considering my answer for the past month, and I’m ready
to weigh in. It begins with teaching
from Rabbi Joel Sirkes, also knows as the Bah, a Polish rabbi living at the
turn of the seventeenth century. One of the core practices of the Ten Days of Teshuvah is our asking forgiveness of
all people we have hurt, emotionally, physically, or financially, in the
previous year. The Bah acknowledges that, indeed, we ought to make these
apologies throughout the year, each
time we offend against another person. But at other times of the year, we may well put it off – “I’ll apologize
to her tomorrow.”[1] Sometimes we have a good
reason for this; perhaps we are waiting to see the person again, so we can
apologize in person; sometimes we need emotions to cool before we can address
the issue; maybe it takes us some time to really understand what it is we have
done wrong. Sometimes, we put off our apology because taking accountability
makes us uncomfortable, because we are ashamed to admit what we’ve done, or
because we hope to avoid the consequences of our actions. Often, we’re not the
only ones at fault and our pride resists our apologizing first.
Whatever the reason, the need to apologize and take responsibility
for our behavior remains a general
obligation; tomorrow or the next day are as good as today. But when I was in
Business School, they taught us that a commitment without a deadline doesn’t
count – without a due date, there is no accountability. When it comes to
reconciliation, Yom Kippur is that deadline. Just this once, tomorrow is not
the same as today.
On this day, the Heavenly Court will assemble to judge each of us
and the Jewish People as a whole; and we must ask, what will be entered into
evidence?
A midrash imagines the Prosecuting Angel coming forward, ready to
present his case to the Master of the World, only to find that we have made
peace among ourselves; we have settled our accounts, cleared away any traces of
wrongdoing, and now stand like angels: pure, holy, at peace with others and
with ourselves. The Prosecuting Angel then has no choice but to concede our
virtue – and how could the True Judge not be convinced by the Prosecutor’s concession?[2] It was for that reason that I asked you, at the
start of the evening, to forgive even those people who haven’t asked your
forgiveness: so that we might make our peace before the Heavenly Court convenes.
The deadline of Yom Kippur keeps us accountable.
Still, even if we succeed at making amends and clearing our
conscience before Yom Kippur, how much will a single day do for us? More than
you might think.
The Hasidic Rebbe of Chernobyl, a disciple of the Ba’al Shem Tov,
places great emphasis on something we know from basic life experience: no human
being can maintain a given emotional or spiritual state indefinitely.[3] Whatever we feel today, for
better or for worse, we can expect that it will change soon enough. However
much we might feel today, on Yom
Kippur, that we’re getting ourselves together and coming closer to living by
our ideals, we know it won’t last forever. Sooner or later we’ll slip up.
The Chernobyler Rebbe explicitly acknowledges that we can’t hold
on to our spiritual growth forever; that’s just part of being human. But that doesn’t mean our striving to grow and
improve, on this day or any other, is in vain. On the contrary, the very
temporary experience of Yom Kippur – living, for just one day, like an angel –
becomes the key to change later in
the year and throughout life. The Chernobyler Rebbe teaches that each
experience we have in life, however fleeting, makes an impression on us; and
when the initial feeling goes, it doesn’t leave completely. The imprint of our
past experiences stays with us, creating in us the capacity to find those
things again.[4] In this moment, I have made
amends for the mistakes of the past year; I have forgiven those who hurt me. I
am at peace with one and all, angelic in my purity. And when, later this week
or next week or in a few months, I slip up – I won’t be completely lost. Having
felt, even just this once, what it means to be pure, to be free, to be at
peace, I can find my way back again.
In just a moment, we’ll begin the selichot service, prayers of forgiveness and confession. As we
proceed through these prayers, some more familiar than others, what impression
will be left on our souls and psyches? What experiences do we want to carry
with us when Yom Kippur is over, to guide us through the year? Tonight, even if it is just for tonight, let us
be as angels.
