[Congressional Record Volume 166, Number 171 (Thursday, October 1, 2020)]
[Senate]
[Pages S6021-S6022]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
YOM KIPPUR
Mr. LEAHY. Mr. President, Rabbi Michael Cohen is a longtime friend of
Marcelle and me. He occasionally sends me a Sunday sermon, which I
thoroughly enjoy and share with family members. Following a week of
mourning the passing of Justice Ginsburg, it was comforting to have
this sermon to read after church this last Sunday.
I ask unanimous consent that this sermon be printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
[From the Jerusalem Post, Sept. 24, 2020]
The Echoes of Yom Kippur
(By Rabbi Michael M. Cohen)
When the gates of heaven close during the Ne'ila service of
Yom Kippur, many of us put the avodah, the work, of Yom
Kippur behind us. But that is an illusion. As the expression
goes, when one door closes, another opens.
Commentating on the Kol Nidre service at the beginning of
Yom Kippur, when the gates are open wide, Rabbi Max Arzt
teaches the goal of Yom Kippur is, ``to lessen the distance
between what we are and what we ought to be.''
If the long day of introspection has worked, then at Ne'ila
those gates close on who we were and open to a lighter,
better and more refined version of who we are.
But that too is an illusion. It is a fleeting moment of
personal triumph. Like the sunset that gives way to the
night, the dawn to the morning, the moon and its phases, the
high tide and the low tide; stasis is not derech haolam, the
way of the world.
Each morning the siddur, the prayer book, reminds us, ``Day
after day You renew creation.'' In that unfolding story we
are, truth be told, composed of stardust. Most of the
elements of our bodies originated in stars and the Big Bang.
Like the rest of the universe, our course is one of
continual renewal. Yom Kippur highlights that awareness and
the work we began on Rosh Hodesh Elul, the beginning of the
month of Elul, 40 days earlier. Our work reaches a higher
level on Rosh Hashanah and the Ten Days of Repentance, aseret
yomei teshuva, culminating with Yom Kippur.
Those 40 days parallel the period when Moses returned to
Mount Sinai to receive the second set of tablets following
the incident of the Golden Calf. Moses, Moshe rabbeinu, Moses
our teacher, literally models teshuva, repentance, return,
when after the first tablets lay shattered at his feet he
turned around and returned to once again climb Mount Sinai.
We are no different, as the echo of Yom Kippur is always
with us, pushing us to climb the mountain all year long. Yom
Kippur Katan, the small Yom Kippur, observed by some in most
months on the day preceding Rosh Hodesh, is one of those
echoes. It includes a daylight-hours' fast and special
liturgy.
Rabbi Shefa Gold elucidates the origins of Yom Kippur
Katan, teaching, ``Kabbalists were moon watchers. The lenses
through which they gazed were intensely focused on issues of
exile and redemption. And so as the moon waned, the exile of
the Shechina (the Divine Presence) was noted and mourned.
With the moon's return came the celebration of the miracle
of redemption, a redemption that could be tasted and known
but briefly before the cycle of exile continued. They based
their custom on a legend that was recorded in the Babylonian
Talmud in which God says to Israel, ``Bring atonement upon me
for making the moon smaller.'' (Hullin 60b) THAT EPISODE in
the Talmud is fascinating in and of itself. There God admits
after God made the moon smaller than the sun that God had
wronged the moon, and because of that God needed to do
teshuva! Implied within that radical text: If God can admit
to wrongdoing and address transgression, who are we not to?
In addition to Yom Kippur Katan, another echo of Yom Kippur
is the sixth paragraph of the weekday Amidah prayer. There we
say the confessional selach lanu, forgive us, in the same
manner that we say the confessional prayers ashamnu and al
chet of Yom Kippur. Interspersed within the al chet Yom
Kippur liturgy itself we also say selach lanu as we do during
the rest of the year: ``Ve'al kulam eloha selichot selach
lanu. Mechal lanu. Kaper lanu,'' And for them all, God of
forgiveness, please forgive, pardon us, help us atone.'' The
selach lanu paragraph follows the fourth and fifth paragraphs
of the Amidah. We first ask for binah, understanding,
including self-understanding, so we can ask in the next
prayer for help with teshuvah, repentance. There is a logic
within the order of the Amidah: first self-understanding
followed by repentance, and only then forgiveness.
Three times a day the weekday Amidah is said. This means
three times a day--evening, morning, and afternoon--we ask
for forgiveness. In Judaism there is the concept of not
saying a bracha levatala, a blessing whose purpose is not
going to be fulfilled. This means that when we ask for
forgiveness throughout the day there is the implied
understanding, since we can't say the bracha in vain, that we
did something wrong in the morning, afternoon and evening.
For some this is proof Judaism is a religion of guilt.
Rabbi Art Green teaches the opposite when he says that
Judaism is actually about guilt relief. This system provides
us precious moments throughout the day to check in with
ourselves and recalibrate as needed.
Elaborating, Rabbi Daniel Kamesar, z''l (of blessed
memory), looks to the past daily sacrificial system of the
Temple in Jerusalem as a model for that guilt relief when we
would bring a chatat or an asham offering as expiation for
our wrong choices, for missing the mark. Watching the smoke
rise heavenly could be a cathartic, like watching the
breadcrumbs of the Tashlich service float downstream away
from us.
``Burn it up and let it go,'' Daniel points out. ``Most
therapists are trying desperately to help us achieve that.''
[[Page S6022]]
While we are talking about the echoes of Yom Kippur
throughout the year, we also note on Yom Kippur itself we
have echoes of the Temple service. The chatat offering became
the al chet prayer, and the asham offering became the ashamnu
of the Yom Kippur liturgy.
One of the most profound moments in our daily prayer life
emanates from the Ne'ila service. The Talmud (Yoma 87b)
discusses the wording for the service. Shmuel and Ulla bar
Rav suggest we say, ``What are we? What is our life? What is
our kindness? What is our righteousness? What is our
salvation? What is our power? What is our might?'' THOSE
QUESTIONS eventually migrated into the daily morning prayers
of the siddur. In the context of the Talmud and the siddur
they are traditionally understood as questions arising from a
sense of ``our iniquities too many to count,'' as Rav Judah
states.
However, they can also be read as seven existential
questions addressing the essence of our lives. We start by
asking, ``What are we?'' The ultimate question, but in some
ways too immense to answer, and so we fine tune and arrive
at, ``What is our life?'' That is to say, what do we do with
our lives, this precious gift? We want to define who we are.
To answer that question, we realize our lives are measured by
how we treat others, and so we ask, ``What is our kindness?''
and ``What is our righteousness?'' In other words, what care
and consideration do we bring to others, and in a broader
social reach, how do we strengthen justice in our communities
and the world?
Our lives are also measured and grounded by our inner
spiritual lives, and so we ask, ``What is our salvation?''
Answering and living by the answers to these questions takes
energy, and so we conclude by asking, ``What is our power?
What is our might?''
While they are the final questions, they are both
cautionary, giving us pause to think how we use our strength
and efficacy while at the same time reminding us that we have
agency.
There is another lesson with these questions. Only the
first two actually appear in the Talmud. As the scholar of
Jewish liturgy Lawrence Hoffman points out, ``Frequently,
prayers were ad libbed. They began with a starting point,
like Mah anu? Mah chayeinu? What are we? What is our life?
But they then moved in whatever direction the prayer leader
preferred. It could be made up on the spot. What was done one
year would not have been the same as in later years. There
were no ``right'' and ``wrong'' as we think of them.
``Right'' was just making up the prayer and delivering it
on the proper theme, with, ideally, some biblical texts to
support the idea. Congregants would recognize the biblical
support and nod in recognition. So the Talmudic writer of
this section might have had his own practice in mind, or no
practice in mind at all, other than the idea that we start
with the citation in question, and then develop the theme in
a way that makes sense at the time.
Such a process invites us to go deeper than the printed
words on the page of the siddur. It asks us to drink from the
essence of its message. What a liberating, creative,
empowering approach; an approach with immense responsibility
as well.
Ne'ila metaphorically suggests the gates of heaven close at
the end of Yom Kippur, while at the same time we remember
those daily Yom Kippur touch points and messages throughout
the year. They remind us throughout the year that we always
have the gift and opportunity to improve who we are, as well
as to repair our shared world.
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