“As for man, he comes from dust and shall return to dust … At the cost of life, he earns his bread. Man is like … withering grass … a fading flower, a passing shadow …”
Powerful, sobering images, even if you’re riding high.
Jewish lore tells us that the author, Kolonymos Ben Meshulam, a scholar-poet of a family of scholar-poets, and a leader of the Jewish community of Mainz, Germany in the eleventh century, was called in by the officers of the German court and was offered a choice: convert or die. In fear, and thinking to mollify them temporarily, he said, “Let me consider it for three days.” No sooner had the words left his mouth, than he regretted it. Sick at heart with what he felt to be great weakness and failure at that moment—to even suggest for an instant that he would consider conversion instead of martyrdom—he returned three days later and requested martyrdom. They cut off his arms and legs. He was carried into the synagogue on a stretcher, and before he expired from his bleeding wounds, he recited the Netaneh Tokef. Poor, poor Kolonymos. The hearts of thousands upon thousands of Jews in every corner of the world, in every year since his death, have gone out to Kolonymos, hearts that fill with pride and grief as they think about this humble, towering keeper-of-the-faith. These are the kinds of things Jews think about as they sit/stand in shul a long, long Rosh Hashanah morning, and hope and pray that next year they and their families will be healthier, smarter, richer, happier, alive...
TASHLICH
In the afternoon, between Minchah and Maariv, the ritual of Tashlich takes place. Tashlich, which means literally “and you shall cast,” is one of those ceremonies that, if I saw someone else doing it, I would say, “superstition,” but when we do it, I say, “symbolism.” Orthodox, and some Conservative and Reform Jewish congregations as well, go to the water’s edge or to where a live body of water is within sight. Standing there they recite a prayer, and symbolically throw their sins into the water. Among other prayers, we recite the last three verses of Micah which include the passage, “And You will cast [Ve’Tashlich] all the sins into the depths of the sea” (7:19).
Why the sea? (1) Water is a purifier. (2) In the expansive sea, there’s no danger of our sins being dredged up again. (3) Fish don’t gossip. They’ll know but they won’t tell. Were the Rabbis serious when they offered this third interpretation? I don’t know.
When I was a teenager, my family lived near the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. We used to put a few bits of bread into our pockets as we left for Tashlich, and then throw these into the ocean after saying the Tashlich prayer. Now Jews don’t really believe we can throw away our sins just by emptying our pockets, or making a tossing gesture. Tashlich is simply one more symbol to generate a desire within all of us to rid ourselves of sinful ways and to ask God to forgive us if we have done wrong.
Tashlich, like many religious ceremonies, serves a strong social function. This was not the original intent, but it is one of the important by-products. In dense Jewish communities, such as New York’s Boro Park, Flatbush, and Kew Gardens, the water’s edges are filled with young people saying Tashlich and then getting to other important business, that is, meeting socially. I am sure there must be several dozen Tashlich couples every year, which is perhaps one of the nicest things one can say about a religious ritual.
If the first day of Rosh Hashanah comes out on Shabbat, we have Tashlich the second day. One other thing about Rosh Hashanah coinciding with Shabbat: we do not blow the shofar.
THE SECOND HALF
The second day of Rosh Hashanah—or rather the second part of the extended day—still has its own ritual candlelighting, Kiddush, hamotzi, festive meal, prayer service, and so forth. The Rabbis took the blessings and the mention of God’s name very seriously; they did not want these to become light and easy matters. So an important principle was laid down: no superfluous blessings. But there was some ambivalence over saying Shehecheyanu on the second night at candlelighting and then again at Kiddush. Was Rosh Hashanah two days, or wasn’t it? Should they, or shouldn’t they? Only God knows for sure. So the rabbinic resolution was to introduce a new substance altogether, to cover all bets. For women who lit the candles, the recommendation was that she wear a new article of clothing the second night of Rosh Hashanah. For Kiddush, they suggested a brand-new fruit, one that is somewhat unusual or new, and would not have been eaten that season. If Rosh Hashanah was one long day (over which the Shehecheyanu had been recited the previous night), Shehecheyanu would apply to the new dress or fruit. If, on the other hand, Rosh Hashanah was actually two days, the Shehecheyanu would appropriately apply to candlelighting and Kiddush of the second day. God may, so to speak, take His choice.
Rosh Hashanah is concluded with the Havdalah service for festivals.
THE FAST OF GEDALIAH
Even though we have eaten very well all during Rosh Hashanah, and barely feel like eating dinner after the holiday is over, members of an Orthodox household will nevertheless sit down to a very late repast. Light, perhaps, but late. The reason for this is to prepare for the fast that begins at dawn the next morning. Tzom Gedaliah, the fast of Gedaliah, commemorates his tragic death in the sixth century B.C.E. Gedaliah was a governor of Judea who was murdered by misguided fellow citizens. With his death, the last Jewish community living in Israel after the destruction of the first Holy Temple was dispersed. In mourning over the exile, the Rabbis decreed that the day be a public fast. So, today, many Orthodox Jews fast in his memory.
In our house, it has become a decadent but loving custom for mother to take meals to the younger ones on a tray in bed at around midnight: a bowl of cream of mushroom soup, hot spaghetti, cheese, and a banana malted. There’s absolutely no religious symbolism to these foods. It’s just that I imagine these to be stick-to-the-ribs food, to help them get through the next day a bit easier.
TEN DAYS OF REPENTANCE
In addition to Selichot, on these intermediate days, it is also time to tidy up the loose ends of repentance. There are four steps to repentance, a matter of learning the four Rs:
Recognition of having done wrong.
Regret.
Resolution not to repeat.
Restraining oneself in the face of the same temptation or opportunity that previously led to wrongdoing. This fourth and final step can be taken, of course, only as the situation presents itself.
For those who didn’t make good use of the month of Elul, the Ten Days of Repentance are like a crash program.
SHABBAT SHUVA
Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shuva, the Sabbath of Return. It’s customary for the rabbi not to give a sermon (at least, not a full-scale one) in the morning, but to save all his energy for a major presentation in the afternoon, to show his most learned and scholarly stuff. It used to be that in Europe, the rabbi spoke only twice a year—once on Passover and once on Shabbat Shuva. The rabbi studied all year instead of giving sermons. Now in this single discourse the congregation would see how much he had accomplished in six months of learning.
The story goes that in a good-sized shtetl in Poland there was a rabbi who was a very great scholar. It was his custom to give a three-hour discourse on the most esoteric Talmudic point. The sooner the congregation lost him, the more proud of him they were, for it showed his scholarship had outdistanced theirs during the half year.
One year it happened that the president of the congregation was out of town on Shabbat Shuva. When he returned, he apologized to the rabbi for his absence. The rabbi immediately offered to repeat his discourse. “Oh, no, Rabbi, I’m not worthy,” said the tired president. “Ah, but you are most worthy,” said the innocent rabbi, and proceeded to repeat his learned discourse. After two hours, the president interrupted. “But, Rabbi,” he said, “tell me, what difference does it make?” The rabbi was stunned. “My dear fellow, you are no doubt referring to an objection to my point raised by great scholars. I left it out of my discourse because I thought people could never follow this. No one ever asked such a brillia
nt question before!” The rabbi then commented for an extra hour on this fine point that had been raised. After the hour, the president again said, “Tell me, Rabbi, what is the difference?” The rabbi gasped. “My God! I never knew what a fine mind you had! Surely you must be referring to the complex Talmudic issue of Rabbi Ploni Almoni.” And the rabbi proceeded in exquisite detail to respond further to the president’s question. An hour later, the president interrupted again. “Rabbi, please tell me, what is the difference?” The rabbi looked a little bewildered. “Mr. President,” he said, “the first time I understood your question to be the brilliant question posed by our sages. The second time, you asked an important detail posed by yet another scholar. But tell me, I am confused; I don’t understand your question this third time.” The president said, “Rabbi, all I was trying to say was, what is the difference if you talk to me or you talk to the wall?”
Of course, despite all this abstruseness, congregations were moved to repentance. Today, on the other hand, despite brilliant, persuasive talks from highly skilled rabbis who speak weekly, few people change their lives and are “born again.” The conclusion is that it is not the rabbi-speaker who moves the congregation. It is the congregation which creates and absorbs the rabbi’s impact. But a day such as Shabbat Shuva provides the opportunity for this to happen.
Yom Kippur
Of all the holidays, Yom Kippur is probably the most widely known and most widely observed in the Jewish calendar. Non-Jews, who might know nothing else about Judaism, know about Yom Kippur. Several years ago, in the spring, I was in Sam Goody’s record shop in Yonkers, New York, with Moshe who was wearing his kepah as always. Three Irish-looking teenagers were coming from the opposite direction. As they passed Moshe and saw his kepah, they said, “Yon Kipper,” and laughed.
Yom Kippur is certainly the most solemn day of the year, but it is not sad or even somber. It took a long while for me to understand that distinction. Yom Kippur, in the life of a person who enjoys life and good health, can be a hopeful day despite the fast and abstinence. There are moments of pensiveness, of reflection, remorse, guilt, and fear, but why should there also not be an optimism that God will bless us with good? Even for those who have suffered, the proper mood is one of life overcoming death, hope overcoming despair, forgiveness overcoming rancor, good overcoming evil. The thought of starting with a clean slate, or of having an opportunity to continue to build up one’s life, can be exhilarating.
EREV YOM KIPPUR PREPARATIONS
An erev Yom Kippur custom, observed only by males, is a visit to the mikvah for ritual immersion. In Temple times, men would immerse themselves in the mikvah with some frequency. However, after the Temple was destroyed in the year 70 C.E., the need to be ritually pure for access to the Temple no longer obtained. Thus, men no longer went to the mikvah to purify themselves. On erev Yom Kippur, however, when there is a desire to come into the holy day with as much purity as possible, some males do go to the mikvah.
Unlike most holidays, when Minchah and Maariv are back to back, Minchah of erev Yom Kippur has its own special slot. Attended mostly by males, it is different from the usual weekday Minchah in that the Viddui, the confessions of sins, is recited. Also unlike a weekday Minchah, men and boys come attired in their holiday clothes.
KAPPAROT
Kapparot is a strange custom by any stretch of the modern imagination, or medieval imagination, for that matter; some medieval scholars labeled kapparot “magical” or “Amorite” (pagan ways, a bad label in Jewish scholarly circles). However, the kapparot ritual is so far out that it’s in!
Here’s what you will see in a very traditional neighborhood: the father will bring home a live rooster, or hen, or chicken, or he will take his family to the local chicken market or kosher butcher. Bird in hand, he will twirl it three times over the head of each member of the family, saying the following: “This is in exchange for you. This is in place of you. This is your atonement. This rooster (chicken, or whatever) will go to its death, but you will go on to a good and long life and to peace.” Afterward, the least squeamish child in the family will run off with the live bird to the shochet, who slaughters it ritually and gives it to the poor as tzedakah (charity).
The word kapparot comes from the same root as Kippur—“atonement.” The animal symbolically atones for the individual, just as the ancient Yom Kippur scapegoat sacrifice atoned for all the community.
People also do kapparot with live fish. In our home we do kapparot with money, which is dedicated to charity. (There are no roosters around, and I don’t think I’d want a live carp swimming in the bathtub until we needed it.) Meanwhile, like many Orthodox Jews, we twirl a few bills over the head of each child and each other, while reciting the appropriate formula. During our prefast dinner, we determine the charities to which we shall contribute the money.
Holiday themes have a way of cropping up all year long: In the spring of 1981, we were robbed. In the middle of an afternoon, Evil shattered our glass and entered the quiet of our home. It violated our sanctuary, rifled our belongings, stole our valuables, and, hours later, quite likely discarded our mementos—or, as Goody cried that night: “I can’t bear the thought that right now someone is throwing away my memories.”
What did our friends say as part of their commiseration and consolation? “Let it be for a kapparah,” similar to the ritual of kapparot. It is as if we were using up whatever bad credit was on the ledger, thereby tipping the scales of beneficence, security, rescue, and protection in our favor.
While I’m not so sure it consoled me, I knew it was well-intentioned. And while it may sound like superstitious behavior, it’s not terribly different from the way modern urbanites tend to think about themselves in relation to crime and victimization statistics, the underlying assumption of this one being chance, and that one being the divine order of things.
WHITE CLOTHING
Yom Kippur clothing is special and should be prepared in advance. The theme is white, symbolizing purity and innocence. Most Orthodox men wear a kittel, which must be pulled out of the bottom drawer for washing and ironing: or, a kittel can be purchased in a religious articles store. The kittel is a white robe, made of cotton or a fabric mixture; it is worn over one’s regular suit. White kipot are worn by men and boys and are usually supplied by the shul. For young boys, who won’t wear anything but the hand-crocheted kind, and who don’t have a friend to speedily crochet one the week before, it is advisable to plan ahead. Women generally wear white or beige clothing during Yom Kippur, particularly the first evening. It is a custom not to wear gold because of its association with the golden calf, one of the moments of great apostasy of the Jewish people. When one’s life is hanging in the balance of judgment, this is no time to summon up those kinds of memories.
A PREFAST MEAL
Unlike any other holiday, the Yom Kippur meal is eaten before candlelighting, for once candles are lit, the fast begins. There is no Kiddush for the prefast meal, which begins with the hamotzi recited over round challot, whose thick slices we dip in honey. Although this is a mitzvah meal (that is, one is required to eat before the fast), no special dishes are designated. However, like most mitzvah meals, it is traditional to serve meat or poultry. Most people stay away from heavily spiced food, for these would cause thirst, which cannot be slaked during the fast, even by a single sip of water. We have also found, in recent years, that eating moderately makes it easier to fast than trying to eat for two days. Chicken soup with kreplach is a popular feature at the prefast meal. I recall one erev Yom Kippur returning home from City College on a city bus when it seemed to me that all of New York was scented with the aroma of chicken soup.
LAST-MINUTE DETAILS AND YAHRZEIT CANDLES
Meals should be scheduled early enough to allow time for everyone to finish dressing, brush teeth, drink lots of water; also to ask forgiveness, bless the children, light the candles, and walk to shul. Many Jews light a yahrzeit candle in memory of a deceased member of the immediate family.
The erev Yom Kippur blessing of the children is a poignant moment. Even parents who don’t regularly bless the children on Shabbat, do so on erev Yom Kippur. Many give the regular Shabbat blessing, adding to it the priestly blessing, plus a special wish that the children be sealed in the Book of Life and Happiness. Children, too, are vulnerable to the vagaries of life, and at this time of year we become sensitive to what we take for granted all year long—normal, healthy, happy children.
In addition to blessing them, Yitz and I also ask the children and each other forgiveness for being too hard, too soft, insensitive, losing tempers, inattentive—whatever a parent and spouse are likely to have done during the year. We promise to try harder, to be more aware, more understanding. Our children do the same to us, and to each other. Several years ago, our oldest son Moshe, then fifteen, with a genuinely religious spirit underneath all that adolescent cool, said to me quietly, “I hope you’ll forgive me for anything I did wrong to you, and anything you think I did wrong to you.” In his own inimitable way, he was trying to cover all his bets without giving up everything. I wondered what specifically he had in mind.
CANDLES
The candlelight blessing is unique to Yom Kippur:
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu lehadlik ner shel yom hakippurim.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and has commanded us to light the candles of Yom Kippur.
This is followed by the Shehecheyanu.
If you live in a Jewish neighborhood, the walk to shul after candlelighting is one of the unique pleasures of this day: seeing all those families going in all directions on their way to their respective shuls, many walking through the streets in their white robes and sneakers, the old and the young, the regulars and those who come only this night; there is a great feeling of the unity of the Jewish people. The walk to shul is a religious experience in itself.
How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household Page 33