PROHIBITIONS
Why sneakers? In addition to the prohibition against eating and drinking, there are several other prohibitions: washing, anointing, wearing leather shoes and sexual intercourse. The Torah tells us: “On the tenth day of the seventh month you shall afflict your souls.” Like eating, these are bodily pleasures that gladden the soul. Forbidding them would constitute a deprivation, which is how the Rabbis interpreted “afflicting” the soul.
But still, why sneakers, which are more comfortable than shoes? Two reasons:
1. In ancient times, leather shoes were—and still are—a symbol of comfort and support.
2. When one is asking for life, it would be callous to come shod in leather, which represents the ended life of an animal.
Anointing is not common in these times, but applying makeup is. Thus, many women will apply makeup before the fast, but will not reapply it once it has worn off.
Washing means washing the body. Except for ritual handwashing of the Kohanim before they give the priestly blessing, and except for washing hands after elimination or removing eye film with a moist hand, all other washing is forbidden. On Yom Kippur we come to realize what we take for granted all year long.
Sex. Pleasure, said the Rabbis, so wait until another night.
Yom Kippur is also called Shabbat Shabbaton, the ultimate of Sabbaths. Thus, in addition to the five special Yom Kippur prohibitions, all restrictions that apply to Shabbat also apply to Yom Kippur.
IN SHUL
On Yom Kippur, there is a whiteness in the shul that sets it apart from any other day of the year. Not only do most people wear white, but even the shul “wears” white. The regular ark curtains have been removed and special white ones for Yom Kippur now cover the ark. A white covering is draped over the chazzan’s reading table as well. Another startling thing to see on Yom Kippur evening: every man wears a tallit. Other than this night, the prayer shawl is worn only by day. Moreover, many men have a special white-on-white tallit which they use only on Yom Kippur. All this is what meets the eye upon entering shul.
EVENING SERVICES
The Maariv service opens with Kol Nidre. What Netaneh Tokef is to Rosh Hashanah, Kol Nidre is to Yom Kippur. In this prayer, which is recited three times by chazzan and congregation responsively, we ask to be absolved from all vows that we might take during the course of the coming year. This doesn’t mean business promises or ethical resolutions; it means religious vows. This prayer harks back to those times in our history when Jews were denied the freedom to practice Judaism and were forced to take formal religious vows of Christianity. Somehow, the words don’t apply as much to Jews of today who enjoy full rights to live openly as Jews, but Jews carry a lot of baggage, and the memory of persecutions of previous generations, plus the soul-stirring melody for Kol Nidre, binds the congregation together and puts one immediately into the spirit of Yom Kippur.
One of the features of the evening service—and repeated throughout the Yom Kippur services the next day—is the confession of sins. The confession comes in many forms in the liturgy, some of which are quoted directly from the Talmud. But the heart of the confessional is the Al Chet (“For the sin of …”), a litany of forty-four sins, all ethical in nature. We clap our breast in contrition as we recite each one.
The framers of the liturgy considered human sensibilities and used the plural form instead of the singular for the Al Chet. Thus we say, “For the sin which we have committed before You in the hardening of the heart,” “… with the utterance of the lips,” “… out of haughtiness,” “… out of a lewd eye.”
By reciting the sins in plural form, the sinner does not feel isolated; the righteous person need apply directly to himself/herself only those sins that are appropriate; and the community recognizes that the group must assume some responsibility for the acts of individuals.
Without false modesty, I consider myself to be generally decent and good. Yet, almost every sin applies to me. How can that be? I wonder. I rationalize that these are very normal, very common, very human, and in many instances very mild sins. Nevertheless, the confessional jogs my memory and gives me great pause, and, when I am truly open to it, I resolve anew to act more ethically in the coming year. Many years ago, I resolved not to gossip, and while one can’t live without at least a little gossip, I think I have been able to keep it somewhat under control. On Yom Kippur a few years ago, I resolved never to tell a white lie (except, I made sure to add, to an editor, like, “Tomorrow you’ll have it”). While there are still many situations where a white lie is kinder, or easier, I have become more conscious of telling them. As for controlling evil thoughts, I just can’t. Not yet. But one of these years, I shall work on that a bit harder. The Yom Kippur liturgy makes us realize how slipshod we can be in our ethical responsibilities, particularly in sins of the tongue.
Yom Kippur Maariv generally ends at 9:00 or 9:30 P.M. There are no prescriptions for behavior following the evening service. However, the proscriptions set the mood. Jews walk home to a quiet house, talk quietly, think, and try to stay in the spirit of Yom Kippur until retiring, without such distractions as the latest novel. There’s plenty of time for that. Mostly, folks go to bed early in order to have the energy to carry through the next day.
MORNING SERVICES
One of the prominent themes in the Yom Kippur Mussaf is the Avodah, the Temple worship service in which the High Priest played a major role. Both liturgy and Torah readings center on the High Priest’s activity on Yom Kippur, events filled with high drama, pomp, ceremony, and awe. Clearly, that was the moment of mysterium tremendum in ancient times. And we read it in exquisite detail.
The Haftorah reading is clearly appropriate to the overall theme of ethical behavior. Through the prophet Isaiah (57:14–58), God reminds the people that rituals such as fasting are for the end purpose of removing wickedness, freeing the oppressed, and feeding the hungry. They are not an end in themselves.
The chazzan works harder on Yom Kippur than any other day of the year—and on an empty stomach and dry mouth, no less. Yom Kippur services are longer than any other service, which is fine, because there’s no festive meal to rush home to. In most Orthodox shuls, Shacharit and Mussaf services go on until mid-afternoon, with but an hour or two of recess until Minchah.
AFTERNOON SERVICES
Unlike the morning Torah readings, the Minchah Torah portions seem to have nothing to do with Yom Kippur whatsoever. Forbidden sexual perversions, incestuous relationships, and their punishments? What could be the connection? But these are signs of moral decay. The lack of morality will destroy the fabric of society. Since the shul is packed on Yom Kippur, this is as good a time as any to sound these warnings.
But there’s another tradition concerning this Torah reading that is even more interesting. It seems that during the Second Temple period, the afternoon of Yom Kippur was an official courting time in Jerusalem. The young women would go out, all wearing white linen or cotton garments of a very plain style, so that no one could tell who was rich and who was poor; and the men would come to look for a life mate. Thus, this Torah reading which legitimated sex only in its proper context.
On no other day but Yom Kippur is there a Haftorah reading in the afternoon. The entire Book of Jonah is read. The story of
Jonah and the whale is replete with themes of sin, repentance, forgiveness, and God’s dominion over this earth—all solid Yom Kippur themes.
THE CLOSING PRAYERS
The fifth and closing service on Yom Kippur is called Ne’ilah (the other four being Maariv, Shacharit, Mussaf, and Minchah). Ne’ilah means closing up—the closing of the gates through which our prayers have entered. Ne’ilah also means sealing; the Ten Days of Repentance are over, and the divine decree is given its final seal.
Throughout the Ne’ilah service, the ark is kept open, to symbolize the open gates of prayer. Although everyone has fasted all day, almost the entire congregation stands throughout this last service. Even people who had begun to wi
lt earlier somehow manage to revive themselves for this last special thrust of prayer. Like most climaxes of life, there is a special tension, an almost palpable excitement that runs through the congregation. The prayers are quite beautiful. They are final pleas for mercy and blessing.
The last ten minutes of Ne’ilah are the climax of the climax. Avinu Malkenu, which we have recited every day since Rosh Hashanah, is recited for the last time. The Shema Yisrael, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One,” is recited in full congregational voice. After this, the Baruch Shem K’vod, “Praised be His name Whose glorious kingdom is forever and ever,” is recited three times by the chazzan and congregation. And finally, the last declaration, “The Lord is God” is recited, almost shouted out, seven times. After the seventh repetition there is a long, final blast of the shofar. As we often do at moments of intense feeling, we link ourselves to Zion and Jerusalem. Yom Kippur concludes with the congregational cry of Lishanah ha’ba’ah be’yerushalayim, “Next year in Jerusalem.”
The congregation has been together a full day through many peaks of emotion. There is much hugging and kissing and well-wishing. A very hasty Maariv is convened up front, while others begin to leave. In a few moments, the synagogue will be empty, everyone on the way home to break the fast and to begin preparations for Sukkot, which is only four days off.
CHAPTER · 18
SUKKOT, SHEMINI ATZERET, SIMCHAT TORAH
Sukkot
Of this I am convinced: the Jews were the original show-and-tell people.
Some years ago, a Christian student of mine in a basic Judaism course raised her hand in class one October morning. “Around the corner from us [in St. Margaret’s parish] lives a Jewish family. Every September, they build this odd structure in front of their house. They eat there, and it seems as if they also sleep there. Why do they do that?” I thought for a moment and, in the best one-liner I could find, admittedly borrowed from Pesach, I said, “So you should ask.”
I come from a long line of Sukkot-celebrating families. Yet our sukkah and those of our friends and relatives have always been backyard affairs, not “public” ones. Nevertheless, her question made me realize it is not only for third-generation American Catholics to ask, but for Jews of all ages and in every generation.
The sukkah (booth) has two referents, one in history and one in nature. Both are given in the Torah:
1. The sukkah is a reminder to all generations that God redeemed the people of Israel from Egypt. Like a loving, caring parent, He caused them to live temporarily in booths that sheltered them from the elements. We commemorate that saving grace by living in booths for seven days.
2. After the summer harvest, there is great cause for joy and gratitude. How did a nation express those feelings? Through a festival of ingathering, a celebration that the harvest is in, a holiday of rejoicing, a seven-day feast of booths. But why booths? During the harvest, where every moment counted, the farmers lived in booths at the edge of the field, so as not to have to travel back and forth to their homes.
Thus, for the last three thousand years, Jews have built booths. While only a relatively small number of Jews actually sleep in the sukkah, most Orthodox Jews take all of their meals for the entire holiday in these fragile, temporary houses. And we love it. Not only because we are commanded to feel joy during this festival, but because it is so pleasant, so different, so exotic, so laden with memories.
PREPARATION
Building a sukkah can be as enjoyable as sitting in it. One is not supposed to begin building before Yom Kippur. However, if there’s a Shabbat in between or if it’s an elaborate sukkah that would not otherwise be ready on time, one can begin to get the frame together but not to complete the greater part of it until after Yom Kippur.
Ideally, the sukkah should be built as a joint family project. However, if mutual scheduling isn’t possible, every member of the family should contribute at least some little part toward its completion.
A sukkah must have a minimum of three sides. The sides can even be the walls of the house, as long as there is no regular fixed roof protruding over the sukkah area. Some families build family rooms or closed-in porches with removable roofs that can be lifted off at Sukkot time. The walls can be made of anything—four-by-eights, old doors (the real McCoy), fiberglass, and, the most common and easiest to assemble, aluminum poles for a frame with “canvas walls” hung all around.
The most beautiful sukkah I ever saw belonged to an Oriental carpet dealer in Jerusalem. On metal frames, he had hung four “walls” of Persian carpets and had placed another Shiraz down on the floor. How he could be so sure it wouldn’t rain was a puzzlement to me, but it seems it never rains in the Holy Land during Sukkot. When I said to him and his wife, “Aren’t you worried? Even though the sukkah is built on a fourth-floor terrace, there are such things as cat burglars around.” No, they said, they weren’t worried. Their three teenage sons and a cousin had been sleeping in the sukkah for years. A skinny cat burglar who might scale that wall would be no match for them. “All we have to do is make sure the boys don’t drink too much wine at night …”
If there’s no canvas around, and no Persian carpets, then quilts or comforters make wonderful side walls. They give a thick and cozy feeling and can be easily hung from plastic curtain rings sewed to one edge at eight-inch intervals. The rings are then suspended from S-shaped hooks looped over the top of the frame. Almost any fabric that is strong enough to withstand a moderate wind can be used as walls in this manner.
A sukkah must be solid, but not too solid. It is supposed to remind us of human vulnerability and of the fact that we are all in God’s shelter. Which is why a permanent sukkah—closed-in porch type—doesn’t really seem like a sukkah to a Jew who grew up with the old four-by-eights.
Several years ago, when Yitz was a congregational rabbi, we had the first night’s meal in the shul’s sukkah, with a hundred people. It was a very windy night. After the first course, my husband decided to move the crowd inside because of the powerful winds. We looked like a group of refugees as we sadly trudged out of our beautiful sukkah with our dishes and cutlery in hand. Ten minutes after we had set ourselves up in the social hall and had just begun to resume our meal, we heard the sounds of a terrible crash: the shul’s sukkah had completely collapsed. All that wood and glass windows and bamboo poles and evergreen and decorations, all in one huge rubble heap. There were gasps of horror and a long moment of silence as people pondered fearfully what might have been. Yitz rose, and broke the silence by saying, “Well, at least we know it was a kosher sukkah. …”
The next morning in shul, he recited the Birkat Hagomel (giving thanks for escaping danger—see p. 153) for all those who were in the shul sukkah and for other families around town whose own booths had also collapsed.
Whereas the walls can be made of anything at all, the roof cannot. The roof, known as the s’chach, is what makes the sukkah a sukkah. The roof is the last thing to go up. The s’chach must be of a natural product, in its natural state. Anything that grows out of the ground (except for fruit-tree branches) and that has been severed from its source is permissible. In other words, an overhanging tree would not qualify for a kosher sukkah, but branches cut from a tree would. Steel bars, which are not a product of nature, may not be used. We use long bamboo poles, laid crosswise, six inches apart, and on top of that we lay evergreen branches which cover the entire roof. A sukkah must have more shade than sun, yet allow a view of the stars to come through, and the bamboo-evergreen combination is perfect. It also has a wonderful fresh smell. Bamboo poles can be purchased in a Jewish neighborhood, right before Sukkot. Wooden slats or one-by-twos are also permitted as a base upon which to rest the real s’chach: hemlock, pine, and tall rushes that grow near marsh ponds are excellent. Branches of trees are okay, except that after a few days they dry and wither and look more like death than the spirit of life. By the seventh day, the hemlock begins to fall into the soup, spawning the usual Socrates puns, but hemloc
k and pine still manage to look fresh up until the very last.
Some people prepare a plastic cover that can be drawn across the top in case of rain; the sukkah is unusable when it rains, so it doesn’t matter if one covers the top temporarily. These plastic tops, however, have to be tipped slightly, otherwise huge pockets of rain gather in the middle of the sukkah top, and if the rain is heavy, the water can pull the plastic top right through and make a huge mess. At best, the one who removes the plastic after the rain gets all wet. In our sukkah we prefer to cover the table and chairs with plastic drop cloths in event of rain. The rug underneath also stays dry, the canvas walls dry out quickly, and the sukkah is ready for use as soon as the drop cloth is removed.
Persian carpets notwithstanding, a sukkah looks as good as its decorating job. Sukkah posters, paper decorations, a wall of Rosh Hashanah cards—and for the top, hanging decorations, fruits strung on string, gourds, paper chains, cranberry chains, glass medallions—whatever one can imaginatively use that would hold out for seven days, for one is not permitted to “build” (redecorate the sukkah) after the holiday has begun. Another custom is to hang on the walls pictures or signs with the names of the Ushpizzin, the Jewish forefathers whom we formally invite, one each day, into our sukkah: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David. Until a decade ago, no one even asked why foremothers were also not invited. Technology and community have not yet caught up with ideology. I still haven’t seen an Ushpizzin sign with Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future, nor that families cannot make these signs on their own.
A floor covering adds immensely to the comfort and appearance. Indoor-outdoor carpet, a tatami mat, or an abandoned remnant from a carpet cleaning store—something with low pile that can be swept after each meal, for vacuuming is not permitted on the first and last two days of Sukkot. A table and chairs for eating, a small side table to make serving easier if there’s room for it, an electric light rigged up to the top, covered with a Japanese paper lantern or a clip-on lampshade and voila! Something out of the past has come alive once again.
How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household Page 34