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Today I want to share with you a very personal story. I know, I know, we rabbis seem to talk a lot about ourselves, but I hope you’ll forgive me – it is after all the Day of Forgiveness! Today is a very significant day in my life. As some of you might know, I used to be Orthodox, and this has been the first time that I stand from a Liberal pulpit on Yom Kippur. Being here today, looking at you all, radiant faces albeit the hunger, people I know and love, and those of you whom I have yet to know, I rejoice in my decision.
I believe that our role today is to build bridges and not to tear them down. All non-Orthodox movements are looking to establish closer bonds and cooperation with Orthodoxy, as you heard from Aaron yesterday. Therefore I want to make clear that the comments that I will be making are not intended to disparage Orthodoxy as a whole. In sincerity, I believe that many individuals find fulfilment in Orthodoxy and that is to be respected. What I will be telling you is a personal account of right-wing Orthodoxy as I experienced it in the naivety of my early youth (even though to many of you I am still a baby), and more specifically it will be an account of the way I related to the High Holydays whilst I was in that world. I will be then contrasting that to how we as Liberal Jews approach this solemn time of the year.
And this is how the story goes:
As soon as summer was reaching its dusk, when balmy days would soon give way to the greyness of autumn, I knew that Elul was approaching. Elul is the last month of the Hebrew Calendar, immediately preceding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It was believed that to be able to reach the level of repentance necessary to survive the severe judgement during the Days of Awe, a whole month of preparation was necessary. Sephardi Jews during the entire month of Elul would wake up before sunrise to say supplicatory prayers – the Selichot. Waking up at sunrise I barely managed to think about my pillow and duvet, let alone about my own salvation, but hey - it seemingly worked for them. The 40 day period between Elul and Yom Kippur was seen to correspond to the 40 days Moses spent secluded at Mount Sinai, waiting to receive from God the second set of tablets to replace the first ones, which were broken after the sin of the golden calf. That was before 30 day warranty. The giving of the second set of tablets thus symbolised God’s forgiveness of the Israelites, and this time of year therefore become an auspicious time to ask for divine pardon. The Rabbis even said that the name Elul was an acronym for “Ani Le’Dodi Ve’dodi Li”, I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me, from the Song of Songs, a symbol of the close relationship between God and the Jews at this time. It is just interesting to note that the name Elul is of Babylonian origin, so it is difficult to imagine that it would find its source in a biblical verse. Go figure that one out! In any case, during Elul, God the King was said to be out in the field, outside his palace and accessible to all.
But when Elul would approach, instead of using the solemnity of the time for introspection and meditation, my reaction was quite the opposite. Panic would invade my whole being. I wouldn’t struggle to wake up at sunrise for prayers because my nights were sleepless; my bed became an arena for tossing and turning. Rosh Hashanah was known as the Day of Judgement, when God would open the Book of Life and Death, inscribing the righteous for a good year and the wicked to their damnation. In the Rosh Hashanah prayers we read that all pass before God like sheep under a shepherd’s rod, marking which are to be slaughtered and which are to be set free. I would think to myself – would I carry such a mark? Would I be like a sheep to slaughter, having to stretch my neck before the clean cut of the knife?
There was indeed a lot of blood and mortification in these festivals, almost like a Quentin Tarantino movie. On the eve of Yom Kippur, we would gather around with a belt, and were told to flog each other 39 times. In modern day this was meant to be symbolic, to be done softly, a representation of the 39 flogs which the Sanhedrin would administer sinners who violated a Torah prohibition. In doing so we were asked to envision that this was the type of punishment we actually deserved because of our transgressions. I can imagine though that there must’ve been those who took things a little bit further.
Then there were the kaparot – in very Orthodox neighbourhoods you could see cages and cages of tightly packed chickens- not very free range! These poor animals would then be grabbed by the legs and waved on the head of the penitent – who would chant: “This is my replacement, this is my replacement”. It was believed that these birds would somehow absorb the death decree which the sinner deserved. Subsequently the chickens would have their throats slit, and their carcasses given to charity. Blood could be seen splattered everywhere, a blood that was supposedly atoning for our own blood. Many of these dead chickens ended up in yeshiva dining rooms, and we would often joke that their good taste was because of a juicy sin which they were carrying.
A big portion of the Yom Kippur service was based on blood. The cantor would read aloud the Avodah – the order of ritual conducted by the High Priest in the Temple during Yom Kippur. Animals were sacrificed to atone for sin, and a special scapegoat, having had absorbed the sins of the whole Israelite nation – was sent off to Azazel. It was taken to a cliff and thrown down till it was dismembered to pieces, thus achieving the absolving of all iniquity. If we weren’t to die, someone had to die for us! In our Machzor we have significantly altered this portion of the service.
Yom Kippur prayers were for me a distress. You see, in my own human shortcoming I found it impossible to fulfil every single statute and rule which I felt Orthodoxy demanded of me. It proscribed rigorous forms of behaviour determining things as trivial as which shoe to put on first or how to go to the toilet. And please don’t ask for more details! Rules tried to control how I was meant to talk, to feel, to think. It made me repress essential parts of my being and to take on an identity alien to my own...parts of me which couldn’t really be suppressed, and I was therefore left to live my life like a wondering spectre without substance or life force. My prayers on Yom Kippur were therefore frantic, my body would tremble as I asked for forgiveness. The letters on my prayer book were blurred from drops of sweat and tears. All this wasn’t just my own personal insanity, but the collective reality that I would see amongst all those around me.
My transition was not easy. It came after years of inner wrestling, of a search, a journey to find my truth. I had to deconstruct all the concepts and perceptions I had for years. I needed to readdress my belief in God. I chose Liberal Judaism because I wanted a God to love and not a God to fear, a God of humanity and not the God of a tribe. I wanted for religion to be a force to edify me and not a force to destroy me. Our tradition is so rich and valuable, that I felt it had a lot to contribute to the new me, and to the role I would play vis-à-vis society as a whole. I became a firm believer in Progressive concepts of equality, egalitarianism, and its emphasis on repairing our “broken world”, on social action, on undiscriminating love. I looked back towards tradition with a sieve, ready to take what was priceless, a message for eternity, and to sift out what needed to be discarded.
Yom Kippur has drastically changed for me now. I look at you today and I can tell you that I have no fear. I have no fear because fear can never have a positive influence on one’s life. I no longer serve the holiday, but look for a way in which the holiday can serve me. I take from this day the aura of introspection and reflection that it creates. It helps me readdress my life, it gives me a chance to choose my inner struggles, to create a life of wonder and beauty. It prompts me to reflect on how I have acted to others and on how I can make amends. It helps me to see how far I am from turning love into the main consideration in my interpersonal relationships. It enlightens me on ways in which I can add meaning to my life, and helps me discern that which is detrimental to my personal development.
How lucky are we that we belong to Liberal Judaism, a tradition that respects our intellect and the needs of our hearts. Many believe that Liberal Judaism is the easy way out, that we are Liberal because it is convenient and it suits our lifestyles. In Liberal Judaism we believe in the greatness of the individual and in the power of autonomy. For us personal choice is sacred. But making choices implies involvement. You cannot make a choice on a matter which is alien or disconnected from you. In order to make choices in life, these have to be informed, not in a vacuum, but in a scenario where all options are considered. For this to be possible, we need to know our tradition, to know what Judaism has to offer. Our steps in life can’t be out of inertia but out of commitment. Being Liberal implies wrestling, wrestling with the different issues which affect our life. It implies a journey, a process of development, of standing at crossroads in our life and knowing which path to choose. Which path makes our life meaningful, which path will lead us to the paradise we want to create for ourselves? What role will Judaism play in our life, and in the lives of our children? But most definitely our Liberal Judaism must not be a cop out!
I therefore entreat all of you here today to embark on a journey. It is a journey of discovery and of decision. Many of you here today come to synagogue only once or twice a year. I respect that completely. I just want you to think why. If you feel fulfilled by this yearly experience and that is enough, I ask of you no more. I do hope though that this won’t be just out of lethargy, because you can’t be bothered to do otherwise, but rather because you have thought about it and so decided. I can assure you though that Aaron and I will be working together in making our synagogue a dynamic place that you won’t be able to get enough of.
Many of those here today are atheists, and I absolutely respect that. Chatting to Aaron about our sermons, we both discussed the amount of people who apologise to us for being atheist. Aaron told me that his usual reply is that there is nothing to apologise for, that it is better to be an atheist out of conviction than an uncaring believer. If you have chosen not to believe in God, I admire that you questioned and wrestled with the issue, that you considered such a belief important enough to merit your reflection. And yes, even though you may never believe in God you will always be welcome here, we will always consider you an essential part of our community and you will never have to apologise. Even though worship is a central part of our synagogue, we try to offer many more things to suit everyone and to make you feel at home.
Those of you who are already quite involved in synagogue life, we will motivate you to continue doing so, and give you even more reason for forming part of our NPLS family. But I have to warn you that it won’t necessarily be an easy ride, but yes a rewarding one. We hope to challenge you, to stimulate you in ways you hadn’t imagined. And as Aaron mentioned last night, we will concentrate our efforts not only in looking after our own, but also in making NPLS a beacon of light for all those around us. We will as well be looking outwards, towards our human family in general, and will strive to put into action our commitment to tikkun olam, to making our world a better place.
From everything I have said, there is one message that I really want you to go home with. So if you have been using this very long sermon to have a little schluff in this very tiring day (I know, I’ve been having caffeine withdrawal syndrome as well), please pay attention now! I want you to use this Yom Kippur to think, to think with your minds and your hearts, to ponder, to meditate, to pause and consider the ways in which you can add meaning to your life and to your actions. Only in this way will our lives become an eternal legacy which will not pass unto oblivion.
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