Yom Kippur Under Covid Teaches Togetherness

Do you call it Covid or Corona? Or just the plague – or maybe an expletive?

While the past six months have been closely associated with isolation, lockdown, and quarantine, one of the central lessons of this experience is that we are all in this together.

That’s a strange thing to say when most people are not coming together, and, when we do, we are socially distanced.  But it’s true.  Coronavirus has taught us the critical value of our interdependence and interconnectedness.

On a pragmatic level, more than ever, we can appreciate how essential are the people who keep things moving – who deliver goods to the stores, who stocks the shelves, and who finally gets the paper towels restocked.

On a social level, we have founds ways to be together.  Zoom.  Outdoor visits.  Shofar on street corners.  I find myself always saying: These past months have taught us how to stay connected even when we are apart.

Judaism emphasizes the need to be connected.

It’s an existential need.

וַיֹּאמֶר ה' אֱ-לֹהִים לֹא־טוֹב הֱיוֹת הָאָדָם לְבַדּוֹ אֶעֱשֶׂהּ־לּוֹ עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ׃ 

The Lord God said, “It is not good for man to be alone; I will make a fitting helper for him.” (Bereishit 2:18)

It is also a religious obligation to remain connected.  It’s a sin to separate from the community.

In Pirkei Avot (2:5), Hillel teaches: Do not separate yourself from the community.  Rambam (Teshuva 3:6) views separating from the community as a sin that leads one to lose one’s share in the world to come. 

וְאֵלּוּ הֵן שֶׁאֵין לָהֶן חֵלֶק לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא אֶלָּא נִכְרָתִים וְאוֹבְדִין וְנִדּוֹנִין עַל גֹּדֶל רִשְׁעָם וְחַטָּאתָם לְעוֹלָם וּלְעוֹלְמֵי עוֹלָמִים...וְהַפּוֹרְשִׁין מִדַּרְכֵי צִבּוּר

And, the following are they that have no share in the World to Come but suffer excision and loss of identity, and are damned for ever and ever for their exceeding wickedness and sinfulness: …seceders from the congregation.

Damned forever.  Exceeding wickedness.  There are strong words because remaining connected is so essential to who we are.

Just how connected are we?

One of my favorite teachings is one I heard from Rabbi Avi Weiss quoting Rabbi Ahron Soloveichik’s explanation of the famous expression, kol yisrael areivim zeh ba’zah – all Israel are responsible for each other.  The key word is areiv, which means to guarantee.  An areiv, as an example, guarantees repayment of a loan.  Understood this way, kol yisrael areivim means that each Jew is a guarantor for every other Jew.

Rav Avi then said, “If a Jew anywhere in the world is not keeping Shabbos, that is your problem as well.”

This is not just a nice Jewish engagement idea.  It is the basis for one Jew’s ability to make a beracha to help another Jew fulfill a mitzvah. Even if I made Kiddush already, I can make Kiddush for someone else who needs my help, and it is not an unnecessary blessing.  We are responsible and must guarantee the Jewish practice of other Jews.  Non-observance or ignorance or disillusionment of any Jew is the responsibility for every Jew.

We are incredibly interconnected.

These past months in isolation have only reinforced this value.

Marcelo Gleiser, the 2019 Templeton Prize Laureate and philosophy professor at Dartmouth College, recently wrote:
 

Covid-19 will change us as a species…A tiny organism is forcing us to revisit our values, our divisions, our choices as we barricade within our homes with our closest family members and consider what will come next.  We would be foolish not to embrace the central message of our predicament: that we must come together to survive….We must think collectively as a human hive, each of us playing an essential role… 

Our mission as we begin a New Year under corona is to double down on what it means to be a community – even when we can’t gather as one.

How can we feel closer together – especially while apart?  It starts with listening. 

כֹּל אֲשֶׁר תֹּאמַר אֵלֶיךָ שָׂרָה שְׁמַע...

            Whatever Sarah says, listen to her voice. (Bereishit 21:12)

The Chasidic interpretation of God’s advice to Avraham to listen to Sarah extends to each of us.  One should always pay attention to the speaker’s voice to understand what the speaker needs.

We need moral sensitivity and a sense of empathy.  This sensitivity is the backbone of Jewish communal life.

Elie Wiesel once asked: What does it mean to be a congregation?  It means to care about each other.  

Pray?  We can pray at home.  (As we all know so well this year.)  We come together as a congregation in order to share in each other’s lives and in order to share in the life of the Jewish people’s past, present, and future.

Wiesel recounts the story of the Gerer Rebbe, who decided to question one of his disciples: “How is Moshe Yaakov doing?”  The disciple didn’t know.  “What!” shouted the Rebbe.  “You don’t know?  You pray under the same roof?  You study the same book?  You serve the same God?  You dare tell me that you don’t know how Moshe Yaakov is, whether he needs help or advice or comforting?  How can that be?!?”

We have been cut off from community for so long.  Even some of our tenuous steps back do not compare with the fullness and richness of being together that we all know and love.  At the same time, the disruption and isolation of corona also provides us with a reminder and a nudge that what matters most is togetherness.

Let us double down on our feelings of responsibility, empathy, care and concern for each and every person we encounter.  Let’s listen more closely to their needs.  Let’s be more understanding of how we can respond.

May God listen more closely to our needs and give each of us what we need: a year of health, happiness, peace, and a return to togetherness.

Do You Forgive Me? Should I Forgive You? The Concept of Mechilah

Growing up, before Yom Kippur, our teachers would remind us that we need to ask each other forgiveness.  Yom Kippour is a Day of Atonement for sins between people and God, but we each must ask those we may have wronged for forgiveness. This led to what I call the “Are you mocheil me? I am mocheil you” exchange. It may have been a little formulaic, but this was the most effective and fastest way to ask for forgiveness from people – especially so as to avoid getting bogged down with whatever the specific transgression was and to say it aloud.

We refer to Yom Kippur as a day of selichah, mechilah, and kapparah – forgiveness, pardon, and atonement. What’s the difference between these terms?

Forgiveness is granted for sins committed by mistake. Pardon is granted for sins committed on purpose. Atonement is the wiping away of any vestige of sin; we get a clean slate. Kapparah is the unique purpose of Yom Kippur. We should always try to correct our mistakes or misdeeds. On Yom Kippur, we have the special privilege of being granted atonement if we utilize the day properly.

I’d like to explore the concept of mechilah a little more deeply.

In addition to being examined in connection with Yom Kippur, the Talmud discusses mechilah in the context of damages. The Mishnah in Bava Kamma (92a) states:
 

Despite the fact that the assailant who caused damage gives to the victim all of the required payments for the injury, his transgression is not forgiven for him in the heavenly court until he requests forgiveness from the victim…And from where is it derived that if the victim does not forgive him that he is cruel? As it is stated: “And Abraham prayed to God; and God healed Abimelech, and his wife, and his maidservants; and they bore children” (Genesis 20:17).

It is not enough to compensate the injured individual. One must ask for mechilah. The Gemara expands on this:

The Sages taught: All these sums that in the previous mishna they said one is liable to pay for humiliating another are the compensation for his humiliation, for which there is a set amount. But for the victim’s pain caused by the assailant, even if the assailant brings as offerings all the rams of Nebaioth (see Isaiah 60:7) that are in the world, which are of the best quality, his transgression is not forgiven for him in the heavenly court until he requests forgiveness from the victim…

Rashi explains that one needs to be explicitly pardoned since the victim continues to worry and feel aggrieved about their suffering. One must ask for forgiveness because of the pain the victim feels at present.

Rabbi Menachem Meiri understands the need to explicitly ask for forgiveness is because of the pain felt at the time of the injury. Asking for forgiveness is required for what was felt in the past and not related to the victim’s present state.

This presents us with two models of mechilah.

1.      According to Rashi, asking for forgiveness is to alleviate the victim’s current state of discomfort and to alleviate their present emotional state. Mechilah is a form of emotional reconciliation.

2.      According to the Meiri asking for forgiveness is a form of compensation for the past. Mechilah is a form of repayment for a debt.

This leads to some interesting questions which may impact whether one must actually ask for mechilah. For example:

       1)  Does one need to apologize for anguish that has been forgotten?

-         2)  Is forgiveness effective if the victim expresses absolution, but does not genuinely feel it? 

-        3)  What if a victim forgives quickly for a semi-forgotten offense, and then later regrets, after recalling the acute pain that was felt?

-       4)  What if forgiveness was granted under false pretenses? For example, what if one claims an intentional slight was unintended? 

-        5)  what if the victim grants a perfunctory, general mechilah (like described at the beginning of this article) in response to an unspecific request, not realizing that the perpetrator actually committed a genuine offense, for which significant appeasement would be needed?

All of the above scenarios can be analyzed using the views of Rashi and Meiri.

At the end of the day – or, more accurately, by the time Yom Kippur ends, we learn from mechilah that we must take our interpersonal interactions seriously. If Jewish law is willing to analyze mechilah so deeply, it behooves us to fully examine our past interactions and resolve to make them as positive as possible. 

What Really Matters

This Rosh Hashanah will be different than all others. 

Whether it be where (or if) we attend services, what we say, who we are with to celebrate (or who we’re not with), the holiday will not resemble what we usually expect.  This begs the question: What really makes Rosh Hashanah?  What really matters?

In Jewish law, Rosh Hashanah is dependent on the date.  If it’s 1 Tishrei, it’s Rosh Hashnah. That’s all that matters.  There are certain rules and observances for the day, but Rosh Hashanah is a function of the calendar.

If we dig a little more deeply, at the heart of Rosh Hashanah is that it marks the beginning of a new year.  As such, it is a time to reflect upon how we want the New Year to be better than the last.  This year, that is pretty darn easy.

In preparing for this year’s High Holidays, I kept thinking about all that is missing.  It’s true that there is a lot I’ll miss this year.  At the same time, we are the ones who decide what makes Rosh Hashanah in to the celebration of the New Year.  We can choose to focus on what we want the holiday to look like and notice what’s missing, or we can decide that we will focus on turning this Rosh Hashanah into an amazing inauguration of what, please God, will be an incredible year.

So what really matters?  Family, health, security, Torah, God…the list goes on, and each of us has our own.

I think there are a few items that have been found to matter most to people that make good goals for the coming year.

Rabbi Marc Angel, in a High Holiday message, discusses this season as ideal for searching for clarity.  He quotes some of the findings of Professor Raymond Moody, who has written extensively about near death experiences.  Whether you believe in the concept or not, Moody has found common elements in the experiences of his subjects.  They all tended to reach two conclusions: 

One must love others
             One should learn as much as possible

I think following these two essentials will put us on the path to appreciating what really matters most.  It’s simple (and alliterative: love and learn!  Our love for family friends, and plain, ordinary people along with a quest for knowledge (Jewish, general, all types) can provide us with the proper perspective to tackle whatever comes our way.

May the best of 5780 be the starting point for 5781. 

Where is God? Ayeh M'kom K'vodo?

It is a question we often ask – especially in difficult or challenging times: Where is God?

It is a question we ask each and every Shabbat: Ayeh m’kom k’vodo? Where is the place of God’s glory?

The answer is simple.

Hashem is here, Hashem is there, Hashem is truly everywhere.

In all seriousness, what does it mean to seek the place where God’s glory can be found? Furthermore, think of the paradox of asking God to identify the place to find His glory. It is bad enough WE don’t know, but we make matters worse by drawing attention to our ignorance.

The question of ayeh m’kom k’vodo is typical of the complex relationship we have with God. We turn to God in times of need, but don’t recognize God when we get what we want. With regard to faith, it is something to have, but it is difficult to articulate. A number of years ago, I attended a meeting for 40 Orthodox rabbis in Orlando, Florida. One session was devoted to the rabbis in the room sitting in a circle, each weighing in with the greatest need facing their community. The issues ranged from trying to get more volunteers for committees, to increasing membership, to adding more meaning to Judaism. The last rabbi said, “I find it interesting that no one felt that God is an issue that warrants attention in the Modern Orthodox community.” I have been thinking about this idea ever since.

It is not just in our Modern Orthodox community where God has a tough time. The Pew Forum's U.S. Religious Landscape Survey conducted in 2014 found that 63% of the US population is absolutely certain in their belief in God. Another 20% are fairly certain with 5% saying they just believe without the certainty. That’s 88% overall. For Protestants, the numbers are 66, 25, and 4 for 95% in total. Evangelicals were 88, 10, and 1 for 99%, and Catholics were 64, 27, and 5 for 96% in total.

How about the Jews? The percentage of those with absolute faith is 37%, while another 27% are fairly certain with 14% just believing. That’s just 78% in total, significantly less faithful than the average American and adherents of other religions.

Why is this so? What happened to the nation described as ma’aminim bnei ma’aminim, believers who are the children of believers? The issue was addressed by Rabbi Joseph Lookstein some 50 years ago in a sermon entitled “Looking for God in the Right Places.” It was “not intended to be a theological essay. Our concern is with a practical matter of faith.” The sermon is directed to the period in which it was delivered, but the sentiment is relevant today. Rabbi Lookstein stated:

The God of the philosophers will not do. He is too impersonal. Even the Ein-Sof, the ineffable deity of the mystics, cannot satisfy. He is too vague. Nor, dear young people, will Zen Buddhism or similar oriental cults resolve the anguish, the fright, and the despair of modern man…It is futile to look for God in the wrong places.”

 

As time goes by, there seem to be more and more wrong places. Rabbi Norman Lamm, in his Faith and Doubt, describes what he calls “excused doubt.” Today, more than ever, people do not believe as in the past, and Jewish law has responded by not holding people as accountable for lapses in faith as in earlier times.

 

In a similar vein, Dennis Prager notes that, nowadays, people are just not theologically, intellectually, and emotionally prepared to deal with all the unjust suffering in the world. He posits that, nowadays, maybe we’ve had it too good for too long.

 

Have the past six months of the Covid pandemic turned people more towards faith? The Pew Research Center studied this as well. The results were mixed. Some people have become more religious and others less so. Unsurprisingly, as with faith, Jews are less religiously awakened than other groups during these times.

Throughout the High Holiday liturgy, we loudly declare our belief in God, King of the Universe. We declare, “V’ata hu melech keil chai v’kayam – You, God, are the everlasting King!” We proclaim “Aneinu Answer us, Lord!” and call out to God to show us mercy and compassion. During this period, we don’t have a problem communicating our relationship with the divine. But what about the day after? Where is God in our lives then? Is God not at the very foundation of our lives? As committed Jews, we may not all behave exactly the same, but our Judaism all originates from God. How can we minimize or ignore our Divine connection? It is not alright for Judaism to be devoid of the Divine. We must find a way to make relevant our relationship with God. It is essential to our living as engaged Modern Orthodox Jews.

During the High Holidays, it is appropriate to pay attention when we ask the question: Ayeh m’kom k’vodo - Where is God’s presence found? We should begin the New Year by exploring what God means to each of us. Ayeh m’kom k’vodo?  Where is the place of God’s glory? Where in complex times do our lives reflect an awareness of the Divine?

God is actually right in front of us in three ways.

 

1)  We find God within the Jewish people. We are evidence of God’s existence.

Charles Murray is the sociologist who wrote the oft-quoted and respected book, “The Bell Curve.” Four years ago, in an article in Commentary Magazine entitled, “The Jewish Genius,” Mr. Murray concludes that there is only one way to possibly explain the exceptionalism of the Jews: “They are God’s chosen people.”

Murray’s conclusion is shared by other writers and thinkers throughout history. Mark Twain and John Adams are but two of those who saw Divine Providence in our survival as a nation. Charles Murray is not Jewish! The others aren’t Jewish. Unfortunately, Jews don’t talk this way! We don’t think that way anymore. It is considered too “parochial” and “particularistic.”

Our problem is that we know we are Jewish; we just aren’t sure what being Jewish means to our faith in God. The late Shlomo Carlebach, reflecting on his years of visiting students on college campuses around the world, recounted:

 

I ask students what they are. If someone says, “I’m a Catholic,” I know that he’s a Catholic. If they say, “I’m a Protestant,” I know that she’s a Protestant. If they say, “I’m just a human being,” I know that’s a Jew.

 

We need to acknowledge what others recognize in us: God. Our very identification as Jews attests to God’s presence. Our faith is expressed by our very existence. WE are m’kom k’vodo, proof of God’s presence.

 

2)  Ayeh m’kom k’vodo is not a question. It is a statement. We find God in our struggle with the questions of faith.

 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that faith in God is strengthened through questioning and rigorous debate. There are no shortcuts, and it is good to be challenged. He describes leaving university for study in a rabbinical seminary in Israel. The highest form of praise there was, “du fregst a gutte kasha – you’re asking a good question.” The best thing for our faith is to ask and confront.

 

Rabbi Sacks quotes American playwright Wilson Mizner: “I respect faith. But doubt is what gets you an education.” He then comments:

 

To ask is to believe that somewhere there is an answer…Far from faith excluding questions, questions testify to faith – that the world is not random, life is not chance.

 

Ayeh, the very act of asking and struggling to find God, is m’kom k’vodo, where God is found.

 

God is in us, and God is to be found within our struggle with our doubts to understand.

 

3)  God is found in connecting with other people.

 

The Talmud (Shabbat 127a) states:

אמר רב יהודה אמר רב גדולה הכנסת אורחין מהקבלת פני שכינה

Welcoming guests is more important that communing with the Divine. We learn this from Avraham, who interrupted talking to God to greet the angels who came to visit him.

Responding to the needs of others supersedes one’s Divine service.

The transformative event in Martin Buber’s life was a knock at the door. He had been upstairs in his room fully engaged in a deeply religious moment, when there was a knock at his front door downstairs. He was taken out of his spiritual reverie and went down to see who was at the door. It was a young man who had been a student and a friend, and who had come specifically to speak with him.

 

Buber was polite with the young man, even friendly, but he was also hoping to soon get back to his meditations. The two spoke for a short time and then the young man left. Buber never saw him again because he died shortly thereafter in World War I. Later, Buber learned from a mutual friend that the young man had come to him that day in need of basic affirmation, had come looking for guidance. He had not recognized the young man's need at the time because he had been concerned to get back upstairs to his prayers and meditation. He had been cordial, but he had not been fully present. That's when Buber realized how potentially artificial the mystical high can be.

 

This story highlights the difference between a God experience and being in a relationship with God. Having a God experience is, at its core, all about you. It is selfish. Being in a relationship with God, like being in a relationship with a person, comes with responsibilities. What is a responsibility? It comes from a combination of the words able and respond. When we think about God, if it doesn't open us up to hearing the call to duty, if it doesn't increase one's ability to respond, it is having an experience, but it is not encountering God in a real relationship.

 

This is how Judaism expects us to make God a real part of our lives. A relationship with God is as much, if not more, about increasing love and sensitivity towards others than it is about the spiritual experience – as lovely as it is. Rabbi Lookstein concludes his sermon with this thought:

 

Is it not strange that our search for God ends with man? God is king, but his throne is in our hearts…A paraphrase of [R.] Yehuda Halevi seems to sum up our thought:

I have sought Thy nearness;

With all my heart I call Thee,

But going out to meet Thee

I found You dwelling in me

 

As we affirm God as ruler of the world during the High Holidays, we must also embrace that God must be prevalent and pertinent in our religious lives. The core relationship with God need not be on a high mountaintop, poring over the great truths of the universe. We have a very accessible relationship with God.

 

We can find God when we fully appreciate who we are as the Jewish people.

 

We find God as we struggle with the questions of faith.

 

And we find God when we recognize the supreme value in responding to others.

           

If we are successful, we will have invited God to play a role in our religious identities. We will have shown that God is a very real and relevant force in our lives all the time in the same way we proclaim throughout our liturgy. Maybe we’ll even increase the Jewish faith numbers in the next Pew poll. And when we say the Kedusha, we will have a new, deeper understanding of the question of ayeh m’kim k’vodo: Hinei m’kom k’vodo! Right here in front of us, as part of our lives in the real world, rests the glory of the Living God.