Is this the hanger I desire?

Dear Family and Friends, 

This evening, the sun will set and the streets of Jerusalem will quiet for the most significant day in the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur. Traditionally a day of atonement, repentance, and teshuva (returning), Yom Kippur is much more than simply a day of apologizing to the people we love for the mistakes we’ve made throughout the year. The day, and the season of the Yamim Noraim (Days of Awe) that lead up to this day, is really all about looking into ourselves, identifying where we can grow, making changes where possible, and transforming ourselves for the better- or, simply put, at-one-ment. 

On Yom Kippur, Jewish people are commanded to fast, and do so in order to amplify the process of teshuva. But let’s be honest, many of us might not see the point in depriving ourselves of nourishment in order to absolve ourselves of “sin”. For me, at least, fasting alone is of limited value. In case you aren’t up to date on adolescent lingo, hangry= hungry + angry (AKA the mood I slip into when someone hasn’t fed me in over three hours, and the title of this entry). So this Yom Kippur season, I’m asking: how can we fast, and engage in other ritual and spiritual practices of the day, meaningfully? 

I really don’t like the word “sin” in English. I much prefer to understand the Hebrew “chet”, "חטא” as “missing the mark”- i.e. the disparity between our full potential and what we actually do. The Haftorah that we read on Yom Kippur morning comes from the book of the prophet Isaiah. In a prophetic statement, Isaiah recognizes that the Jewish people “yearn for nearness to their God” (Isaiah 58:2), and complain that God did not notice their fast. Isaiah quotes God as responding, “Is such the fast I desire? A day of merely depriving one’s body?... Is not the fast that I desire the unlocking of the chains of wickedness?...Is it not the sharing of your bread with the hungry, the bringing of the wretched poor into your home,or clothing someone you see who is naked, and not hiding from your kin in their need?” (Isaiah 58:5-7).

In order to connect to the divine on Yom Kippur, we denounce some of our most basic and animalistic human activities. These sacrifices, or korbanot, are meant to push us to give something up in order to gain a closeness (karov) to the divine, to ourselves, and to the people around us. Isaiah tells us that fasting, alone, is not enough. As we read, we are reminded that though we denounce in order to connect, we cannot desist entirely from engaging in this world, or else our sacrifices will be meaningless. Ritual responsibility cannot be separate from social and moral responsibility.

Later in the afternoon, during the final moments of Yom Kippur, we will stand before the universe and listen to the Book of Jonah. Jonah, after running away from God’s commandment to speak out against the wickedness that occurred in the city of Ninve, ends up throwing himself overboard his getaway ship into turbulent waters and being swallowed by a big fish. After spending three days immersed in the belly of the fish, Jonah is spit back up, and ends up convincing the people of Ninve to repent in order that they be saved from utter annihilation. 

What does Jonah’s story have to teach us about teshuva? As we read about the prophet who returns to the task that he first desisted from, we are reminded that human transformation is possible when we engage in the world around us. From the story of Jonah, we see that self-reflection and change are not only within our reach, but are necessary for our growth and the growth of humanity, even despite missing the mark at first try. 

There exists a ritual tradition of immersing oneself in a mikveh (sort of like a big bath) before Yom Kippur in order to bring oneself into the spirit of repentance, purity, and beginning anew. I thought about going this holiday season, but of course was intimidated by the Orthodox jurisdiction of these spaces. I woke up this morning, though, with an overwhelming urge to dunk myself and ritually mark this new year of learning and growth. I was too late, though. All of the local mikvehsopen to women were closed by the time I reached them. I ran around Jerusalem for three hours begging to be let into hotel swimming pools, even just to immerse myself under water in hopes of emerging anew, like Jonah in the whale. But every pool I called or visited was closing for the holiday. I felt really frustrated- at myself for not having planned better and at the system for only allowing me, a non-married woman, this one day for a comfortable ritual immersion. 

As I walked home in the heat, disappointed and at a loss for how I might bring in this holy and important day, I came across a large fountain. By no means a halakhicallysound mikveh, the water flowed and was contained in such a way that reminded me of the ritual bath. I edged up to it, and dipped my toes in. This year, as I continue to grow my ritual practice, I hope this will remind me that it’s ok to fall short. It’s ok to feel frustrated and disappointed at yourself, at the universe, and at your community. And most of all, it’s ok to miss the mark. What is most important, though, is that I do not allow myself to desist. From Isaiah, Jonah, and from myself, this week I have learned that when we do teshuva, when we try and try again to be active agents for positive change in this world, we are returning to our relationship with the divine, with ourselves, and with the people around us. This year, I won’t give up on trying to return to these things, again and again, in order to be in relationship with them. Even if I mess it up the first time around, and even if it means just dipping my toes in. 

Warm wishes for a meaningful fast (if that’s something you do), and a Gmar Chatimah Tova. May you be sealed in the book of life, that you may work to keep returning all year long. 

With Love,
Lara