YOM KIPPUR

This story also appears in the Works in Progress E-book

For the first time in my life, I did not attend a house of worship this Yom Kippur eve – the holiest night in the Jewish religion.  Not that I am less religious in my outlook; I  never was a really devout worshiper, but over the years I regularly attended a synagogue  just to continue the tradition I was raised in, and to stay with my people on this night as we did for thousands of years, pleading to an invisible God for the communal sins committed to others. 

Last year I was turned off because of the emptiness of the ceremony.

Is it my fault for this feeling?  Or is it the form of supposed worship that does not involve the congregation into feelings of awe, ecstasy, and shared participation?

I watched the people.  They all watched each other.  It was form without substance, a mechanical  repetition of words.  They included a woman Cantor as if this was a musical concert. "Sit back and enjoy."

The Rabbi delivered a warmed over lecture, didn’t spank anybody, or demand repentance.  Rather it was a blank bland speech to pat everybody on their respective backs – "It is ok, it is ok, lets do better, give more to charity, be nice people."

Where is the thunder, the sharp lecture to strive to be really good humans; the fear of God as he is supposed to represent?  It left me empty, disappointed, and completely out of the feelings of  warmth and connection with my tribe, and from the shared experience of the communal confession of all human sin committed to my God, my conscious, and my fellow humans.

So this year I stayed home, listened to good music, even to a plain rendition of the Kol Nidra.  I  listened to my inner voice of righteousness, and remembered other Kol Nidra nights when I was a child in a small shtetl in Poland, a very long time ago.

The time of awe did not start a day before the Day of Atonement.  It started two months before.

Nature told us that the time of reckoning was coming.  Summer was over.  A cold wind started blowing.  The trees began to lose their leaves.  The rain came on ever so slowly, but more and more often, and with it, the cold days, early sunsets, and then sadness began to set in.

The older men began getting up at about four in the morning and going to Shul for special prayers called "Slichos;" asking their God for forgiveness.  Some especially  good boys were also allowed to attend these services.  Although cold and sleepy, I went with my grandfather, and was very thankful to be included.

I presumed that we all must have committed some very bad sins, and we were asking early, before God got very busy with the accounting, to grant us sinners forgiveness.

I never figured out what  sins were.  I was still a mere child, but I must have forgotten to say some prayers, and God keeps the score.

As Rosh Hashanah, the New Year, approached, the people became tenser.  There were more good deeds done, the people prayed longer, and it became better for the poor beggars, as charity became more generous.

The ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur became full of activities and  preparations.  Special meals were planned for the feasts to be eaten after sunset on Yom Kippur day - a day of fasting.  Foods that were not served during the rest of the year  were prepared for this occasion.

I remember the baked concoction that my mother prepared especially for the small children who were too young to fast (but were in the prayer house all day).  These were small, bite-sized, cages of baked dough, with a tiny apple in the middle.  I looked forward all year long to eat them.  They had a unique taste and aroma.  I can still savor them in my recollection.

About midday, before Kol Nidra, everything came to a stop.  The men went to the bathhouse, and when it became very steamy, they flogged themselves with birch branches.

Everyone put on his best clothes - some that were worn for this night only.  All became solemn.  Some walked to the prayer house where fresh aromatic hay was spread all over the floor, as most men removed their shoes and stood in their stocking feet.  Some came to be ritually flogged.

I still see Morchai Fleisher, the wealthiest man in our town, who seldom, if ever, came to the big Temple.  He had his own prayer room and congregation in his home.  He walked slowly,  laid down on the floor, face down, beat his chest, and repeatedly recited a long list of sins.  The Shamas, holding a small 7 thonged whip, ritually flogged this big man.  Others followed.  It was a solemn sight to see these older men, reciting their sins, humiliating themselves to be ritually flogged.

As the sun began to set, and a cold wind began to blow, we, the whole family, sat down to eat sparingly, before the fasting started.  The dishes were put aside and the big serious mood began.

Grandpa gathered all the smaller children and stretched out his hands and blessed us all.

Some cried.

People began to visit their neighbors, shook hands, embraced, and wished each other a good "sealing of their future" in the coming year.  The women, especially the oldest, carried on the longest, the loudest, and the teariest.

Neighbors that didn’t talk to each other all year because of some long forgotten set of grievances fell in each other’s arms, kissed, and asked forgiveness.  They "knew" that their lives depended on it.

Then came the candle lighting – not the usual ritual Friday night blessing.  This was to light a candle, silently mentioning a name, for each departed relative.  The windows in all  the homes were lit up by the dozens of memorial lights.

In our home, on a large table, covered, not with a tablecloth, but with a sheet of steel, dozens of candles were lit.  The whole family came together, brought in their candlesticks with the tapers, and lit them.

All the small children were brought to this large room.  A young single girl was put in charge of taking care of the infants and babies, and also to watch the lit candles to guard against accidental fires.

We then all marched together to the big Temple;  most of the elders carried small sacks of coins.

On a huge table at the entrance to the Shul, were many, many, Tzetaka (charity) boxes.  No names were visible, but we knew who would get the money.  There were no moneychangers in the Shul this night.  The coins were deposited in the preferred containers, and before entering the house of worship everyone had to wash their hands to get rid of all the contamination of money - the source of all evil.

Later, in the silence of the prayer room, the Cantor, a pious man, stood up before the open ark where the Torahs were exposed, stretched out his arms, and in great humility begged to be heard in the name of the whole community.  There was not a dry eye.  We were all standing before the almighty God and begging forgiveness for all possible sins, actual or imagined, held in our hearts and minds.

The whole congregation sang Kol Nidre fervently, pleadingly, and in dead seriousness.

This is the night where the fortune of the next year will be reviewed and judged by God, and the verdict will soon be sealed.

There was a reading of a list of all the possible sins that could be committed against God, or your fellow man.  Every time a transgression was mentioned, a great cry, and a beating with fists on the chest echoed throughout the big hall.  Many remained to pray all night.

Early the next morning we all rushed to pray again.  The loudest crying could be heard when a prayer came that mentioned "Please don’t forsake me in old age." and "If you give me life, protect me from being abandoned. "  (There was no Social Security or Medicare in Poland.)

The fasting and intense praying went on all day.  When the time of sunset and darkness approached some of the young boys went outside and searched the heavens for the first star, and when it was sighted, they signaled to the elders.

The service was now over.   Everyone felt that they did all they could with prayers, charity, and a promise to be a better human being.

Our God is a forgiving deity. After all, we are in his image.  This will be a good year. They felt hopeful.

Emerging from the Shul, a full bright moon greeted them.  The Jewish calendar is based on the moon’s 28-day cycle, so the Yom Kippur night ends on the appearance of the full moon.  Seeing the moon against a clear sky was a good omen, and left everyone with a feeling that our deity shines his face upon us.

The proper prayers were said to God for giving us the full face of brightness and light. By this time the women were home, warming up the prepared food, and setting the tables for the breaking of the fast.

The dinner table was full of good things, including honey and apples.  My grandfather started with a shot of vodka from his favorite silver goblet, and for the first time this season he ate the first fruits – apple and pears from our own trees, of course.

The whole family was together. We felt secure and at the beginning of a new era.  It is the holiday season.  We have pleasant, good holidays.  We love holidays.

And the next morning we all went out to start building our Sukkoth.  This holiday would last eight days.  My uncles from distant villages will come and bring their children.  We all love each other.

Life is good.