The deeper significance of Yom Kippur

Each year I am amazed at the number of men, women and children not otherwise seen at shule, who pack shules and overflow minyanim on Kol Nidrei night, perhaps return for Yizkor and in most cases reappear for Ne’ilah.

What is it about Yom Kippur that regularly draws back to our shules those who don’t otherwise make an appearance? And I would add that they actually don’t just appear. They participate in the service to the best of their ability and in most cases, even fast. Surely if the less affiliated among us sought one expression of their religion they could find easier practices to keep.

The Torah tells us regarding one who does not fast (afflict themself) on Yom Kippur “venichreta hanefesh hahi me’ameha” – that soul is cut off from its people. While the Torah is speaking in the context of admonition and punishment regarding non-observance of the requirements of the day, I suspect that there is actually another truth underlying that statement: that one who does not participate in the observance of Yom Kippur is indeed indicating that they are so far removed from Judaism that they are cut off from the rest of their people.

The same is also written in regard to the seder – in that instance too almost everyone has some form of seder; one who does not would indeed appear totally unconnected to Judaism.

Perhaps there is also another aspect. One of the stranger statements of the rabbis regarding Yom Kippur occurs in the tractate Yoma, regarding the laws of teshuvah (“repentance” or “return”).We all know that the basic requirements of repentance are regret for that which has occurred and a decision regarding proper behaviour in the future. Yet speaking about Yom Kippur the rabbis stated that on Yom Kippur “itzumo shel yom mechaper” – the very day itself brings about atonement. There is something mystical about the day that tugs at the heartstrings of every Jew.

In 1913 the German philosopher Franz Rosenzweig, who would subsequently become known as author of The Star of Redemption, a significant analysis of the philosophy of Judaism, was persuaded by colleagues to convert to Christianity. He decided that Christianity was “a historically-valid, intellectually-admissible alternative” to the faith into which he had born, but understood little about.

However, because he wished to convert out of conviction rather than just the absence of involvement in Judaism, prior to the intended conversion he attended a Yom Kippur service at an Orthodox synagogue in Berlin. He came away a changed man, all thought of conversion dismissed from his mind.

Subsequently referring to the impact of that experience he wrote, “Anyone who has ever celebrated the Day of Atonement knows that this is something more than a mere personal exaltation (although this may enter into it) or the symbolic recognition of a reality such as the Jewish people (which may also be an element); it is a testimony to the reality of God which cannot be controverted.”

And in the section on the Jewish calendar in his book he writes that on this day, “God lifts up his countenance to the united and lonely pleading of men … Man’s soul is alone with God.”

Elsewhere he adds, “In this moment man is as close to God … as it is ever accorded to him to be.”

Albeit that regrettably one might wonder whether the state of decorum in our local shuls would have allowed such an outcome, perhaps Rosenzweig’s words provide a relevant insight into a key aspect of the concept of “itzumo shel yom”.

But, of course, while Yom Kippur is indeed just one day in the year, there are some 300 other days of the year that are neither Yom Kippur nor even another festival or Shabbat. And the way of Judaism is that one should sanctify all one’s actions – at all times – for “kedoshim tihyu”, you shall be holy because I the Lord your God am holy (Vayikra 19:2).

It is said of the beit medrash of the Kotzker Rebbe that prior to Kol Nidrei the gabbai would bang on the bima and announce “lomir gein davvenen Ma’ariv” – let us commence the Ma’ariv evening service. And on the first nights of Pesach after Ma’ariv, the gabbai would similarly announce a Yiddish equivalent to “Let’s go home and eat supper.”

When the Rebbe was asked the meaning of those strange announcements which placed Kol Nidrei on the same level as a daily Ma’ariv and the seder in the same category as a regular evening meal, he responded, “That is exactly the point: each Ma’ariv should be like Kol Nidrei and each meal should have the holiness of the seder.”

A difficult task indeed – but at least let us leave Yom Kippur with a level of spiritual uplifting which will have impact on our spiritual involvement in the year that follows.

In conclusion, however let me return to my starting point for this essay. More than 30 years ago I experienced the most emotional Yom Kippur of my life. As (in my capacity as Chazan at South Caulfield shule) I stood at the bima waiting to commence I looked around. Standing at the door of the shule was a prominent member of the Bund who never attended shule services. I left my place to greet him and invite him in saying I would give him a seat and a machzor.

It took some cajoling, but I succeeded and sat him down in one of the spare unsold seats right in front of the bima. And then, as Kol Nidrei proceeded, I realised he was sobbing – crying like a baby It disturbed me no end – and during the break after the sermon I went over to him, offering a glass of water in case he didn’t feel well.

And then he told me he had not attended a Kol Nidrei service since one in a cellar of the Vilna ghetto (I believe 1942) and this attendance and especially the familiar tunes brought it all back to him. Indeed I had great difficulty continuing the service.

This may be an extreme example. but the combination of the very day of Yom Kippur – “itzumo shel yom” – and personal memories stirs every heart, even if one is distant from traditional observance

Shabbat shalom,

G’mar chatima tova, Yossi

Yossi Aron OAM is the AJN’s religious affairs editor.