"The Gates Are Still Open: Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur"

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Rev. Suzelle Lynch
September 21, 2003

SERMON

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Nearly every September, ever since I first learned to read, I would look at the calendar my mother had pinned to the wall in our kitchen and see those words written there - often on the same day as my birthday, or very close to it. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur - strange words they were to me, words in another language.

They were words that made me feel special even when I didn't know what they meant, since they fell so close to my special day. Later in life - in Unitarian Universalist Sunday School -- I learned that Rosh Hashanah was the Jewish New Year, and that Yom Kippur, which came ten days later, was the Day of Atonement, and that together they were called the High Holy Days.

But I had to go to seminary to even begin to learn about the deeper meanings of these days, which are collectively referred to in Hebrew as the yamim noraim, or Days of Awe. And I don't think that's fair. For as Unitarian Universalists, we are people who value the wisdom and traditions of religions besides our own. In the Principles and Purposes of our larger religious association, we claim that many sources nourish our living tradition, including Jewish, Christian, Humanist, and earth-centered religious teachings.

And so, after today, you won't have to go to seminary! Today we learn from and about these Jewish holidays - honoring them in solidarity with our members and friends who are Jewish and with Jews around the globe.

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and the days between them are the most important of the Jewish year. Listen to these words from well-known rabbi and author Harold Kushner, "The Jewish calendar year begins in the fall with a ten day period of examining how we lived during the year that has ended, and articulating our hopes and prayers for the year ahead. What makes these days special is not only the profundity and solemnity of the prayers offered, but the fact that we take them so seriously. In the congregation I served for twenty-four years, the 270 seats in the sanctuary were usually more than adequate to accommodate the worshippers on Sabbaths and holidays. But for the High Holy Days every fall, we would open up … the large multipurpose room (adjoining the sanctuary and) set out an additional seven hundred seats, and then set up a tent in the parking lot for an additional four hundred worshippers. (And at peak moments of the service, we would still have people standing in the back and aisles.)" (From "To Life, A Celebration of Jewish Thinking and Being, p. 106)

What could cause such a multiplication of a congregation's attendance at worship?

Life and death itself. L'shanah tovah tikatevu. In English, that's "May you be inscribed for a good year in the Book of Life," and it is one of the traditional greetings which our Jewish friends and neighbors speak to one another during this time of year. The phrase "Book of Life," refers to a verse in the biblical book of Psalms (69:29) which speaks of a book into which God writes the names of the righteous. Jewish folklore teaches that it's on Rosh Hashanah that God writes down the names of all who will live through the coming year into the Book of Life. The Talmud, which is an important book of Biblical commentary, rulings and stories, speaks of three books - first, the Book of Life, into which God immediately writes the names of those who are clearly righteous, then, the Book of Death, into which God immediately writes the names of those who are clearly wicked. The third "book" is the list of all those who fall in the middle and whose fate will be decided in the time between Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur.

Of course, the Jewish people do not necessarily believe in a literal book of life. One of the primary functions of any religion is to nourish hope in those who follow it by giving them rich metaphors and symbols that help with the process of discerning life's meaning. And as Harold Kushner says, "…Most of us realize (that) the worst thing you can do to a poetic metaphor (like the Book of Life) is to take it literally." (To Life, p. 111) But even so, the image of God judging each person can be taken to mean a number of things that even we Unitarian Universalists find familiar: that our day-to-day behavior and our ethical choices are important. That we are ultimately accountable for how we use the opportunities which being alive and being human give us. That we are called upon to put our faith's values into action - not just into words.

I've always found it interesting that Rosh ha-Shanah, begins the Jewish calendar's month of Tishri - not the first month of the calendar, but the seventh. This would be like celebrating the New Year in July instead of January. But for the Jewish people the first month of the year is Nisan, the month of the Exodus from Egypt, when they began to be forged into a nation. The first day of Tishri is said to be the anniversary of the creation of the world, and indeed, Rosh Hashanah means "head of the year," an image that calls to mind the head-first way babies are born. Rosh Hashanah thus celebrates and ritually re-births or recreates the world each year.

The days between Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur - are known as the ten days of repentance. It's a time when the people struggle to examine their souls and become aware of the ways they have failed -- failed others, failed themselves, and failed their God.

On the surface, the idea of an annual period of repentance followed by a day of fasting and atonement might sound rather dismal.

But the process, called teshuvah, is a powerful and poetic one.

This introspection is meant to lead to regret and remorse for harm caused, and to attempts at restitution whenever possible. The process is meant to lead each person to turn away from his or her past self and return to a better self who will act differently in the New Year. "Hashiveinu Adonai eilecha veinashuva," we heard those words sung earlier by our choir, and they translate, "Turn us to you, God, and we will return." Teshuvah means turning - turning inward in self-evaluation, turning back to look on one's deeds of the previous year, and returning to God through acts of restitution, charity and forgiveness.

Forgiveness is an important part of this process. Not just seeking it from those we have wronged, but also granting it to those who have wronged us. To withhold forgiveness during the High Holy Days is seen as particularly and unusually cruel.

It's interesting that the period of atoning for the misdeeds of the old year comes only after the new year has already begun. My Jewish spirituality professor, Jo Milgrom, explained that this is because we humans need to be awakened by all the exciting possibilities of a new year before we are ready to look back at all our failures. In this way, we are nourished by hope even as we gain full consciousness of our need to make amends.

It's also true that Jews are asked to spend the entire month before Rosh Hashanah making teshuvah. There are no fast days or festivals during that month, nothing to distract from "returning" and forgiveness.

But once the new year has begun, things get serious. As George Robinson, author of the book "Essential Judaism" writes, "… On Rosh Hashanah, we are put on trial for our actions of the previous year, to be sentenced on Yom Kippur." (p. 94) Imagine knowing that you had ten days to examine your conscience, and make things right. Would you know how to do it? What would you look for?

Sin isn't a word that many UUs relate to. But in Hebrew, there are three different words for "sin." Avon is sin resulting from a twisted character. Feshah is a willful rebellion against God. And cheit simply means missing the mark.

All of these sins are mentioned in the synagogue liturgy for the High Holy Days, but the one most focused on is cheit. The Al Cheit (or Al Khet) prayer, in which the people confess in unison to a multitude of sins committed during the previous year, is repeated ten times during the daylong Yom Kippur services. And the nature of the sins enumerated in the Al Cheit are not huge sins like murder or robbery, but smaller moral failings like gossiping, using foul speech, being disrespectful of parents or teachers, being dishonest in business. Smaller things that we might excuse one at a time, but which slowly corrode our souls when they remain unacknowledged.

Cheit also is the failure to honor the goals that we set for ourselves. In all these things, it essentially amounts to self-defeat, to being less than our true selves, less than whole. And confessing to these sins collectively, in unison, as a community, says something important about the nature of being human: that because we are interrelated, even our small sins impact one another.

Imagine what it would be like to take ten days at the beginning of the year to reflect on your relationships. Your relationships with your parents, your partner or spouse, your children. Your business relationships, your relationships with other members of your faith community, with your neighbors. Ten days in which to ask yourself: "Was I always fair? Did I gossip at all - even a little bit? Did I keep my temper? Was I always kind and considerate? Was I always respectful? Did I tell the truth? Did I always set a good example for my children?" (I know that I could not truthfully answer yes to all of these… especially when the question includes the word "always.")

Imagine taking ten days to reflect on your relationship with yourself. Ten days in which to ask, "Did I disappoint myself this year? Did I do the things I know I needed to do in my life? Did I keep my promises to myself?" (I am particularly bad at keeping promises to myself - when pressure comes in my life, they are the first thing that fly out the window. I know many of us are like this, but I don't know if we've ever thought of it as sin.)

Imagine having ten days to let all of our excuses fall away. To let our guard down. Ten days to have compassion for ourselves, ten days to be courageous and honest with ourselves.

What comes next? Central to the process of teshuvah is admitting our wrongs and making restitution where we can. This can be very hard, for we live in a culture where we're taught always to cover for ourselves and never admit fault, even when we know we're at fault. Fear keeps us from truthfulness - the fear that someone will be angry with us or disappointed, the fear that we won't measure up somehow, the fear that if we show any crack in our armor, the rest of it will soon disintegrate, and we will be left naked and defenseless…

It takes courage to meet our partner, our neighbor, our co-worker, our parent, our child -- face to face; to make peace, to seek justice, to ask forgiveness.

It takes courage to take responsibility for errors we have made, even small ones that may not matter to anyone but ourselves. But responsibility is what the process of teshuvah is all about - response-ability. We practice moving from and acting from our deeper understanding of what is right, not from the excuses that lie on our surface.

This process goes on until the final service on Yom Kippur which is called Ne'ilah, which means shutting. The image comes from ancient times when the gates to a walled city would be closed at sunset. Since Jewish tradition regards Yom Kippur as the day on which God makes the final decision on the fate of each human being, as the holiday comes to an end, the liturgy vividly depicts gates beginning to close. During this final service, people pray with special intensity, hoping for God's mercy.

When the holiday is ended, despite its seriousness, many people feel a deep sense of serenity and joy, for they have made peace with everyone they know, and with their God.

Now, what possible meaning can this process have for us?

Answering that question means taking a look at how we have regarded God. The Rev. Thomas Starr King, a 19th century Universalist minister who served Unitarian churches for most of his career was once asked what the difference was between the Unitarians and the Universalists. He replied that the Universalists believed that God was too good to damn them, and that the Unitarians believed that they were too good to be damned.

Both of these views are with us still, nearly 150 years later! Many of us sense that there is a goodness at the heart of the Universe, a deep wellspring of love that holds us and honors us and will not let us go. At the same time, we affirm the inherent worth and dignity of each individual - the goodness present in each human being.

In the Universalist sense of things, the gates to God, the heart of the Universe, are always open. On the Unitarian side of things, we are simply called upon to act as individuals in accordance with the goodness inherent in us.

And yet most of us do have a sense that we are more than individuals, that we are part of a greater reality, a deeper mystery of life. And it is here where we can grasp the value of teshuvah.

Seeking to be truly honest with ourselves and with one another, seeking to make right the ways we have wronged one another, seeking and granting forgiveness, is the way in which we can draw closer to the meaning of life. It's not through piety or self-incrimination but through connections and reconnections with one another that we move in the direction of a greater Wholeness. If we want to experience what is most holy in this universe, we must find it and honor it in one another. We recreate the world as we recreate our connections with one another in an honest, humble and honoring way.

Now some of you probably read the description of this service in the West Wind newsletter, and you're wondering, perhaps, what any of this has to do with our nation's involvement with Iraq.

Rabbi Harold Kushner (in "To Life") informs us that the corporate nature of the Al Cheit confessional prayer is a reminder that we can be held responsible for other people's sins as well as our own. When we ignore our community responsibility we create a climate in which other people are apt to sin. When another person sins because we failed to act in a socially responsible way, we too are held accountable. As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "We are caught up in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny."

Am I saying that we as individuals are responsible for the actions of our nation? I think of this story from my colleague, the Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell. She wrote, "A day or so after the war started (in March), I spoke to a man who came to do some work on my house. He greeted me with a hearty, cheerful voice: 'How are you?' he said. I could only respond. 'Well, we're at war.' We talked about the war for a while. Like many people, … (he was) ambivalent-but strangely detached. At the end of our conversation he said, 'Well, I can see you are taking this personally.' Well, yes, of course I am, I thought. I am an American citizen. Like all citizens, I am responsible for the actions of my country. How can I not take this personally?" (in "Swords into Ploughshares, a sermon given 3/23/03 at the First Unitarian Church of Portland, OR)

In part, that's what the process of teshuvah asks us to do - to take the actions of our country personally. The question, let me emphasize, is not "Did I do something wrong?" But instead, "Did I recognize wrongdoing, and did I respond?" The question is not about who did it. But rather, who could have made a difference.

And that, I know has led me to ask myself a familiar question - what must I do now? What must I do that I haven't done before, to bring change? When I am tempted to be cynical when I read that our president will go this week to the United Nations and practically demand that they help with rebuilding in Iraq, when only a year ago he threatened them and ignored their wisdom -- what must I do? When I am saddened by the news of more deaths from car bombs and snipers and ambushes, what must I do?

If we truly believe in the interdependent web of all life, if we believe in world community, then we have to eschew cynicism and hopelessness. We cannot separate our religion and values from our actions as citizens. We know the tasks: Speak out. Write. Vote. Call for truth and mercy. Protest. Work for peace, or for whatever we believe is right.

"And we can begin by trying to embody peace in our own lives. That is perhaps the most difficult part of all, when we are sad and angry and frustrated. To practice forgiveness, though, is not to abandon justice, it is not to abandon right action -- it is to hold in your heart a terrible wrong, while you attempt with all your heart to correct that wrong." (Marilyn Sewell)

Our Universalist forebears believed that sin was its own punishment. Our own story reminds us that sin is the destruction of our own hearts, by our own actions. Actions that alienate us from one another, and sever our connections with the larger Wholeness that is the Web of Life.

The Jewish High Holy Days, the process of teshuvah, of repentance and atonement remind us that we can reconnect. We can work to mend what is broken. We can honor the holy in one another, and in this way, rebuild the world. Rosh Hashanah begins on Friday at sunset, and Yom Kippur ends on October 6th -- and thus the gates are still open. Indeed, as our Universalist ancestors believed, the gates will always be open - the path to wholeness is always available to us, if we will have the courage and the love to take it.

And take it we must: holding one another's hand, walking together, seeking one another's forgiveness, encouraging one another to greater acts of justice. In this way, we build once more toward a world of greater wholeness.

Le shanah tovah tikatevu. "May you be inscribed for a good year in the Book of Life."

Amen.

Sources:
"Jewish Literacy" by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin
"To Life," by Rabbi Harold Kushner
"Essential Judaism" by George Robinson
"How to Run a Complete Jewish Household," by Blu Greenberg
"Singing the Living Tradition" UUA Hymnal
Children's story used was: "How Spider Woman Created the World," from "The Seven Principles in Story and Verse," by Ken Collier