Sermon 9.21.07 - Kol Nidre: Understanding High Holiday Liturgy

Kol Nidre Sermon - Reshit Da`at Yirat Hashem
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El
9.21.07


High upon the sanctuary wall of Congregation Emanu-El in Honolulu, Hawaii, beyond the lazy circling fans of the social hall, sits a large mural. The painting depicts several situations in distinct frames. In one scene, sages engage in conversation before a ruler on a throne. In another, a woman pleads with an executioner who holds a sword in his raised hand. And in the last one, a throng of men walk bare chested in single file. As a child, I used to stare at this mural when my parents took me to services. Sitting through what seemed an endless liturgy, my sister and I would make up stories to go along with the scenes. Growing up in that congregation, nobody would ever tell me what they meant. As I got older, it became clear that this was because none of the adults in my life knew either. It just hung there, a distant mystery, blending in with the strange Hebrew and odd rituals to create an atmosphere of bewilderment and detachment.
Over time, this painting came to symbolize my experience in high holiday services: An elegant display of pomp and circumstance which I and those around me failed to understand. We would stand up, we would sit down. And just as soon as I had gotten comfortable in my chair, we would stand up again. The italicized words commanded me to say things that I neither understood nor agreed with. Who wrote all of this stuff anyways? And who decided that it was so important that we had to share it now, either sitting or standing, in song or in prose, in regular font or italicized? Like the painting, these experiences were a conundrum, and ultimately became sources of real frustration.
Only later in life was I able to understand the basis of this dissatisfaction. As I suspect that there may be some of us here tonight who identify with some of these feelings I’ve described, I’d like to share my theory with you. I believe that the remoteness many of us feel at this time of the year is largely due to an educational system that has left us ill prepared to access the wisdom of our own tradition. I call it the Bnai Mitzvah effect.
Let’s start at the beginning. Cognitive psychology teaches us that children acquire the ability to grasp metaphorical concepts right around 4th grade. Until that point, they have a hard time understanding that something may be equated to more than one thing, or that there might be multiple definitions of a single object. As metaphor is the programming language of religion and liturgy, the Judaism we teach to our youngest students is most often quite thin and literal.
So we get these students in 4th grade and now they are ready to get their hands dirty with deeper concepts. But hold on a minute, they have bar and bat mitzvahs in three years! And so it is easy for many congregations to fall into the practice of drilling their students with Hebrew letters and prayers. At long last the students finish this long journey and successfully recite these prayers, and read their Torah and haftarah portions. Now at last they are ready for a meaningful discussion of Judaism based upon the questions that naturally arise at this age. What is God? Do I have to believe in God to be Jewish? Where does the Torah come from? How does Jewish tradition fit into my life?
And here, the American Jewish community often meet these questions with a waive goodbye and a push out the door. According to the latest census numbers, 75% of all Jews do not continue their education after their bar or bat mitzvah. This bears repeating. Three out of every four American Jews leave the synagogue with a 4th grade education in their own religion. While we grow and mature in every other aspect, our spiritual background is left stunted. Still to this day, many synagogues fail to offer programming for the high school years. When they do, it is often haphazard and heavily leaning towards the social aspect, as if just getting the kids in the door is a sign of success. And so three out of four simply leave. And I’m not even talking about those Jews who choose not to affiliate or have a bar or bat mitzvah! We lose 75% of our most integrated students.
Why is the post b’nai mitzvah period so important? Well, adolescence represents the prime years in which we experiment with who we are, where our interests lie, and who we ultimately want to be. There is a good chance that our personalities and behaviors were at least strongly influenced by our experiences during this time. So it makes sense to give Judaism a voice during this period. And while it is clearly a time of great creativity, adolescence is also intimidating, as the world is opened up to great questions and fears, and real experiences of rejection and loneliness. And so it is all the more a shame we are robbed of the foundation of Judaism. Just as we are opening up to the greater concepts of morality, and in need of an outlet for our anxieties and creativity, we find the synagogue doors closed. We are encouraged to explore the wonders of athletics, the arts and humanities, yet Judaism abdicates its seat at the table.
Now lets fast forward a bit. Our proud bat mitzvah student goes to high school and then leaves for college, all the time carrying the same feelings of intimidation and frustration that have marked her religious experience. When, if ever does she come back into the synagogue? Of course tonight, on Yom Kippur! And what sort of liturgy does she find? “Who shall perish by fire, who by stoning, who by drowning.” And a vision of God as angry Santa Claus: Our father, our king, rewarding good guys and harshly punishing the bad guys. She takes literally the vision of God writing our names in a book of life, or having us pass under his staff like sheep. And she thinks to herself, ah yes, this is the Judaism I know. Now I remember why I stayed away in the first place!
Little does she realize that the high holiday service is markedly different from the rest of the year. Let me make an analogy: Suppose that you had never seen a movie in your entire life. You walk into your first theater, the lights go dark, and they start showing Dracula. You would think to yourself, “Boy, movies are really scary. I never want to see one of those again.” Truth be told, the high holidays comprise the horror section of Jewish liturgy. The text is written specifically to scare you; to jolt you, so that you will contemplate your life, and make any necessary changes. Our congregant may never realize that the liturgy and theology for the rest of the year is entirely different. But its too late now. She was disregarded in 4th grade, pushed out after her bat mitzvah, ignored during her formative years of adolescence and now fails to make any connection during this crucial time. Who knows if she will ever return? She is entirely grown and yet the synagogue still speaks to her through a limited vocabulary.
Now I don’t mean to depress you here tonight. And I must point out that Congregation Emanu-El avoids many of these pitfalls through a carefully planned and well staffed educational program which is the envy of the Reform movement. We do not focus solely on Hebrew skills in the pre-bnai mitzvah years. Few synagogues have a full time director of adolescent education, not to mention teachers with the experience and commitment found here at Emanu-El. Our Rabbis Honor Cup teen school teaches 150 students from the 8th to 12th grades every week. And I would like to think that we offer a brand of worship that greatly outshines that of my childhood memories. Nevertheless, most of us here tonight did not have the benefit of growing up in such an evironment. Ultimately, many of us remain confused and intimidated by a liturgical system and theology that was never fully explained to us. And so I would like to spend a few minutes deciphering the high holiday liturgy and looking at the intentions of those who put this book together. In short, I want to go back in time and talk to that confused kid starring up at that mural and wondering what in the world was going on.
I would say to him, the first problem many of us have us that we pick up this siddur and read it as though it was a book. Like poetry, liturgy makes little sense when it is simply read from page to page. Rather, I suggest you look at this volume as if you were looking at a website. A website can be read at face value, but its true significance is found in its many hyperlinks, words that you may click on to be taken to another page. This is exactly how the prayer book works. What you hold here is a compilation of biblical quotations woven together through ancient and medieval poetry. The quotes are inserted with the greatest of intention to whisk us away to specific biblical moments and to draw metaphorical parallels with our lives as we sit here today. That is the real power of the siddur: to create meaningful comparisons between our current circumstances and the wisdom of our ancestors who faced similar situations in generations past. The problem is that we don’t have the context to understand such comparisons.
Allow me to make another analogy here. For any of you who have spent much time with teenagers, and most specifically teenage boys, you may find that they are able to hold an entire conversation with one another through quoting their favorite movies. And while this can be a bit confusing, the system holds real power to those in the know. If you have seen these movies and can recall the quoted line, a metaphorical connection may be drawn between what is happening in current time and what happened in the quoted scene. This analogy gives a new perspective to the incident at hand. Moreover, the quoting creates a barrier of entry to those not in the know, aka parents and other adults.
Now lets bring this analogy back to the prayer book. The people who put this book together knew the bible as well as our teenage population here tonight knows their favorite movies. Unlike their historical neighbors, the rabbis of the Talmudic era could recite each verse of the Torah line by line. And when certain biblical passages were inserted into a website-like structure, meaning could be gleaned from these historical references. Lets look at an example.
Turn to the top of page 31. Before the Amidah, that is, the central prayer of the prayer service, we say the words, “Adonai Sefatai Tiftach Ufee Yagid Tehilateicha” – “Adonai, open up my lips and I will tell of your glory.” Well, click on this hyperlink and you will be taken to Psalm 51 verse 17. This particular Psalm is introduced as the words of David upon being admonished by the prophet Natan. David has committed adultery with Bathsheeba and has sent her husband Uriah to the front lines of battle so that he will be killed. Once he realizes what he has done, David utters these words, asking God to open his lips so that he may testify to God’s glory and begin his atonement. Through this biblical snapshot, the prayer book transports us back in time, and into David’s shoes. As we all seek redemption, especially during this season, we join David in asking to be heard and for the wisdom to retrace our steps. At the same time, this quote carries a message of optimism. As David is the rabbinic superhero, the seed of the Messiah, we are reminded that it is only human to make mistakes. We see here that even the great King David screws up! Erring is a part of the human condition. Therefore the image of David teaches us that we should not revel in self pity or humiliation, but should rather concentrate on forgiveness and reconciliation. Such is the power of liturgy when it is properly understood and contextualized, like a good movie quote.
Let me give you another example. Turn to the bottom of page 39. The vidui, a prayer for confession that highlights the high holiday liturgy, is written in a rather obscure form. If you don’t pay attention, you will entirely miss the fact that its an acrostic. That is, each line begins with the next letter of the alphabet. Aleph, bet, gimmel, dalet…Ashamnu, Bagadnu, Gazalnu, Dibarnu dofi. Take a look at the English at the top of page 40 - the translation is imperfect as it primarily seeks to retain the alphabetical structure. A,B,C,D…Arrogance, Bigotry, Cynicism, Deceit. When I was little, I always wondered why in the world they chose the word “xenophobia” for this prayer. Now I know that they just needed an “x” word! You might say, “So what, who cares if the liturgy is structured alphabetically?” As in a haiku or sonnet, the acrostic structure has real meaning. This form is used when the content is so overwhelmingly emotional that it requires a basic construction. It is a hint towards the painful cries of the prophet Jeremiah in the book of Lamentations, the only book of the Hebrew bible written purely as an acrostic. In Lamentations, Jeremiah calls for mercy for his people and beloved city. We all get to play the part of the prophet here on Yom Kippur. By offering our confession in this structure, we signal our sincerity and careful intention to include all of our transgressions over the past year, a to z. The structure gives us our first step towards healing; a foundational routine which to build around. Again, this is the power of liturgy when properly understood and contextualized.
For MM service only: And here are two other quick examples: Check out page 33. Here we see three lines inserted into the Amidah, all beginning with the word, “Uvachen”, meaning therefore. This Uvachen section is an allusion to the book of Esther, the only book in the Hebrew Bible where this word “uvachen” is found. Esther uses the word to open her plea while beseeching King Ahasheurus to save her people from imminent destruction. And so we quote her directly when asking the same of God. Or jump to Avinu Malkeinu on page 45. According to the Talmud, the Avinu Malkeinu prayer was first said by Rabbi Akiva, begging God to end a draught which threatened the community’s existence. Similarly, we offer this prayer tonight on behalf of our community, so that we may be spared from terrible consequence. As you can see, all of these prayers share a common thread. These historical pleas for mercy are strung together throughout time and history, all within this siddur. We cite these cases as precedents of God’s mercy, as God responded to David, Jeremiah, Esther and Akiva. We utilize the power of analogy in calling God to our aid.
The problem, of course, is that today we stand as outsiders to this system, most of us completely unaware of there even being a structure, much as we don’t even know when our teenage kids are quoting movies or speaking for themselves. And so what began as carefully constructed rubrics, laid out with the greatest of intention, are rendered utterly useless to the casual reader. And here lies the source of our remoteness from the text. We stand as modern eavesdroppers upon an ancient conversation, but we have lost the framework to understand the connection. And so we read the book from a linear, non-metaphorical, elementary school perspective, and expect it to make sense to us. No wonder we spend so much time feeling lost and dejected. We take notions like God as a shepherd, watching us pass; or God writing our names in the book of life, as if they are meant to be taken literally. We bristle at notions of kingship and sovereignty, never asking what those words must have meant to someone 2,000 years ago, especially to a people lacking any political power. We are confronted by this daunting text of gloom and doom Judaism and reject it without first seeking proper context.
You may ask, why then do we continue to utilize these metaphors when praying? Why not just write a new prayerbook which speaks in a more direct manner? The answer is that poetry and metaphors carry a sense of emotion which prose cannot fully capture. Dr. Rachel Adler writes in her book, Engendering Judaism, “Metaphor is expressly suited to be the language of prayer because prayer is not a rational or analytical process…Liturgical events need metaphors because like poetry and dreams, they are charged with emotion and require language that evokes feelings.”
I would add that before you reject outdated metaphors, you must realize that metaphors are all inherently imperfect. After all, if your metaphor fits the situation 100%, you end up just saying the same thing twice. It does no good to describe a rock as being as hard as a rock. The power of metaphor lies in that area which does not fit, which pushes the boundaries of the concept as to stimulate the listener’s creativity and awareness. Therefore, our disconnect with the imagery of the prayer book is purposeful. Poetry is a necessarily indirect science. So when you come across a line such as Avinu Malkeinu – Our father, our king, recognize that of course God is not literally a King or a Parent. But ask yourself what these words meant to the authors of this prayer book. What are the symbols of strength and majesty in a modern context? Thereby we may transcend our modern biases against such antiquated language and overcome the barriers to entry erected through our lack of cultural literacy. Or you can invent your own terms for God. Liturgist Marcia Falk refers to God as eyn hachayim, “the source of life,” and eyn hashalom, “eternal wellspring of peace.” These terms avoid specific gendering while also reflecting a warmer and less anthropomorphic vision of God, as opposed to the King and Father images seen in traditional Judaism.
So there, Ive said it. Everything that I wish someone had said to me as a child as I was staring abjectly at that confusing mural, wondering what in the world was going on. The good news is that this congregation offers so many opportunities for continued learning that we all have the chance to reinvigorate our sense of Jewish identity and understanding. I urge you to visit our website and look through the Temple Chronicle to learn about the various classes offered for all backgrounds, both here at the temple and even offsite and downtown. We even offer a specific class, entitled “The Course,” to deepen your understanding of the basic concepts which you may have missed back in religious school. I know that sure I did.
Finally, allow me to end with yet another scriptural quote. The book of Ecclesiastes says, “Yirat Hashem reshit da`at” - "Awe of God is the beginning of knowledge.” Tonight, I ask that we flip this verse around: Reishit da’at yirat hashem – that is, “Knowledge is the beginning of an awe of God.” May this day serve as a wake up call not only to atone for our transgressions but also to reclaim our identity as active, educated Jews. I wish you all a purposeful and meaningful new year, full of comfort, wisdom and understanding. Shanah Tova.