Yom Kippur is a strange character, indeed, invoking very different reactions. On the one hand, it can be extremely daunting. The mere mention of it can create feelings of dread, doubt, and deprivation: “How can I survive 25 hours of fasting, of no bathing or showering – not even able to brush my teeth, perish the thought!” Our nonstop praying, with the image of a sword dangling dangerously above our heads, clearly does not invite feelings of contentment or comfort.
And yet, the Talmud identifies Yom Kippur as one of the two happiest days in the year (along with the 15th of Av). The opportunity to release ourselves from the guilt of having strayed from God is a golden opportunity to clear accumulated debt from the (record) books of our lives.
Our unique, once-yearly chance to completely focus on our spiritual – rather than physical – self can be a wonderful cleansing experience that recharges our soul.
Thus, some of the rabbis choose to creatively interpret the meaning of the Torah’s phrase “V’initem et nafshoteichem” – generally translated as “You shall afflict your souls” – as “You shall answer your spiritual side” when it, too, craves attention.
But I want to explore another aspect of this dramatic holiday and inquire: “Is it an end, or is it a beginning?”
On the one hand, Yom Kippur – though it occurs after Rosh Hashanah, on the tenth of Tishrei – seems to be a climax of a long process of repentance.
It marks 40 days since we began a period of introspection and inquiry into the integrity of our lives. We started on the first of Elul with the sounding of the shofar, a piercing wake-up call signaling God’s impending perusal of our behavior.
The “slihot” penitential prayers followed, generally recited in the dead of night, when all is still; we continually beat on our chests, hoping to jump-start our hardened hearts. Then came Rosh Hashanah, with its rather subtle call to repentance, and now we conclude with the stoic solemnity of Yom Kippur.
The significance of the number 40
The number 40 always represents transformation. The 40 days of the Great Flood; the 40 years of our wandering in the desert; the 40 days Moses spent on Mount Sinai receiving and reviewing the Torah. Moses confronts Pharaoh at the age of 80, and then spends the next 40 years leading his people to the borders of the Land of Israel.
Forty is about renewal, about the power to change. So, when that 40th day of Yom Kippur comes to an end, we will check ourselves to see if we have indeed changed in a way that will bring us closer to God.
That is why, I suggest, Yom Kippur embodies an ending, as indicated by some rather stark behavior.
We (men) customarily immerse in a mikveh prior to the onset of the holiday, a ritual cleansing akin to that which precedes a tahara, the preparation of the body for burial.
We will don a kittel, a white robe that resembles the shrouds, or tachrichim, in which the body is wrapped in preparation for our burial.
We will ask for absolution from our unkept vows in the dramatic “Kol Nidre” prayer, much as the terminally ill patient seeks to tie up his “loose ends” before he departs this world.
The halachic strictures of the day have virtually suspended our normal activities; we have, in effect, ceased to be physical beings.
All of this puts us in a state of near-death. As we contemplate our end, we are overcome with emotion as we come to the gripping realization that life is short and potential is fleeting; we gasp at our frailty, and we grasp at the chance to make better use of our time, if only God will grant it.
Yet, as much as Yom Kippur is an ending, it is also a beginning. If, indeed, we have chosen to redress our faults and failures, if we have seriously committed to living a kinder, more moral, productive, and Godly life, then Yom Kippur is a starting point rather than a finish line.
The mikveh in which we bathe is akin to the amniotic sac surrounding a baby prior to its birth. It also connects to the bride, who must immerse herself prior to starting life as a newlywed; her past sins, by tradition, are expunged. And the white kittel? That, of course, is the white wedding dress of purity, the visible sign of a slate wiped clean. Now the words of “Kol Nidre” become a plaintive wedding vow between wife, Israel, and husband, God.
One other “40” is illustrative. The Talmud says that 40 days after birth, a bat kol, a heavenly voice, proclaims that this newborn child will marry so-and-so. In a sense, Yom Kippur – that 40th day in the process of our repentance – is the moment when we affirm our sacred, intimate relationship with the Almighty, when we forge a bond that is made in heaven, yet actualized on Earth.
So, in just a few days, on Yom Kippur, will we be coming to a conclusion, or will we be making a new start? Or will we be doing both simultaneously? Consider this: In the endless, eternal cycle of our existence in this world and the next, life, in effect, is the beginning of death; yet death is the beginning of life once again.
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com