The Role of One, The Power of Many

     Sermon for Kol Nidrei 2020, 5781

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Maybe it’s because of the unusual circumstances of these Holy Days, but this year an odd incongruity struck me—and you as well, I am sure. And that is that even though we have come together virtually to pray as one community, the reality is that each of us is actually alone, or perhaps with our “nuclear family,” in our own separate homes. And yet, something draws us all together, connecting us in some mysterious way. How is this possible? Was it actually always so, and only this year became apparent to us? 

I suspect so. Yom Kippur is there for all of us, but it is also about me, and you, and each and every one of us. Unetaneh Tokef, one of the most powerful prayers in the entire service, presents the dramatic image of how, on this most sacred of days, every individual is called to the Heavenly Court, where, one by one, all our deeds of the past year are recounted from the Book of Memories, playing themselves out before our astonished eyes.  

And yet, as we go through the prayers, we realize that almost to a one, they are all in the plural: WE have sinned, WE have transgressed, WE have caused harm. Even Kol Nidrei, the prayer that gives the entire Yom Kippur evening service its name, is all about the long list of vows and oaths that WE might have made and failed to fulfill.

In ancient days it was expected that, for our prayers to be accepted, we had to bring a sacrifice to the Temple. Whether it was a lamb, a handful of flour, or a pinch of salt, each individual was responsible for his or her offering. But on Yom Kippur, this was reversed. On this day, it was only one person’s duty—the High Priest—to bring the sacrifice, and up to him to achieve purification for the entire congregation. All that would be expected of us, the people assembled in the Temple courtyard, was to fast and show contrition for our sins. 

Unlike any other occasion or holiday, then and now, Yom Kippur was always meant to be a collective experience, an affirmation of the relationship between the People of Israel and our God. 

But this unity can be misleading. Surrounded by our community, reminded that we are all experiencing the transformative nature of atonement, it’s easy to disappear into the crowd. If God forgives us all, then by the nature of the service, I am forgiven too, no matter what sin and transgression I might be harboring deep within my heart and soul. 

As early as the 6th century BCE, the Prophet Isaiah called out a warning against this kind of thinking, when he taught that no sacrifice and no fast could do what deeds of righteousness would: “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen,” he exclaimed, “To loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke; to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?  Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter? When you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?” (Isaiah 58:6-7 NIV translation). 

Reaffirming Isaiah’s warning, Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria, one of the greatest of the early rabbis, formulated the famous teaching that while Yom Kippur has the power to atone for wrongs between people and God, it does not atone for transgressions between a person and their fellow human being until the one who was wronged has been pacified. We simply cannot proceed with the rituals of this Holy Day without first seeking forgiveness from our fellow human beings.

The responsibility of every individual to evaluate his or her behavior is an essential part of Yom Kippur. Because while guilt is a heavy enough burden for any one person, it also has ramifications for the rest of the community.

We know from hurts we have felt that a disparaging word or one spoken in anger can leave a deep scar in a person’s soul. No sacrifice to God, no matter how showy or expensive, can fix this kind of hurt, as will a simple apology. Saying “I am sorry” can go a long way; and once repair is done, once peace is restored, we can move on with our lives with a clear conscience and a lighter step.

Hurt isn’t always caused intentionally or with malicious forethought. Our language sometimes conveys subtexts that we may not even be aware of. Few people use jew as a verb anymore, but gypped is still common, as are other terms that derive from racial or ethnic slurs. In the past few months we came to understand that even images can hurt, such as the false image of the kindly Black cook who just loves to flip pancakes for us White folks; or the beautiful, white-columned plantation used as a setting for a classic Southern wedding. Rather than romanticizing antebellum, Gone-With-The-Wind times, this façade should remind us of the brutal practice of slavery that propped it up in the first place.

Attitudes can change imperceptibly, becoming ingrained over time. Since the birth of the American nation, knowingly or not, intentionally or not, our ideals have become tarnished, as we turned from the vision of “one nation under God” into the painful reality of a two-tiered society, where some have access to excellent healthcare, can attend the best schools and enjoy unlimited economic opportunities, while others—to put it simply—cannot. In such cases, our sins are collective, and communal atonement is required from all of us.

Sometimes it isn’t others that we owe an apology to, but ourselves. We transgress against ourselves when we allow others to demean us for our color, size, shape or faith. When we belittle and berate ourselves. When we let a bully tell us that we are worthless and deserving of pain or abuse. We shortchange ourselves when we start believing that we can’t turn our lives around. 

And yet, one of the biggest lessons we have learned this year is that each of us does have a voice, and an important function in society. We may be quarantined instead of gathering in our sanctuary on this holy day, but that’s because we understand the role of each individual in slowing or even stopping the spread of COVID. Yet that doesn’t stop us from being a community, from taking care of one another, whether by phone call or a drive-by. We deliver a challah for Shabbat, or the Torah to someone who feels the need to touch it. We care for the sick, comfort the mourner and rejoice with those celebrating the joyous moments of life. 

Because that’s what communities do. We reach out to each other; we are there for each other.

As a nation, in the past few years—and particularly since the COVID pandemic began—we have seen racial, economic and cultural divides widen and turn into ugly chasms. While this caused soul searching among many of us, some of us allowed ourselves to become discouraged, feeling that there is little we can do about poverty and hunger, racism, or divisive and corrupt politicians. 

Let us, however, not forget that 2020 is an election year, and I can’t emphasize enough the privilege and power that each person’s vote represents. To sit out this election, whether because we feel our voice doesn’t matter or because we are told our vote is invalid, is tantamount to giving in to cynicism—a sin against God, ourselves and the larger community. Every vote does count, and every voice deserves to be heard and considered.

Because as a nation, we all need to participate in the care and upkeep of the political, judicial and social system of which we are part.

The kind of atonement that Yom Kippur calls for isn’t only about whether we brought the right sacrifice to God; it’s more about examining our attitudes and behavior; it’s asking ourselves whether we did the right thing by one another; whether we let wrongs fester—or took action to make us, as individuals, as a community and as a nation, whole again.

And that’s why the Yom Kippur prayers are in plural. There is no community without “U” and “I.” For our prayers to be heard, for forgiveness and redemption to ensue, none of us can hide or disappear in the crowd. It takes the hard work and effort of each and every one of us to make it work, to make things right again.

May God grant us health and strength this year to do our part in repairing our world.  May we all be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for a sweet and healthy New Year.  Amen.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman