I meant for this to be a serious post, where I culled my thoughts about Yom Kippur and put them together in a wonderfully coherent essay. Instead, I am drinking coffee and thinking about clothing. I had a few clothing-related revelations today:
1. Everything is better when done topless (except for maybe job interviews, and even then, it depends on the type of job).
2. Modesty actually matters to me. You see, I have a ten-dollar skirt that keeps on getting smaller and smaller with each wash. The result was that today, for the first time I can remember, I found myself worrying about whether or not I'd worn a sexy pair of underwear, because if the skirt went any higher while I walked, that might matter. I didn't think it would matter to me, but it really did. (Yes, I do like going topless or in the nude - but at home, by myself or with people I know - not in public.)
Ok, on to more serious things: I've been continuing to think about Israeli folk-songs. You see, there is one that lists an entire catalogue of things the singer has not done yet, with the refrain, "I have not loved enough - the wind and the sun are on my face. I have not spoken enough - and if not now, when?"* My favorite stanza however, is the final one: Even though you are here, and so pretty, I run away from you as if you were a plague. There are still many things I wanted to do - so surely, you'll forgive me for this year too?
Sometimes, the High Holiday season feels a bit like this song: At the same time you make all these resolutions, a part of you is wondering if you aren't destined to break at least some of them? Surely, we must ask forgiveness for the failure to fully repent, just as we try to fully repent? I have even heard some people say that repentance is pointless: We are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, so why bother? Why fake repentance through a series of rituals?
I disagree with this type of thinking: As humans, we can control our actions, and we need not repeat prior mistakes. Furthermore, knowing that, by nature, we can not be perfect, does not make our repentance fake: We are expressing a desire to be as close to perfect as we can be, while understanding that true perfection is impossible. Repentance is a process: It is about engaging in self-reflection, setting goals, and trying to discover ways to achieve those goals - no one can know the result, but the key thing is that we are trying.***
There is a story about a non-religious man who, every Rosh Hashana through Yom Kippur, dressed as a chassid and visited a rebbe. One year, he showed up to the rebbe's dressed normally. The rebbe began to cry. "But Rebbe, I never was a chassid - it was always just a costume!", the man said. "I knew you weren't a chassid for the rest of the year; I always assumed who you were while you were with me was who you truly are, but the rest of the year things interfered. Now that you visit me dressed as you are, I see that the non-hassid is who you truly are."
First of all, this story brings me back to the topic of clothes, costumes, religiosity as performance, garb as social role, and the role that clothing can play in our spiritual lives - but I'm going to ignore that at the moment.
Second of all, I believe that the High Holiday season is a gift: God is giving us an opportunity to be the best people we can be for ten days, understanding (since He (She?) understands us better than we do ourselves) that we might not be able to keep up the momentum. But what a lovely thing - to have a set time in our lives each year to ask ourselves the important questions. How many people feel that life passed them by, and they don't know when or why? Having an annual time to take stock of your life helps prevent that - and let's face it, between Facebook and Hulu, there just wouldn't be much time to schedule in for introspection if Judaism didn't do it for us. I would like to think, maybe, if we are the best we can be for the days of repentance, God judges us as He judged Ismael "basher hoo sham", according to the spiritual level he had at that moment, disregarding any evil actions God knew he might do in the future (this is according to Rashi on Genesis, 21: 17).
At the same time, this explanation does not cut it for me: I would like to think if we are going through a spiritual struggle, God will not judge us based on where we are at that moment, but instead, will recognize that there are extenuating circumstances, will give us opportunities in the next year to help us overcome our struggle and fulfill our potential. This fits in with Mincha Belula's interpretation of "basher hoo sham", that "God saw the pain of the youth, that he was there (basher hoo) in pain (sham batzaar)." God saved Ismael not because of his merit at that moment, but because he was in pain, and God looked at the pain - not at the merit. This is the way we want God to look at us on Yom Kippur - we do not want him to look at our merit (or lack thereof), but rather to enact His infinite mercy and infinite capacity for forgiveness in order to pardon us. We say, "Remember the covenant, but not the yetzer". What is that covenant? It is the covenant of the 13 attributes of mercy - God's promise to enact his mercy through the act of remembrance. What can remembrance mean, since God forgets nothing? I believe that, for God to remember means a selective "forgetting": God chooses to look at and "remember" the good, and "forget" the bad. He chooses to look at the extenuating circumstances, and not the mistakes we have made, just as he looked at the circumstance that Ismael was in when he prayed to God while in pain.
This is where the idea of God and the people of Israel as a husband and wife comes in. Part of being in a relationship is choosing to see the positive, and not the negative. It is choosing to forgive, because when you live together, stuff happens. Feeling get hurt. Mistakes are made - but a determination to see the positive in each other and to forgive each other is what makes the relationship work. As a matter of fact, improving interpersonal relationships is a a large part of Yom Kippur: We are enjoined to ask forgiveness of each other, and to forgive. I believe that this is for a few reasons: 1. God knew that human beings are large on pride, and short on time - so what could be better than to designate a time for them to set aside their pride? 2. Having an annual time to resolve arguments leads to more social cohesion, on a micro and macro level. It prevents conflicts from becoming entrenched. Just think about how much easier it would have been if the Capulets and the Montagues could have asked forgiveness for each other the year that their fight first started, before heading off to synagogue, instead waiting until things became so deep and complicated that Romeo and Juliet wound up dying.** 3. It is just healthy for us, as human beings, to practice the act of forgiveness. Having a set time of year to resolve conflicts is healthy for the individual, since rifts in interpersonal relationships come with emotional baggage. 4. You need the forgiveness of a person for a wrong you committed against her - praying without asking forgiveness from the person herself won't cut it. This sends the message that if people are mean, they can't pray a lot, and count on their prayers to "make up for" their meanness to people. Clearly, Judaism does not recognize that as type of religiosity as valid.
The emphasis on interpersonal commandments as being central to living a religious life, something much at work in the prophets, is one of the aspects of Judaism that most resonates with me, even if it is an aspect that is hard to carry out. I am wishing each and every one of you a year full of health, wealth and happiness, in which all of us are the people we truly wish to be (yes, I do think that's an important wish, which is why I am expressing it two posts in a row.)
The Hebrew folk-song that inspired this : Od Lo Ahavti Dai - words by Naomi Shemer, sung by Yehoram Gaon
* "If not now, when?" is a quote from Hillel in Pirkey Avot.
**Note: The play is about lust not, love!
*** Furthermore, the fact that this process is encapsulated in a series of ritual does not mean that is is fake - on the contrary, as Jacob Milgrom says in his commentary on Leviticus, "Anthropology has taught us that when a society wishes to express and preserve its basic values, it ensconces them in rituals". (Milgrom 1). In the case of prayer, because it is performative speech, it is a ritual act. The primary importance of ritual has led to the theory in some Ancient Near Eastern studies, that myths were built up around ritual, and not vice versa. The values of forgiveness and self-improvement ensconced in High Holiday ritual thus shows their importance in Judaism, and by performing those rituals we express our tradition and the values of our religion. See fortresspress.com for more on Milgrom's book. It's called "Leviticus", conveniently enough.
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