Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

Some Thoughts Before Yom Kippr

Like many of his Jewish contemporaries in turn-of-the-century Germany, young Franz Rosenzweig embarked upon a quest for personal religious solutions to the puzzles of human existence. Though unsatisfied by the aridity of the prevailing philosophical schools, his superficial Jewish education had not equipped him to counter the attractions of liberal Protestantism, which professed to embody the essence of enlightened universalism.

In 1913 Rosenzweig resolved to adopt Christianity, a move which was conventionally viewed as a necessary prerequisite to full acceptance into European culture and society. However he wished to enter the new religion “as a Jew,” and therefore determined to spend the last days before his conversion in Jewish settings, emulating the founders of Christianity who had seen the new faith as a fulfilment of their Judaism.

When Rosenzweig confided his plans to his mother, she threatened to have her apostate son turned away from the Yom Kippur services in the central synagogue of Cassel. It thus turned out that Rosenzweig came to daven on Oct. 11 1913 at a tiny shtiebl in Berlin.

The experience was an overpowering one. Rosenzweig never described precisely what happened in that small shitebel. All we know that immediately afterwards his perspectives underwent a complete reversal, and that the prospect of conversion was “no longer possible.”

A biographer would later describe how Franz Rosensweig, that Yom Kippur, converted from Judaism, to Judaism.

A Day from the Next World

The Sefer Ikarim (4:33) describes the moment of a person's death. In that one instant, freed from the limitations of the physical body, the soul perceives itself as it truly is. It's a moment of great awakening. For some, that moment is liberating, a moment of realizing the greatness that has been achieved throughout a life of overcoming challenges, and building connections and striving for perfection. It is that feeling that is called Gan Eden

But the opposite is true as well.

When Reb Zusha was on his deathbed, his students found him in uncontrollable tears. They tried to comfort him by telling him that he was almost as wise as Moshe and as kind as Avraham, so he was sure to be judged positively in Heaven. He replied, “When I get to Heaven, I will not be asked Why weren't you like Moshe, or Why weren't you like Avraham. They will ask, Why weren't you like Zusha? Why didn't you fully live up to your own potential?”

In truth, however, this question is not one we will be surprised to hear when we leave this world. It is the question that Yom Kippur asks us each year.

In many ways, Yom Kippur mimics the experience of the soul leaving the body. Indeed, for the next twenty four hours, we will all but ignore the needs of our physical selves. We will abstain from necessary food and drink. We will not bathe, or experience intimacy. We will divorce ourselves wholly from the demands of our bodies. Like the angels on high, we will say ברוך שם aloud in the Shema tonight and tomorrow.

The Talmud (Yerushalmi 42a) quotes a Beraisa: יום מיתה כיום תשובה – the day of death is like Yom Kippur, the day of Teshuva.

Thus Yom Kippur offers us a taste of the same other worldly experience.

Entering The Mikdash

On Yom Kippur we are entering into the other world, the Beis HaMikdash Shel Maalah. As we enter, who will we meet here? We come in as ourselves, but inside this world there is another person, that stares back at us from the behind the Paroches.

We know that person, it's he person we could have been this year. We encounter that individual that we hoped we would be by now, the one who conquered that particular issue, fixed that long standing problem. We stare into the face of that Jew, and wonder why that person is not us.

So we begin... Ashamnu, Bagadnu... we failed to live up to our dreams of last year. This was not how we wanted to arrive to the Beis HaMikdash on Yom Kippur, and yet, here we are.

But the goal of Yom Kippur is not, God forbid, shame, but opportunity instead. It is the gift of knowing that even as we taste of the world of truth, we will not stay here, we get to reenter our world tomorrow night. But for the next twenty-four hours, we have a job – an Avoda.

Who is the Real You?

The central Avoda of Yom Kippur involved two goats. To the outside world, they look identical. But internally they couldn't be more distant. One is LaShem. The other, La'azazel.

They arrive to the mikdash at the same time; they're the same height, same color, same age. But one will be destined to for the mizbeach, the highest service possible. The other will be extracted, and pushed unceremoniously off a cliff.

And there are two versions of ourselves: The actual self, the self of last year, and the ideal, the self of tomorrow. To the outside world, they are the same. No one knows our inner world, no one understands our private commitments, our hopes, dreams and plans. Know one knows the places we have succeeded, and the places where we have failed.

But Hashem asks us today, which version are you keeping, and which are you pushing off the cliff? Only one person entered your Yom Kippur, and only one can leave. But which version? Over the next 24 hours, we will make a choice: Are we keeping our dreams, and leaving our current selves behind, or are we clinging to our current selves, allowing our aspiration to be pushed aside and pushed away. That's up to each of us.

Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, the Alter Rebbe wanted to “test” his young grandson, Menachem Mendel who would later become the third Rebbe of Chabad, the Tzemach Tzedek. He sat him on his lap and asked him: “Where is zaide?” The young Menachem Mendel pointed to his grandfather's head. The Alter Rebbe smiled and shook his head: “No. That is zaide's head. Where is zaide?” The child pointed to his grandfather's chest. Again the Rebbe smiled but shook his head: “No. That is zaide's heart. Where is zaide?” And so the exercise continued until the child stood in seeming bewilderment.

He jumped off his grandfather's lap and went, so it seemed, to play outside. Suddenly a sharp cry was heard from outside the Rebbe's window: “ZAIDE! ZAIDE!” The Alter Rebbe rushed outside to see what had happened and was greeted with a grinning Menachem Mendel who chirped merrily: “Here is zaide!” The young child realized that there was no “grandfather” that could be pointed at. Grandfather was the man who came running out to him when he called his name.

Making the Upgrade

Which version is the real you? When Hashem calls your name this Yom Kippur, who is running onto the stage?

In the Kaparos service on Erev Yom Kippur, we raise some money, or a chicken and recite: this is my exchange... Yom Kippur asks us to make an exchange. To switch out the old model of us, and switch in the new.

The Shem Mishmuel (עמוד קי) explains that each day of the Aseres Yemei Teshuva corresponds to one of the ten utterances with which Hashem created the world.

The first two, בראשית and ויהי אור are the two days of Rosh HaShana; which began with היום הרת עולם – today is the conception of the world. We have progressed for the past nine days to see the world develop. There are seas and skies, birds, bugs and beasts. There is a sun and a moon, and billions of light years of planets and space that span the galaxy.

But today is the final day of creation. Today is the day of נעשה אדם – Let Us create mankind. Note the plural. We are going to create ourselves together with Hashem.

Reb Yissachar Dov of Belz would explain that the Shehechiyanu we make on the night of Yom Kippur is not for the day, nor the service. We make a Shehechiyanu on our new selves. The ideal selves that we have not seen since we left them behind last Yom Kippur, or perhaps much longer.

Reb Simcha Bunim of Peshishcha would tell the story of a young man, standing at the train station to catch a train to Warsaw. In the confusion of the moment, instead of boarding the train to take him to Warsaw, he took the train that had left Warsaw, and was going the other direction.

The Rebbe continued: In the world of truth, the world of Yom Kippur, they will not ask why you got on the wrong train. They'll ask why you didn't get off and change direction.

This is what changed in Franz Rosensweig. He saw the direction he was going. He saw the Jew he could be, and he got off the train. He pushed the other self off the cliff, he changed direction.

We are making our exchange – זֶה חֲלִיפָתִי, זֶה תְּמוּרָתִי, זֶה כַּפָּרָתִי. We leave behind the failures of last year, – וַאֲנִו נלֵךְ לְחַיִּים טוֹבִים אֲרֻכִּים וּלְשָׁלוֹם – as we walk together to a long life of goodness and peace.