Rosh Hashona and Yom Kippur 2011

Rosh Hashona and Yom Kippur

Every year we come to this moment. It’s Rosh Hashona. We want to raise ourselves up to be close with God. But how? We try to understand how in the binding of Isaac, known as the akeda. But it’s esoteric and difficult to grasp…the almost-sacrifice of one’s own son on a mountain with a knife…not exactly common in today’s Pacific Northwest.

Soon it’s Yom Kippur. We dive into ourselves, trying to accept words said, actions, conflicts, heartbreaks, disappointments and even our success if we feel it’s undeserved. Why? Because we need to get rid of the stuff that blocks us before we can get any closer to God…to the inner sacrifice. We want this closeness. We yearn for it, search for it. We feel the gnawing need to love in full…really in full. We reach for that intimate spark within our gut until it actually hurts. Not like a broken leg or a bruise. But like childbirth. This pain is real, uncomfortable, incomplete, sometimes direct but usually soul-penetrating, invisible. It’s a phenomenal task… accepting this pain, accepting everything about ourselves, our shadows as well as our light. Most of us remain blind to shadows, unknowing of their sharp edges, the way they sneak in and suffocate us, blind us, weaken our connection with community. We pray, read the prayers, recite the Hebrew, meditate. We move through the Days of Awe with questions in our minds. What is this for? Is this for real? It’s easy to get skeptical. How, after all, can we accept that what we’ve said or done is hurtful if in so doing we just make ourselves half insane with vulnerability in a society that is oh so tough. What’s wrong or right anyway? So, you apologize for one thing and suddenly your friend brings up what you did two years ago or last week for the tenth time and the time before that. Your insides churn. Is this what forgiveness is all about, you think? Getting pummeled? You ask the question: How can we break past the shields that we use to survive in this world…to really touch our own hearts, let alone those of others? Is it pain-proof, with a lifetime guarantee of joy? Why even bother? What do we get out of it? Is there a process for this? A recipe? Some kind of fail-proof blue-print?

Well, there is a blue print. They call it Torah. Torah is perfect, renewing life…the instruction of the Lord is lucid, bringing light to the eyes… (Psalm 19). In Torah there are cycles and movements of energy that show us the way to intimacy with ourselves and God. One thing we learn with Abraham: We have to Lech Lecha to Akeda. What is lech lecha? I’ll get to that soon. But to continue…. we have to Akeda to be in the complete sacrifice as performed by the Kohanim…to really understand that language and meaning of Yom Kippur and to be in the Holy of Holies. Hold onto that thought for a second.

Lech Lecha means to go out from yourself. In Genesis 11:12 God tells Abraham to do this very same thing. And it’s well known that this is one of the major catalysts that finally lands him on Mt Moriah with Isaac, in the situation known as the akeda, or the binding. Why does Abraham have to leave his home town anyway? Two very solid reasons. There’s a drought. And Sarah, his wife, is infertile. The sages speak of idolatry in the land. It’s simple plot though. If Abraham had never left the land of his family….he would never have arrived at that intimacy with God when he is about to sacrifice his son. On the worldly plane, we are seeing that world of cause and effect, one thing leads to another. I personally think of getting out of toxic situations, people who are abusive or simply unappreciative. Of course, all toxicity is a two-fold thing. We need to look at ourselves carefully when we engage in a lech lecha. How do we contribute to the confused and dark actions of others? Are we all that perfect? As for myself, I think of a time about 12 years ago. My husband had just passed. And there was no way I was going to raise my children in the east, in that materialist region of the country. I did my lech lecha to Oregon. All along though what I didn’t realize was that the idolatry I was sensing in New York had to be engrained in me as well so that I could see it and recognize it in others. No doubt, I had my own work to do.

On a more heightened note, Abraham in Lech Lecha is rising up from his own sins as well as those of his own family, his ancestors, because they keep him stuck, disable him spiritually. He’s seeing and letting go, moving on. In order to do this he has to allow his mind to let go. After all, while on the road, he doesn’t continually remind his wife Sarah of his experience when he throws all his father’s idols into the flames. He doesn’t mention it at all. We learn it from midrash, sages of Talmud. He also doesn’t keep reminding Sarah of her infertility. Sarah, no doubt, has her own emotional/spiritual drought going on and if Abraham kept saying…Hey Sarah, remember when you said all those mean and selfish things….trust me, she would never have been able to give birth to Isaac, the gift of not only physical but spiritual fertility. Letting go is a requirement of moving on, of rising, of finding within one’s mind the holy intention to merge with God. And it’s our responsibility to allow others t0 let go as well.

Abraham goes through many trials…ten exactly…and they culminate in the moment when he feels he needs to even give his son…his beloved son. He is moving inward to that holy point, that very naked real point of his soul, all that is left, to give to God. The Sfas Emet, the mystic says that this is the holy point that we seek to renew on Rosh Hoshona when we say inscribe us for life. There isn’t a book hanging out in the sky. The inscription is within us, on our heart, and when we get to a place where intention and that clinging to God becomes so pure…then both action and even the words of prayer become superfluous. According to Talmud, Abraham didn’t have to sacrifice his son because he had already gone beyond the physical…and even the verbal...act of prayer. He had already done it. He was in the supernal radiance by the time he had trudged up the mountain.

And now we come to Yom Kippur. Here, we take two goats, one is sacrificed to God and the other receives all of our sins on its head and off it goes, to Azezel…to disappear off the edge of a cliff. Once this is done the priests atone for themselves and for us…and take part in a series of detailed preparations as they enter the holy of holies. This detail, this exquisite organization (according to Rabbi Jonathon Sacks) can be likened to the structure of our liturgy, our prayerbook. Abraham’s quest can be likened to that innovative prayer that overcomes us all from from time to time. But if we look at this closely we need the structure to contain the intuitive. And we need the intuitive or the structure dries and cracks like an empty clay pot in the sun.

The balance therefore of the akeda with the priestly sacrifices….of Rosh Hoshona and Yom Kippur…is mind boggling. In short, once we arrive at the place of absolute oneness with God…like that of Abraham...how do we catch it again? Well, through structure, through foundation. And part of this structure, a crucial part, revolves around the goats. Remember…the goats contain our sins. The goats show us the importance of differentiating our actions between the holy and the not-so-holy, of letting go anything that comes between us and God. And what is another word for letting go? Forgiveness.

Forgiveness therefore is not only intuitive. It is basic. It is the mortar of consciousness, the very structure of our prayers. Understanding who we are and what we may have done to hurt others, to break the peace, to break our covenant of love for God…this is a solid necessity, not an intuition. It is not just the picture but the very frame.

As for myself, I recently found myself in a situation where I had to forgive and be forgiven. This is how it happened. Something was done....or even better, not done. At first it angered me and then hurt. This should have automatically been a sign. If it was having this effect on me…like I said before…I was holding some of the toxicity. But I didn’t get it. Busy with rabbinic studies, three children at home, a husband who needed just some of my time, and also a job teaching at the community college…I was sick and upset. I had been insulted and disrespected and my east coast way of dealing with it was giving a proud goodbye. This I did in my closed heart and I stormed off into my reading and my world in which I had found many mentors and supporters. The story is a long one. My action though...what I did...was to disregard the importance of an established relationship and the absolute necessity of community. I figured I was fine. I was acting in response. But I was also acting out of my inability to forgive.

I think this happens to many of us. We feel excused if we are responding. We feel as if it is a necessity. But none of that really matters. Each action is viewed as one alone. Our moment of revelation on Mt Sinai is just that...a moment...and the happenings that drive us away from it need to be dealt with, one after the next. Abraham makes it to the mountain but then he has to go back down to Beer Sheva. Blip, we’ve got it, that absolute communion with God and blip…our intimacy …is gone. The continual workings of our humanity lead us in cycles year after year to and away from consciousness. Therefore, we need the foundation of repentance as offered by the priestly sacrifices. We need the goats. This is the way to maintain intimacy whatever goes on…whatever comes our way…whatever side-swipes us. Because there is no chance of meditation when angry. No chance of renewal when we can’t forgive. No chance of that amazing closeness with God if we don’t examine our actions closely and then…yes…breathe…and let it go.

So, may we work with each other to find a place of compassion, love and peace with each other and with God. May we stop and take a good look at ourselves within the mayhem of worldly and community events. May we become open and aware and clean in the face of people who might unknowingly hurt us. May we lift ourselves and others. May we allow others to let it go. And may we find joy and that amazing lightness of being in a healthy and sweet coming year.