Toward t’shuvah this Yom Kippur: An honest reckoning with our transgressions

It’s a classic Yom Kippur joke: During Kol Nidre services the rabbi raises his arms to the heavens and cries out, “Oh God, before You I am nothing!” The cantor, upon seeing this, beats his chest and shouts, “Oh God, before You I am nothing!”

Feeling inspired, a poor Jewish tailor stands and proclaims, “Oh God, before You I am nothing!” The rabbi turns to the cantor and says scornfully, “Hmph. Look who thinks he’s nothing!”

The conduct is especially offensive not only because the rabbi’s arrogance reveals his insincerity, but also because on Yom Kippur, our t’shuvah, our repentance, is largely collective, rather than individual.

Yes, we are each supposed to grapple with our personal transgressions. But we are also, centrally, commanded, to grapple with the transgressions we have committed communally. Our prayers of confession are first person plural prayers.

There’s something in the story that is gnawing at me this year. I feel, in a way, in a unique position as I approach the work of confession and t’shuvah.

After Kol Nidre and Shacharit, and before Ne’ilah, I will attend Rabbis for Ceasefire for their Third Annual Mass Public Ritual of Remembrance, Refusal, and Recommitment. There, I will join Jewish and multfaith neighbors who say no to Israel’s genocide of Palestinians, no to ethnic cleansing, no to human-made famine, no to the use of U.S. tax dollars to bomb entire families, and no to war criminals in our city.

Many of the people in that crowd, and a growing number of Jews, are non-Zionists or anti-Zionists. That is a long part of our history, and I respect it. Antizionism is not anti-Semitism. In fact, it’s a form of anti-Semitism to hold all Jews accountable for the actions of the State of Israel.

But on this Yom Kippur, I also want to address my fellow liberal and progressive Zionists about the repentance we must do collectively. As someone who feels a connection to Israel, who cares about it, I feel with certainty that my Vidui, my confession, must center on our complicity in what I view as genocide in Gaza.

Now, I understand the hesitation some have to call it genocide. I understand and share the fears of rising antisemitism. And I understand, even though I don’t share it, the feeling of antagonism to those who reject the vision of a Jewish state.

But what I don’t understand is this: For those Jews like me, who do feel a deep connection to Israel, who still believe in & hold hope for the vision of a Jewish and democratic state, when we confess together before God, how can you not join me in seeing the wanton destruction of Gaza, the famine exacerbated by lack of aid, the land-thefts and murders in the West Bank, at the center of our transgressions?

Ashamnu — We have been culpable.

Bagadnu — We have betrayed our deepest value, that every human being is created in God’s image.

Gazalnu — We have stolen homes, and olive groves, and the futures of children.

Dibarnu dofi — We have spoken falsely. We called blockade “security.” We called the leveling of neighborhoods “self-defense.”

He’evinu — We led others astray, and let ourselves be led astray, by leaders who told us grief for our own dead required silence about theirs.

Zadnu — We acted with arrogance, as though survival gave us permission for anything.

Chamasnu — We have funded and justified violence.

Tafalnu sheker — We clung to falsehoods.

Kishinu oref — We were stiff-necked, letting things we felt certain about trump things we could see before our eyes.

Titanu — We went astray, and we are at risk of letting our whole tradition be dragged astray with us.

Mercifully, that tradition teaches that we are never beyond the pale of redemption, not even for complicity in genocide.

We are offered a powerful technology for repentance and return: T’shuvah.

But, t’shuvah is not simply given. It must be earned, starting with an honest accounting, cheshbon ha’nefesh, an accounting of the soul, with accepting responsibility for harm we have caused, or enabled, or failed to stop.

And then, t’shuvah requires us to do the serious work of change – to make those harms cease.

On this Day of Atonement, if we are serious about reckoning with our collective transgressions, then we must not only honestly recite them.

We must put Palestinian liberation at the center of our t’shuvah. Not only for the human rights and dignity of Palestinians. But also for our own possibility of redemption.

With that sincere intention for the new year 5787, we plead:

V’al kulam, Elohai selichot — for all these transgressions, God of forgiveness — selach lanu, mechal lanu, kaper lanu. Forgive us. Pardon us. Grant us atonement.

Brad

P.S. After wrestling again this year with Unetaneh Tokef (the wrenching High Holiday prayer that inspired Leonard Cohen’s song “Who By Fire?” and that I discussed with Lex Rofeberg and Rena Yehuda on their “Judaism Unbound” podcast), I’ve changed my Yom Kippur greeting.

Traditionally, I have wished people “G’mar tov” (short for “G’mar chatimah tova,” may you be inscribed for blessing in the book of life). But, as Unentaneh Tokef teaches, and as we all know too well, we don’t control our fates for the coming year.

So instead this year, I’m wishing people “Ha’aver heitev.” That comes from the final line of the prayer: “But t’shuvah, t’fillah, and t’zedekah (work for justice), deflect (or avert, or temper) the severity of the decree.” We don’t control our fates, but through honest reckoning with our transgressions, through standing in awe and reverence at what is sacred, and by working for justice, we can deflect the suffering that comes with being human.

Ha’aver heitev means something like: “Deflect it well.”

As Lex pointed out on the podcast, the root of ha’aver (from ma’avirin in Unetaneh Tokef), is the same as the root for Ivri, which means Hebrews (implying crossing, or going-out, as Abraham & Sarah did). A good way of understanding our collective obligations as Jews.

Ha’aver heitev.