We all know that there is something special about Yom Kippur. The historic, traditional melody of Kol Nidrei gives everyone a somber, sacred feeling. Even if we can’t quite explain it, it just does, in every synagogue around the world.
And then, there is also the short preamble we recite just before Kol Nidrei.
“With the sanction of the Almighty, and with the sanction of the congregation, by authority of the Heavenly Court, and by authority of the earthly court, we hereby grant permission to pray with those who have transgressed.”
Some explain that this goes back to the dark days of the Spanish Inquisition, when Jews were forbidden to practice Judaism on pain of death. Many Marranos, or secretly practicing Jews, proclaimed publicly that they had embraced the dominant faith while still practicing their own Jewish faith in secret, clandestinely. Indeed, many were caught and burned at the stake.
Some understand, too, that this is when Kol Nidrei became so powerful. Because those Jews were renouncing the vows, oaths and promises they had made against their own faith, and they were now coming back to serve the one and only God of Israel.
And so, we recite a special prayer to welcome these Jews who were overtly Christian and covertly Jewish back to the fold. These “transgressors” were welcomed by the congregation.
It’s as if at the very beginning of Yom Kippur, even before Kol Nidrei, that we declare publicly: All agree that on this day, there are no differences between Jews; we all stand united, together as one, in the presence of God.
Today, too, an important theme of Yom Kippur is Jewish unity.
Now, a synagogue is a “holy congregation.” People sometimes don’t understand why congregations are not more particular about whom they allow to join. Why should someone who has been convicted of embezzlement, or who is known to have been unfaithful to his or her spouse, be accepted into a community that claims to be striving for holiness?
Believe it or not, some argue that people who do not strictly follow the laws of kashrut or who do not strictly embrace the laws of Shabbat should not have a place in the sanctuary. And for many people, the big question is: Why should such people be given honors in shul? And even be called to the Torah.
The answer can be found in the humble declaration that it is permitted, indeed expected, that we pray together, even with “transgressors.”
I don’t know the author, but someone once said it as follows: “Perfection is not a prerequisite of joining a holy community. We are all imperfect, and the synagogue, therefore, is at best a collection of people who are ‘works in progress.’ What unites the faithful is not what they have accomplished, but what they are striving to accomplish. We join together on Yom Kippur in recognition of the fact that we want to be better, that we need to be better, and that we understand that, in accepting imperfections in others, we can hope that they will, in turn, accept and forgive our own imperfections.”
But the basic premise is that “a Jew is a Jew, is a Jew, is a Jew.” Ad infinitum!
I can share so many stories that reflect this theme. I am sure that each one of you can as well.
Here’s but one example. My friend’s father once ran into a synagogue that was on fire to rescue the Sifrei Torahs from the Holy Ark. The firemen warned him not to, but he ran in anyway. Now this fellow was not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination, but for him, saving the Torah scrolls was not up for negotiation. It just had to be done. He put his own life in real danger to save our precious, most sacred religious objects. Is that not “religious?”
We must never become complacent. We must all keep growing, but let no one feel that they are not contributing to God and our faith, regardless.
This is a message that every religious Jew needs to hear. Because all too often, many not-yet-religious Jews are put off the faith by those who are intolerant and judgmental.
Have you watched the Israeli TV show “Shtisel?” I did not. But I hear a lot about it from many people. Did the religious father irritate you sometimes? He was very frum, right? Still, I got the impression that maybe he wasn’t so tolerant, fair or reasonable.
Or what about those who throw stones in Jerusalem on Shabbat at anyone they catch driving on the holy day? You know, there was once a demonstration against that sort of behavior. And one of the placards held by the demonstrators read, “Get Jerusalem out of the stone age!”
Would you describe these types of Jews as “religious?” Are they good examples of how religious Jews should act or behave? Are they loyal ambassadors for our faith?
Now, trust me, I’m not here to knock anyone, but just to make us pause and ponder, to stop and think, do we really know who is “religious” and who is a “transgressor?”
The Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson—taught that we do not know who is “religious” and that we should not judge people, neither on the right nor on the left, or anywhere in between
I end with this story, which shows how people whom we normally do not associate with being “religious,” still have strong Jewish feelings and that we should appreciate that this is the true inner identity and reality for every single Jew, whether it is superficially obvious or not.
A man in Jerusalem was saying the Mourner’s Kaddish for his mother. As you know, we say Kaddish for 11 months after the death of a parent, but one can only say it when praying with a minyan, a quorum of 10 Jewish adults, over the age of bar mitzvah.
Every day, the man would say Kaddish for his mother. He never missed a single service. Then one night, he returned home late from a function. It was one in the morning. He collapsed into bed, exhausted. As soon as he turned out the light, he bolted upright as he realized he had forgotten to go to synagogue for the evening prayer.
With tremendous effort, he dragged himself out of bed and started to dress, but where was he going to find a minyan at this hour?
No problem. As anyone who lives in Jerusalem can tell you, day or night, you can always find a minyan at the Shteibelach, a building with many small synagogue rooms in the Zichron Moshe neighborhood. People gather in one of the rooms, and as soon as 10 men show up, they start praying. It’s like a minyan factory there. You can show up at pretty much any time of day and find a service about to begin.
But not at 1 a.m. So the man took out his cell phone and dialed the number for a taxi company. “Hello! Can you please send nine taxis to the Shteibelach in Zichron Moshe?”
“Adoni (‘sir’), it’s 1 in the morning! You think I have nine taxis? What do you think I am, a magician? … I only have five.”
“OK, so send five.”
He dialed another taxi company’s number. “Hello, please send five taxis to Zichron Moshe … ”
“Atah meshugah? Are you crazy? I only have four.”
“OK, so send four.”
Within 20 minutes, there was a line of nine taxicabs parked neatly outside the Shteiblach. “Adoni,” said one of the drivers, “why do you need nine taxis? There’s no wedding here, no bar mitzvah, nothing.”
“Listen to me, chevra. I want you all to turn your meters on and come inside with me. We are going to pray together the evening prayer, Ma’ariv. I will pay each of you just as if you’re giving me a lift.”
These taxi drivers were not observant Jews. Some of them had not been inside a synagogue since their bar mitzvah. Some had a kipah in their glove compartment, which they hadn’t used in years; yet they dusted them off, put them on their heads as they went inside the synagogue. Others wore baseball caps.
Although they were fluent in Hebrew, these cab drivers had little idea of how to daven, what to say, when to answer Amen, when to speak aloud and when to stay quiet. It took a while, but the man who needed to say Kaddish showed them what to do. That night in Jerusalem, at 1:30 a.m., the man was finally able to say Kaddish for his mother.
After the service, they went back out to the taxis. The meters were pushing upward of 90 shekels each. The man pulled out his wallet and started to count out the approximately 800 shekels it was going to cost him. That’s nearly $300!
“How much do I owe you?” he asked the first taxi driver in the line.
“Adoni, what do you take me for? Do you honestly believe I would take money from you? You just gave me such an opportunity to help my fellow Jew say Kaddish, and I should charge you money?”
The man went to the second driver, who also refused payment and said, “Do you know how long it is since I prayed?”
And so it went, on and on. Not one taxi driver was prepared to take a single shekel. My friends, do you know Israeli taxi drivers? They are some of the most opinionated people in all of Israel. They’re not shy. Suddenly, these secular taxi drivers became tzadikim, holy men.
This just proves my point; even transgressors are holy.
So, let’s not make any judgment calls. A Jew is a Jew is a Jew, and we believe that fervently with every fiber of our being.
May we all come to shul together, always. May we all pray together. May we all practice our faith together. And, together, may we all be blessed with a good and sweet New Year as we stand united, all of us, as one. Amen!
