yom-kippur

Becoming Eternal

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , , ,

When you turned 1 and I 86

What marvel that we both exist

In same world now

Though we live apart

Know each moment

You are in my heart.

So much I learned

You still must learn

Now we share life

While life’s days turn.

To try to walk

Your present goal

While your very being

Delights my soul.

Sweet precious girl

So dear to me

Now I will love you

Eternally.[1]

          My grandmother wrote this love note to my daughter Ariela two weeks before the end of her life. She refused to use the “d” word-perhaps not what you are thinking by it. The d word is death. Instead, she always said “became eternal.” In my younger years I found this to be strange and counterproductive, as it felt like Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ first stage of grief, denial of death. Part of this has to do with why we grieve. As Kathryn Schultz writes in her book Lost and Found: A Memoir, “part of what makes grief so seductive is it seems to offer us what life no longer can: an ongoing, emotionally potent connection to the dead. And so it is to feel that once the bleak gift is gone, the person we love will somehow be gone, too.[2] As I’ve grown in my knowledge, I’ve found great wisdom in what Judaism can teach about an eternal connection with our loved ones-that they are never truly gone from us.

          In our liturgy, eternality is reserved for God. Every morning we read the Song of the Sea which asserts ה ימלך לעולם ועד-Gd shall live forever and ever,[3] as well as Ashrei which states ואברכה שמך לעולם ועד, and I will praise Your (God’s) name forever and ever.[4] God’s qualities also have an eternal impact, as we read on Shabbat and holidays כי לעולם חסדו, God’s lovingkindness is forever.[5] As we are in the image of God, the prophets believed that certain qualities will live forever, Isaiah asserting ועמך כלם צדיקים לעולם ירשו ארץ, “your entire nation is righteous, and they will inherit the land forever.”[6]

          The Zohar, a medieval mystical book, teaches that the soul is an eternal and immortal aspect of the self that has a divine origin and, through successive incarnations, undergoes experiences that evolve and purify it. Rabbi Isaac Luria, a 16th century Kabbalist, taught ““The soul returns to this world to complete what was left unfinished, to repair and elevate.” We often think of reincarnation as an idea of eastern religions; it is in Judaism as well. The Zohar speaks of 5 different levels of the soul: Nefesh, Ruach, Neshama, Chaya, and Yechida. Each layer represents a different level of the soul’s development and connection to the divine. It further teaches that “at the time of a man’s death, he is allowed to see his relatives and companions from the other world.”[7]  In a message that resonates with today, Yom Kippur, the day on which we rehearse our own death, we learn, “On the day when a person’s time arrives to depart from the world…three messengers stand over her and take an account of her life and all that she has done in the world and she admits all with her mouth and signs the account with her hand…she should be judged in the next world for all her actions, former and latter, old and new, not one of them is forgotten.”[8]

          This can give us comfort in the idea that part of us will live on. At the same time it might give us the heebie-jeebies: my soul can be reincarnated into someone else? Furthermore, the Zohar teaches that there were 600,000 Israelite souls, all found at                                               Sinai-how does that work when there are close to 16 million Jews, let alone other righteous people of all faiths? Some of us might prefer the words of Gershon Scholem, a professor of Jewish mysticism: “The language of the Zohar must be understood symbolically; its stories and words are vessels for deeper spiritual truths.”[9]

          How might those who prefer the rational understand eternality-or is it simply when you die, that’s it? The medieval Jewish philosopher, Rabbi Levi Ben Gershon, also known as Gersonides, wrote a beautiful teaching about this in his book Milchamot HaShem:

          Man is immortal in so far as he attains the intellectual perfection that is open to him. This means that man becomes immortal only if and to the extent that he acquires knowledge of what he can in principle know e.g. mathematics and natural sciences. This knowledge survives his bodily death and constitutes his immortality.[10]

          Why is this important? The Yizkor prayers we will recite beginותדעהו  ה מה אדם “God, what is humanity that you are mindful of us?” On Yom Kippur, we reflect on what is the meaning of our lives? After all, we are one moment closer to death now than we were before. By holding onto the eternality of people, we recognize that the spirit of our loved ones continue within us. One way in which this occurs is when we remember words that they have said. As in the words of an early 20th century rabbi:

We know that everything that has once been brought into existence cannot be put out of existence. The word I now speak is spoken forever; it can never be recalled. The soul once propelled into the universe cannot be put out of it; it can never be destroyed. What becomes of it after death I know not.”[11]

When something has been created, it cannot be retracted. Similarly, once someone has lived on this earth, their presence endures even after their physical departure. Just as an imprint cannot be erased, neither can a person’s impact in the world. As stated by Rabbi Bernard S. Raskas in his sermon “A Jewish View of Immortality”:

          What is this immortality in which I believe?

          I believe that a person lives on in his or her family…

I believe there is a form of immortality in the institutions we build and the causes we espouse…

I believe in the immortality of friendship and helpfulness…

I believe in the immortality of existence…

I find immortality in people.”[12]

This sentiment is found in contemporary times as well. Take Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was murdered by Hamas last year. At the Christians United for Israel Annual Summit, Rachel said, “I know love never dies. It is eternal.”[13] Our bonds to one another are immortal-they transcend this physical life. When we remember experiences we shared with those no longer physically present, we feel their spirit shining forth even today.

          As we recite Yizkor, we remember those who came before knowing that their spark continues on inside of us. Rather than bemoan what was, we have pride in what is. We are comforted by the words of Rabbi Jacob Weinstein:

          We, the living, can determine the kind of immortality our beloved shall have…We can act as their personal representatives to the living. Where they lifted the burden or worry from a fellow man, we can give encouragement and help; where they brought cheer and care and loyalty, we can be instead.”[14]  

It is my prayer that the nobility in in our predecessors’ lives and the high ideals they cherished endure in our thoughts and live on in our deeds. May we, carrying on their work, help to redeem God’s promise that life shall prevail.[15] In so doing, we will follow the Torah commandment to choose life, making choices and decisions that emulate the greatest values of our people.

          I will conclude with another of my grandmothers’ poems, from eight years after the passing of her mother.

Eight years after,

Marvel I

How those years brought us closer.

This experience called dying,

Which on surface seemed to sever,

Only brought us fonder, nearer-

Every moment of eight yearspans

Only wove us more together.

Eight years after-

Yearspans after-

Eight years after,

Marvel I

Of the legacy you left me,

Giving me not only moments,

Opportunity of moments,

But the precious worth of moments

And the meaning of life’s moments.

Eight years after-

Eight years after-

Eight years after,

Grateful I

For the heritage you left me-

In your teaching about lifetime,

In the reaching of your lifetime

Never, never, have you left me,

Never-never did you die![16]

[1] Lucille Frenkel, February Love Note about Our Shared Birthday Month

[2] Kathryn Schultz, Lost and Found: A Memoir (New York: Random House, 2022), pg. 66.

[3] Exodus 15:18

[4] Psalms 145:1

[5] Psalms 136:1

[6] Isaiah 60:21

[7] Zohar I, 219a, in Simcha Paull Raphael, Jewish Views of the Afterlife (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 2000), pg. 290.

[8] Zohar I, 79a, in Raphael, pg. 291.

[9] Gershon Scholem, Zohar: The Book of Splendor (NY: Shocken Books, 1963), pg. 21.

[10] Raphael,  pg. 261.

[11] J. Leonard Levy, Prophetic Voice (Pittsburgh, PA: Rodeph Shalom Congregation, 1970), pg. 86.

[12] Bernard S. Raskas, “A Jewish View of Immortality,” The American Rabbi, 19/1 (August 1986), pg. 57-59.

[13] Rachel Goldberg-Polin, Cufi Summit, 7/2/25

[14] Rabbi Simon Greenberg, A Treasury of Comfort, pg. 225.

[15] Gates of Prayer, pg. 626.

[16] Lucille Frenkel, “The Immortality for My Mother Rose B. Forman” In A Jewish Adventure (Milwaukee, Wi: The Eternity Press, 1983), pg. 125.

Kol Nidre’s Hold on Us

Rabbi Ben Herman , , ,

Every year I feel something special when the Torot are taken out of the ark, processed around the congregation, and the music of Kol Nidre is chanted by the Hazzan. It’s almost a hypnotic, trance-like state that sets the tone for the 25 hours that follow. The majestic nature of the music, which we all just felt, is what I want to devote a few minutes to this evening.

Kol Nidre is such a powerful prayer. A unique thing is that the rabbis wanted to get rid of Kol Nidre because it talks about annulling vows which the Bible forbids-as stated: “When you fulfill a vow you must obey it without delay…you must be careful to perform any promise that has crossed your lips.”[1] The people and the hazzanim rebelled, and won, because we are held by the mesmerizing music that is part of this prayer.

What is Kol Nidre’s hold on us? Why do we cling to it each and every year? Rabbi Alan Lew writes in his book This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared that “when we recite Kol Nidre, God calls out to the soul, in a voice the soul recognizes instantly because it is the soul’s own cry…your soul is hearing its name called out, and its name is pain, grief, shame, humiliation, loss, failure death-or at least that is its first name. That is the name the first few notes of the Kol Nidre call out.”[2] That is very jarring by itself. Are we really here to feel pain and humiliation? Is the purpose of saying Ashamnu and Al Heyt to embarrass us? I would argue not-that we need to take the emotion we feel with Kol Nidre and channel it into the future. Rabbi Stanley Rabinowitz has a suggestion as to how to do so-it may seem dated with mentioning a rangefinder camera but its lesson is eternal.

“The mystic hold which Kol Nidre has over us may be the result of our awareness that under the pressures of life, there will be times when our deeds may not be consistent with our principles and when our achievements may not square with the promises inherent in us.

Kol Nidre prompts us to try harder to bring integrity into our decisions. The intent of Kol Nidre may be compared to that of a rangefinder on a camera. Looking through a rangefinder, the photographer will see a split image-a forehead over here and a chin over there. By turning the focus ring, they bring the split image into alignment. Kol Nidre serves as a mechanism of focus…

In the channels of living, each person projects dreams, hopes and aspirations. We make promises; we express resolves. There are promises inherent in our family relationships, in the position we occupy in the marketplace and in the community. But somehow life blurs the promise and fogs the resolve. The promises inherent in us fade away, sometimes because of something we have done, and sometimes because of something done to us. In either case, it is all too easy to reach a point where we capitulate to a sense of failure and say, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t make it. It is not worth it; it can’t be done.” Life is out of focus.

Too much of life is out of focus. There is a distance between what we are and what we could be, a gap between where we are and where we wanted to be. Kol Nidre comes to help us bridge that gap.”[3]

What is most important is how we take Kol Nidre with us into today and the days ahead. In these 25 hours of God’s undivided attention, we have great opportunity. We are told in the Torah to circumcise our hearts.[4] The medieval commentator Rashi says this means that we should have an open and loving heart. Yom Kippur is a day when we are meant to soften our hearts. The beauty of Kol Nidre’s music helps us begin to do so. This will continue tomorrow as we remember our loved ones at Yizkor as well as at Neilah when we get to offer our personal prayer before the open ark. Yom Kippur is a day to look at who we can become in our fullest essence, to say “yes I can” as we move forward. It might even lead to the exultation felt by the High Priest in Temple times who was described as מגמתו כצאת השמש כגבורת תואר, one whose face shown like the strength of the sun.[5]

During these 25 hours, take time to let the music of the prayers wash over you and the power of our being together in community up until the final Shofar blast. Meditate a little, laugh little, cry a little even dance a little if it moves you. Yom Kippur is a powerful day, one at which we are at one with our creator. It is my hope and prayer that we feel this today.

[1] Deuteronomy 23:22

[2] Rabbi Alan Lew, This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared (United States: Little, Brown, 2003), pg. 178.

[3] Rabbi Stanley Rabinowitz, “Kol Nidre: Bridging the Gap of a Split Image”

[4] Deuteronomy 10:16

[5] Yom Kippur Avodah Service

Family Feud

Rabbi Ben Herman , , , ,

G’mar Hatima Tova. It’s so wonderful to see each and every one of you on the holiest night of the year. Parents reunited with children, grandparents with grandchildren, uncles and aunts with nephews and nieces, cousins with one another. For those with whom I have not yet had the chance to meet in person, I look forward to getting to know you over the course of 5785 and I also hope to deepen my connections with those who I had the opportunity to meet previously.

Last year on Kol Nidre evening I spoke about making amends. This year I am speaking about Family Feud. No, not irreconcilable rifts and arguments between family members but rather lessons learned from the game show Family Feud.

We can learn three lessons from Family Feud that apply to our lives. First, that when we are under pressure, we don’t always showcase the best versions of ourselves. On Family Feud we see people make bloopers and act out because of the pressure they feel, forgetting that it’s a game show. In life, we encounter pressures more serious than this. However, we need to strive to find ways to channel the pressure within our lives. Sometimes it might be through mindful breathing; other times it might a walk around the block or coming back to the challenge we face after a break or after saying “thank you; let me get back to you.”  On Yom Kippur, a day when it can feel like we have “nothing but time” we have the opportunity to take a break from daily living and reflect on how we handle difficult situations, as well as strategies for future improvement.

The second lesson we can learn from Family Feud is the flip side of this: not to take each other so seriously. So much of life is serious and we need moments to relax, enjoy and just be present. This is true on Yom Kippur as well. We often treat Yom Kippur as a somber day when we need to “afflict ourselves.”[1] In reality, it is the day on which we are forgiven from our sins, given a second chance in the coming year. We cannot lose sight of that in the midst of our introspection. It can be very easy to beat ourselves up rather than recognizing that we are human and make mistakes-the goal is to learn from them. 

The third and most important lesson from Family Feud is that we are all one family. The families which find ways to work out their difficulties in rooting for one another especially when there are strikes on the board and working together to “steal” answers are the families that do the best. In contrast, the families where tension leads to in-fighting don’t always fare as well. Yom Kippur is the perfect day to recognize that we are all one family. We say communal confessionals, as even if we did not do that particular sin, someone else likely did, and we do not want to embarrass them. Equally important, we recognize that we are all in this together. Sometime during the next 25 hours when engaged in personal introspection, take a look around at the sea of people joining you, to feel as part of a community with them.

On Rosh Hashanah I spoke about my vision for us being part of a strong, united congregational family here at Mosaic Law Congregation. Tonight at Kol Nidre, I want you to think about what you are doing to be part of that family. While families have conflict, tension and feuds, they also grow closer together when they recognize that the bond between them and the love they have for their congregation supersedes any disagreement or issue at hand.

Gmar Hatima Tova-I wish each and every one of you a good signature for a year filled with quality life, fulfillment and joy in 5785.

[1] Leviticus 23:32