Developing intolerance and Time travel

At the heart of the Yom Kippur service is confession, and behind the confession is serious intolerance.  Over and over again, ten times, we confess out loud that we sinned.  The weirdness of it is that there is no Rabbi sitting across from us, and G-d definitely knows what we did or didn’t do, so no use telling him; the confessions seems to be to our self.  But how does that help?  We also  know what mistakes we made so how does speaking it out achieve anything? 

The reason is because we are inclined to be very tolerant of our self.  When we make a mistake, there is a tidy excuse that explains everything. In every situation, we view our self as essentially good, but in certain situations, we were pressured or stressed and made an uncharacteristic mistake.[1]  With others, we are not so tolerant.  When others are late or cranky, we chalk them up as people with serious issues and hearts of stone.  It takes much more effort to say they are great people who made temporary errors.  But that is what we should be doing. Increasing our tolerance for others and decreasing the tolerance for our self.  The point of confession is to identify and admit our short comings.  The word confession, ודוי is related to the word ודאי, or certain.  Our mistakes are real.  No, we are not amazing people who made uncharacteristic mistakes every once in a while. We are decent people who make characteristic mistakes all the time, and that is intolerable. But, this point is difficult to do. Admitting failure and intolerance of our self is not the natural way to go.  So ten times, we have to tap our chest and, say, this is the real me and I can’t stand it. 

After recognition comes regret. Things get really spooky here. To the extent that we regret what we have done is to the extent that we catapult backwards in time and turn an indecent action into a source of inspiration and dedication, and that is a miracle.  In nature, if you break a bone, it may heal but it will never be the same again.  In the realm of the metaphysical, we can travel back in time and things not only heal, but become a fountain of strength.  Why? We appreciate how far we were from the ideal, and yet, we were not abandoned.  That gives us energy to move forward with more confidence than before.[2]  This is the goal of Yom Kippur.  It is a time to get intolerant of our self and then feel a deep regret as we realize what could have been. With that, we turn previous iniquity into fuel for a brighter future. 

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[1] Insight from Rabbi Berkowitz

[2] Rav Dessler Mictav M’Eliyahu Part II page 80

The best sport

There was little that could get me to synagogue as a kid.  The stagnant prayer in a foreign language and their unending length had little attraction for me.  My sampling was when it was longest, on the High Holidays, so it really didn’t give a good impression.  I’d take frequent breaks in the hallways with equally apathetic preteens and we’d wander around the hallways or venture outside to the park.  There was one thing we were interested in, one thing we didn’t want to miss- the sounding of the shofar.  A few minutes before, word would quickly spread through the hallway that the man with the beard and shiny head had taken out the curved three foot horn and was about to blow it.  Granted, there were speakers in the hallway, which for a Rabbi sermon was good enough, but not for a shofar.  So we raced back in before they’d seal the doors (once the blowing actually started no one was allowed in or out).  And we were not only there to time how long the tekia gedola would be and to witness the shofar blower with the shiny head turn red as a tomato.  We wanted to hear the shofar because even as an immature pre-teen, the shofar was the one thing I could relate to.  Why?

Human beings gravitate to be part of something bigger.  That, I believe, is the foundation for the sports fan, the music fan, and fan of causes.  Whilst in a stadium we experience something beyond our self and become part of a greater unity, part of a team and part of an audience.  Complete strangers are temporarily united under a superficial banner, and despite the absurdity of grown men doing arbitrary actions with a ball, we can’t get enough of it.  We are so invested, that despite the arbitrary rules made up by arbitrary people, these teams can affect our emotions whether they win or lose.  But that is a small price to pay in order to take part, albeit passively, of something greater. 

 I think this same attraction is part of what keep the shofar relevant.  It begins with unity, a smooth blow that rings- tekiya.  Then, a second blow breaks it up into a series of shorts pieces and then a third blow reunites them again at the end. We do this process of putting pieces back together into unities over thirty times on Rosh Hashanah.  The shofar is the message that the goal of life is to take fragments and unite them (including ourselves), and therefore, become part of something bigger   We are made for that. It is one of the most intuitive things that mankind does time and again, if sports is any indication. We relish the chance to make things unite. The problem is that we sell our self short. Sports are a great start, but we could do better.  Rosh Hashanah is when we recognize that there is One unity that is infinitely better than every other, and to unite with that is our ultimate goal.