Rabbi Eliyahu Stern: September 2006 Archives

Rabbi Grossman seems to fast on Yom Kippur for reasons ranging from something to do with snapping at her son to not being in the Holocaust. This is all very nice. I, too, don't like snapping at children. And boy, am I happy I am not in an Auschwitz gas chamber this September. But what, may I ask, does any of this have to do with Yom Kippur??

Personally, I do not need some 24-hour food shock therapy to make me realize how lucky I am not to be in a concentration camp. And for that matter, I hope no one does.

The truth of the matter is the rabbi doth protest too much. Rabbi Grossman's 1001 reasons to fast on Yom Kippur only point out how absolutely meaningless and amorphous the fast has become for Americans today. There might be a million reasons as to why one would fast, but I can't think of any one better than that's just what Jews do on Yom Kippur.

If there's one thing American Jews and Muslims have in common, it's that they share a very similar relationship to corporeal forms of atonement. Roughly half of the American Muslim community fasts in the month of Ramadan. The same number of Jews fast on Yom Kippur. While some think this is a low number compared to worldwide statistics (some say about 80 percent of secular Israelis fast on Yom Kippur!!!), I think it is unbelievably high. And to be honest, I don't understand why so many Jews fast.

The reason Jews have always fasted on Yom Kippur is because, for the most part, that's what they've culturally grown up with. I try to have reasons for most of the rituals I perform, but this one is purely a result of how I was raised. I fast only because that's what my father and mother did and continue to do, and what my sister and her husband do and their children will probably do.

Do I always follow what my parents do? No, of course not. I am just like most Jews; I pick and choose what things about my parents' Judaism I like and what I don't like. I fast because I am supposed to and that is the end of the story.

Yet, starving has never made the day a bit more meaningful for me. I get my meaning on Yom Kippur by closing my eyes and thinking about what matters most in my life.

Let me be clearer. I don't care if it's healthy, I don't care if it makes me appreciate my food more, I don't care if it is spiritually moving or not. There are people who have theories about how fasting makes them be more "mindful" of what they consume, but I don't need starvation to teach me "mindfulness." I don't like emotional, physical or spiritual shock therapy. I don't like fasting or any form of self-mutilation.

For most Jews, fasting on Yom Kippur is one of those big Jewish things that they saw their parents do and they think, somewhere in the back of their minds, they might go to hell if they don't do. And no one wants to go to hell. I sure don't.

Enough with the homilies. There is no high in this year’s high holy days.

My fellow rabbis are missing this year’s significance: Most people who will be walking into synagogue feel a sense of loss, confusion, and bewilderment at a world in total and utter disorder. This year was worst than last year and there is nothing that says next year is going to be any better.

A few weeks ago, Adam Cohen in The New York Times described in an op-ed how Americans are, now more than ever before, pessimistic about their future. Hope has been replaced by fear, and redemption has been lost to malaise.

The paralysis of the war on terror, the never-ending Palestinian-Israeli conflict, and round two in Lebanon have all contributed to American Jewry’s sense that hope is not on the way. Yes, yes, yes: Personally, Jews are for the most part doing pretty well. But communally, we are tired and scared about what next year will bring. For better or for worse, the question most Jews will be asking this week will be: How does one live in a world where nothing seems fair, just, or right?

I am sorry to be so down, but sometimes life isn’t just about the highs.

Check out this High Holiday video put out by Jewish Impact Films. In a much more comical way than I can describe here, the film depicts just how impossible it can be for the majority of Jews to "get into" the High Holidays.

Every year the best advertisement time for Jewish life is wasted on a High Holiday season that promotes high ticket prices (literally shutting many out of synagogues), meaningless prayer services (that put people to sleep), and boring State-of-the-Union-style speeches (that make people want to go back to reading the op-ed page).

Look, I understand what Rabbi Grossman is saying: Money-- not love but money--is what turns the lights on in a building. That said, yes, in the short term, opening up our arms and trying a few new and different things may alienate some. But I think long-term the payoff would come around.

Jewish leadership should see the High Holidays as a time to give people a taste of Jewish life. How many people come once a year to synagogue, never to return? Its easy to put the blame on them: "Oh, they only come once a year." But the more honest response is to examine what we are doing that makes them feel comfortable coming only once a year?

For far too many Jews, the High Holidays are marred by confusion and boredom. They come to synagogue and are lost. Everything is foreign except maybe their parents sitting next to them, who once again purchased tickets for the whole family.

Probably the biggest impediment for most Jews is the Hebrew in their prayer books. Simply put, Hebrew is hurting the High Holiday experience for hundreds of thousands of Jews every year.

There are but few instances when a rabbi should say anything good about Martin Luther (on why, see Medieval Sourcebook: Martin Luther (1483-1546): The Jews and Their Lies 1543). But Luther’s decision to translate the Bible into German and make it accessible to the world might have been one of the greatest moments in human history.

Perhaps the biggest difference (I hear about from converts ) between church and synagogue services is the ability to follow what is going on. The synagogue experience, especially in more Orthodox synagogues, can be a disaster for someone whose Hebrew is weak. Luther wasn’t the first to realize that a tradition must be understandable to be meaningful: In the Jewish tradition, already in the second century Onkelos translated the Bible into Aramaic.

Look, I am all for the importance of Hebrew. There is no doubt that in it the treasures of Jewish life and culture reside. If you don't know Hebrew, there is a limit to how much Judaism will be able to offer your life. But by making Hebrew a prerequisite for what for many Jews is a once-a-year synagogue experience, we are ensuring that Judaism will not have any part in the lives of most of American Jewry.

So this year, if you don’t know Hebrew or you aren’t moved by the stiff English translation of some thousand-year-old hymn, do your soul a favor: Put down your prayer book and pick up a book that speaks to you, maybe Rabbi Irving Greenberg’s "The Jewish Way," maybe S.Y. Agnon’s "Days of Awe," maybe Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s "On Repentance," or maybe some poetry that speaks to your conscience.

Whatever you decide, make sure that when you come to synagogue it is not wasted on staring into space. The purpose of the High Holidays is not to torture yourself but to examine yourself and reconnect with what is truly most important in your life.