The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

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Yeshivat Har Etzion

Aseret Yemei Teshuva

Rav David Silverberg

            One of the confessions we recite as part of the viduy service on Yom Kippur is, "al chet she-chatanu lefanekha be-viduy peh" – "for the sin we committed against You through verbal confession."  To what exact sin does this confession refer?  How does one commit a sin through verbal confession?

            Apparently, as discussed by Rav Avraham Pam (cited in Rav Shalom Smith's Rav Pam on the Festivals, p.46), we speak here of insincere confession.  If a person gives lip service to repentance, reciting the required text without sincerely committing himself to change and improve, his confession is not merely inadequate; it is an expression of sheer gall and audacity.  The Rambam, in describing the procedure of teshuva (Hilkhot Teshuva 2:3), presents the famous analogy of toveil ve-sheretz be-yado, one who immerses in a mikva for the purpose of purification, while holding in his hand the carcass that had rendered him impure in the first place.  Needless to say, immersion cannot effectively divest one of his impure status unless he first drops the carcass, the source of his impurity.  Similarly, the Rambam writes, one cannot earn atonement and "purification" from his sin if he does not cast away the sin, by resolving in his heart never to repeat the given offense, before verbally confessing.  It appears, however, that insincere confession might even be worse than toveil ve-sheretz be-yado, than merely failing to achieve atonement.  Seeking to atone for one's wrongdoing by simply reciting a confessional text, but without any commitment to change, reflects a fundamentally distorted perspective on the nature of sin and the process of teshuva.  It suggests that the individual feels capable of eliminating his sin from record without undergoing any internal transformation, without going through and experiencing the grueling process of change.  He has reduced teshuva to a kind of "hocus pocus" ritual that can somehow clear his record without requiring any effort or commitment.  Such a confession is not simply inadequate; it is, simply put, chutzpah.

            Understandably, then, as we confess our sins before God on Yom Kippur, we confess as well for the sin of viduy peh, the sin of toveil ve-sheretz be-yado, for the times when we sought to earn God's favor and atonement through mindless verbal confession.  We thus remind ourselves that teshuva entails much more than simply reciting words; it demands sincere regret and the firm, resolute determination to work towards improving oneself and refraining from the given act henceforth.

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            The Torah describes the observance of Yom Kippur with the Hebrew term inuy, which is generally translated as "affliction": "te'anu et nafshoteikhem" (Vayikra 16:29), "ve-initem et nafshoteikhem" (ibid. verse 31).  This word, however, also bears the meaning of poverty, as it relates to the familiar Hebrew word ani, or "pauper."  Yom Kippur can perhaps be described not as a day of "affliction," but rather as a day of "poverty."

            Rav Mendel Hirsch, in his commentary to the haftarot, makes the following comment in reference to the prophet's description of Yom Kippur as "yom anot adam nafsho" (Yeshayahu 58:5), which he translates as, "a day on which a man should consider himself in his state of poverty":

For fasting on Yom Kippur is nothing other than the twenty-four-hour confession that, strictly speaking, we have forfeited the right to continue our existence, that we stand "destitute" before God, without any pretension or claim, and only from His Grace can we hope for forgiveness and atonement and thereby a fresh lease on life, but for this grace we have first to make ourselves worthy by honest repentance and serious resolve to better ourselves.

(See also the commentary of Rav Mendel Hirsch's father, Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, to Vayikra 16:29-30.)

The idea behind the Yom Kippur fast is that we present ourselves before God as poverty-stricken paupers, as though we own nothing, not even bread and water to satisfy our hunger and quench our thirst.  The meaning of this display of destitution is the recognition that we have, in Rav Mendel Hirsch's words, "forfeited the right to continue our existence," that we do not deserve ownership over anything in the world.  As our rights to the goodness of the earth hinge on our worthiness and compliance with the word of God, we have – through our neglect of God's laws and disregard for His Torah – surrendered these rights.

            The "poverty" theme relates closely with some of the other prohibitions of Yom Kippur, as well.  We refrain not only from food, but also from wearing proper shoes and applying ointment, as if we cannot afford even our basic necessities.  Marital relations are also forbidden, as though our state of poverty has deprived us of the opportunity to lead normal family life and beget children.

            Furthermore, in the aforementioned prophecy of Yeshayahu in which he describes the desired nature of the Yom Kippur fast, he emphasizes "undoing the bands of the yoke, sending the oppressed into freedom" – granting freedom on this day to those who suffer from persecution and bondage.  On Yom Kippur, we are all to look upon ourselves as poor men; there are no social or economic classes of people, nobody who can lay claim to a position of authority over someone else.  Rich and poor, aristocrats and peasants, dignitaries and laborers – we join together to declare that strictly speaking, we own nothing, we deserve nothing, and we all share the same status of utter destitution.  It is with this sense of humility and submission that we approach the Almighty to beg for His grace and kindness, for the opportunity to partake of His world in exchange for our sincere commitment to serve Him more consistently, more faithfully and more joyfully than we have during the past year.

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            In the viduy section of the Yom Kippur prayer service we confess to having committed the sin of zilzul horim u-morim – belittling parents and teachers.

            Rav Avraham Pam (as cited in Rav Shalom Smith's Rav Pam on the Festivals, pp. 47-48) noted that the term zilzul – "belittling," or "disparaging" – does not refer to mistreatment, or even to the failure to make outward gestures of respect.  Rather, it speaks of an internal feeling and attitude towards one's parents and teachers.  A person can violate zilzul without ever expressing any disrespect or lack of admiration; simply thinking of somebody unfavorably, and not holding him in high esteem in one's mind, constitutes "zilzul."  We may thus infer from this confession in the viduy service that the obligation to respect one's parents and teachers extends beyond outward, honorable treatment; it includes the way one perceives his parents and teachers, requiring that one think of them in his mind as accomplished and admirable people.

            Indeed, the Chayei Adam (67:3) codifies as Halakha the obligation for one to think highly of his parents even if he hears or observes other people insulting and denigrating them.  Regardless of other people's perception of one's parents, a child, as part of his obligation of kibud av va-eim, must hold his parents in high esteem and regard them even in his mind as exceptional people.  Presumably, this would apply to teachers, as well.

            Of course, in such a case, when friends and relatives look disdainfully upon one's parents, it might not necessarily be easy for the child to continue thinking highly of them.  Apparently, the obligation to honor parents demands of a child to look beyond his parents' faults and imperfections, and focus his attention on their admirable qualities and achievements.  The close-knit reality of family life often has the effect of magnifying faults and foibles and causing family members to overlook each other's fine qualities.  Specifically with regard to parents – and with regard to teachers – the Torah demands that one view them in the precise opposite fashion, focusing his mind on their admirable traits while turning his attention away from their failings.

            Needless to say, this attitude should characterize the way we look upon all people.  Though the Torah demands a particular degree of respect and admiration for parents and teachers, we must strive towards highlighting in our minds the admirable qualities of all people with whom we engage, and to view their weaknesses in a balanced perspective with respect to their strengths.  Hopefully, if we view others in a favorable light, and focus our attention on their admirable traits, rather than upon their failings, the Almighty will similarly look upon us favorably, and tolerate our weaknesses while underscoring our achievements.

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            The Yalkut Shimoni (Hoshea 529) comments, "Anybody who has a sin in his account and is ashamed to perform teshuva should exchange it with good deeds and perform repentance, and it will be accepted."  The Yalkut then draws an analogy to a person who has in his possession only "bad coins," and can exchange them for higher quality currency by adding a surcharge.  Similarly, the Yalkut concludes, "Whoever has in his account evil deeds should perform teshuva and good deeds."

            The Bet Ha-levi, in the introduction to his Torah commentary, explains this ambiguous Midrashic passage as referring to the concept mentioned in a number of sources that a sinner's performance of mitzvot is not accepted by God.  The Rambam, for example, in Hilkhot Teshuva (7:7), writes concerning an unrepentant sinner, "he performs mitzvot and they are torn right before him…"  Sin has the effect of not only weighing the scales against a person's merits, but also of preventing one from earning merit, by invalidating his performance of mitzvot.  This invalidation gives rise to an intriguing question for a sinner who encounters difficulty in his attempts to repent.  Should he refrain from observing mitzvot while he undergoes the process of teshuva, and wait until he grows accustomed to the new lifestyle?   If a sinner's mitzvot are ipso facto rejected by God, then is it proper or advisable for one to put all religious observance on hold until he musters sufficient emotional strength and resolve to commit himself never to repeat his transgressions?

            It is to such an individual that the Yalkut refers when it speaks of a sinner who
is "ashamed to perform teshuva."  According to the Bet Ha-levi, the term "ashamed" (mitbayesh) should be understood to mean not embarrassment, but a sense of ambivalence and internal conflict with respect to the life changes demanded by the process of teshuva.  The Yalkut instructs such a person not to refrain from performing mitzvot, despite his inability to successfully repent, but, to the contrary, to double his efforts in performing mitzvot.  Although his current status does not allow for his mitzvot to be accepted, the mitzvot he performs are not lost; they are rather held in abeyance until he successfully repents.  Once he achieves complete teshuva, the mitzvot he had performed all throughout are now lovingly accepted by God as if he had never sinned in the first place.  Just as a person with "bad coins" can exchange them for quality coins by paying an additional amount, so can a person transform his "bad" mitzvot into acceptable mitzvot once he performs teshuva.

            The Bet Ha-levi adds that this concept might explain the otherwise peculiar passage we recite towards the beginning of the Selichot service, "Lo ve-chesed ve-lo ve-ma'asim banu lefanekha" – "We come before You with neither kindness nor deeds."  Curiously, we declare before God not that we are bereft of "good deeds" with which we could hope to earn forgiveness, but rather that we have no "deeds" at all – good or bad.  The Bet Ha-levi suggests – in light of his explanation of the Yalkut's comment – that we approach God without even "bad coins," without mitzvot that could potentially earn acceptance once we succeed in performing teshuva.  Not only have failed to properly repent, we have also failed to invest the necessary effort to observe mitzvot in the hope that they would be accepted once we indeed repent.  Thus, as we shamefully declare, "ke-dalim u-khe-rashim banu lefanekha" – we can approach the Almighty only as paupers and beggars, and plead for undeserved grace and kindness, recognizing that we are entirely unworthy of forgiveness.

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            The Ran in Masekhet Yoma (2a) identifies three opinions taken by various Rishonim concerning the prohibition of ne'ilat ha-sandal – wearing shoes on Yom Kippur.  Rashi held that one may not wear leather or wooden shoes on Yom Kippur, whereas the Ba'al Ha-ma'or was of the opinion that any shoe that offers the foot protection and support, regardless of its material, may not be worn on Yom Kippur.  Finally, the Rif maintained that only leather shoes are forbidden, while shoes made from all other materials may be worn, even if they are sturdy and offer considerable support and protection.  In his view, only shoes made from leather qualify as "shoes" in the halakhic sense of the term, and thus only such shoes are included under this law.  The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 614:2) codifies the third view, and restricts the prohibition of ne'ilat ha-sandal to leather shoes.  This is indeed the commonly accepted position.

            After citing these three views, the Ran addresses a question posed by the Ramban concerning several accounts mentioned in the Gemara of Rabbis who "went out" on Yom Kippur wearing non-leather shoes.  This formulation suggests that they wore these shoes even outdoors, in the public domain.  Seemingly, if, as the Rif maintained, Halakha does not include non-leather shoes under the formal category of "shoes," then wearing such gear in the public domain should constitute carrying and thus be forbidden on Yom Kippur in the public domain.  Since non-leather footgear cannot be looked upon as a "shoe" that one wears on his feet, one who dons such materials is considered as "carrying" them, and we would therefore expect Halakha to forbid wearing such shoes in the public domain on Yom Kippur.  Why, then, did the Rabbis mentioned in the Gemara leave their homes while wearing these shoes on Yom Kippur?  The Ramban struggled with this question and concluded that we must interpret the Gemara to mean that these Sages walked about in their homes on Yom Kippur, and not that they left into the public domain.  Thus, according to the Ramban, one may not walk into the public domain on Yom Kippur while wearing non-leather shoes.

            The Ran, however, suggests a different approach.  He contends that on Yom Kippur, the status of non-leather shoes with respect to carrying in a public domain changes.  Since people are forbidden from wearing leather shoes on this day, and they therefore resort to wearing non-leather shoes, non-leather shoes indeed become "shoes" in the formal, halakhic sense of the term.  Since they are the only available footgear on Yom Kippur, wearing them on one's feet qualifies as "wearing" rather than "carrying," and hence one may walk into a public domain with non-leather shoes on his feet.  Although with respect to the prohibition of ne'ilat ha-sandal non-leather shoes do not have the formal status of "shoes," the practical reality, which necessitates wearing such shoes on Yom Kippur, affords them this status as far as the halakha of carrying is concerned.

            The Minchat Chinukh (313) raises an interesting question that emerges from the Ran's theory.  As the Shulchan Arukh codifies (O.C. 614:3), women within a month after childbirth, as well as patients suffering from debilitating illness, may don leather shoes on Yom Kippur if they so require for comfort and support.  If we apply the Ran's theory to such a case, we might reach the surprising conclusion that such a person would be prohibited from wearing non-leather shoes in a public domain on Yom Kippur.  According to the Ran, wearing non-leather shoes in public is permissible only because of the ban on leather shoes, which results in non-leather shoes obtaining the formal status of a "shoe" as they are the only halakhically viable footgear.  Ill patients, however, may wear leather shoes, and hence for them, non-leather shoes should perhaps retain their status as extraneous accessories, as opposed to "garments."  Conceivably, then, in the view of the Ran, wearing non-leather shoes in a public domain is generally permissible on Yom Kippur, but ill patients who may wear leather shoes on Yom Kippur would not be allowed to walk outside wearing non-leather shoes.

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            Towards the end of the Kol Nidrei service on Yom Kippur eve, we recite the verse from Sefer Bamidbar (15:26), "The entire Israelite congregation, along with the foreigner dwelling in their midst, shall be forgiven, for the entire nation is inadvertent [or, 'has sinned inadvertently']."  The context of this verse is the law known as par ha'alem davar shel tzibur, the special sacrifice brought in a case where the Sanhedrin issued an erroneous halakhic ruling on a matter involving a grave prohibition.  The Torah here declares that through this process the nation earns complete expiation for the wrongful acts committed on the basis of this misjudgment, for, after all, the acts were committed inadvertently, without willful intent.

            The inclusion of this verse in our Yom Kippur prayer service seems, at first glance, somewhat puzzling.  This day's liturgy cites numerous verses from Tanakh that speak of the Almighty's willingness to forgive, but they all speak of forgiveness generally, rather than the specific category of inadvertent sins.  Naturally, on Yom Kippur we seek atonement for all our misdeeds, both intentional and inadvertent, and we therefore anchor our prayers in Scriptural references to God's preparedness to offer forgiveness generally.  Here, however, we cite a verse that deals specifically with unintentional violations.  What place does this verse have in our prayers on Yom Kippur, when we ask God to forgive all our sins?

            Rav Mordechai Willig (http://torahweb.org/torah/2005/moadim/rwil_yk.html) suggested that the inclusion of this verse perhaps reflects a fundamental aspect of the Yom Kippur atonement process, namely, that God is prepared to look upon even our willful violations as "accidental" on some level.  As Rav Soloveitchik developed in one of his teshuva lectures (Al Ha-teshuva, p. 64), certain factors serve to lessen a sinner's guilt even in situations of intentional sin.  Despite the willful intent, numerous conditions such as the influence of peers or of general society can be introduced to mitigate one's accountability.  For this reason, Rav Soloveitchik claimed, even willful violators are required by Halakha to confess with the term chatati, which refers to unintentional transgressions.  Rarely is a sin entirely intentional; more often than not, factors can be identified that serve to lend a quasi-shogeig (inadvertent) status to what otherwise appears as a willful act of sin.

The atonement process of Yom Kippur is based, in part, upon this notion.  In His infinite compassion, God is prepared to take these mitigating factors into account and treat our willful violations with lesser severity, as if they were committed inadvertently.  Rather than classifying our misdeeds under the two distinct categories of intentional and unintentional, He instead blurs the lines and relegates willful transgressions to the status of quasi-shogeig, thereby allowing us the opportunity to earn forgiveness.

This concept has its origins in the very first Yom Kippur, when God granted Am Yisrael forgiveness for the sin of the golden calf.  The Gemara tells in Masekhet Berakhot (32a) that Moshe defended Benei Yisrael by blaming the sin of the calf on the stockpiles of gold and silver they had taken from Egypt: "Because of the silver and gold that You lavished upon Israel they made the golden calf."  He compared Am Yisrael to an adolescent boy whose father gave him large amounts of money and placed him outside a brothel.  Should the father be surprised if the son succumbs to temptation?  Similarly, Moshe argued, the circumstances surrounding the Exodus should be invoked as a partial defense of Benei Yisrael, on the basis of which they could earn atonement through the process of repentance.

According to Rashi in his commentary to Sefer Devarim (9:18), it was on Yom Kippur – some three months after the sin of the calf – that God proclaimed to Moshe, "Salachti ki-dvarekha" – "I have forgiven in accordance with your words" (Bamidbar 14:20).  Rav Willing notes that God forgave Am Yisrael for the calf "in accordance with your words," on the basis of Moshe's defense.  This verse, too, is included as part of the Kol Nidrei service on Yom Kippur, because this forgiveness establishes the precedent for the atonement we seek every subsequent Yom Kippur.  It is on the basis of God's willingness to take into account mitigating factors that we approach Him and beg for forgiveness.

On Yom Kippur we are thus granted the unique opportunity to earn atonement for intentional sins as though they had been committed unintentionally, by devoting this day to sincere repentance and heartfelt prayer, and wholeheartedly resolving to reach higher standards of avodat Hashem during the coming year.

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            During the mincha service on Yom Kippur we read as the haftara the book of Yona, which tells of Yona's prophecy of the imminent destruction of Nineveh, the capital of the Assyrian Empire.  The people of the city heed the warning and repent, to the point to which God repeals the decree and spares the city.  Upon the revocation of the divine decree, we read, Yona is deeply troubled and saddened, so much so that he expressed his desire to die (4:1-3).

            Among the common explanations given for Yona's despondency is that God's sudden "change of heart" gave him, the prophet, the appearance of a charlatan.  Yona warned of a day of doom and destruction, and the day came and went uneventfully, likely arousing the suspicion, and scorn, of everybody in the region.  Rav Mendel Hirsch, in his commentary to the haftarot, adds that Yona perhaps had reason to fear for his personal well-being, as well.  The history of the First Temple period features numerous unfortunate incidents where prophets – such as Zekharya ben Yehoyada, Yeshayahu and Yirmiyahu – were taunted, persecuted or even killed for conveying prophecies of doom.  We can well imagine, Rav Hirsch notes, that many among the people of Nineveh strongly opposed the sudden, drastic measures implemented in response to Yona's prophecy, and advocated ignoring the prophet's exhortation.  They presumably attributed the city's survival not to the people's repentance, but rather to the simple fact that Yona was, in their eyes, a fraud.  Yona thus understandably fears the practical repercussions of the decree's revocation, which could potentially expose him as a liar.

            God responds to Yona by providing him with a shady "kikayon" tree to protect him from the searing desert sun, and then removing the tree the very next day.  Yona is distressed by the tree's sudden disappearance, and God then admonishes, "You cared for the kikayon for which you did not work and did not grow, which surfaced one night and perished the next night; so should I not care about Nineveh, the great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people…"  If a single tree in the uninhabited wilderness should not be destroyed unnecessarily, then certainly a large metropolis should be spared unless its population are undeniably deserving of destruction.

            Rav Mendel Hirsch adds that the lesson God sought to convey to Yona involved the nature of the role of prophet.  He writes, "God required a man who was ready to sacrifice himself to save his fellow-creatures.  A prophet may not think of himself; as our sages say of this profession, he must be 'wealthy,' i.e. have no wishes for himself."  The job of prophet demands complete selflessness and a willingness to sacrifice of oneself on behalf of those to whom he sent.  The possible repercussions of Nineveh's survival thus should not have been a cause for frustration or anxiety, but rather a cause for joy.  When seen from the standpoint of absolute, selfless devotion to the people, Yona should have been gratified – rather than distraught – in response to the dramatic turn of events in the city of Nineveh.

            Of course, this message can be applied more generally to the avodat Hashem of each individual.  We must not focus our attention on the inconveniences and complexities that are often entailed in Torah observance and the pursuit of religious excellence.  All people, like the prophets, must be prepared to devote themselves selflessly and unconditionally to the cause of Torah and mitzvot.  Like Yona, many people try to escape their duties, fearful of the enormous burden of responsibility and the many obligations and strictures that apply.  The story of Yona thus teaches of the importance of accepting the challenges of avodat Hashem rather than trying to avoid them, and that one must be prepared to commit himself to overcome these challenges even when this demands considerable effort and sacrifice.