SALT

by Rav David Silverberg

YOM KIPPUR

MOTZAEI SHABBAT

            In the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur prayers, we ask, “Impose Your fear…upon all Your creations, and Your dread upon all that You created, and all creations shall fear you, and all that were created shall bow before You, and they shall all be made into a single group to fulfill Your will with a complete heart.”

            In the final clause of this segment – “they shall all be made into a single group to fulfill Your will with a complete heart” – we incorporate two different themes.  First, we speak of our hopes that all mankind shall “be made into a single group,” that the friction and tension that divide people shall give way to a unity of mind of mission, and complete social harmony.  Additionally, we ask that this sense of unity should stem from the desire “to fulfill Your will with a complete heart.”  Here, we focus on a different theme – our aspirations to serve the Almighty “with a complete heart,” with sincerity, consistency and wholehearted devotion.  All too often, even when we are indeed loyal to God’s dictates, we are halfhearted, acting ambivalently or begrudgingly, or we act insincerely.  And, we are not always consistent in our devotion, observing and performing only when it suits us and does not demand too much sacrifice and inconvenience.  We pray that at the time when all people on earth join together in harmonious cooperation, we should serve God be-leivav shaleim, “with a complete heart.”

            One might wonder why these two themes are combined into a single liturgical passage.  Intuitively, we might have perhaps formulated one prayer asking that all mankind should be bound together by the desire to serve God, and another that this service of God should be sincere and wholehearted, rather than two-faced or ambivalent.

            Rav Yaakov Neuberger (http://torahweb.org/torah/2008/moadim/rneu_teshuva.html) suggested that these two prayers are conjoined because they both require the same process – assigning priorities properly, and overcoming petty, egotistical concerns:

Perhaps these two passions, to serve Hashem genuinely and to extend and enjoy loving and respectful relationships, stem from the same environment and culture.  It may be that the roads to both begin at the same point and end at each other’s doorstep.  No doubt both will demand ridding oneself of the pettiness that so often overtakes our minds and decisions.

The naturalness and thrill of competition certainly shape within us a predisposition which is unfriendly to according respect and appreciation to the strengths of others.  Yet investing in acquiring a positive and open frame of mind is truly an “avodah” – requiring dedicated and persistent applications to greater nobility.  If we are really going to earn our membership in…a unified group of Kelal Yisrael – it will no doubt require great introspection and soulful thinking; being on guard against harboring ill feelings towards other individuals and other groups, challenging ourselves to prioritize, and focus on that which is genuinely precious.

The same process of character refinement necessary to live in harmony with our peers is required to serve God “with a complete heart.”  Both demand serious consideration of what is central and what is peripheral, what should be primary and what should be deemed secondary, what is important in life and what is dispensable.  Armed with this awareness, a person is more likely to realize that most things are not important enough to disrupt our relationships with others, or to undermine our efforts to dedicate our lives to the service of God.

SUNDAY

            Rav Elchanan Wasserman, in his Kovetz Ma’amarim (p. 23), cites a passage from Mesilat Yesharim that addresses the nature of divine forgiveness.  The Mesilat Yesharim posits that the possibility of erasing one’s record of sin through the process of repentance is purely the product of God’s unlimited kindness.  According to the rules of strict justice, no such possibility should exist.  Once an act has been committed, there should be no means of rectification through teshuva, and the stain on the individual’s record should remain until retribution is delivered.  It is only through God’s kindness that we are afforded the opportunity of erasing our record by performing teshuva.

            Rav Elchanan questions this theory in light of a comment in Masekhet Kiddushin (40b) regarding the reverse situation of teshuva – one who regrets the good deeds he performed.  The Gemara establishes that just as sins can be erased through repentance, similarly, a person erases the merits of the mitzvot he performed when he regrets having performed them.  Clearly, this “erasure” is not the result of any form of divine grace.  Seemingly, then, it is in accordance with the laws of divine justice, rather than a measure of God’s kindness, that regret has the capacity to erase the effects of past deeds.

            A number of answers have been suggested to reconcile the Mesilat Yesharim’s comments with this passage in Masekhet Kiddushin.  (Rav Elchanan himself cites one answer from the Chafetz Chayim, and then proceeds to suggest an answer of his own.) Rav Yitzchak  Hutner, in his Pachad Yitzchak (Rosh Hashanah 74), offers an insightful solution by distinguishing between the two processes of evolving from good to evil, and from evil to good.  The fact that good deeds are erased through remorse, Rav Hutner posits, does not necessarily yield the converse – that evil deeds can be erased through remorse.  He notes that life, as opposed to death, must be constantly sustained, and for this reason, the onset of death is a natural, universal occurrence, whereas the restoration of life to the dead (techiyat ha-meitim) constitutes the greatest of all miracles.  The state of death continues on its own, whereas life must be actively nourished to continue.  Rav Hutner writes that the same is true of good and evil.  Good, like life, must be sustained by the person’s faith in its value and significance.  Once this “nourishment” is withheld, when a person no longer recognizes the importance of the good he has performed, the good ceases to exist.  Evil, by contrast, endures naturally, through inertia, and does not require any active “sustenance.”  Therefore, as the Mesilat Yesharim correctly writes, it is only through God’s remarkable grace and benevolence that we have the opportunity of erasing evil through teshuva.  Just as techiyat ha-meitim reflects God’s extraordinary ability to restore life to a dead being, teshuva signifies the equally remarkable possibility of replacing evil with good.

            Rav Ezra Bick (http://vbm-torah.org/archive/hol2-2.htm) cites Rav Hutner’s theory and adds the following observation:

Rav Hutner’s explanation highlights the extraordinarily precarious nature of good… In this world…good can only exist where man, the image of God, struggles to give it life by investing reality with his faith, his effort, and his commitment… Sin is death because it drives a wedge between God and the sinner.  It is not difficult to cut off something from life; hence the tzaddik can negate a lifetime of virtue in an instant.  To recreate a connection to life, transcendence is required… even inattention, apathy, or loss of faith is sufficient to undo the good that already exists… Even great accomplishments of the past will stagnate and decay if they are not continually supported by the faith and the efforts of man.

Rav Hutner’s analysis teaches that good is far more fragile than evil.  Evil can endure so long as nothing disrupts it, whereas good requires proactive and diligent sustenance to survive.  We are thus bidden to work arduously to both eradicate the evil of the past, and to ensure to sustain the good of the present.

MONDAY

            A famous Kabbalistic teaching draws a somewhat startling association between the occasions of Yom Kippur and Purim.  The full name of Yom Kippur – “Yom Ha-kippurim” – has been read to mean, “yom ke-purim” – “a day like Purim.”  Of course, the observances of Purim and Yom Kippur are diametrically opposite to one another.  One is characterized by festive eating, drinking and even merrymaking, while the other involves self-affliction and tearful penitence.  In what way are these holidays similar, and what message did the Kabbalists seek to convey by drawing this association?

            Rav Soloveitchik, as cited in Rav Avraham Besdin’s Reflections of the Rav, vol. 1 (chapter 4), suggests two possible approaches.  First, he proposes that we reevaluate the nature of Purim, and take note of its dual nature.  Megilat Ester, the Rav explained, “is both a Book of Thanksgiving and a Book of Distress and Petition.  The narrative relates two stories, of a people in a terrifying predicament and also of their great exhilaration at their sudden deliverance.”  Purim commemorates one of our nation’s most frightening moments.  It not only celebrates our ultimate victory, but also reminds us of the period of uncertainty and horror that preceded it.  Rav Soloveitchik asserted that the fast of Ta’anit Ester, which we observe the day before Purim, was instituted for this purpose, to bring to mind the distress and panic experienced by the Jews under the Persian Empire.

            This easily explains the association between Purim and Yom Kippur, as both are occasions of serious introspection and heartfelt prayer in response to a time of crisis.  The Rav explained:

Perhaps the feature common to both Purim and Yom Kippur is that aspect of Purim which is a call for Divine compassion and intercession, a mood of petition arising out of great distress.  While the Fast of Esther reflects the terror of the threatening physical extinction of the people, the prayerful mood of Yom Kippur emerges out of a sense of spiritual anxiety and the desperate need for reconciliation with God.

            Rav Soloveitchik noted an additional point of connection between these two occasions, as well, namely, the theme of goralot, or lots.  Purim is named for the lots cast by Haman to determine the day on which he would eliminate the Jews, and perhaps the central feature of the Yom Kippur avoda (service) in the Mikdash is the designation of the two goats.  The kohen gadol would use lots to determine which of the two goats would be brought as a sin-offering, its blood sprinkled in the innermost sanctum of the Temple, and which would be brought out into the wilderness and cast off a mountain.

Rav Soloveitchik observed that this theme of “lots,” the notion of uncertainty, vulnerability and coincidence, may likely underlie the Kabbalistic association between Purim and Yom Kippur.  The Purim story is marked by coincidence and sudden, unexpected reversals of fortune.  The name of the holiday, which has its origins in Haman’s lots, expresses, as Rav Soloveitchik explained, “the erratic capriciousness of events” and reminds us all of “the sudden turns of fortune, lurking dangers, the fickleness of life.”

It is this very aspect of human existence which allows us to seek forgiveness, as we do on Yom Kippur.  The Almighty, far more so than we, recognizes man’s feeble nature and vulnerability, how the human being can so easily fall prey to such a wide range of pressures, temptations and lures.  Just like the two goats in the Temple courtyard were, as the Sages teach, identical in size and appearance, but their destinies differed so drastically from one another, two inherently similar people can likewise follow two diametrically opposite directions, depending on the influences and pressures to which they were exposed.  The Rav thus described the ritual of the two goats as “a psychodramatic representation of the penitent’s state of mind and his emotional need.”  It expresses the fact that we, in seemingly coincidental fashion, are vulnerable to certain forces beyond our control, and not always succeed in opposing them.  Our hopes of atonement rest upon our vulnerable nature, which allows us to come before the Almighty and beg for a second chance.

TUESDAY

            Yesterday, we discussed the Kabbalistic notion associating the seemingly unrelated holidays of Yom Kippur and Purim.  Somehow, the scholars of Kabbala found some fundamental point of connection between the solemn day of repentance and abstinence, and the jovial, festive celebration of Purim.  This curious association challenges us to carefully explore some of the themes embedded within these celebrations in search of some parallel or point of resemblance.

            One possible explanation is that both Purim and Yom Kippur are observed as days of complete devotion to avodat Hashem – only from two opposite angles.  On Yom Kippur, of course, we withdraw to whatever extent possible from worldly activities.  Limited only by the overriding concern for human life, we abstain from even the barest necessities of human existence, and devote as much time and energy as we can to spiritual devotion, specifically prayer, repentance, and (though to a lesser degree) Torah learning.  We disregard our physical being to the extent that we can without allowing it to perish, and focus our attention exclusively on the needs and desires of the soul.

            Purim, too, is devoted entirely to serving God – only through the medium of physical enjoyment.  Consistent with the broader theme of hester (“concealment”) that features so prominently in the Purim celebration, the disparity between appearance and reality, on Purim we show that even food, drink and merriment can be enlisted in the service of our Creator, that spirituality can be found even in places where we would least expect to find it.  Whereas on Yom Kippur we spend the day serving God through abstinence, on Purim we spend the day serving God through indulgence.  On Yom Kippur we demonstrate how far we can go in withdrawing from physical engagement, while on Purim we show how far we can go in transforming physical engagement into a spiritual experience, into avodat Hashem.

            Both these expressions of religious devotion are necessary, and they combine to form Judaism’s perspective on earthly pursuits.  The Torah demands not withdrawal, but rather moderate engagement, utilizing the physical and material aspects of life for the purpose of avodat Hashem.  If we only had the model of Purim, then we would deteriorate to the point of Pe’or worship, which glorified bodily functions and sexual intimacy and performed them as public displays of religious worship.  A perspective that focuses exclusively on the spiritual potential latent within physical acts will ultimately lose sight of the spiritual purpose and objective.  It leads people to indulge freely and consider their gluttonous orgies religious ceremonies.  Rather than seeking to utilize the physical for the spiritual, people would mistake the physical for spiritual.  Yom Kippur demonstrates that the objective of everything we do must be genuine avodat Hashem.  By spending one day withdrawn from physical life, we proclaim that our involvement in physical life the rest of the year is for the purpose of enabling us to properly serve the Almighty.

On the opposite extreme, we cannot follow only the model of Yom Kippur, the approach of abstinence and self-denial.  We need the message of Purim to teach that our necessary physical activities should not be viewed as compromising our religious commitment.  We spend a day serving God through physical indulgence in order to remind us that even eating and drinking can be made sacred, if performed for the sake of avodat Hashem.  The observance of Purim demonstrates that although Judaism distinguishes between kodesh and chol, the chol can and must be used in the service of kodesh.

In this sense, perhaps, the day of Yom Ha-kippurim is indeed ke-Purim; it is the mirror image, so-to-speak, of Purim.  Together, these two celebrations reflect the primacy of the spiritual over the physical, but that the latter can be sanctified by being enlisted in the service of the former.

WEDNESDAY

            Today we will consider another possible aspect of the association drawn in Kabbalistic thought between the occasions of Yom Kippur and Purim.  As mentioned in the previous editions of S.A.L.T., the Kabbalists found in the word Yom Ha-kippurim an allusion to the phrase “yom ke-purim” – “a day like Purim” – indicating that the holidays of Purim and Yom Kippur share some common feature or theme.

            One might suggest that this association lies in the theme of achdut, the breaking of the barriers that separate between people and resolving conflicts in an effort to create a peaceful, unified and harmonious Jewish nation.  In the context of Purim, this theme finds expression most prominently in the mitzvot of mishlo’ach manot and matanot la-evyonim, which require exchanging gifts and lending assistance to those in need.  These obligations are among the hallmarks of the Purim celebration and serve to create an aura of loving kindness and fraternity that lends a unique dimension to this holiday’s observance.  Additionally, many have detected this theme in Ester’s instruction to Mordekhai, “Go, assemble all the Jews found in Shushan” (Ester 4:16), which might refer to an “assembly” of hearts, of a sense of mutual love, concern and respect, and not merely a physical gathering.

            Yom Kippur, too, is an occasion that requires people to come to terms with one another and leave behind hard feelings and past conflicts.  The obligation to request forgiveness from one’s fellow before Yom Kippur is codified in the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 606), and Rav Soloveitchik understood this obligation as extending beyond the technical need to earn one’s fellow’s forgiveness as a prerequisite for atonement.  During the musaf prayer on Yom Kippur, we describe this occasion as “a day on which eating is forbidden; a day on which drinking is forbidden; a day on which bathing is forbidden; a day on which applying ointment is forbidden; a day on which marital relations are forbidden; a day on which wearing shoes is forbidden; a day of instilling love and friendship; a day of abandoning jealousy and competition…”  This hymn lists peaceful relations among the basic laws and obligations of Yom Kippur, from which Rav Soloveitchik deduced that reconciliation is required by virtue of the occasion of Yom Kippur itself.  As part of our efforts to rise above the normal constraints of physical existence and maximize our spiritual potential on this day, we are bidden to rid ourselves of grudges and hard feelings, and feel a genuine sense of camaraderie and friendship with all our fellow Jews.

            Both Purim and Yom Kippur, then, are to be observed as days of love and friendship among Jews, when we heal wounds and forego petty grievances.  On Purim, we come together in joy and celebration, and on Yom Kippur we are bound by the joint sense of dread and anxiety in the face of judgment.  Together, these occasions remind us that all Jews share the same debt of gratitude to the Almighty for all He has done for Am Yisrael, and that we all share the tension and uncertainty associated with divine judgment.  From this perspective, the differences and conflicts that divine us seem small and trivial, hardly deserving the ability to cause friction among Jews.

THURSDAY

            Today we will consider one final point of connection between the holidays of Yom Kippur and Purim, as reflected in a famous Kabbalistic teaching that reads the word “Yom Kippurim” to mean “yom ke-Purim” – “a day like Purim.”

            The Yom Kippur service marked the only occasion when the kohen gadol entered the kodesh ha-kodashim, the innermost sanctum of the Beit Ha-mikdash, where he sprinkled the blood of the special Yom Kippur atonement sacrifices.  As Rav Mordechai Breuer noted, we find elsewhere in Tanakh a similar situation where a representative of the Jews enters a forbidden chamber to plead on behalf of the people, as they observe a fast during a time of fear and dread.  Recall that after Haman issued the decree to annihilate the Jewish people, Ester ordered the Jews to fast as she prepared to approach the king’s private chamber, uninvited, to plead on their behalf.  In fact, the term “chatzer ha-penimit” (“interior courtyard”), with which King Achashverosh’s chamber is described (Ester 4:11, 5:1), appears elsewhere in Tanakh only in reference to the Beit Ha-mikdash (in numerous instances in Sefer Melakhim 6-7, and on several occasions throughout Sefer Yechezkel).  It seems reasonable to suggest that Mordekhai and Ester, when writing Megilat Ester, intentionally sought to allude to a comparison, or, more likely, a contrast, between the royal palace in Persia and the inner chamber of the Beit Ha-mikdash.

            On one level, this parallel is simply part of the satirical tone of Megilat Ester, as Achashverosh’s royal chamber is sarcastically described in similar terms as God’s “palace” in Jerusalem.  But additionally, perhaps, this comparison serves to instruct that even when we appeal to “Achashverosh” for assistance, we must see ourselves as though we come before the King of kings.  As Ester prepared to enter Achashverosh’s chamber, trembling out of fear and uncertainty, recognizing that the fate of the entire Jewish people hinged upon this moment, she understood that her fate actually lay in the hands of God, not Achashverosh.  While externally it appeared that the Persian kind would determine the success or failure of Ester’s efforts on behalf of the Jews, in reality, it was the Almighty who would decide the outcome.

            Herein, perhaps, lies the connection between the Purim and Yom Kippur.  On Yom Kippur, the kohen gadol, representing the entire nation, appeals directly to God in His “private chamber,” so-to-speak, whereas in the Purim story, Ester enters the Persian king’s private chamber to beg for his assistance.  The parallel between the two reminds us that although we are quite obviously bidden to enlist the natural means at our disposal in helping ourselves and others, we must understand that ultimately, it is God who determines the success – or, Heaven forbid, failure – of our endeavors.  Our efforts are necessary, but not self-sufficient.  Even when we turn to “Achashverosh” for assistance, we must see ourselves as actually appealing directly to the Almighty in the kodesh ha-kodashim.  Although in practice we enlist whatever means are available, in essence we turn directly to God and beg for His intervention.