Beyond the Headlines: A Pause for Thought

A weekly glimpse into the Israel you won’t read about in the news 

We need to pay attention to our prayers during Aseret Yemei Teshuva, so that we notice the changes that are made in the Amida. From Rosh HaShana until Yom Kippur we substitute “the holy King” for “the holy God” in this prayer, as well as “the King of Judgment” for the usual “King who loves righteousness and justice.” In addition, there are four insertions in the Amida.

But it is not only the inspiring content of alternative words and requests that distinguishes the Amida during Aseret Yemei Teshuva. It is the awareness that accompanies them that makes such a profound difference in our prayer. Those who run through the Amida by heart throughout the year must stop for a few moments and pay special attention to what they are saying. Invariably, they will relate to the prayers differently, with more focus. We are not completely changing the Amida, just refreshing it for a few days. Perhaps this is really the purpose of these ten days: to re-examine the familiar and to make tiny, manageable changes. Revolutionary changes are certainly welcome at this time of year, or any other time, but small changes in our daily routine can make a big difference.

More Than a Glass of Milk

While shopping in a kosher grocery store in Manchester, England, I happened to see a pamphlet entitled Torat Avigdor, containing insights from legendary educator and lecturer Rabbi Avigdor Miller. I opened it and read the following: “During these days, people focus their attention on their sins, especially the big ones, as they examine their deeds of the past year. However, sometimes our greatest sin is not smiling at another person. Whoever gives a smile to a poor person gives him a lot more than money. Whoever uses hurtful words to upset another person causes more pain than if he had stolen the same person’s money. Whoever causes another to feel good, to feel joy, tranquility and a sense of self-worth – that is the highest form of giving. How many times could we have said a good word to a friend, our spouse, our children, but we missed the chance? We need to think for a moment before we enter our house, to stop when our hand is on the doorknob, and plan the kind words we will say to those at home. It is so easy to do.

“People walk in the street with sour faces and think that this is okay. Yet it is written in Pirkei Avot 1:15: ‘Greet every person with a cheerful countenance.’ Moreover, our Sages stated: ‘It is better to show white teeth to a friend than to give him milk to drink.’ (Ketubot 111b). Imagine someone who has worked hard all day is walking down the street, thirsty, and then receives a glass of cold milk from us. It’s wonderful. But offering him a smile satisfies a much greater thirst. This is an important part of our work as we approach Yom Kippur, and it is so accessible and easy to do.”

One Small Resolution

During Aseret Yemei Teshuva, it is customary to make a resolution to better ourselves. We should try make one resolution for improvement in a specific area of our lives and stick by it. This can be any small, positive change in relation to ourselves, to family, to community, to tzedaka, to prayer, to learning, to reducing time spent online and so on. In this way we can ensure that the promises we made to ourselves at the beginning of the year are not forgotten. One small resolution can endure as we strive to fulfill our promises in the days ahead.

There are those who say that a new year’s resolution is like a new garment that is acquired for the soul. The resolution needs to be practical and achievable. In his youth, Rabbi Shalom Schwardon, an inspirational speaker known as the Maggid of Jerusalem, approached his rabbi at the beginning of the year and asked what worthwhile resolution he should adopt. The rabbi answered: “Think carefully and choose a resolution that you are sure you can keep throughout the year.” He returned to his rabbi with his choice and the rabbi said: “Now cut this resolution in two and take upon yourself only half of it in order to ensure your success.”

A Second Kol Nidrei

In just a few days, it will be Yom Kippur. Israeli journalist Moshe Erlanger shares the following story about the time he was unexpectedly compelled to spend Yom Kippur in Frankfurt, Germany.

“I rented a room in a hotel near the main synagogue in Frankfurt, prepared a simple pre-fast meal, and went to pray, filled with longing for Israel and regret over what I was missing back home.

“The main synagogue was magnificent, with nearly two thousand people in attendance most of whom, I was told, rarely prayed there during the year. When the cantor, Tzadok Greenwald, began Kol Nidrei, his voice carried both strength and trembling. It broke and rose again, full of emotion, drawing the entire congregation into the prayer with him.

“At the end of the service, I approached him. I asked why he had grown so emotional during Kol Nidrei. He told me this story:

‘For many years, I have served as cantor here during the High Holidays. As a descendant of Holocaust survivors, standing before the ark in this land carries great meaning for me.

‘Several years ago, as Yom Kippur ended, the last worshippers had already gone home. The gabbai locked the main gate, and I left through the side door, tired and hungry. Near the gate stood an elderly man wearing a white kippa.

‘“Why are the gates locked?” he asked me. “When does Kol Nidrei begin?”

‘I froze. My heart sank. “My dear friend,” I said softly, “Kol Nidrei was last night. Yom Kippur ended just now. The people have gone home. Kol Nidrei will be next year.”

‘The man grabbed my hands and began to sob. “I have never missed Kol Nidrei. I promised my father, may his memory be blessed, that I would hear it every year. It is the only connection I have with my father… the only connection I have with my Yiddishkeit.”

‘I knew what I had to do. “You missed nothing,” I told him. “I am the chief cantor here. Come with me.”

‘I unlocked the door, seated him inside, gave him a prayer book, and wrapped myself in a tallit. Then, before the empty hall, I recited Kol Nidrei once more—this time for an audience of one.

‘I forgot my hunger, my fatigue. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the bond between a Jew and his father and, perhaps, the bond between us all and our Father in Heaven.

‘I never saw him again. But every year, when I chant Kol Nidrei, I think of him. And I think of the side door, the open door through which anyone, in the end, can enter.’”

Translated by Yehoshua Siskin and Janine Muller Sherr

Want to read more by Sivan Rahav Meir? Google The Daily Thought or visit sivanrahavmeir.com