Yom Kippur - יום כפור

The topic of sound and its place in Judaism is one that I have covered from time to time in my Divrei Torah. Once again, I would like to refer to it in order for us to make more sense of Yom Kippur.

In Judaism, a basic concept in emunah (faith), is that one retains the capacity to listen. For this reason, the most basic sentence that encapsulates the essence of what it is to be Jewish begins with the word שמע, meaning "listen!" By way of contrast, the reigning school of thought in Western society today is one that clashes with this perspective - we are not expected to believe in anything unless it is 100% provable. Judaism requires the patience to listen and piece things together for ourselves, but the modern man all too often finds it hard to listen at all. We are busy, immersed in a hundred different things. We are restless and want things given to us on a plate. Consequently it shouldn't really be much of a surprise that we are often unable to tune into the "קול דממה הדקה" - that silent, still voice inside of each of us.

In a well-noted passage found at the end of Mishnah Masechet Yuma, we read that "אמר רבי עקיבה, אשריכם ישראל, לפני מי אתם מיטהרין ומי מטהר אתכם--אביכם שבשמיים - Rabbi Akiva says: Happy are you, Israel: For before whom are you purified, and who makes you purified? Your father in heaven... "

Upon close examination, we may note that two types of purification, separated by a subtle difference, are hinted at here. First we come across a more passive form of purification, as the verse asks, "before whom are you purified?" Then we come to a more active form: "And who makes you purified?" The distinction is a deep one and could be elaborated upon at length in its own right, but for the purposes of this D'var Torah, it is enough to know that two types of spiritual purification exist; one active and one passive.

On Rosh Hashanah, over 100 hundred blasts of the Shofar are sounded in most synagogues. Thus, the process of teshuvah starts in earnest. But for all its obvious grandeur and clear power, the shofar reduces our role to an almost passive one. On Yom Kippur, though, we hear no shofar blasts at all - at least, not until right at the very end. I think that there is a very deep lesson here. On Yom Kippur, we need no artificial stimulation from tools like the shofar. On Yom Kippur, we raise ourselves to a higher level, the level of angels, and so instead of relying on the voice of the shofar, we are able to listen to our own inner voices.

As such, I believe that it is no coincidence, that we are "treated" to one last shofar blast, right at the end of Yom Kippur. After all our activity in reaching the level whereby we are able to hear our own inner voices, we may then realise that the shofar blasts of Rosh Hashanah and then the almost total absence of these blasts on Yom Kippur were not antithetical to one another at all. On the contrary, on Yom Kippur, we finally reach the level where we hear our own voices, our own inner shofar blasts, and we hear how they were connected all along. And once we have reached that level, right at the end of the process of spiritual purification, when we hear that final shofar blast, we hear not only an artificial stimulus, but also our own voices at the same time.



Wishing you, and all of Am Yisrael, a good Yom Kippur. May you have a meaningful fast and all your prayers be answered in the only the best way possible.

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Collected and adapted from essays by Rav Moshe Dov Kasper, Rav Yaakov Ariel and augmented with some thoughts of my own.

An interesting Yom Kippur experience

This year I went back to Yeshivat Hakotel for Yom Kippur, and fully expected to join the Yeshiva davening, but it would seem that God had different plans for me.

I was more or less on schedule on Sunday at just after 2:30, and knew that if I left then I would manage to join the Yeshiva for Mincha (the afternoon prayer) at 3:00. I didn't end up leaving for another twenty minutes, though as my Grandma called from England and once I was off the phone I realised that it was now too late to get there in time and instead resolved to arrive by 3:30 -in time for the pre-fast meal.

I arrived a few minutes early, and realised that as I had quite a few things to do before the fast (including picking up stuff from my brother's yeshiva, also in the Old City,) in order to rejoin the Yeshiva on time for Kol Nidrei at 5:15. I had to leave the meal as soon as it was over, go to my brother's place, come back to wherever I would be sleeping, change, make my bed, quickly rush down to the Kotel to catch a minyan for Mincha and then finally head back up to my yeshiva. It was a lot to do, but not too much.

I ate the meal, and met with friends who I hadn't seen in long time, which was nice. During the meal, I repeatedly tried calling my brother to let him know that I wanted to pick up my bedsheets, which I had left with him the previous night, but my calls were diverted to answerphone again and again. After finishing the meal, I walked to his yeshiva but when I got there my brother wasn't there. I took a peek at the bed and the area around it but couldn't see my stuff straight away. Just then, I got a call from my mother. It was certainly nice to speak, but her call came at a really bad time. After we finished talking, I tried calling my brother again - I really did want to speak to him before the fast, but once again my call went unanswered. Moments later, I received another call from home. This time my father was on the phone, and he warned me that my sister wanted to have a word, too. Again, it was nice to hear from them, just not then!

After being delayed for 10 minutes, I got off the phone, managed to clear my head and went to look for a second time for my stuff. This time I saw it immediately, and was quickly on my way. I headed back to my bedroom, dumped my stuff, changed and made a dash down to the Kotel.

Unfortunately instead of catching a minyan immediately, as is normally the case at the Kotel, I realised after 5 minutes that I would have to whip one together. After 5-10 minutes, I corralled enough people together to proceed. By this point I was very much behind schedule, having been delayed by missing my brother and the unexpected phone calls. As Mincha started it was getting close to 5:15 - the time that my yeshiva were due to be starting Kol Nidrei . I realised that I wouldn't be able to rejoin them without missing parts of the prayers and instead would have to stay at the Kotel. I wasn't too happy at my situation, but there was nothing to be done. In any case, I told myself, it's still an incredible experience to pray on Yom Kippur next to where the Bet Hamikdash stood.

And so after Mincha, I went to look for a minyan for Kol Nidrei and Maariv. I noticed that one had started not far away from where I had been standing up until then, but when I got closer, I realised that the majority of the group were young irelligious men, save one middle-aged man standing in the middle who was wearing a Tallit. The irreligious men turned out to be visiting Israel from South America, and the gentleman wearing the Tallit was an American immigrant living in Jerusalem. Although our American-Israeli friend was more religiously observant, I judged by his appearance that he was either conservative or on the more modern end of modern orthodox and guessed that he would be much relieved if I were to volunteer to take over from him. Wearing a loud checked shirt, sporting long hair and with sunglasses perched above his head, I got the distinct impression that he wasn't too comfortable leading a Yom Kippur service and while his reading of the Hebrew text was perfectly acceptable and fluent, it was quite clear that this man wasn't exactly a regular Shaliach Tzibbur, let alone one would had ever lead a Yom Kippur service before.

After reaching the end of the Kol Nidrei prayer, I asked him if he wanted to do all of Maariv, too. He looked at me and asked me if I knew how to. I answered by saying that while I had never done it before, I'd be happy to give it a shot. After exchanging banalities ("Oh, that's so nice of you; you really don't have to" and "Ah, that's quite alright - it should be fun,") the man quite happily stepped aside. I guess all the delays were part of God's plan for me to end up here and not in the Yeshiva. The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, but I'm happy to report that it went rather well. One moment that does stand out was when I realised in the middle of my prayers that although I don't think of myself as being that well-studied or knowledgeable, we all have something to impart to others, and that I had indeed managed to provide a service for these young men.

Yom Kippur - יום כפור

On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, we stand before Hashem to confess our sins and attempt to mend our errant ways.

In each of the Amida prayers we say, we recite a major part of this confession in the form of "Al-Cheit" - a prayer which goes through many different types of sins. At its end, we read the haunting words, "אלוהי, עד שלא נוצרתי איני כדאי, ועכשיו שנוצרתי כאלו לא נוצרתי - My God, before I was formed I was unworthy, and now that I have been formed, it as if I had not been formed."


While the literal translation of these words seems perfectly understandable, Rav Kook saw a problem in the wording of this line. We say that before we were born we had no worth; well isn't that obvious? Something that doesn't exist quite clearly has no worth. Similarly, Rav Kook sees a problem in the words "as if I was not formed;" do I exist or not?

Rav Kook's understood this passage in rather unique manner. Although we can take the passage to mean that humans are practically worthless when compared to Hashem, and that our achievements are essentially zero, Rav Kook reads here a deep insight into the meaning of our existence.

Rav Kook explains the troubling words, "Before I was formed, I was of no worth" as meaning that each and every one of us was born at exactly the right moment. Before that moment, there was no need for us to have been born. Before our births, there was no need for our presence in this world. Nothing in this world required our existence, and had we been born we would have had no purpose - before we were born we were of no worth. This phrase, previously so hard to comprehend, now reveals to us a deep insight as to our existence. If we were deemed worthless before we were born, then it is implicit that now that we have been born, there is a reason for our existence. We have each been born for a reason, and each of us has a mission to complete in our lifetimes.

Now to the next part of the sentence, "And now that I have been formed, it is as if I had not been formed." Now that Hashem has seen fit to breathe live into our bodies, there must be some mission for me to accomplish. But because of our willfull abandon of Mitzvot and Hashem's rule as a whole, our whole reason for existence is called into question. As long as we are engaged with mitzvot and performing the task that gave rise to us being born, we are fulfilling our role in this world. The moment we forsake our burden, there remains no reason for our continued existence other than Hashem's mercy.

[Adapted from Olat Re'iyah vol. II, p. 356]

It is my hope that we all have a meaningful and constructive Yom Kippur, that we rectify our wrongs both towards one another and to Hashem and that we all realise and be strengthened in finding our roles in life. Fast well!

My Yom Kippur

So my Yom Kippur was both terrible and great.

I had a terrible fast and had to lie down after mincha because my legs had turned to jelly, my right knee was getting tiny spasms and my back was in agony after being hunched over for ages during Vidui. I lay down on my bed for what was supposed to be half an hour to 45 minutes, and fell into a really deep sleep. I have no idea how I managed to wake up after about an hour and a half, as opposed to three or four hours later, but all the same I missed mincha in Yeshiva, because they had started davening. The halacha is that it's preferable to start Tefillat Amidah with the minyan, and not join in unless there's no better option. So I do what I normally do in such situations... I went on down to the Kotel (yeah I know, living in the Old City rocks).

The Minyan there was good, but there were no chairs left and my back was still aching like crazy! I eventually resorted to sitting on a ledge so that my back could get some kind of relief, and then switched to another Minyan and finally found myself a chair before Ne'ilah.

And so on to the good. The Shaliach Tzibur gave a 10 minute speech before he started, so I managed to collect my thoughts, finish off all my private prayers and then stand up for the whole Ne'ilah. (which I was dreading, but it turned out not to be so bad.) While I was waiting to start, I kinda said to myself, now my body's really hurting me, I have a choice. Do I give in, or do I fight it off? Is it mind or matter? And then it really did feel a lot better. Like yeah, it still hurt, but when I said that I wasn't going to let the Satan beat me with my own body, I got a lot of strength.

I learned in the summer that the Gematria of Elohim is the same as Hateva. Hateva means "the nature." (Whole subject why it's in the definitive.) Another way of using the same root Teva is for drowning. The concept of Teva is that it is overwhelming. The concept of nature is that it is multi-faceted, and although within Hashem's control, can seem to be as though it is not. Notice how the name Elohim is in the plural. Hashem is one, but in Elohim he can also appear to multiple things at once. Notice how we often say Eloheinu as opposed to Adonainu. We continually refer to Eloheinu. The reason is that Elohim, the God of multiplicity, of multiple facets, is a Hashem's physical interface. We can relate to Hashem on that level because we cannot comprehend the infinite. Elohim is the name of God that humans can at least partly understand and connect to. Through Elohim, He has us created to appear as though we are separate from him. That is why we use the possesive נו.

So I said to myself, what do we say at the end of Ne'ilah? We say the following, seven times: "Adonai hu HaElohim." Hashem is the 'Elohim.' Until now I would simply say these two names, and not really understand at all what I was saying. Well, "Duh," I would think, "Hashem and Elokim are both names of G-d!" But this time I got it!

Elohim, the apparent discrepancy, is nothing but Hashem. It is all one and the same. And if my back and legs and knee are all aching me, then should I really complain, or should I respond to this test correctly? So I told my body to take a walk to where the sun don't shine, and all was well :)

I finally understood why this statement is said at the end of Yom Kippur: we have to realise that in order to accept Hashem as our God, we have to recognise everything around us as coming from him. All that is good, and all that seems bad. All that seems to fall outside of his dominion, and all that we can't comprehend.

According to Jewish thought, there are seven levels of physicality. The concept of the spiritual in numbers is always one above. So if seven is a physical number, then eight must be spiritual. The word for Eight in Ivrit (as opposed to most other numbers,) is spelt the same way in both its male and female forms - שמונה.(This can be read as Shmonah or Shmoneh.) Rearranged, the letters of this root can spell out the word נשמה, soul. Another way to order these root letters is to form the word שומן, oil. Oil always rises above water. Water symbolises this world. We are all dependent on water, it is the very substance of physicality. Oil however, always rises to the top, it is one above.

With that in mind, my theory on why we repeat this line seven times is that we have to pierce through the seven levels of physicality in order to achieve such an understanding. Given that, I asked myself if I was really going to allow my body to cause me problems, was I really close to giving in? Am I a physical being or a spiritual one?

Yes, that was only a small test, and it was on Yom Kippur, but still! And yes, I agree that the above does seem mad, but I guess I wanted to prove that mind over matter really does work!

Yom Kippur - יום כפור

I have two Divrei Torah today, but neither of them is actually restricted to Yom Kippur itself. I hope you enjoy them.

The first D'var Torah is sourced from the שפת אמת. On the day preceding Yom Kippur we have a mitzvah found at no other time of the year: a mitzvah to eat. And not at any particular time, rather the mitzvah applies for the whole day! As he quotes from Masechet Yuma 81b,"האוכל ושותה בתשיעי כאלו התענה תשיעי ועשירי וכו. - One who eats and drinks on the ninth is considered as if he fasted (both) the ninth and tenth (of Tishrei.) etc."

We also have a Seudat Mitzvah today. I have learned that Yom Kippur is a Yom Tov, after all it is called Shabbat Shabaton - the Shabbat of all Shabbatot. The name is also indicative of a certain שמחה, the name Kippurim may be read as כ-פורים - like Purim. The joy of פורים is to be reflected on Yom Kippur. Additionally, we also we received the second set of Aseret Hadibrot on Yom Kippur. Given the day's proper status, we would normally have an obligation to eat a proper Yom Tov meal. After all, if we celebrate Shavuot in proper festive spirit, we should expect Yom Kippur to receive an equal status in this respect. Obviously though we cannot, given that the day is a fast, and eating is explicitly forbidden. Therefore we can only have this meal before the fast actually starts, and that explains why we eat the meal when we do. But this only answers part of our question; we are still left with the Mitzvah of eating the whole day. What possible reason could there be for this commandment?


The שפת אמת says that we learn from many different sources (there's too many too list, but all the sources are listed in his Sefer) that the reason for eating the whole day is that, "כי באכילת יום זה מתקנים אכילת כל ימות השנה - For through eating on this day, we rectify (any sins done through) eating during the year." It is customary for many Jews to read the Yesod HaTeshuva, written by R' Yonah of Geronah, on Erev Rosh Hashanah. There was one particular passage that struck a chord with me this year:

"וכן אמר הרב רבי אברהם בר דוד שהיה אחד מחסידי עולם: 'הגדר הגדול המעלה המפלא, מניעת המאכלות.' וכן פרש דבריו: 'אל יעזוב לגמרי מלאכול בשר ולשתות יין, כי דייך מה שאסרה תורה. אך בעת מאכלו ועודנו תאב לאכול, יניח ממנו לכבוד הבורא מתאוותיו ואל יאכל כפי תאוותו. ודרך זו תמנענו מחטוא ותזכירנו אהבת הבורא יותר מתענית אחד בשבוע, כי זה בכל יום תמיד, מדי אכלו ומדי שתתו, יניח מתאותו לכבוד הבורא.'" - And so said R' Abraham ben David who was one of the most devout people in the world, 'The greatest, finest and most wondrous barrier(to sin) is to refrain from foods.' This is how he explained his words, 'Let one not refrain completely from eating meat and drinking wine, for what the Torah prohibited is enough. Rather while one is eating and still desires to eat, let him - in honour of the Creator - set aside some of his desires, and not eat according to his appetite. This method will prevent him from sinning, and remind him more than a weekly fast to love the Creator, for this every day, continuously, whenever he eats and whenever he drinks to set aside part of his desire in honour of his Creator.' "

Judaism is often perceived as a religion of restriction, and to be fair, yes there are many restrictions. But as R' Yonah explains above in the name of R' Abraham ben David, eating can be provide a higher spiritual connection with Hashem when we conduct ourselves the right way. If we stuff food in our mouths in the manner of the proverbial pig, then we are totally missing the point. Hashem created this world for our benefit, for our pleasure. All He asks is that we credit Him for His work. (Phew, that was a lot of capital H's!) If we eat like an animal, not only are we repulsive, but we are also merely enjoying the food's taste. If we say a Bracha slowly and clearly before eating, we heighten our sense of enjoyment. If we learn to slow ourselves down, we can pause and thank Hashem for providing us with all our needs and savour the taste of our food. As they say, "Good things come to those who wait." Now compare that with gobbling an apple down. I don't think it's much of a contest, do you?

Admittedly, it's far from easy to fast for a day each week, but it's also relatively easy. To refrain from doing something altogether is much easier than continuing to benefit from this world, but in a different manner, in an Halachic manner. The real challenge in this life is to apply Torah to the physical world, the world we live in. If we can eat our breakfasts and realise the spiritual essence bound within food, we are well on our way to achieving the task Hashem has charged us with. As I heard from R' Daniel Katz of Aish HaTorah this past summer, "Halachah takes spirituality and frames it in action, in solid form. Halachah is practical Kabbalah, it is a manifestation of the divine."

That is the reason why today, on Erev Yom Kippur we have a special Mitzvah to eat as much food as we can. As the שפת אמת says, "כשבשעת התשובה זוכרין בסיבה המביאה אל החטא על ידי זה מתקנין גוף החטא. - For at the time of T'shuvah, we remember the reason that we came to sin, and through this we correct the sin itself." As I said before, Judaism is often perceived as a religion of restrictions. Yes, there are times when we fast. But it is infinitely preferable not to fast, and instead to correct our sins through the medium which we have done those same sins. On Erev Yom Kippur we have the opportunity to eat על שם קדוש השם, and thereby rectify our food-related sins from throughout the year.

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The second D'var Torah is one I came up with by myself, so excuse me if it isn't quite on the same level as that of the Sfat Emet!

One of the main themes of the Aseret Y'mai HaT'shuvah is Malchuyot - Kingship. We alter our daily Shmona Esrei to make special mention of our acceptance of Hashem as our King. Once on Rosh Hashanah, and no less than three times on Yom Kippur, do we recite part of Aleinu (which behind the שמע is the cardinal prayer and testament of our אמונה in Hashem,) and prostrate ourselves before Hashem in absolute acceptance of his dominion. There is one other significant amendment to our prayers during the עשרת ימי התשובה, and that is the inclusion of אבינו מלכנו.

Imagine standing up in school as five year old kid, and being told to recite the months of the year. But not simply by saying them, but rather by saying, "The first month of the year is January. The second month of the year is February. The third month of the year is March. The fourth..." and so on. It soon becomes natural and automatic to recite the opening words, "The n^th month of the year is..." It's human nature to become careless and thoughtless.

I don't know about you, but until fairly recently, I used to say the first six words of my Brachot without even thinking about them. It's easy to say the initial "ברוך אתה יהוה אלוהינו מלך הועלם...," without even thinking. I would only (if it all) really concentrate on the end of the Bracha, the more "interesting," more "applicable" part of the Bracha. But then I realised what I was doing. I have learned that in Torah not a single word is wasted, every last word has a meaning. The Rabbis who formulated our Brachot would be well aware of the importance of making each word count. It became apparent to me that these six words are important enough to warrant being mentioned for almost every Bracha we make.

As the second part of the name suggests, אבינו מלכנו clearly ties in with the theme of Kingship. But all too often this year I have had to catch myself from reciting these first two words before progressing on to "the more 'interesting,' more 'applicable' " part of the sentence. "אבינו מלכנו," I would rush, and then catch my breath and continue slowly, "חטאנו לפניך". No, no, no! I totally missed the point! There is a reason why every single last line of אבינו מלכנו begins with those words: because it's important enough to mention each time! And what is so important? Why do we use two names? My question is why de we call Hashem by these names specifically? And what is the link between them?

Well, there are two answers I can give you. The first is from Rav Taragin, where we emphasise the dual-nature of our relationship with Hashem. We have a relationship of Kindness and simultaneously, one of Justice. We have the loving father aspect, and at the same time, the relationship of a King and his subject. We have the possibility of being answered in a harsh, strict and totally fair manner, or being granted leniencies in the manner of a caring father.

The second answer is my own. In my Rosh Hashanah post, I discussed the Malchuyot theme and the meaning of our King-subject relationship with Hashem. So the word מלכנו fits in fairly obviously. But what of the first word,אבינו , how is this word relevant? I propose that there is an intrinsic link between the two words אבינו and מלכנו. A King can only really be a King when a people accept his will willingly, and proclaim him as their King. The difference between a King and a ruler is that the people willingly accept a King. They acknowledge him and consent to his reign. The concept of a father is similar. There is a specific Mitzvah for a child to call his father by the title of father. The reason given is that one can never doubt who the mother is, but even nowadays with DNA technology, we can never be sure of a baby's father's identity as much as we know the mother's. A mother cannot be denied, but a father certainly can. Therefore when a child calls a man his father, he is fulfilling a mitzvah by testifying to the truth as he knows it, and respecting his parents. Is that not similar to the concept of a King? In both scenarios, the figurehead is incomplete without somebody below to fulfill their role. There is no King without a nation. There is no father without a child. In both cases, the relationship is seemingly dependent on the less powerful role accepting the other.

That is why we call out at each line these two specific names; they complement one another perfectly.

I wish you all a G'mar Chatima Tova. May all your prayers be answered and may you fast easily. Let it be that through our tefillot we merit the coming of Mashiach. (V'nomar Amen!)