Parashas Nitzavim-VaYelech, Chumash Devarim
I was eighteen and everything felt close to the surface. That Yom Kippur, I had already gone through a month of seminary and was keyed up for one of the most spiritually powerful experiences of my life.
But I couldn’t do it. I ran out of shul, siddur clutched to my side. Flinging open the door at home, I rushed into my room, flung myself unto the bed, and burst out in tears.
“How could they go through that?,” I thought to myself in anguish. The congregation had just been reciting the stories of the ten martyrs. The text is not subtle. Flayed flesh, knives, bodies being ripped apart limb by limb…
I continued to cry as I was mentally bombarded with images of the Holocaust, Dr. Mengele mutilating Jewish men, women and children into twisted horrors. The ovens. I travelled back in time to the Inquisition, where the auto-da-fe claimed lives slowly. Victims would often have their skin covered in wet rags to prolong suffering as they were burned alive.
Centuries of individual and mass Jewish suffering came rushing into my head and my heart so fiercely I could barely breath. I gasped through tears as I considered how painful, terrifying, and downright unfair it all seemed. I turned to G-d angrily.
“You did this. They’re reading about it in shul right now. Why? Why?” The tears kept coming as I considered this.
I don’t know what changed in that moment, but the next thing I remember is staring up at the ceiling fan with an entirely new viewpoint. Suddenly, it wasn’t that it all made sense, but it meant something very different.
Tough Love
Yom Kippur isn’t a very American holiday. It’s all about taking the blame:
“You are righteous in all that has come upon us, for You have acted truthfully while we have caused wickedness.” (Vidui)
Judaism doesn’t believe in a vindictive G-d. Likewise, Judaism also doesn’t believe in human helplessness. We believe that everything that happens to us is a direct consequence of our individual and national choices. Difficult choices lead to difficult consequences. God doesn’t destroy; He heals. “You are righteous in all that has come upon us…” It’s just that surgery sometimes hurts a little.
The prayers of Yom Kippur tell the truth: we are the ones who abandon the relationship, not Him. And it’s not like He didn’t warn us about the consequences:
“All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you, if you hearken to the voice of Hashem, your God… But it will be that if you do not hearken to the voice of Hashem, your God, to observe, to perform all His commandments and all His decrees…then all these curses will come upon you and overtake you…” (Devarim-Deuteronomy 28:1-15)
Walking away from God creates suffering in our lives. Yet a few lines later, Parashas Nitzavim opens a window:
“It will be that when all these things come upon you – the blessing and the curse that I have presented before you – then you will take it to your heart among all the nations where Hashem, you God, has dispersed you; and you will return to Hashem, your God…” (ibid 30:1-2)
Torah promises that ultimately, the suffering we create for ourselves will bring us back to God. No matter how hard we try to run away, the world will keep reminding us of who we are. We are Jewish. We are the chosen people. We are the people chosen to model God-consciousness to the entire world. We are meant for greatness.
Love Story
Love Story
What I realized in that strange Yom Kippur moment was that, for all our rough patches, God has never given up on us. The stories of the ten martyrs were love stories. These men were willing to do anything, go as far as it takes for the One they loved. And never for one historical minute has He left us alone because He feels the same way.
As I lay on the bed chewing over this realization, I realized that I wasn’t angry anymore. To the contrary, if He hadn’t given up on me, I wouldn’t give up on myself either. No matter how many mistakes I made, He would never abandon me. He would be right there with a wake-up call to remind me of who I really am – and how great I can be. One way or another, I knew that He would help me to fulfill my potential.
That might be tough love, but it’s also real love. I got up and walked back to shul with humility and gratitude.
Written for http://www.arachimusa.org/.
Thanks to Jeremy Price of ForestForTrees for use of his groovy photograph.
