Yom Kippur

[dorchadas]

בראש השנה יכתבון, וביום צום כיפור יחתמון
"On Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed."
-The Unetanah Tokef

Definitely glad I was here instead of at work, even if they did schedule a meeting on Yom Kippur:


After work I went to I Dream of Falafel to scarf down dinner before Kol Nidre began, and while I was there, arsduo texted me to meet up before services. We walked over to the Vic, where services were being held, and we were among the early crowd and so had the pick of any seat we wanted. As such, at arsduo's suggestion we took the Mishkan title for its High Holy Days services--"Get Higher"--literally, and took an opportunity that we would probably never have during the normal operations of the Vic and picked a box seat:

We had a great view of the candles and the davening team and all the rabbis, which also led to noticing a bunch of little moments that we would have otherwise missed. When they almost screwed up taking off the Torah covers and one of the rabbis had to assist them. Various times the microphone wouldn't work, or people would bump past each other, or people coming and going from the stage. I'm definitely going to try to sit there for future events.

Other great moments as a list:

• We were joined in the box by a man and his wife from Winnetka and their cousin who lives in Chicago. They sat with us the entire time, so every time the rabbis told us to find someone we didn't know, or huddle for a discussion about healing during the Torah service, or whatever, we talked to them. I, ah, don't remember their names, but that's my fault. They were very pleasant, and maybe I'll see the cousin at future Mishkan events.


• There were at least two translations of the term "Yisrael" as "G-d-wrestlers," which is literally what it means and yet also the most accurséd translation, especially when the first part of the Shema is rendered, "Listen up, G-d-wrestlers!"
  
  They also used a positive version of the "...who has not made me a Gentile" prayer, changing it to, of course, "...who has made me a G-d-wrestler."


• I loved the arrangement they used of the Kedushah ("Holiness"), which was done as a round and it was amazing. The V'Ahavtah ("And you shall love") arrangement was also glorious. I can't really put into words how much I loved the music during the entire day. I felt sleepy, but I never really felt hungry, and didn't feel thirsty until near the end.


• There was lecture on a Kabbalistic explanation of the book of Jonah, traditionally read during Yom Kippur, that I caught most of and it was fascinating. There's a concept in Jewish exegesis of the pshat, the surface-level meaning of the text--like, "G-d told Jonah to go to Nineveh and he didn't want to"--and then the deeper meanings, and those were about how the boat Jonah boards is a metaphor for the body, and how Jonah is the soul, and the other sailors are various other parts of the body that all have their own wants, our desires and so on, and the mission from G-d that Jonah didn't want to do is the call to be holy that we often forget...it was really interesting and I wish mid-afternoon sleepiness hadn't been hitting me hard enough that I forgot most of the Hebrew the speaker used to support his argument. Or the 16th century rabbi whose argument he was explaining, anyway.


• There's a part of the service called the Eleh Ezkerah ("These I Recall") about ten martyrs killed by the Romans. Through it were added many other instances of martyrdom, during the Shoah and the Crusades and the Massacre at York and the shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue, and the repeated declaration that We Will Outlive Them. The Romans are gone, and we are still here. The Nazis are gone, and we are still here.
  
  In progressive congregations it's usually omitted, but we recited it here due to the synagogue attack in Germany and the rising antisemitism around the world. The sages wrote that there are times of persecution and times of leniency, and I have a lot of friends who thought the pendulum had stopped in America and we were finally safe.
  
  השם יקום דמם--may G-d avenge their blood.


• arsduo and I spent the entire ride home on the L discussing Jewish law and probably really confusing the other passengers in the car with us. It's just what happens when you get Jews together sometimes!


• Yom Kippur is the only time Jews who don't do daily prayers wear a tallit, and same with me. I have schoolpsychnerd's father's (or grandfather's? I don't remember) tallit that she abandoned, and while it's extremely old-fashioned, I like it for the history. Most modern tallit have Hebrew on them, but this has English, and not only that:
  
  
  
  No one serious uses "Jehovah" anymore. It's meaningless nonsense. But this is at least 50 years old, and maybe older, so I keep it for its history.


• I'm glad that the Mish-Mosh small group met and kept me around the Vic so I wasn't tempted to go home and take a nap. We talked about the power of speech this time, and how many of the sins confessed in the Al Cheit relate to speech in some way, and how we can use our speech better in the new year. I used the phrase "dunking on bad takes"--something I need to stop doing--and multiple people who are younger than me had no idea what I was talking about. I am officially Too Online.


• One of the people in the Mish-Mosh group mentioned they didn't even believe in G-d and so they weren't sure why they were fasting. I told everyone the joke about the two rabbis who argue and disprove the existence of G-d and the next morning, one rabbi sees the other going to synagogue. When questioned about why he's going if G-d doesn't exist, the rabbi replies, "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
  
  There were rueful nods all around the circle.


• After Yizkor and before Neilah, I went out for a walk briefly to get some sun with another one of the people at Mish Mosh. We walked to the lake and he met with some people he knew, other Jews out on a run after the morning service, and we stopped and chatted. They described Mishkan as too "spiritual," but Chabad as mind-numbingly boring, and wanted somewhere in the middle.
  
  The spiritual part--by which I assume they meant the enthusiastic singing, to the point of people dancing sometimes--is part of what I like about Mishkan. I remember the chassidim ("pious") and how the mitnagdim ("opponents") thought their chanting and their swaying and their dancing was weird and unseemly and mystical and what were they doing anyway. You can probably tell by the names how that argument ended.
  
  Not that I think we're part of a new chassidic movement or anything, but that's what I got from that statement.


• I told some people when they asked that we wore white because we were trying to be like the angels, who don't eat or drink, don't have sex, and are clothed in light. But the rabbi said it was because we were trying to be like the dead, who also don't eat or drink, don't have sex, and are clothed in white. This is Judaism, though--they're both true.


• The melody we used for Havdalah at the end was beautiful, especially with a thousand people singing it.
  
  Edit: And now noticed they used the Name in that video and kind of want to find another one...but it is a great performance of the song. Urgh.
  
  This video is more the feel, though we didn't have an accompanying band, just a guitar and drums, and our singers with mics were better.


• At Break Fast--or, as I called it, Nom Kippur --I sat with arsduo and some other people, and one of them brought up Lilith. When she did, I mentioned the post I wrote about Jewish goth aesthetic, so she asked me to tell some of the other ones. I mentioned Lilith, owls, fringed scarves, but the raven eating the corpses of the flood-dead was the one where she was like, "Yeah, that is goth."

It was really healing--I'd say 癒し系 iyashikei except I feel like it's not that kind of healing. It wasn't like soothing a burn, it was like rebuilding something that was broken. Part of the Unetanah Tokef emphasizes our fragility:

We come from dust, and return to dust. We labor by our lives for bread, we are like broken shards, like dry grass, and like a withered flower; like a passing shadow and a vanishing cloud, like a breeze that passes, like dust that scatters, like a fleeting dream.

And I feel coming out of Yom Kippur like a whole pot rather than one with cracks.

At one point during the service, the rabbis read a quote about how describing a spiritual experience either sounds incredibly stupid or like a Hallmark card. I'm kind of feeling that now.

The gates are closed, and we are still here. Let us, then, go and live. ובחרת בחיים Uvacharta Bachayim "Therefore, choose life."

Comments

[angelofthenorth]

That sounds amazing. Thank you for sharing.

[symbioid]

I'm sad to say I just learned about the shooting from your post last night, and then saw it on FB on my feed after I read it here.

I hate this world sometimes. I hate fucking Nazis.

In 2015 before all this shit I naively posted a "Let's Celebrate Hitler's Death" web page. Assuming you know... We (gentiles) generally assumed Nazis were shit.

I mean I know Nazis always exist, but damn did 2016 really fucking hit home how we must "never forget" as it were. The struggle to defend our fellow humans is constant.

Do you recommend any organizations I can donate to? I know of things like ADL & SPLC, curious if you have any others you recommend.

[dorchadas]

There's Never Again Action, which is working against the ICE camps or HIAS, which the Pittsburgh shooter specifically mentioned, or T'ruah, which is a group of progressive rabbis focusing on human rights work. Relevant to me is Jewish Council on Urban Affairs, which is based in Chicago.

Those are all focused on broader social change and less on antisemitism specifically, but I feel like helping others is part of the goal of working toward a better society where we don't have to worry about this anymore.