1.
Recently, a wise and beautiful woman confided in me that Yom Kippur, for her, is a frightening and sad day. "I tremble at the memory of the day – look, even now, at this moment" she said, pointing to herself. She was filled with fear. Our sages called this "fear of punishment," or, in a gentler form, "fear of sin." It stems from the same root as the biblical Hebrew word "nora" (awe), that which fills us with a sense of dread. As Rudolf Otto phrased it in his book The Idea of the Holy, it is "the awe-inspiring mystery (mysterium tremendum) filled with majesty and fear, the secret that causes us to shudder and tremble." He describes it as "a silent, humble trembling of a creature standing mute before the mystery that rises above all creation and is enveloped in boundless mystery."
But there is a higher form of awe. When Jacob awakens from his dream of the ladder, in which God appeared to him as he fled from his brother Esau, he reacts: "And he was afraid and said: How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." Our sages termed this the "awe of exaltation" – moments of spiritual or emotional elevation, where the soul overflows with admiration, and, in the highest form, with love for the Creator. In such a state, one stands before God, not in nullification, but filled with inner strength. After such an experience, it becomes difficult, if not impossible, to sin.
2.
In our tradition, Rosh Hashanah is the Day of Judgment. "All the inhabitants of the world pass before Him," and it is decided "Who shall live and who shall die, Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not." This is not just for the People of Israel, but for the entire world, giving the festival a universal dimension. Yom Kippur, however, is an intimate day between us and our God. In the time of the Temple, the day's rituals were centered on a special individual and a special place. The High Priest would enter the innermost chamber of the Temple, a space entered only on Yom Kippur, where he would pray and offer incense. The Aramaic word for incense, ketira, also means "connection." The High Priest would reconnect the people with their God. Our sages likened it to a wedding in the bridal chamber. Who is sorrowful or afraid on their wedding day? It is, after all, the happiest day of their life, when they unite with their beloved.
This joy grows when we are assured that the essence of the day itself atones and purifies our hearts, souls, and spirits. We emerge from the day different than when we entered, having returned to the very beginning of our being, to out mother's womb. It is akin to immersing in a mikveh; we are reborn on the threshold of a new year. As Rabbi Akiva concludes the Mishnah tractate Yoma (8:9): "How fortunate are you, Israel! Who is it before whom you become pure? And who is it that purifies you? As it is said: 'I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean.' (Ezekiel 36:25) And it also says: 'O hope (mikveh) of Israel, O Lord (Jeremiah 17:13) – just as a mikveh purifies the unclean, so too does the Holy One, blessed be He, purify Israel."
Although this Mishnah is from the second century CE, the references to the prophets of the First Temple period show that the concepts of atonement and purification existed a thousand years earlier. Indeed, our ancestors prepared for Yom Kippur with a God-fearing awe. They fasted and confessed their sins, but they also rejoiced like any couple before their wedding, knowing that after this time that exists outside of time – this day of atonement – they would be reborn.
3.
All of this relates to repairing our relationship with God, which is, in essence, a repair of our relationship with ourselves. A person knows deep within when they are being dishonest, when they prefer to ignore the inner voice urging them to face their destiny. It is for this purpose that Yom Kippur exists. Yet even this day does not absolve us of responsibility for our social relationships: "Transgressions between a person and another are not atoned by Yom Kippur until they have reconciled with the other," says the same Mishna above. We are obligated to confront the wrongs we have done to others and seek reconciliation with our fellow man.
It is worth noting in the spirit of these days that there is a fundamental difference between reconciliation and appeasement. Reconciliation is about calming the storm within those we have wronged, asking for forgiveness, and clarifying things. We need this not only in our personal circles but in Israeli society as a whole. Appeasement toward our enemies, however, is different; they perceive it as weakness and believe we are afraid, which encourages them to persist in their evil ways. Over the years, they have grown stronger as a result. It is crucial to remember this distinction. Here too, there is a return to our beginning.
4.
Overall, this past year has been a year of repentance (teshuva). On October 6, it seemed as if we had lost our way and strayed from our path. We had drifted so far from one another that the crack became a chasm, and the eye of the needle turned into a vast tunnel through which our enemies and those who seek our destruction broke in. Over the past year, we have begun a process of repair – repairing the way we see our enemies, after the scope of their terrible intentions became clear; and repairing the way we view our national identity as a people returning home after a long exile that must reconcile and mediate between the diverse opinions and myriad disagreements within us. Disagreement, after all, is not a reason for division; on the contrary, it is the secret of our existence and our excellence throughout history. Our continuous debates mirror the eternal biblical and Talmudic arguments. We do not accept any idea or principle without internal conviction, not even a principle of faith. This is the foundation of our constant evolution in science, philosophy, morality, and faith.
For one day, the brutal attack exposed us to the experience of exile – wandering without a land or a state to protect us, abandoned to the cruelty of our enemies. Biblical prophecies of destruction culminate in the exile of the population from the Land. The curse of exile, which I witnessed firsthand during my tenure as an ambassador, remains: "As for those of you who survive, I will cast a faintness into their hearts in the land of their enemies. The sound of a driven leaf shall put them to flight. Fleeing as though from the sword, they shall fall though none pursues" (Leviticus 26:36). This is the constant fear of an antisemitic outbreak that would disrupt the momentary peace we have acquired in lands where we will always remain guests – not only in Europe or the Arab states but even in the United States.
5.
The prophecies of destruction do not end with exile; there is hope for our future. After long soul-searching we had done about the reasons for the destruction, after the fasts, the cries, and the memory of Jerusalem, after millions of our people were murdered by fire, water, and gas over two thousand years, the clear understanding finally emerges: our people have no future outside our land. This brings us to the original biblical meaning of teshuva – the geographical return home (From the Hebrew root shuv). Moses prophesied this just before he departed from us: "When all these things befall you – the blessing and the curse that I have set before you – and you take them to heart amidst the various nations to which your God has banished you...And your God will bring you together again from all the peoples where He has scattered you... And your God will bring you to the land that your fathers possessed, and you shall possess it; and He will make you more prosperous and more numerous than your ancestors" (Deuteronomy 30:1-5).
Now we can understand why we read the Book of Jonah in the middle of the day. After fleeing from his mission, a great storm arises, and he is cast into the sea – a vast mikveh – where he is swallowed by the whale, only to be spat out onto dry land, reborn into his mission as a prophet. Often, we too stray and ignore the tasks assigned to us – every person and their mission in the world. Then, a storm erupts in our lives, and we seek tikun (repair) and a return to the source, a "recalculation of the route." Yom Kippur is the opportunity to return to the shores of our lives and begin anew.
