Soul Scrubbing
I’m curious, what Jewish holiday did you find yourself first connecting to (or feel most connected to)? Was it the first holiday that you experienced or was it something that grew on you over the years?
The first Jewish holiday I experienced on any level was Passover. When I was in the 7th grade my Catholic school hired a Jewish woman to be the permanent sub for the 8th grade teacher who had delivered a premature baby with Downs Syndrome. As a learning experience for the 7th and 8th graders that spring she prepared a mock seder for us, complete with charoset and matzah ball soup. It would not be until 9 years later that I experienced my first real seder, this time as a curious observer, and then 2 years after that as a newly-minted Jew at my rabbi’s table. It would be understandable to assume that Passover, therefore, was my favorite holiday, the one I really felt was truly my own. And that would be a faulty assumption.
My first Yom Kippur was during my year of formal study with my rabbi. I had survived Rosh Hashana but was incredibly nervous about Yom Kippur. Would I survive the fast? Would I be incredibly lost? Would I find meaning in these foreign prayers, this foreign idea of repenting for an entire years worth of misdeeds out loud? And the crowds! All spring and summer I had experienced my temple for what it is 50 weeks of the year: small and cozy. But on Rosh Hashana there were 400 people in my new home, most of who I still do not know 5 years later. And I thought they were all looking at me. To say that I was distracted is no small thing. Just trying to figure things out, I’m not sure I got a ton of meaning out of the day at the time, but something must’ve sparked in me, because each Yom Kippur since then my love of the High Holy Days has grown.
Whenever I mention to people how much I like Yom Kippur they just look at me with a funny expression – kind of like the look my dog gives me when I talk to her – perplexed because they just don’t understand.
Beginning with my protein- and carbs-rich meal before heading to Kol Nidre through those final moments standing before the open ark the entire day is infused with such meaning, such power, the richness of ritual. The feelings that have been building since even before Rosh Hashana, before even Selichot, come to this amazing culmination on Yom Kippur. The fasting, the prayers, the melodies, the yearning for even a small sip of water as my throat scratches against itself during the memorial service; the dull ache during the concluding prayers as the light turns a wonderful amber… When I emerge from the synagogue on Yom Kippur I feel as if I’ve removed my insides, scrubbed everything down, and put it back in for another year. I’m tired, hungry, hot, and thirsty. But I am also invigorated from devoting such energy to praying, to talking to god. For 25 hours I didn’t need to worry about work or my finances or my future plans or what I’m going to have for lunch. For 25 hours I can focus on my soul and on God. I don’t always like what I see, but even when I don’t like it, I still do. A contradiction that I believe is only possible because of Yom Kippur.
My first couple of cycles through Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur I took seats further back in the congregation, convinced that as a new member I wasn’t entitled to the “good seats.” And then a few years ago it occurred to me that I was entitled. Yom Kippur was so important to me, why should I risk ruining my day by sitting further back, amongst people who come out of obligation but not to pray? Who come to catch up with other people they only see once a year, to make comments about the rabbi and the intern, and to judge the people sitting around them. So, now I sit in the first couple of rows and try to avoid the people who talk or are not engaged. Because part of the power of the day is knowing that I’m not the oly one trying desperately to talk to God, to plead with God, for just a moment, a glimmer of the Almighty. The more that I’m able to experience this incredibly personal and private time with my community the more power – and personal – it feels. Another seeming contradiction that only Yom Kippur can allow.
This year as I begin to prepare for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur I do so knowing that I’ve been given this wonderful opportunity to connect to God and re-evaluate my life and who I’ve been over the past year. I don’t relegate my reflection to this day alone, but rather extend it out, like ripples in a pond after a pebble is thrown in by God and me at the same time.
My first was at Sunday school in church when I was probably 8 or so, and it was also Passover. We didn’t get the whole seder, but we made haroset. We helped cut the apples into chunks and mix the ingredients, and I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. I used to beg my mom when we’d go shopping to buy ingredients for haroset.
The first Jewish holiday I celebrated was Chanukah in third grade. I don’t feel much of a connection to Chanukah though I do like lighting the memorah and eating some latke. I even got married over Chanukah. Pesach (Passover) is the one that means the most to me though I really love Sukkot. I love eating in a sukkah. But Passover, the idea of surviving, enduring, escaping slavery, finding home, all really strike the biggest chord in my heart and with my past before converting.
“I don’t relegate my reflection to this day alone, but rather extend it out, like ripples in a pond after a pebble is thrown in by God and me at the same time.”
Beautifully expressed. I don’t “save up” my reflection for this time of year either, but really try to face up to my many flaws on a daily basis. This actually makes it harder for me to rouse any extra energy in this direction when this time of year comes around, though perhaps with time (I’ve only been at this for 12 years, after all!) I’ll develop a better footing with the High Holy Days.