So yesterday was Yom Kippur. My in-laws are here, and having more “staff” around to watch the kids made it possible for me to pray at the synagogue significantly more than I am usually able to on the High Holidays. I was so, so grateful for this.
I’ve attempted to describe Yom Kippur in the past, but as I said then, it’s very difficult to put in words what is so powerful about it and why it was so fulfilling for me to be able to take part in the service. Because… I mean… an entire day spent fasting and sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a synagogue (if not standing… and there is a lot of standing) is not exactly most people’s idea of a good time.
It wasn’t mine, either, as a kid or a young teen. I dreaded Yom Kippur! I counted down the pages in the prayer book and the minutes until the fast was over. It was torture.
It was only later that I started to enjoy the service. It was a combination of becoming familiar with the prayers and the general structure of the service, really listening to the words, and developing a personal relationship with God that helped me learn to experience Yom Kippur as a spiritual high.
You have to do it to understand it–and even then, it takes a degree of familiarity with the prayers, because part of it is the sense of community, of singing and chanting these prayers together with the congregation, and you can’t really do that when you’re focused on learning the tunes or the words.
But since my eldest son was born, I hadn’t really been able to participate in the prayers on the High Holidays. The fast is more important than the prayers, and my priority was surviving the fast: not an easy task when you are nursing a small baby! I actually fast pretty well under normal circumstances, but when pregnant or nursing it becomes extremely difficult, even when I am drinking in small amounts throughout the day. I have limited energy reserves in the best of circumstances, and in those times, between the fast and caring for a small child or three, there was no point in even trying to go to synagogue.
I don’t think I really understood how much I missed it.
As per my last post, my relationship with God has taken some major leaps in a positive direction in the past couple weeks.
There is a beautiful rabbinic saying about teshuva (repentance): “The Holy One says: open for me an opening the size of a needle’s eye, and I will open for you an opening the size of a great hall.”
I really felt that this year. I felt like I made one tiny effort at healing this relationship, opening up just a crack, and God opened my heart and my hands to receive His abundance, and then poured a generous dose of that abundance into them, as if to say: “I am here. I am listening. I love you more than you can imagine. And I am sorry for all the times I have to say ‘no.'”
This Yom Kippur, the forgiveness was mutual.
I have written that one of the most difficult things I have been coping with in all the relationships in my life is the presence of anger. I think that now, the major theme is learning to forgive: to forgive myself for my imperfections, to forgive my loved ones for falling short of what I need or want from them, and to forgive God for allowing suffering in the world.
Ironically, one thing that made this easier was a really intense book I read recently about basically the worst human suffering you can imagine. It’s called A Damaged Mirror (though the author tells me they are planning to re-release it under a different name in a few months): a Holocaust memoir with a major twist. And man, if you thought Man’s Search for Meaning was brutal… this book… :-/ It contained some of the most detailed and horrifying descriptions of Auschwitz that I have ever seen. (…And I have read a lot of Holocaust literature, and seen quite a few Holocaust movies, and visited Auschwitz myself.) But the book was actually about a process of repentance. (It’s an amazing book. Mind-blowing. Really. Highly recommended.) Mutual forgiveness between man and God also came up in the book… and the fact that it was at all possible to forgive God after seeing the things that this man saw was somehow comforting to me.
But I’ve learned that this forgiving God business is not a one-off thing. Last year I wrote a post called I Forgave God, and I it was true. But it’s a cycle, and this year I had to forgive Him again. Not unlike how He has to forgive us every year. But what I’ve learned is that that cycle of hurt and reconciliation, moving apart and coming back together, is a natural cycle in any healthy relationship.
Take our friendship, for example! 😉 You know how you and I tend to get on each other’s nerves sometimes? And remember how one time we had an annoying argument about it, and when we had resolved it, I said, “You realize we’re going to have this same conversation a million times, right? In sixty years I’ll be whining at you from my nursing home through whatever technology we’ll have at the time…” That was a result of this realization: that people have different needs, and that sometimes, they just cannot be reconciled… and that that’s okay. It’s just part of the package. It’s something we have learned to accept about each other. Needs don’t always have to be reconciled in a positive relationship. They just have to be navigated. And compassion is the compass. Making the most generous assumption possible about the other is how we find our way.
I feel that until very recently, I have been harsh with God. I’ve been so angry and fearful that I was unable to make that generous assumption that He really is infinitely kind and compassionate and that even human suffering is paradoxically part of His kindness. Sometimes there are things we really cannot understand about the other, and when there is fear of getting hurt, it can be very hard to make a generous assumption. But once I had acknowledged and moved past that anger, I was able to soften… and strange as it may sound, I was able to feel forgiveness and compassion towards God. And my own softening was reflected right back at me.
I know there will be other times of distance, but I am hopeful that this latest experience has taught me how to navigate them better.
Wishing you a year of abundance and compassion and joy.