I spent Rosh Hashanah with my dear family at the Kiner Hotel on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. I won't go into the details of the excellent service, the delicious dishes, and the charming hospitality. The bulk of the holiday was dedicated to fulfilling the spiritual tasks that characterize Rosh Hashanah and the Days of Repentance. The stay at the hotel was a treat, although I have nothing but compliments for the staff and management (and I am critical, if you haven't met them yet).
While staying there, I noticed an interesting fact: most of the hotel guests were converts. Some were veterans and some were new. I found myself observing the movements of these people and becoming a real fan.
I envied their devotion, their stubborn desire to learn more and more about the new way of life they had chosen. I envied their sacrifice, their curiosity, and their willingness to devote themselves with all their senses to serving God. For me, for someone who was born and raised into a life of Torah and mitzvot, everything was natural, so much of a given, so self-evident.
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But for them... just jealous. Everything is alive. New. Exciting and exciting.
The world of repentance is no stranger to me. As a Chabadnik who believes in spreading Torah and Judaism and bringing Jews closer to their Father in Heaven, I have already seen hundreds and thousands of repentant Jews. But this Rosh Hashanah, I found myself doing some soul-searching.
I asked myself whether we, those born into this, appreciate those people who turned their backs on their past and sacrificed everything they had in order to do God's will.
I suddenly realized how much we operate like an automaton. We know exactly where the cantor is holding and what to do at each stage of the prayer. Everything is mechanical, running smoothly, well-oiled.
And they, those who have repented and sat next to me with the help of the women, struggle to find the place of prayer, do not despair, ask, seek and perhaps... feel God's love easily, simply, truly and innocently.
On Rosh Hashanah, we don't say confession. But, hey. We have a problem. How many times have we judged people who are ready to "repent"? How many times have we seen ourselves as more "equal"?
The sage's statement, "Where the Repentant Stand," took on a different meaning for me when I realized that with all my "seniority" in observing Torah and mitzvot, I had a long way to go to reach the same place as that actress/singer/writer who sacrificed her social status as a "talent" in order to be a daughter of our Heavenly Father.
I have a Tel Aviv friend who works as a criminologist at the municipality. She "went crazy" and converted, in mid-life. Every Shabbat she shuffles between Haredi families and learns to walk the path we walk with our eyes closed.
And what? Do you think she doesn't feel the looks of pity, wonder, disdain, criticism? She sees it all, but it really doesn't interest her.
Because she sees the light – the ultimate goal – building a home on the foundations of Torah and mitzvot. And this is a story out of this world. The inquiries, the humiliations, the "filters" she endures on her way to the haredi matchmakers, can break any person. But she grits her teeth, even when frustrated.
She doesn't look back and isn't tempted to return to a place where she was socially "acceptable.".
Suddenly, after three days of seeing what it looked like up close, I understood how difficult it was for her and how much we – the Haredim by birth – need to learn to accept these people into our midst and learn from them what true repentance is.
Atonement for you.
In recent years, the custom of atonement has been heated for a decade or so. Amid this heated debate, the essence of the days – the days of repentance – has been forgotten. To bring us back to the purpose of the custom, I want to share with you a short story that I told on my radio show. Enjoy.
Once, on the evening before Yom Kippur, one of the followers of the righteous Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk asked his rabbi to allow him to see how he performed the custom of atonement.
""How do I make atonement?" Rabbi Elimelech repeated, "How do you make atonement?""
""I'm an ordinary Jew – I do what everyone else does. I hold the chicken in one hand, the prayer book in the other and recite the text: 'This is my atonement, this is my exchange, this is my compensation.'".
"That’s exactly what I do," said the tzaddik. "I hold the rooster in one hand, the prayer book in the other, and say the text. In fact, there may be a certain difference between your atonements and mine: you probably make sure your rooster is white, but to me it doesn’t matter: white, black, brown – a rooster is a rooster…"
But the Hasid insisted that the Rebbe's "Kapparot" was certainly no ordinary event. He had been coming to celebrate the holy day at the Rebbe's temple for twenty years, but this time he decided that he would witness the Rebbe's "Kapparot" no matter what.
""Do you want to see an unusual atonement custom?" Rabbi Elimelech said to him. "Go and see how Moshe the innkeeper makes atonements. That will be a much greater source of inspiration for you than my usual atonements.".
The Hasid located Moshe's inn at a crossroads a few miles outside Lizhensk and asked to stay there for the night.
""I'm sorry," said the innkeeper. "As you can see, this is a small place and we have no rooms to rent. There is a hostel a short distance from here, down the road.".
""Please," the devotee begged, "I've been traveling all day and I want to rest a bit. I don't need a room – I'll just curl up in a corner for a few hours and then I'll go out.".
""Okay," Moshe said. "We'll close soon and then you can get some sleep.".
After much shouting, pleading, and threats, Moshe managed to push his customers, the drunken farmers, out the door. He piled the chairs and tables in the corner of the room, and the room, which also served as the living room, was ready for the night. Midnight was long past and the time of the apocalypse was approaching.
The devotee, wrapped in his blanket under the table, pretended to be asleep, but remained awake and waited in the dark room, determined not to miss anything of what was about to happen.
Before dawn, Moshe got out of bed, clasped his hands and said the dawn blessings. "Time for atonement!" he called quietly to his wife, careful not to wake his guest. "Yantel, please bring me the notebook - it's on the shelf above the bookcase.".
Moshe sat down on a small stool, lit a candle, and began to read from his notebook, completely unaware that his "sleeping" guest was wide awake and straining to hear every word. The notebook was a diary in which the innkeeper had recorded all the offenses he had committed during the year, including the exact date, time, and circumstances.
"His "sins” were quite mild – he gossiped one day, slept in the morning of another and was late for prayer, forgot to give a coin to charity another day – but after Moshe read the first few pages, his face was wet with tears. For more than an hour, Moshe read and cried, until he finished reading the last page.
""Yantel," he called to his wife again, "bring me the second notebook.".
This too was a diary – in which were recorded all the troubles and misfortunes that had befallen him during the year. One day Moshe was beaten by a group of peasants, another day his son fell ill; once, in the dead of winter, the family froze for several nights due to a lack of firewood. Another time their cow died and there was no milk in the house until they saved enough rubles to buy another cow.
After finishing reading the second book, the innkeeper raised his eyes to heaven and said: "You see, Father in heaven, I have sinned against you. Last year I repented and kept the commandments, but again and again I gave in to the desires of evil. But last year too I prayed and begged you for a year of health and prosperity, and I trusted in you that it would indeed be so.
""Dear Father, today is the eve of Yom Kippur, the day when everyone forgives and is forgiven. Let's put the past behind us. I will accept my troubles as atonement for my sins, and you, in your mercy, will do the same.".
Moses took the two notebooks in his hands, raised them high, circled them three times around his head and said: "This is my atonement, this is my change, this is my reward." He then threw them into the burning fireplace, where they quickly became fuel for the fire...
• The writer is the owner of "My Choice", an event host, lecturer and radio broadcaster: [email protected]
