"The people you know the most, you know the least" and "If you blink at the wrong moments you can miss the whole movie" are two of the one-liners of my friend and teacher, Rabbi David Zeller (of blessed memory, d.2007) that I hold on to forever. In the first he reminds me to stop and listen to what is being said, perhaps my friend or sibling are saying something I never heard them say, never could imagine they could actually say such a thing. The second statement reminds me to be conscious as to when I keep my eyes open when I turn away from what is in front of me. The fact that it may appear at times that nothing is happening could be because I blinked in between the frames of the motion picture and thus it appears that nothing is to be seen, when in reality there is a complete movie / lifetime unfolding in front of my eyes.
I believe both statements are true in regard to how we address each day of our life, and at this time of the year, I'll add, how we read the words of the Machzor, the special prayers for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. I know it was true to me when I opened my eyes on a summer morning some ten weeks ago with the words 'B'rosh hashana yika'teivoon u'v'yom tzom kippur ye'chateimoon' / On Rosha Hashana we are inscribed and on Yom Kippur we are sealed' on the tip of my lips. Immediately my mind went racing back to all the moments of saying these words, as part of the famous 'U'Netaneh Tokef' prayer. They've escorted me since childhood. There was no way they couldn't haunt me this summer morning, as they've been haunting me for decades. It didn't help that I was lying in the security of my bed and it was only July...
As a teenager I remember standing in prayer year after year in Yeshivat Hadarom in Rechovot, Israel. The fervor of the rabbis and their students mingling with the delicate piety of the women that I stood with, wove a fabric of desperate fate and faith in the power of these words to fight off 'who shall die... who by fire... who will go mad...' There was a feeling that our lives were hanging on the crowns of the letters of the prayer. Even when sung delicately to the tune composed by Ya'ir Rosenbloom, it carried the memory of the eleven soldiers of Kibbutz Beit HaShita that were killed in the Yom Kippur war in 1973 and who served as the inspiration for the composition.
It was for this reason that I couldn't believe my friend Anita, who hosted me first day of Rosh Hashana some fifteen years ago, when she said that in her machzor there was no 'U'Netaneh Tokef'. In the Sefardic communities they have many other core liturgical pieces, but no 'U'Netaneh Tokef'... I couldn't understand how does one live without 'U'Netaneh Tokef." More so, I couldn't perceive of going through Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur without this cathartic cry of fear, awe, desperation and not-knowing. If you didn't have these words, where could your existential angst express itself?
There was the year, in the early 1990's that I didn't want to say it at all. Staring at the words on the first day of Rosh Hashana I found myself afflicted with a teaching that I had learned that year in the name of the Chassidic master, the Or HaMeir (Rabbi Ze'ev Wolf of Zhitomer, d.1798). He taught that our words create vessels for reality to dwell in. Standing in front of 'U'Netaneh Tokef' this meant that if I said, 'who shall die' I was accepting the possibility of death of a loved one. If I said, 'who will starve' that meant that famine was a reality that I was willing to endorse. I so very much didn't want to say any of the words that brought devastation, but then how could I not recite this holy prayer? I ran through the words as quickly as my lips could move on both days, hoping that if I didn't say them with true intention I was not creating a space for them in God's world. When sharing my inner conflict with my friend Avraham Dovid he said, "Well that's where 'chas v'shalom' / God forbid comes in!" I was puzzled, and he explained, "When I say 'U'Netaneh Tokef' I say, 'who by fire, God forbid...who by flood, God forbid... who will wander, God forbid...' It was such a redeeming moment for me – to see the divine-heavenly eraser in action!
My final 'U'Netaneh Tokef' snapshot brings us to the Rosh Hashana that followed 9/11. I was disturbed when the words did not evoke many tears in the eyes of those that I found myself standing with in prayer that morning. Did they not think that just a few days earlier someone was "who by fire... who will suffocate... who by stone...???" Did they not believe in the power of the words of prayer? Did they not understand what they were saying? Does the machzor have no relationship to reality? I couldn't understand how we weren't drowning in our tears. A colleague of mine suggests that maybe they were in shock. I wish she would've whispered that in my ear that morning. It would've helped me contain my added level of pain.
All these images flooded my mind when waking up ten weeks ago to 'B'rosh hashana yika'teivoon u'v'yom tzom kippur ye'chateimoon' / On Rosha Hashana we are inscribed and on Yom Kippur we are sealed.' I'd like to believe that you can understand why I was quite disturbed those first few moments.
It took a few moments till Rabbi David Zeller's teachings made their way into my consciousness and I found myself asking myself a new set of questions. Could it be that it was telling me something different than ever before? Could it be that it wasn't a premonition of death, God forbid, or a year of tribulation, God forbid, that was knocking on my door? Could it be that it was actually singing to me: 'who will live... who will have peace of mind... who will prosper...?' Could it be that this year, like never before, this prayer was bringing with it blessings and opening a space of joy in my life?
Rabbi Yosef Kanefsky asked after 9/11: "The people that were killed on 9/11 started their day as a regular day in their life. They had no idea as they left for work that it would be their last day. If you woke up one morning and knew it was the last day of your life, how would you live it?" I have allowed his question to walk with me many days since then. But on that morning, with 'B'rosh hashana yika'teivoon u'v'yom tzom kippur ye'chateimoon' / On Rosha Hashana we are inscribed and on Yom Kippur we are sealed' echoing inside of me, I took this question one step further, based on an exercise offered by Roshi Dr. Joan Halifax in her book Being with Dying: 'If you had one hour to live how would you live it?'
I told myself (and only God knows what will be when I find myself in my last hour) that I would spend it on the telephone! I would call people and say: "I have less than an hour to live; I love you and thank you!" I would then hang up, call the next person and repeat my one sentence. I wouldn't say 'I'm sorry' because I'm not sure that they would hear 'I love you and thank you' in the 'I'm sorry'. But I do think that the opposite is true - you can hear 'I'm sorry' when you say to someone 'I love you and thank you.'
So this year I'm choosing to chant 'B'rosh hashana yika'teivoon u'v'yom tzom kippur ye'chateimoon' / On Rosha Hashana we are inscribed and on Yom Kippur we are sealed' as a promise and prayer of life and expansiveness; as a celebration of life. To prepare for this I've chosen to flip my 'I'm sorry' pre-Yom Kippur phone calls to 'I love you and thank you' phone calls.
As 5771 ushers herself in, please allow me to say to you: 'I love you and thank you.'
G'mar chatima tova l'altar l'chayim tovim u'l'shalom / may you be signed and sealed immediately for a good life and peace. Amen.