Once a year on Yom Kippur the High Priest, the Kohen Hagadol would enter the Holy of Holies and proclaim the divine name. We know that name as Adonai. Adonai, Adonai, el rachum v’chanun. This ceremony was the most anticipated part of the Yom Kippur service and the High Priest would prepare for weeks, practicing the Ineffable Name. Only the High Priest knew how to pronounce it. It was a moment of real dread. If he did it wrong, he could die. In fact, the people would tie a red belt on him in case they would need to pull him back out.
Rabbi Menachem Creditor wrote a book from the point of view of the Kohen Hagadol,
“Avodah A Yom Kippur Story”. While it may sounds like a Dr. Seuss book with its ryhming scheme and rhythm, it is really quite deep. Listen: “The work I was trained for, well it had me quite scared. My family, my People, all watched me prepare…for this one special place, for this one special time, for the most special Word from one lonely voice…mine.” After the Kohen Hagadol has finished his ritual he says, “We know that we matter. We know we’ve survived a difficult year, as each one is in turn.”

Simon Jacobson describes Yom Kippur as entering your own personal holy of holies. This is the inner sanctum. Everything had to be pure.  If the High Priest had not atoned for even one sin he would die. How does one prepare for such an awesome task?

For the high priest and for me, part of the preparation involves immersing in the mikveh. Last night I went to the mikveh, preparing to do Divine Service. I have gone to the mikveh any number of times before Yom Kippur. It is a ritual that resonates with me deeply. One the way there this time it was not clear to me why I was going. What was I expecting from this experience this year. I called my chevruta partner in New York. She said I would know. I knew already that the drive time gave me a chance to think. What is this divine service? Why am I doing it? What does mikveh have to do with any of this?

As Jacobson said, “Today we have no High Priest and no Temple. But the Holy of Holies still exists—in the depths of our own soul. On Yom Kippur we attempt to reach the purest part of our selves and to connect with G-d there. We might not be able to stay in that pure place for a long time. It might be only for a few minutes. But as we know the most special experiences last only a moment. We prepare for these most special times for hours, years, even decades, and the effort of the preparation is well worth that split seond they last.”

Last night I went through my usual steps of preparation. Peri Smilow wrote a song for Mayyim Hayyim that contains the seven steps of preparation for the mikveh: “Hinini b’tzelem elohim nikavim nikavim, nishmati t’hora hi.” While singing this, I think to myself, “Here am I, created in the divine image, a finely balanced network, my breath, my soul is pure. Ready to do G-d’s service.” In Perry Smilow’s words, “Baruch Atah Adonai, Wonderous source of healing. Baruch Atah Adonai, We thank you and bless your name. Oh G-d this body is all I have. May I be blessed to sing Your song.”

I prayed the High Priest’s words, first for myself, then for my family, then for those who depend on me, my members at Congregation Kneseth Israel, those in the wider community who call me rabbi, and those in the wider world. “Eternal G-d, pardon the sins, iniquities, and transgressions that I have committed before You, I and my household, as it has been said: On this day atonement shall be made for you, to purify you; you shall e cleansed from all your sins before G-d.”

I immersed not my usual 3 times but 9 times. My tears mixed with the water. Holy tears, holy, living waters, mayyim hayyim. It was a very powerful experience being in that Place. Jacob had a dream. His pillow was a stone. When he awoke, he said, “Surely the Lord is in THIS PLACE and I knew it not…” He was afraid but he was able to say, “How full of awe is this place! This in none other than the house of G-d and this is the gate of heaven.”

This summer I too had a dream. It was just a fragment of one about our ability to go into the Holy of Holies and back out, into HaMakom, that Place, and back out. It was a holy moment. I am not Jacob and I am not the Kohen Hagadol, but I lead my people.

Rabbi David Paskin has a song he wrote after his daughter Liat died of a brain tumor before her second birthday. He tells the story of how we tell someone “Hamakom yenachem etchem. May The Place comfort you.” He asks the question, why The Place. Why use that name for G-d. He answers his own question, as I have said before on this blog. “Why not call G-d, The Compassionate One, the Merciful One, the Comforting One? Why call G-d at that moment the Place. He discovered that it is because when you lose a loved one, all you have left is a space, a place, an emptiness. They are saying that may that space that hurts so damn much comfort you. May you learn to live with that space. He wrote a song in tribute to Liat, called HaMakom.  “May the One who fills our space, give us hope and give us strength. In our silence may we hear the voice of G-d.”

We may not have the Holy of Holies anymore, but we can still go into our own personal holy of holies. We can still proclaim, “Baruch shem kavod, malchuto l’olam va’ed, May the Name be praised for ever and ever.” As Creditor says in the name of the Kohen Hagadol, “And while the this time the voice that was needed was mine, perhaps the next time that one voice will be yours… The challenge that day is to walk through your door…so come. Hold my hand. Stand with me. Do your part.  Close your eyes. For to dream all you need is your heart.”

May our own preparations for Yom Kippur, whether we are a kohen, a levite, an Israelite, a rabbi, a cantor, or a layperson, bring us moments of comfort and entrance into that very special place, the holy of holies of our heart.

I found this quote this morning doing my own preparation for Yom Kippur: “One who doesn’t cry during the Ten Days of Teshuvah—his soul is not complete. When one cries, it is a sign that he is being judged above at that moment.” (The Ari). Yoma 86b in the Talmud teaches that there are two types of teshuvah, that from fear and that from love. The latter has the power to transform the past; it actually transforms intentional sins into merits. Simon Jacobson continues, “That is the power of teshuvah that comes from love—not fear of punishment or guilt, but out of love to get closer to our Source.”

I cried this week. I don’t usually cry. It was frowned upon in my family. Sometimes I think I don’t slow down long enough to allow myself to cry. But there I was, on the bimah, as the rabbi, blessing my only daughter before she left for Los Angeles. And I laughed and I cried. It was a real moment, unscripted. Then my bimah partner, Saul gave me a big hug. Later this week that same Saul cried when we recited Kaddish over the graves of his wife and daughter at Kever Avot. Then this morning I cried again. These were definitely tears of love. Did I do it because I thought I would be judged? No. Do I think so? I am not sure. But I do know that part of the process of the Days of Awe is to open ourselves so completely. This crying is part of the process. We can’t stay tough forever. It doesn’t work. I know. I tried. I am reminded of a song from Free to Be You and Me: “It’s alright to cry. Crying gets the sad out of you. It’s alright to cry. Crying gets the mad out of you.”

Crying is actually a sign of strength. And courage. And empathy. And love. Many cried in the Hebrew Bible:

Genesis 21 says Hagar wept.
Genesis 27 says Esau wept.
Genesis 29 says Jacob wept.
Genesis 42 says Joseph wept.
Judges 14 says Samson’s wife wept.
1 Samuel 1 says Hannah wept.
1 Samuel 20 says Jonathan wept.
1 Samuel 30 says Saul wept.
2 Samuel 1 says David wept.
2 Kings 8 says the man of God wept.
2 Kings 13 says Joash wept.
2 Kings 20 says Hezekiah wept.

On Yom Kippur the High Priest would cry and plead for his people. G-d answers a repentant Hezekiah, “I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears.” (Isaiah 38:4). G-d hears the silent cries of Ishmael. (Gen. 21) Rachel weeps for her children, “A cry is heard on the heights, wailing and bitter tears. Rachel is weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted for her children who are no more (Jeremiah 31:15). This is a promise and a comfort for all the generations of Jews in exile. “A mother’s tears for her displaced children were the assurance of not being forgotten.”

We know that G-d is compassionate and loving, even to the 1000^th generation. We know that G-d will be with us, lighten our burden and give us rest. We learn this from the aftermath of the Golden Calf. Moses does not want to go back up that mountain and he cries out, “Who will go with me?” God answers, “I will go with you and give you rest.” G-d then proclaims the 13 Attributes.

People ask me if G-d cries. I have to answer, an anthropomorphic as it is, YES, even G-d weeps “‘Let my eyes flow down with tears night and day, and let them not cease; for the virgin daughter of my people has been crushed with a mighty blow, with a sorely infected wound.’”  (Jeremiah 14:17). But it is not clear who is doing the crying, G-d or Jeremiah. Rabbi Tanhuma to claim that it must be about God, that God cries because no man can cry without ceasing. Mishnah Sanhedrin teaches that even when a criminal is hanged, God cries out ‘woe unto Me.’ Since we are created in the image of the Divine, whatever we do to others, it is as if we do it to G-d.. “When I injure my fellow man, I injure God.” (Abraham Joshua  Heschel) So even if anthropomorphic, G-d cries. When G-d cries and we recognize that cry, we know we have not been forgotten and we are comforted.

This week our nation will pause to remember September 11. I was in New York that day. I remember the blue sky. I remember the smoke. I remember the sirens and the deserted streets. I remember the raw fear. I remember the tears. This week there will be more tears. There will be more fear. And there will be the lingering question. Where was G-d? For me the answer remains, as taught to me by Rev. Larry Zimmerman at John Oganowski’s funeral, the pilot from Flight 11. G-d was there crying with us, with the flight attendants of Flight 11 who bravely used their cell phones to report what was happening, with the passengers on Flight 83 who took down their own plane, with every first responder who rushed into help, with every person trapped in the stairwells, with every person who lost a loved one, with our nation as a whole as we once again wrestle with how to respond to unspeakable tragedies. G-d weeps with us every time we choose to do evil.

May we, this week, cry tears. Real tears. Of love. Of repentance. Of teshuvah. Then our preparations for Yom Kippur will be more complete.

Tomorrow my little girl leaves on a new adventure. She is moving to Los Angeles where she will pursue her dream of acting, on stage, on film, on TV, in commercials. In the meantime, she will be teaching Hebrew School. She has taught before. 4 years of Hebrew School while she was in High School. Any number of years as a program aide at Girl Scout camp. Two years at a theatre camp where she taught acting. The time is right for this move. She got a job. She has connections in Los Angeles, as well as her sister, her cousin and her cousin’s son. She is the right age. She is pursuing her dream and doing what she needs to do. She won’t have to sit back and wonder at some future date, “I wonder what would have happened if I went for it!” She will know that she went for it and that we believed in her.

Isn’t that a metaphor for our relationship with G-d? G-d told Abraham to Lech Lecha, to go forth, or perhaps more accurately, go towards yourself. G-d wants us to leave our country, the land of our birth, our parents’ house, to go become our own individuals, to follow our dreams. Our G-d believes we can succeed. Our G-d believes in us. Our G-d will be with us along the way, when we lie down and when we rise up. Our G-d wants each of us to find our way, wherever that may take us.

So Sarah, I hope you find time along the way to read this and to know how very, very proud we are of you. How excited we are for you. Yes, it can be scary. But G-d is with you and I am a phone call or a text message away. (and I’ll still beat you in scrabble!)

In the old days, a rabbi would give a sermon just twice a year. The Shabbat before Passover so he, in those days it was only men, could teach his flock how to prepare for Passover. And then again on the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, so he could tell them how to do teshuvah, return.

These days rabbis tend to do sermons, or d’vrei Torah (words of Torah) or drashes, almost every week. The High Holidays contain 5 lengthy sermons alone. So this morning I turned the tables. I asked my congregation how they do teshuvah, how they return. The discussion was serious and remarkably deep. One person talked about meeting with each person in his family individually and apologizing. “Sometimes this can be painful, learning that I hurt someone and I didn’t even know it.”  Another who spends a lot of time traveling on business, talked about taking the time, really taking the time to think. “No phones, no email, going to shul and letting it wash over me and thinking deeply. About all the baggage I carry around. I unpack each suitcase and examine items one by one, then put them back. I feel lighter.” Sometimes teshuvah is about forgiving oneself. Sometimes that can be even harder. One spoke about the need to not beat up on himself. He makes lots of mistakes, he said, and cannot wait until Yom Kippur to begin the process. I was reminded of the story from the Talmud. You should repent one day before your death. But the rabbis asked, how do you know when you will die? You should repent every day.

Others spoke about the need to first recognize that you have done something wrong before you can do teshuvah. That can be the hardest step. A psychologist talked about the difference between apologizing and making amends. “In 12-Steps programs you don’t apologize. You have to make amends. That is a harder process.” We agreed that maybe hardest of all, after you recognize your own mistake, don’t blame others for it so that you own it as your own, make amends, and promise not to do the bad behavior again, is living up to that promise. How do you make your new behavior a habit so you don’t slip into your old ways? Teshuvah is a challenge but one that makes the High Holidays more meaningful. The conversation was certainly meaningful.

Another part of the holidays is thinking about the legacy that you want to leave. Moses is up on another mountain, overlooking the Promised Land that he will not be allowed to enter after leading his people for 40 years. This week we read his farewell address. This man of slow speech has much to say at the end of his life. I asked what the individuals would say to their own families. Here are some of the comments:

• “Go forth and multiply.” Because we need to guarantee the survival of the Jewish people
• “Go forth and prosper.” From an attorney who is also a cohain, who then amended it to “Live long and prosper.”
• “Be good.”
• “Good luck,” Which led to an interesting discussion of how luck plays into our lives.
• “Choose life,” not as some Christians have co-opted it but as a way to live life fully and meaningful.
• “I love you.”

The Thirteen Attributes give us courage. G-d waits for our return. G-d desires our repentance. G-d is slow to anger and patient. G-d will wait until the very moment of our death for our return. G-d offers lovingkindness to the 1000^th generation. This brings us hope and courage.

However we are cautioned in the Talmud, “For sins between G-d and man Yom Kippur atones but for sins between man and his fellow Yom Kippur does not atone until we make things right.” This is the challenge of the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

How do you do teshuvah? What will your legacy be?

Today is the second day of the New Year. Not as much fanfare perhaps. Usually there are fewer people who show up. But the rabbis have a tradition of still saying Shehechianu on something new. This makes the day special. Some say Shehechianu on a new fruit of the season. Some specifically use a pomegranate for that purpose. I always look for one that has a perfect crown. Those are not so easy to find. Some eat a fruit or some other food they have never, ever tasted and scour the marketplace looking for something special. Some buy a new piece of clothing to wear.

After my serious car accident in 2007, we finally went mountain climbing again in the late summer of 2008. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I took one of Sarah’s best friends, a high school classmate. This friend had made sure that when I wanted to quit on a previous hiking trip, when I sat down and said I couldn’t go any further, finished the hike and then came back to get me. “The views are amazing. You have to finish. You can’t miss the views.” Together, the two of us we finished that hike. I have never forgotten that kindness or that friendship.

I went into this hike with a little more trepidation and fear. How far could I get? What about my sense of balance? What if I have to quit; will it be embarrassing? We made it up to the top of the mountain. All four of us. We enjoyed the views and a snack. Then we headed down. It started to rain. We picked up our pace. That was hard. I find going down always harder than going up. We made the bottom just as the first thunder started. I paused to say Shehechianu. My daughter said, “Mom, I think you should say Shehechianu every day. You are still here.” That’s what Shehechianu says, Praised are You, Lord our G-d, Ruler of the Universe who has kept us alive and sustained us and enabled us to reach this time.”

A long time ago, we went to our friends, Nancy and Alyn, to announce our engagement. We were not quite sure how they would respond. Nancy was digging in her garden. She stood up, gave us both hugs and kisses and commanded Alyn, “Alyn go get the champagne.” I learned from that, and I tell every wedding couple this, to always have a bottle of champagne on ice, to celebrate the big moments, like an engagement or a new job, a raise, a promotion, or the little moments, day by day by day. Like Shehechianu, Sarah thinks after my car crash I might be entitled to champagne every day.

We have a prayer we use every day when we first wake up. A personal kind of Shehechianu. Modah/Modeh Ani Lefanecha, Melech Chai V’kayam. I give thanks before You, Ruler and Sustainer of Life.

How will you say Shehechianu today? What new thing will you do?

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us be glad and rejoice in it.” (Psalm 118:24)

Today is the birthday of the world, created again anew. Today we experience the gift of the God’s majesty. We see this reflected in our liturgy, in Avinu Malkenu, literally translated as “Our Father, our King.” What does it mean that God is our Ruler? What does it mean that we call God our loving Parent? Does this differ from the 13 Attributes we have been studying? How do we relate to such a God? With fear and trepidation? With longing? Are we seeking God’s approval? How do we make this relationship right?

Today is Rosh Hashanah, the new year, the birthday of the world. You have been working very hard. Spend some time today thinking about your journey. Remember that you are a beloved child of the Divine and that your efforts in preparation are loved by God. You are loved by God. Write a letter to yourself to open at Chanukah with your goals for the coming year. While, similar to American New Year’s resolutions that seem to never be kept, this is more of a covenant between you, yourself and God. Where do you want to be? Perhaps you could include some promises in the spiritual, physical and emotional realms, giving you some balance.

The shofar sounds call to us, awakening us from our slumber, calling us to remember creation and God’s sovereignty.

Prepare. Are we ever really ready? Can we be? Writing this blog has helped me prepare. So has talking with friends and family, reading lots of books, shopping for a new dress, polishing silver, changing the linens from blue to white, singing on the bimah, adjusting the mikes and hiking at Starved Rock. Am I ready? No. It will be what it will be. I hope that it is enough. It will be enough. G-d does not demand perfection, even in preparation. G-d only demands that we try. That we return. That we turn. If you take the first step, G-d will meet you half way.

“Like water, teshuvah is both destructive and creative. It dissolves the person you were but simultaneously provides the moisture you need to grow anew. It erodes the hard edges of your willfulness but also refreshens your spirit. It can turn the tallest barriers of moral blindness into rubble while it also gently nourishes the hidden seeds of hope buried deep in your soul. Teshuvah, like water, has the power both to wash away past sin and to shower you with the blessing of a new future, if only you trust it and allow yourself to be carried along in its current.” Dr. Louis Newman

When we were walking in Starved Rock, we climbed to the highest point, Eagle’s Cliff Overlook. It was beautiful and we felt we were on the top of the world. We then started hiking back. There were sign posts along the way. They were each marked with a single word, “Return”. I took a picture of one at the start of a bridge. I was thinking of Nachman of Bratslav’s words which have become a popular Jewish camp song, Kol ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar me’od. V’ha’ikar, lo lefachda klal” The whole world is a narrow bridge, the central thing is to not be afraid.”

Don’t be afraid. The central thing is to return. G-d is waiting. We don’t have to complete the journey but we have to begin.

When we got back home and I looked at the picture, a rainbow appeared in the picture. I didn’t see it on the trail! It is a reminder that G-d is ever present and will not destroy G-d’s beautiful creation.

We have looked at the 13 Attributes from many perspectives and that study has enriched me immeasurably. When I hear these strains this week I will reflect on what each of you has taught me.

As children, when playing Hide and Seek, the person who was “It” would hide his or her eyes, count to some impossibly high number while the others hid and then call out, “Ready or not here I come!”. In the story of Adam and Eve, after they eat of the apple, perhaps the pommegranite some of us will taste for New Year’s, G-d calls out, “Where are you?,” in some kind of Divine game of hide and seek. Doesn’t G-d know where they are? The answer to that is yes. However, G-d is waiting for their return. Sometimes it seems that we hide from G-d and sometimes it seems as though G-d hides from us. Sometimes we are surprised by G-d, like with the sign saying “Return” and then the hidden rainbow.

So here we go. We have counted to 13. I know I am not quite ready, but “Ready or not here I come!” Ready to seek the One G-d, to seek G-d’s presence, to return to G-d. May this be a sweet year, a fulfilling year, one filled with peace, with sustenance, with health.

Much of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is cerebral; it is all in our heads. However, there are some concrete things that happen, some of which require real physicality. The linens on the bimah are changed from ordinary blue or maroon or whatever to white, symbolizing purity and holiness. The books need to be changed from regular Shabbat and festival ones to machzorim, High Holiday prayer books. The additional chairs need to be set out. We are preparing to welcome lots of guests. We have done all that.

The part I like the most is polishing the silver. For me this is a symbolic act. It links me to generations of women, my mother and grandmothers especially who polished their silver twice a year. Once at Rosh Hashanah and then again at Passover. I feel that instant connection. More than that as I polish every nook and cranny, every crevice, it slows me down long enough for me to think. What do I need to polish in me? What tarnish do I need to remove so that I will shine brightly like the silver? For me, it is about the deep understanding that my mother’s and grandmothers’ love for me was for all time, that G-d’s lovingkindness and compassion extends to the 1000^th generation, that as I polish this silver, maybe my third and the fourth generation will come to understand this fact easier than I have. This is a real changing, a real return, a teshuva. I still have work to do in the deep crevices. There are still apologies to be made. But it is a start.

What tarnish do you need to remove to see the real you? How will you shine brightly during the new year?

Our next guest blogger is Hazzan Marcia Lane, a cantor in New York and New Jersey who just spent several years as Kolbo (rabbi and cantor) in Tennesee. Continuing last night’s theme of about Kol Nidre, she speaks eloquently about the power of music. It is well worth it to click through to the link to hear Shlomo Carlebach’s song.

“It’s that time of year again. The old joke goes that the Yamim Nora’im — the Days of Awe — are always either early or late. They never come on time! Well, this year, as in most years, they feel awfully early to me. It’s not that I am unprepared for the davenning, because the music remains pretty much the same year to year. It’s that I’m unprepared for the climb up the staircase.

The Jewish year is a cycle of holidays that goes around and around in a circle, but each year we are different people by virtue of being one year older. Our goals get clearer or fuzzier. Our resolve to live a particular kind of life is stronger, or we perhaps can’t see our way. Things change. We change. This year’s Rosh Hashannah is not the same as last year’s. This year’s fast on Yom Kippur will be different from last year’s. We do not simply go in circles. The word teshuvah means turning around, or returning to our truest selves.

Rabbi Shlomo Carelbach, z’l, was more famous as a storyteller and a troubador than for sermons. He composed this chant, which seems to embody the process of teshuva.

 Return again. Return again. Return to the land of your soul.
Return to who you are. Return to what you are. Return to where you are
Born and reborn again.
Return again. Return again. Return to the land of your soul.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ahmh8Kt7qM

We aspire to ascend, step by step, through our lives. As the Kaddish for the High Holy Days says, “L’eilah ul’eilah,” higher and higher. For me, the question remains: How, exactly, do I return? And how do I know what would constitute the authentic, best ‘me’?

The music of the holidays is designed to help with that aspiration: it is, on the one hand, built of a series of motifs that are recognizable to every Jew. So the congregational moments are familiar and sing-able for all of us. But there are also moments of choral or cantorial music that strain to lift our thoughts and our prayers toward God.

“Ochilah l’Eyl, achaleh fanav, eshalah mimenu ma’aney lashon.”

I put my hope in God, I seek God’s presence, I ask for the gift of expression.”

These are the words of the cantor’s prayer that comes in the middle of the Musaf Amidah. At that moment the hazzan asks not for blessings of wealth or health or even wisdom. All we ask for is the ability to express the innermost thoughts and fears of the congregation. We pray for the ability to carry the congregation’s hopes higher toward the divine. Step by step, through the Musaf Amidah the hazzan travels upward, not in a direct line, but in a spiral. I’ve sung these notes before, but now I am a different person than I was last year. I’ve prayed these words before, but I am one year older, sadder, wiser, happier. The person I am this year says to You, as I said last year, “Shma koleynu!” Hear the collective voice of Your people who have come before You. Notice that we have changed, hopefully for the better. We have turned and returned to You. S’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, ka-peir lanu. Forgive us. Pardon us. Grant us atonement.

On the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah, Jews gather to start the formal recitation of Selichot prayers, these very ones we have been talking about.

We know that by Nehemiah’s time a national day of fasting included the 13 Attributes. “Standing in their places, they read from the scroll of the Teaching of the Lord their God for one-fourth day, and for another fourth they confessed and prostrated themselves before the Lord their God.” (Nehemiah 9:3) And continued: “But You, being a forgiving God, gracious and compassionate, long-suffering and abounding in faithfulness, did not abandon them (Nehemiah 9:17).” In the Talmud we learn specifically that the order of the Selichot service contains the 13 Attributes:
“And ‘the Lord passed by before him and proclaimed [etc.]. (Ex. 34:6) R. Johanan said: Were it not written in the text, it would be impossible for us to say such a thing; this verse teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, drew his robe round Him like the reader8 of congregation and showed Moses the order of prayer. He said to him: Whenever Israel sins, let them carry out this service before Me, and I will forgive them. ‘The Lord, the Lord’: I am the Eternal before a man sins and the same10 after a man sins and repents. ‘A God merciful and gracious:’ Rab Judah said: A covenant has been made with the thirteen attributes that they will not be turned away empty-handed, as it says, Behold I make a covenant. (Ex. 34)” (Rosh Hashanah 17b)

Traditionally performed at midnight, this is one of my favorite services of the year. This is how I prepare to lead the congregation in the weeks to come. For me this is a pause, a spiritual moment before what has become more of a show. This year was no exception. This year my congregation, Kneseth Israel joined with Rabbi Maralee Gordon and her congregation from McHenry County and we did “Selichot” together.

There is something very powerful about hearing these very words from the 13 Attributes and something very comforting in the idea that G-d taught these very words to Moses and then taught Moses the Selichot prayers while wrapping Himself in his robe (or tallit!)

We started with Havdalah with the lights dimmed in the sanctuary. There is something about Havdalah that always gets me. Perhaps it is the sweet wine, perhaps it is the braided candle, on fire, lighting the whole room, perhaps it is the spices, reminding us that even though Shabbat is ending it will come again.

Perhaps on Selichot, it is all of it, reminding us that even though this is liminal time and may seem bittersweet, the new year is coming and that fills us, fills me with hope. After the lights were turned back on, we began the Selichot service. During which, three times, Kerena Moeller played Kol Nidre on the cello, to get us “in the mood”. The haunting music, especially on the cello brings me to a different place, transports me across the miles to other Selichot services, other Kol Nidre services. It transports me across the generations. It takes me beyond the words. The Kol Nidre words are a legalistic formula in Aramaic. The Kol Nidre music is sublime. We did three writing exercises while listening to Kol Nidre, asking people to write what came up for them. For me the music starts out mournful. Perhaps the music hears or feels our own regrets. Then it slowly builds to something that reminds me of some of the ballets my daughter performed in. Something that makes me think of what the world to come might be like, some kind of heavenly music. I can imagine the angels playing lutes or harps and welcoming me. Telling me that I am loved by G-d. The music washes over me and lifts me higher. I feel like I have begun the process of teshuvah, of returning to a pure state. Then finally I feel like I am forgiven for the wrongs I have done during this past year.

Menachem Mendl of Kotsk felt similarly. He said, after attending a wedding where he heard a young man playing a violin. He called to the violinist and asked him to play Kol Nidre. Hearing its somber, moving tones, Rabbi Menachem Mendel said, “It is possible to be moved to do t’shuvah even by hearing Kol Nidre played on the violin.” Franz Rosenzweig was ready to convert to Christianity, he changed his mind after hearing the strains of Kol Nidre in Berlin while wandering the streets in 1913. He went on to become one of our most important philosophers, writing the Star of Redemption.

Rabbi Daniel Zemel teaches in All these Vows, edited by Lawrence A. Hoffman, “Once a year on Yom Kippur we are told to reckon our accounts. Kol Nidre is the signal that we may do so safely. We may strip ourselves here and confess how hard it all is, as if the words of Kol Nidre were really the case, as if, that is the terrible burden we ill admit to carrying doesn’t count, even though we know that it does. We are being asked to consider our place in the universe as the image of God that God has left behind for all of history to find and know. Kol Nidre creates a safe space for this consideration of the everyday. Where do my allegiances lie? How do I spend my time? Who is important to me? How do I treat the people I love most? How do I treat the people I see least—the garage attendant who brings me my car, the restaurant server, the busboy? What kind of competitor am I? How do I look in the eyes of others? Am I a friend?”

We then performed our own version of a tashlich service. People wrote out things that they had felt they had missed the mark in washable marker. Then they cast them into large bowls of water. After chanting the traditional Ashamnu, the confession of community sins, we listened to Kol Nidre again. This time people made their own alphabetical list, their own heshbon hanefesh, an accounting of the soul. However, instead of beating ourselves up, which we all tend to do, and Ashamnu demands it, literally as we pound our chests for things few of us have done, like become a murderer, we wrote our own lists of the things we like about ourselves. Active, bright, courageous and compassionate, driven, eloquent, empathetic, friendly, fun-loving, generous, gregarious, etc. You get the idea. Now you try it. If you had to defend yourself in front of the heavenly court with the backdrop of Kol Nidre music playing, what would you say about yourself?

We ended the evening with a single shofar blast, a tekiah gedola, waking us up and reminding us that time is growing short for teshuvah. And of course, a few noshes so the congregations could mingle. It was a powerful evening, for me, for my colleague and for our two congregations.