It is in a dual capacity that we come to synagogue this evening to face our Creator and implore His mercy. We come as individuals, each praying to G-d for his own welfare and the well-being of his loved ones and his immediate family. As individual men and women or as members of individual family groups, we come to the House of G-d to ask the Lord of the world to bestow his divine blessings upon us for this coming year. But it is also as members of a larger group that we assemble here this evening. It is as members of the Jewish people, as citizens of the holy community of Israel, that we congregate for these Kol Nidre services.But how much easier is it to appear in that first capacity – as individual people or as individual families? It is so much simpler, both as far as understanding and emotion are concerned, to say: “O G-d, please help me advance my business this year,” or: “Dear Lord, please heal my sick mother,” than it is to say, “Good G-d, please send healing to all Thy people.” Not that the Jew begrudges health to his fellows – Heaven forbid! – But since the community is more impersonal than the family or himself, he finds it difficult to put much feeling into a request of that sort. Somehow, the idea “community” is only an abstraction, an ideal in which you are interested – but it is no more than just that – an ideal, or an abstraction. It is more difficult to sympathize with a hungry Yemenite in Israel than with your only son who is feverishly ill in bed with the grippe [ed. – the flu].Conversely, it is infinitely easier to accept blame or guilt as only one member of an entire people, as only part of a great community, than as an individual. I may despise that anti-semite, but when one of these fanatics shouts, at a street corner, that all Jews are robbers, that does not bother me half as much as it would were he to single out me or my brother or family for such a stigma. It is easier to say אשמנו, בגדנו, גזלנו, “We were guilty, we were treacherous, we we…

I wonder if you have ever noticed that the tradition of Kol Nidre is the strangest any people ever had. Other people generally solemnify their New Year by making resolutions and reinforcing their old promises. We Jews, on the contrary, celebrate this evening, this climax of our New Year season, by announcing that we hereby break our promises and abrogate our vows. כל נדרי… לא שרירין ולא קיימין. All vows shall not be binding and shall not have power. A strange way indeed for religious people to observe a Day of Atonement and look forward to a new and fruitful year!And yet, in a way, this is a very important condition for the observance of Yom Kippur. Of course, according to Jewish Law, Kol Nidre releases a man only from those vows made between him and G-d, not from those in which any other individual is concerned. But in a broader sense, this abrogation of vows is really significant. It means that we begin this holiest of holy days by each personally divorcing himself from his past. We begin this on a new slate. We know from experience that the past has been a grievous one, not too good, perhaps sinful, something of which we might not be too proud if it were completely revealed. There are certain vows which we have made, silently and even unconsciously, which we must annul. Some of us, in the privacy of our hearts, may have decided to pay more attention to business and profit, and less to reading and study; more to sports and less to synagogue; more to personal advancement, less to community progress. On this Kol Nidre night, then, we absolve these vows. We break clean with the past. We begin a year totally fresh and new. We will not allow the dead hand of the past to slap the face of the present. We start with a clean slate.Now, why is it so important that we begin anew? Because this day is the day of great decision. It is the day when every man and woman must choose their course, and with the knowledge that upon this course depends the future of an entire year and…

Shlosha dvarim tsarich adam leimor besoch beiso erev shabbos im chashaicha. “A man is required to say three things in his home on Sabbath eve as darkness sets in.” These three statements required by the Rabbis are especially pertinent this Sabbath eve, for today is not only the eve of Saturday, but the eve of Yom Kippur, which is known as shabbos shabbason, the Sabbath of Sabbaths. Many of you may be familiar with this text, for it is part of the Mishna we recite every Friday Night in this synagogue. And these questions must be asked b’soch beisso, within the home, by each man of his family, and by every man, woman and child of himself as he probes into the deep chambers of his own conscience, within his heart and mind. For this moment too is im chashaicha, shrouded in darkness, the darkness of uncertainty; there is a cloud of doubt and a pall of mystery which veils the future as we wonder what strange things the new year will bring.I wish we could be sitting together in your living room. I’d like to pull up a chair alongside you. On Kol Nidre night, I do not want to talk at you, not even to you; I want to talk with you. And together let us ask of ourselves those questions. First, let us ask: issartem? Have you given the tithe? In Biblical times, the Jew was required to give one-tenth of all his earnings as ma’aser, as a form of charity-taxation. And every Jew must give ma’aser, not as a voluntary contribution, but as a form of tax. For what we have is not our own to do with as we please. We are only trustees, administrators of G-d’s estate. The true worth of a man is measured not by what he accumulates but by what he gives to others; not by what he possesses but by what possesses him; not by what he has but by what he is. Certainly, therefore, one of the most basic elements in true, worthy living is an affirmative answer to the question “issartem?” Are you ready to share what you have?The most obvious need for sharing is the sharing of material possessions, of mon…

Perhaps the most devastating comment ever made on the nature of Man’s whole life and all his so-called accomplishments, is contained in the words we recite after the ונתנה תוקף prayer: אדם יסודו מעפר וסופו לעפר, בנפשו יביא לחמו משול כחרס הנשבר, כחציר יבש, וכחציץ נובל, כצל עובר, וכענן כלה, וכרוח נושבת, וכאבק פורח, וכחלום יעוף. “Man’s origin is dust, and his end is also in dust. He earns his livelihood at the risk of his life. He is like fragile earthenware, like a fading flower, like the passing shadow, like dissipating clouds and blowing winds and floating dust and a transient dream.”Yes, Man’s life is like all these things, and especially – woe unto him – like a passing shadow. For a young man who today worships may next year lie mangled on a cold, bloody battlefield. The mature head of a household who today is substantial and assured of financial security for himself, his wife, and his children, may next year be driven to seek “relief.” The man, woman and child who today is in the best of health, may soon be victimized by crippling paralysis, by dreaded heart disease, by terrorizing cancer. The world which today laughs and cries and goes about its usual business may next year be only a dim memory in the grim mushroom-cloud of atomic or hydrogen destruction. May G-d forbid such things to happen. But such things do happen. For all of Life is k’tzeil oveir – like a passing shadow – nothing more.But does that mean that Man must abandon himself to hopelessness? Is Man to despair because his life is so short, so insecure, and insubstantial? If life is only a passing shadow, does that therefore mean that man can do nothing about it or with it, that it is meaningless?Our Sages were quick to point out that such is not the case. For while Life is a shadow, it is still up to us to decide what kind of shadows our lives are going to be. For a shadow, insubstantial and immaterial though it be, does have constructive uses. For the weary traveler on a hot, dusty summer road, a …

Our very presence here this evening, the solemnity of this hour, and the sense of serious dedication which pervades and sweetens the atmosphere of our synagogue tonight point to something within us that we seldom suspect exists. It indicates a tremendous potential for the good, the holy, the decent, and the courageous that lies dormant in our hearts all year but which comes to the fore in response to the mystic challenge of Kol Nidre. Our presence, our prayer, our upward glance, our silent cries and our unseen tears, these are an affirmation of the great principle of Judaism that Man is more than a two-legged beast, that he has a soul, that he was created in the Image of G-d, that there is something inherently good and worthwhile and decent and honorable and G-dly within each of us.This thought came to mind when I read a recent press report of one of the many archaeological expeditions carried out in the State of Israel. An expedition had discovered the ruins of an ancient settlement which was, according to all estimates, some 2,000 years old. Deep down in one of the underground caves, the archaeologists had found a large amount of wheat evidently stored away by the original settlers. Because of the right conditions of humidity and temperature, the wheat had remained preserved intact for these past 2000 years. But the scientists were extremely skeptical as to whether any life was left in the kernels of wheat – that was too much to expect. And so, to experiment, they planted the kernels – and by harvest time, they were amazed to find a bumper crop! Buried in the depths of the earth for 20 centuries – and enough life left to start all over again!So it is with man – all year we may resemble a spiritual ruins, but on Yom Kippur we affirm that there is a kernel of Life left someplace deep within us, and in response to the call of Torah, we seek to retrieve that kernel, that hidden goodness and concealed G-dliness, and bring it to full bloom and fruition again.Indeed, ha…

On this same holy night of Yom Kippur, many many years ago, a tall, lonely man climbed down the slope of a barren mountain, and to the crowd gathered at the foot of the hill he uttered the following words: v’assu li mikdash v’shachanti b’socham, (Exodus 25:8), “let them make for Me, for G-d, a Sanctuary, that I may dwell amongst them.” (Tanhuma Terumah 8). With those words the prophet Moses transmitted to Israel at Sinai, on a Yom Kippur over 3,000 years ago, the first commandment to build the first House of G-d – whether it be called Sanctuary or Tabernacle or “shul” or synagogue.Our Tradition records that although our people eventually rallied with great enthusiasm to the building of the mikdash, they were at first greatly puzzled. This was a new concept, a new idea, and it startled them. Even Moses, we are told, could not understand it. If you are the one G-d of the whole universe, then you are everyplace, and how can we call a small enclosure a beis Elokim, a House of G-d? Does it mean that G-d will be only here in the mikdash and no place else? Is G-d a man that He can be locked within the confines of one building? If all the Heavens can’t contain you, how can one room?The Tradition continues with the explanation – the true one – that G-d gave Moses. He told him: lo lfi kochi ela lfi kochan, I do not need this mikdash, nor can I ever be contained within any place. Rather – it is necessary for the Children of Israel, that they might have a place to focus their devotions, so that whenever they come to this place, they will feel uplifted, transformed, and so thereby find Me more available to them.Moses, our Tradition tells us, easily grasped the meaning of G-d’s explanation. But this was too direct a truth for the Israelites to understand easily. And so G-d explained it to them in a parable, drawing on their own background and experience. (Ex.R.34). And this night of Yom Kippur, my friends, the same night that the command to build the first Sanctuary was given, I…

(1) In a few moments, we shall recite the Yizkor, in which we ask G-d to remember with compassion the souls of beloved, departed relatives. We shall mention by name those relatives with whom we today reassociate, and for whose remembrance we petition G-d. And the fact that we so do, that we invoke the memory of individual human beings long after they have passed from this earthly scene, that we remember them by name, that we recall the love and tenderness of our personal relationships with them, betrays a profound respect for the individuality of the human being. It betrays an attitude of reverence for the individual as individual, as a human being, as someone worthy and possessing dignity.This is, of course, a fundamental teaching of our Torah. Man is not just another animal, simply a highly developed mammal. He was created b’tzelem Elokim, in the Image of G-d. He has a soul – and that means that he has individuality, that each and every person is uniquely the bearer of a Divine spark. When we grant the Bible’s teaching that man is created in G-d’s image, then we understand R. Akiva’s exclamation, chaviv adam she’nivra b’tzelem – Beloved is man that he was created in the Divine image. Man – each and every one of us – becomes beloved, precious, indispensable, irreplaceable. In a word, what Judaism teaches is that man is not a “thing,” just another object. He is G-d-like, He is human. He is an individual. He is a “thou,” not an “it.” Chaviv adam – man is beloved of G-d.This would seem to be a perfectly obvious principle, a thesis that all accept. And yet it is unfortunately true that our world more often violates it than observes it. Our society, with its “groupism,” its emphasis on “adjustment” and conformity, has tended to submerge the individual man in the mass, and to blur the uniqueness of each individual. We have begun to lose our reverence for the human personality. Just look at some of the aspects of our daily life. We make a party and confide to a friend th…

As our congregation gathers for this holy convocation, prepared to address G-d on this holiest night of the year, there are many ways in which we can understand our relation to Him. In the Yom Kippur Prayerbook, in the portion before the confessional, we enumerate some of them. One is purely spiritual: ki anu amecha v’Ata Elokeinu, we, the Children of Israel, are Thy people, and Thou art our G-d. Another is devotional: anu vanecha v’Ata Avinu – we come to G-d as children to Father. The third is an approach of the Jewish people to G-d in fear and trembling: anu avadecha v’Ata Adoneinu – we are Thy slaves, and Thou – our Master.I prefer to think, however, that on this holy night of Kol Nidre, so filled with sacred associations, so evocative of the deepest longings of the Jewish soul, so stirring to the bit of Jewish heart within us, so conducive to the feelings of warmth and goodness and companionship and affection that move us, that on this night we are best characterized by the relationship anu rayasecha v’Ata dodeinu, we are Thy faithful and Thou art our Beloved; Israel is the faithful, loving wife, addressing her beloved, divine Husband. When our Prophets reached their loftiest heights of inspiration, they spoke of G-d and Israel as lover and beloved. When Jeremiah is commanded to address the citizens of Jerusalem, he tells them the words of the Lord: zacharti lach chessed ne’urayich, ahavas kelulosayich (2:2), “I remember your youthful devotion, the love of your bridal days,” and ahavas olam ahavtich al kein meshachtich chessed (31:2), “I have loved you with an everlasting love, therefore with affection have I drawn you near to Me.” And at the same time, when our Prophets accuse our people of disloyalty to G-d, it is in the rich and powerful metaphors of marital disloyalty and faithlessness. Achein bagdah ishah me’rei’eha, kein b’gadetem bi beis yisrael, ne’um ha’Shem (3:20) – “Surely as a wife who treacherously leaves her husband, so have you dealt treacherousl…

When our Rabbis inquired as to the reason we recite the blessings over the Torah when we are called up to it in the synagogue, Rabbi Ishmael replied as follows (Berachot 48b): kal va’chomer, al chayei shaah mevarech, al chayei olam lo kol shekein. If we make a blessing over food which is only chayei shaah, only temporal, mundane living, then we certainly ought to bless G-d for Torah, which is chayei olam, eternal life. And with this, our Rabbis presented us with a distinction that governs all of life and which calls upon each of us to decide how we shall conduct our lives. For every activity of life can be regarded as either chayei shaah, which means the “life of the hour,” that which must be done but which has no lasting significance, or chayei olam, the “life of eternity,” that which may not seem pressing, but which is of eternal and permanent significance. It is between the life of the hour and the life of eternity that the Jew must choose. And our Rabbis leave us little doubt as to which they considered more valuable.Chayei olam and chayei shaah – eternal life and temporal life, the life of the hour and the life of ever. Perhaps we can reduce those terms to two simpler English words: the urgent and the important. Chayei shaah is the urgent. It includes all those matters which press us day in and day out, problems that have to be solved in a hurry, within the hour, desires to be fulfilled, personal wishes to be satisfied. The Life of the Hour is the life of the Urgent. Chayei olam is the important. Eternity is never in a hurry. There is no urgency about matters of the spirit. But ultimately, in the long view of man’s life, they are what really counts – they are the important issues. The urgent requires of us to make it fast; the important – to make it deep. It is urgent that a businessman sometimes be clever. It is important that he be wise. It is urgent for the housewife to be a good hostess; it is important that she be a loving wife and mother. It is urgent th…

After Father Jacob had his famous dream of angels climbing up and down the ladder reaching from earth to heaven, he woke up in a state of fright – va-yira. Why did he experience fear after such a sublime vision? Because, as the Torah tells us his very words, akhen yesh ha-Shem ba-makom hazeh v’anokhi lo yadati, “indeed, the Lord is in this place – and I did not know!” Jacob was shocked at his own capacity for lo yadati, for not being aware; for standing in the presence of Almighty G-d, and calmly making his bed unawares of Him; for finding himself in a place of overwhelming holiness, and going to sleep unperturbed by it. Lo yadati, this is the self-accusation of the father of our people.How significant is both Jacob’s predicament and reaction for us, his descendants, on this eve of the Yom Ha-din, the Day of Judgment! The great majority of us are rarely consciously evil. Even after the most searching self-examination on this Judgment Day, we will no doubt prove innocent of any calculated evil, of any major malice or obviously bad intention. Our failure, rather, lies in our blindness to the sublime in life, our insensitivity to the holy, our cheerful indifference to the angelic visions that lie within our grasp. Our failure lies in that at every step we can grasp the ladder leading to the gates of heaven, but – lo yadati, we are not even aware of it, we allow ourselves to be nonchalant about it. Our sin is not that we consciously pursue evil, for we do not. Our sin is that we can so easily achieve goodness, but are blind to the opportunity: lo yadati.Just look at the opportunities for goodness, for grasping the great ladder to heaven, that come within our reach almost every day of the year – and we fail to climb it because lo yadati, we are impassive and unconcerned. Here is the husband who comes home from work and finds his wife irritated and miserable – or reserves the situation. One kind word, one gracious compliment, one expression of sympathy can make your spou…