Becoming a Jew: A Yom Kippur Night for the Ages
One Kol Nidre night in 1913 in Berlin a Jew walks into a small orthodox synagogue and decides to become a Jew. You heard me correctly. The story seems nonsensical but the back story speaks to the essence of our faith and our mission as Jews.
The man at the center of this story is Franz Rozensweig who grew up in a very assimilated home raised with a superficial Jewish education, a Bar Mitzvah and attended shul only on the high holidays. He reflected in his autobiography that everything Jewish was shallow and devoid of spiritual seriousness. He decided to convert to Christianity but he wanted to do so as a Jew and in his mind viewed participation in Yom Kippur as a necessary, preparatory step towards his baptism.
That Kol Nidre night transformed him. He writes, “I can never explain what happened to me but I felt on Yom Kippur alone with God. I experienced a closeness to God more powerful than any theology. I stood among Jews wearing white shrouds as in the day of death, sang prayers, heard Yishayahu’s call to loosen the bonds of the enslaved, Neilah, the infectious repetition of the words - Hashem Hu Elokim, God is Master and the shofar blast.”
He continues, “I left the synagogue as a new creation. What happened? I do not know. I only think of what the great mystic Meister Eckhart once said, ‘Love has no why.” At that service I sensed the seriousness of Judaism. I began to study Hebrew, Bible, Talmud, and Rabbinics. I began to know Judaism and to live it. I had to practice. Judaism was not a debate. It was a way of experiencing God.”
Franz Rosenweig’s journey from the cusp of conversion and back to Judaism is rare but his epiphany about the essence of Judaism as a relationship with God is timely and timeless.
What did he learn that night, what changed him? How did he come to experience God? How can we?
I believe he learned three truths - first, life is a gift, second, embrace the memories of ancestors and third, the spiritual power of a communal Torah experience.
First, seeing the kittels and acknowledging their symbolism as reminiscent of the shrouds was critical. Confronting our mortality serves as a wake up call. In essence, this is one of the main calls of Yom Kippur. Why do we fast, wear white and engage in a day fully devoted to God? It is to awaken us from the false notion that we all deserve our lives, that we are entitled. When things don’t go well, we have the chutzpah to complain to God. Our perception is not true. Life is a gift, all we have are gifts from God. Our role is to develop them. Gifts obligate us to respond. In Judaism this means there is a need to listen to the ultimate Giver and live by His directions.
Franz realized and so must we that this is the call of the hour on Yom Kippur. A full day is given for us to realize a simple matter which is so difficult to admit. Life is only great as long as it is lived in the realization that it is undeserved. Would it not be great if every person, all of us, would rise from our beds each morning with this keen awareness. Life would look radically different. And much more joyful.
Secondly, Franz rediscovered the power of memory to sustain his faith. The scene unlocked something deep in his soul. Rather than Kol Nidrei remaining history it became a living memory. In the words of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, “History is an answer to the question of what happened but memory is an answer to the question of who am I? Memory is my story, the past that made me who I am today and whose legacy I am the guardian for the sake of generations yet to come.”
The rituals are foundational but the ruach and regesh, the feeling and spirit fuel the continuity of our Judaism. Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein spoke often of the importance of transmitting the emotional experience of Judaism. He told teachers that just as important as the Torah content and the skills are the Saturday evening melavah malkas, gatherings at their homes. The experiential education is just as important as the formal education. Rabbi Solvietchik beautifully describes two traditions. His father taught the moral-intellectual one and his mother the living experience. He writes, “My mother taught me a flavor, a scent and warmth to the mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life - to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting upon my frail shoulders. Without her teachings which were quite often transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive.”
Thinking back on our lives, what moments awakened with us the gentle pressure of God’s hand on our shoulders? What formative experiences shaped our relationship to our faith?
Take a moment to fill in this phrase - I will never forget. What is your “I will never forget moment”? For me, it is not something my parents said about Shabbat or Holidays, for instance, but how they crafted an experience that made me feel the warmth of Judaism such as the smell of Shabbat, the taste of Pesach, the open home filled with guests, and my first trip to Israel, wrapping my father’s tefillin.
This realization hit home this past summer when hosting a Shabbat meal with our family in Jerusalem. It turned out that my brother was also in Israel at the time with participants in the Manhattan Jewish Experience, a Jewish outreach program for 20s and 30s. Ezra and a few millennials joined us for Shabbat lunch. Early in the meal, we did introductions and shared a bit about our spiritual journeys. One young man in his thirties said the following: When my grandfather was alive we had Shabbat meals in our home. I always cherish those days. Since he died, we have not had them. When I walked into your home with the Shabbat table filled with guests, food and joy, I felt my grandfather’s presence and it awakened within me those memories and the desire to recreate them in my new home.”
How can we forge more of these moments in our lives and for our community? We cannot underestimate the power of lighting Shabbat candles, the smells of the holidays and Shabbat, Kiddush each and every week with concentration, Shabbat songs, a trip to Israel or mitzvah mission. These memories will live in us and our progeny.
Finally, I believe Franz experienced the power of community on Yom Kippur. Last week, I asked someone about a moving moment over the holidays and he reflected on the communal singing, the sense of unity in service of God. Experiencing God emerges when we celebrate and learn together. On these occasions we give strength to each other, inspire everyone and instill inspiration for generations. This is the goal of the final two mitzvot in the Torah. The Torah ends with a directive and strategy for continuity. Mitzvah 612 is the mitzvah of Hakhel - a once in a seven year event in which the entire nation gathered in Jerusalem to hear the Torah and the last Mitzvah is to write your own Torah. The secret to immortality lies not in monuments but in crafting moments which will endure for generations.
Hakhel included men, women and children who were all present. No matter how wise or how young, everyone is expected to attend. It is not about acquiring knowledge for the wise men who already know the Torah and the babies too young to understand but about infusing in the Jewish people an unforgettable experience of Jewish community, learning and strength forged by the presence of so many people together for a common purpose. Hakhel, which means gathering is designed as a recreation of the Sinai experience. The closest I felt to such an occasion was at MetLife Stadium a number of years ago. It was not for a Giant or Jets Game but in celebration of the completion of Daf Yomi, the seven and a half year cycle of Talmud study. Close to 90,000 people attended a rally for God in an unparalleled experience.
The final mitzvah in the Torah punctuates this message of fostering a personal relationship with God. Every Jew must write his/her own Torah. A person can fulfill this Mitzvah by writing it oneself , commissioning the writing of one or even writing one letter. If one letter of the Torah is missing the entire Torah is invalid and therefore writing even one is considered as if you wrote the entire Torah. God willing, we will celebrate a new Torah at Agudath Sholom on Sunday, October 23rd. It will feature a Torah Parade from our home to the shul and the writing of the final letters. There will be music and festivity and God willing unforgettable memories. We are grateful to good friends of ours, Debbie and Jimmy Lustig, who first donated a Torah in Denver over 18 years ago and made it their family legacy to donate a new Torah somewhere in the world every couple of years. They commissioned one for Bi Cultural a number of years ago and are now donating one to our shul.
I would like to conclude with two amazing stories from a good friend and the scribe for our new Torah, Rabbi Tzvi Chaim Pincus.
The Bluzhever Rebbe of Boro, Rabbi Spira, shared that one day while he was in a concentration camp, he was approached by a kapo who asked him about his identity as the Rebbe. Although a bit nervous, the Rebbe answered yes, he was the Rebbe. The kappo then gave him an envelope.
The Rebbe opened up the envelope and saw a letter with the following words - “Dear Rabbi Spira, My wife and I are about to be taken to be killed. We are now in a shul and surrounded by fires and we have an opportunity to send a message. We are going to die but if you survive, we would like you to ensure a Torah is written in our memory. We have no children.We want people to know we existed. We want to be remembered”. Out of the envelope came a crumpled 50 dollar bill. The Rebbe survived the Holocaust. In the years following, he raised the money to write a Torah in memory of the couple and the Torah has a home at Yeshiva Torah Vodaas in Brooklyn.
Think about it for a moment. This husband and wife are about to leave this world and they can only think about perpetuating their memory through a Torah. They know that the Torah will never be forgotten. Its power is eternal from generation to generation.
A final story - It is about Irwin Pasternack, an architect from Phoenix, Arizona. In his mid 40s he was blessed to be on the verge of getting married when his fiance, Dana, was tragically killed in a car accident a few weeks before the wedding. He decided he wanted to write a Torah in her memory. He learned that his Reform synagogue did not need a new Torah but inquired if the Young Israel of Phoenix needed one. The Rabbi there, Rabbi Silver, directed Irwin to Rabbi Pincus to help him choose a Torah. He chose the most beautiful one in memory of Dana.
Rabbi Pincus recalls that he asked Irwin - what gave you the idea to dedicate a Torah in Dana’s memory? Irwin replied, “When I was a boy in Cheyenne, Wyoming over 40 years ago, a scribe came to town to write a new Torah. I will never forget sitting on my Zayde’s lap as he helped me write the letter yud for the name Yisrael, which is my name and the last word in the entire Torah. I never forgot that letter, the smell of the parchment, the warmth and the love of my Zayde. I said to myself if one letter of the Torah can emit so much warmth for Judaism, I want to write a whole Torah in memory of my beloved Dana.” Rabbi Pincus told me that Irwin ended up learning more, becoming observant and getting married.
One memory from over 40 years prior stirred in his soul and then burst into a flame of inspiration, comfort, hope and rediscovery of his faith.
May we all merit today and every day to live with the message of Yom Kippur as Franz discovered on that Kol Nidrei night over 100 years ago. May we live remembering that life is a gift, embracing the memories of ancestors and unlocking moments when we and our families feel God’s hands on our shoulders and access the spiritual power of a communal Torah experience. God willing in this merit we will all be sealed in the book of life and fuel the future of the Jewish people and God’s presence in the world for generations to come.