Our Vows Are Not Vows

If you look closely at the title page of our prayer book for this evening, you will notice that this service has not one, but two names: Yom Kippur Evening, and Kol Nidre. Kol Nidre, of course, refers to the opening piece of liturgy of this service. This liturgy is regarded with such honor and respect that it sets the unique ambience of this particular night of worship.

Traditionally, the Kol Nidre prayer is recited immediately before sunset on the evening of Yom Kippur. It is customary to take the Torah Scrolls out of the ark and to hold them as the prayer is recited—for the prayer is actually not even a prayer. While we tend to associate the Kol Nidre moment with the hauntingly beautiful melody to which it is set, it is important for us to understand the significance and meaning of the text, as well.

Kol Nidre is actually a legal statement that is to be uttered in the presence of the Torah Scrolls, which serve as a witness to the proceedings. You might have noticed that the words of the Kol Nidre sound different than most of the other prayers we recite—this is because it is written in Aramaic, which was the every-day language at the time of its composition. Our sages wanted to ensure that every person who heard the Kol Nidre would be able to understand its meaning.

I have to be honest with you, I have always had conflicted feelings about starting Yom Kippur with this piece of liturgy. I love that we have our past presidents join us on the bimah to hold our Torah scrolls—it is so inspiring and comforting to be surrounded by those who have led and who continue to guide our congregation. And I always know that hearing Liz Hagen and Gregory Shifrin play the instrumental Kol Nidre music, and then hearing the Cantor chant the words will stir my soul and will help me attain the spirit and the grandeur of Yom Kippur, our most sacred and solemn day in the Jewish calendar. But when I look at the English translation of this liturgy, I am always a bit taken aback.

The literal translation of the Kol Nidre goes something like this:

How can it be that on Yom Kippur—the Day of Atonement—the day on which we to be held accountable for our shortcomings—how can it be that on this day of all days, we have the audacity to say: “You know all those promises I made and swore I would keep. Yeah, never mind. They don’t count. Not my fault.”?

Now, we if we look at this prayer in historical context, we can appreciate the fact that it was most likely written in early medieval times when members of the Jewish community were persecuted and had to choose between converting and abandoning their faith, or being murdered. Years later, when things had calmed down considerably and it was relatively safe to be Jewish again, many of these people wanted to return to Judaism. It is thought that the Kol Nidre ritual was created to release these individuals from the oath they had taken to serve another god, so that the forced conversion would be nullified, and so that they could be welcomed back to the Jewish community without complication or penalty.

I find great meaning and comfort in this explanation of Kol Nidre’s origins. I really do. But I still have to ask, in an age and in a society in which we no longer have to worry about forced conversion, what role does this release of vows have in our modern worship? Well, my friends. The year 2020 has given me the answer. Or, to put it in Jewish terms, the year 5780 has given me the answer.

If nothing else, this past year has taught us that nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is for certain. As good as our intentions are, ultimately, we are not in control. There are times that it is simply impossible to live up to our word.

As many of you know, I have the honor of being a fellow at the Shalom Hartman Rabbinic Leadership Initiative. For three years, the plan is to study in Jerusalem each summer and winter, and then to have Zoom-based learning throughout the rest of the year. I remember so clearly that sunny day in Israel this past January as I was saying goodbye to my cohort at our closing luncheon. My flight was later that night, and I had just a few hours left in Jerusalem. I had a long list of things I wanted to do, but I said to myself, “Relax. You’ve got time. You’ll be back in six months. Whatever you don’t accomplish today, you’ll pick up in June.” I felt so proud of myself for having this healthy attitude of patience and acceptance. Hmm…

I realize that my experience with this Israel travel is just one minor example of how drastically our plans have had to change these past few months.

For at first, we did not fully comprehend the scope of the effects of this pandemic. We initially tried to keep our original way of going about life, just with the caveat of having hand sanitizer with us at all times.

Then we realized that we had to put a pause on things so that we could “flatten the curve”. We postponed parties, get-togethers, and business meetings. Teachers quickly adapted the best they could to teach their students remotely for what we all thought would be for just a few weeks.

Then it got a bit more serious. We cancelled spring break vacations. We had to figure out how to have Seder without extended family and friends. We moved our early spring B’nei Mitzvah services to summer, thinking by then we will surely be back in the building.

And then it got very real. We buried our loved ones in groups of ten or less, and we had to learn how to grieve without the hugs we would normally receive while sitting shiva. Weddings and B’nei Mitzvah celebrations were either re-imagined and postponed by a year or more. Rather than bringing school supplies to the classroom, parents rearranged the landscape of their homes so that they could supervise their children’s on-line learning, or even become their children’s home-school teachers. And, yes, High Holy Days moved to Zoom.

My friends, we had planned; we had prepared; we had promised. We thought we knew what life was like. That is, until March 2020 hit us. Indeed, as Kol Nidre reminds us, sometimes we are not able to live up to what we had expected to be able to do. If nothing else, this year has taught us that we all need to be able to adjust our expectations—that we all have to be willing, and able, to alter our script. For indeed, our vows cannot be vows during a pandemic. Our oaths cannot be oaths in such a time of uncertainty.

Nonetheless, we do our best. We remain true to the spirit behind those plans that had to be altered or canceled. We find ways to capture the essence and the feelings behind what we had planned, and we create new ways for expressing them. For life, while very different than anything ever experienced before, does go on. The High Holy Days happen. School is in session. Babies are born. Life events occur. And so, we release ourselves from the pressure to be perfect. We forgive each other for stumbling as we acquire new skills that we never thought we would need to have—but that have become so essential to us in today’s world. We look forward to the time when we are able to resume our more normative routines, all the while acknowledging that things will surely be different when we are on the other side of this pandemic in ways that we cannot possibly even begin to imagine at this point in time.

If nothing else, our Jewish tradition teaches us that even in the darkest times, we remember that we are to be Or Lagoyim. A light to the nations. We do this by keeping alive the spark of hope and commitment to better days.

When the Ancient Holy Temple was destroyed in Jerusalem in the year 70, our sages relocated to a different city to keep our religion alive through study and prayer. Nonetheless, they never abandoned Jerusalem in their hearts. They always spoke about, wrote about, and prayed about the return to Yerushalayim. They believed that eventually, Judaism would return to this holy city.

When our ancestors were exiled from Israel and found themselves in a myriad of foreign nations, they never abandoned their spiritual home in their hearts. They placed beautiful pieces of artwork on their eastern walls so that they would always keep Israel in their consciousness, and so that they would remind themselves, as Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, a Spanish poet who lived during the Middle Ages, wrote, “My heart is in the east, and I’m at the end of the west”. They believed that eventually, the Jewish community would be able to go home again.

When members of our people were faced with the impossible choice of death or conversion to a different faith, our sages wrote the Kol Nidre so that they could keep from abandoning their true heritage in their heart, and so that they could believe that they could eventually return to Judaism when it was safe to do so.

And when we find ourselves in this extraordinary situation in which we are told that the only way we can protect ourselves and others is to avoid each other in the physical world, we take full advantage of the virtual world so that we do not abandon each other. For we believe that we WILL be together again in person—and we know that we need to do all that we can to safeguard our relationships, community, and ideals in the meantime.

As we observe this Kol Nidre service tonight, and as we enter into this new year of 5781, I pray that we will all resolve to be resolved. I pray that we will be mindful of our words, our vows, our promises, and our oaths. And I also pray that we each remember that the world we are living in these days is truly topsy-turvy.

While we do our best to live up to our intentions, we recognize that there might be some that we will have to modify or even abandon. And as we strive to strike the delicate balance between steadfastness and flexibility—idealism and reality—we take heart that we are in this together—and that we are all doing our best.