THE MESSAGE OF YOM KIPPUR
IN large letters, so that even he that runs may read, does Yom Kippur spell forth the fundamentals of Judaism, of religion, of the higher life of man. Sin is not an evil power whose chains the children of flesh must helplessly drag towards a weary tomb. We can always shake off its yoke; and what is more, we need never assume its yoke. An ancient fable tells us of distant oceans with mountainous rocks of magnet of such terrific power that wreck and ruin befell any ship venturing near them. Instantly the iron nails would fly out of the ship, bolts and fastenings would be torn away by that magnetic force; the vessel would become nothing more than so many planks of wood, and all on board fall a prey to the hungry waters. Sins there are that, likewise, unhinge all our stays of character, rob us of the restraints of past habits and education, and leave us helpless playthings on the billows of temptation and passion. Yet a man is the pilot of his life’s barque, and can at all times steer it so as never to come near those mountains of destruction and death.
And, secondly, there is an atonement for man’s sins. We may repair the ravages of sin, rebuild the shifting foundations of character, and join again the sundered strands of our spiritual fabric. We spurn the old pagan fatalism which declares that there is no forgiveness for sin. Nature provides some escapefrom physical disease; shall the soul, injured by temptation’s fire, scarred by sin, not be able to recover its pristine strength and beauty? No matter how harsh nature and man may seem, the God of Eternal Right holds a deep pity that can atone and save, bury not only sin, but its grave and graveyard with it!
As clear as a bell resounds the third and greatest teaching of Yom Kippur: man himself must prepare himself for atonement, and no priest or mediator can prepare or work atonement for him. Virtue is victory by the individual himself over temptation that assails him. The battle cannot be fought nor the victory won by another. The human soul, wandering on the devious labyrinthine paths of sin, must itself essay to forsake the Way of Sorrow and proceed on the Way of Salvation. This is the most splendid, the most momentous fact in human life: that though man cannot always even half control his destiny, God has given the reins of man’s conduct altogether into his hands.
No wonder that the Synagogue has ever looked upon this day of prayer, fasting, and humiliation as a festival. A generation or two ago our forefathers stood robed in white in the Synagogue, during the entire Atonement Day. Originally these white garments were not worn as reminders of the grave; they were an outward sign of the festal character of this Day, appointed for life’s spiritual renewal. ‘Whenmen are summoned before an earthly ruler’, says the Jerusalem Talmud, ‘to defend themselves against some charge, they appear downcast and dressed in black like mourners.Israel appears before God on the Atonement Day attired in white as if going to a feast, because he is confident that as soon as he returns penitently to his Maker, He will not condemn, but will abundantly pardon.’
J. H. HERTZ, 1900.
אָמְנָם כֵּן־סָלַחְתִּי
‘FORGIVEN’[73]
RAISE to Thee this my plea, take my pray’r,
Sin unmake for Thy sake and declare,
‘Forgiven!’
Tears, regret, witness set in sin’s place;
Uplift trust from the dust to Thy face—
‘Forgiven!’
Voice that sighs, tear-filled eyes, do not spurn;
Weigh and pause, plead my cause, and return
‘Forgiven!’
Yea, off-rolled—as foretold—clouds impure,
Zion’s folk, free of yoke, O assure
‘Forgiven!’
YOMTOB OF YORK, 1190.
(Trans. I. Zangwill.)
תֶר מַלְכוּת
CONFESSION
SHAME-STRICKEN, bending low,
My God, I come before Thee, for I know
That even as Thou on high
Exalted art in power and majesty,
So weak and frail am I:
That perfect as Thou art,
So I deficient am in every part.
Thou art all-wise, all-good, all-great, divine,
Yea, Thou art God: eternity is Thine;
While I, a thing of clay,
The creature of a day,
Pass shadow-like, a breath, that comes and flees away.
My God, I know my sins are numberless,
More than I can recall to memory
Or tell their tale: yet some will I confess,
Even a few, though as a drop it be
In all the sea.
I will declare my trespasses and sin,
And peradventure silence then may fall
Upon their waves and billows’ raging din,
And Thou wilt hear from heaven, when I call,
And pardon all.
My God, if mine iniquity
Too great for all endurance be,
Yet for Thy name’s sake pardon me.
For if in Thee I may not dare
To hope, who else will hear my prayer?
Therefore, although Thou slay me, yet
In Thee my faith and trust is set:
And though Thou seekest out my sin,
From Thee to Thee I fly to win
A place of refuge, and within
Thy shadow from Thy anger hide,
Until Thy wrath be turned aside.
Unto Thy mercy I will cling
Until Thou hearken, pitying:
Nor will I quit my hold of Thee
Until Thy blessing light on me.
Remember, O my God, I pray,
How Thou hast formed me out of clay,
What troubles set upon my way.
Do Thou not, then, my deeds requite
According to my sins aright,
But with Thy mercy infinite.
For well I know, through good and ill,
That Thou in love hast chastened still,
Afflicting me in faithfulness,
That Thou my latter end may’st bless.
SOLOMON IBN GABIROL, 1050.
(Trans. Alice Lucas.)
YOM KIPPUR MEDITATIONS
I
MY soul, be not senseless, like a beast, deeply sunk;—be not drowsy, with passion drunk.—Hewn from reason’s mind thou art;—from wisdom’s well thy waters start,—from the Lord’s heavenly realm!
My soul, let not the body’s wanton pleasures capture thee,—its showy treasures not enrapture thee;—they melt away—like the dew before the day,—they avail naught when they begin,—and their end is shame and sin.
My soul, look carefully back—on thy pilgrim’s track;—all cometh from the dust,—and thither return it must.—Whatever has been moulded and built,—when its time is fulfilled,—must go back to the ground—where its material was found.—Death is life’s brother.—They keep fast to one another,—each taking hold of one end of their plunder,—and none can tear them asunder.—Soon thou wilt come—to thine eternal home,—where thou must show thy work and receive thy wages—on rightful scales and gauges,—or good or bad, according to the worth—of thy deeds on earth.
Therefore get thee up, and to thy Master pray—by night and day;—bow down before Him, be meek,—and let thy tears bedew thy cheek.—Seek the Lord, thy Light,—with all thy might;—walk in meekness, pursue the right;—so that with His mercy-screen the Master—hide thee in the day of disaster.—Then thou shalt shine like the heavens bright,—andlike the sun when going forth in might;—and o’er thy head—shall be spread—the rays—of the sun of grace—that brings—healing and joy in his wings.
BACHYA IBN PAKUDAH, 1040.
(Trans. M. Jastrow.)
II
FORGET thine anguish,
Vexed heart, again.
Why shouldst thou languish,
With earthly pain?
The husk shall slumber,
Bedded in clay,
Silent and sombre,
Oblivion’s prey.
But, Spirit immortal,
Thou at Death’s portal
Tremblest with fear.
If he caress thee,
Curse thee, or bless thee,
Thou must draw near,
From him the worth of thy works to hear.
Why, full of terror,
Compassed with error,
Trouble thy heart
For thy mortal part?
The soul flies home—
The corpse is dumb.
Of all thou didst have
Follows naught to the grave.
Thou fliest thy nest,
Swift as a bird to thy place of rest.
Life is a vine-branch;
A vintager, Death.
He threatens and lowers
More near with each breath.
Then hasten, arise!
Seek God, O my soul!
For time quickly flies,
Still far is the goal.
Vain heart praying dumbly,
Learn to prize humbly
The meanest of fare.
Forget all thy sorrow,
Behold, death is there!
Dove-like lamenting,
Be full of repenting;
Lift vision supernal
To raptures eternal;
On every occasion
Seek lasting salvation.
Pour thy heart out in weeping
While others are sleeping.
Pray to Him when all’s still,
Performing His will.
And so shall the Angel of Peace be thy warden,
And guide thee at last to the heavenly garden.
SOLOMON IBN GABIROL, 1050.
(Trans. Emma Lazarus).