A number of years ago, before there were memes, an email went viral among rabbis right before Rosh Hashanah, as it related to the ritual of Tashlikh, when we throw bread into the water as we symbolically rid ourselves of our sins. In response to queries from people wondering what kind of bread to use, the following recommendations were offered:
For ordinary sins – white bread
For exotic sins – French or Italian bread
For dark sins – Pumpernickel
For complex sins – Multi-grain
For truly warped sins – Pretzels
For sins of indecision – Waffles
For sins committed in haste – Matzah
For substance abuse – Poppy
For committing arson – Toast
For being ill-tempered – Sourdough
For silliness – Nut Bread
For not giving full value – Short bread
For political chauvinism – Yankee Doodles
For excessive use of irony – Rye Bread
For continual bad jokes – Corn Bread
For hardening our hearts – Jelly Doughnuts
It ends with the prayer: May you not run out of bread. It is a given that we will never run out of sins!
“Sin.” Not a very comfortable word for many of us; some say if feels very Christian; Original Sin is not something we believe in. Sin conveys “bad;” it is laden with guilt. Can sinners really change?
But sin is a very Jewish concept, as we are reminded each year on Yom Kippur. The Jewish understanding of sin can be derived from the common Hebrew word for sin, Cheit, which is also the word for arrow, thus conveying the notion that when we sin, when we do something wrong, we have missed the mark. It is our actions that our wrong, not the essence of our being. Our challenge is to correct our aim, to strive to be better.
Sin is part of our humanity. We cannot have Yom Kippur without sinners. Though Mishkan Hanefesh softens the translation of the introduction to Kol Nidrei by saying “Let none be excluded from our community of prayer,” the literal translation of the Hebrew is “we hold it lawful to pray with those who have transgressed.” We don’t exclude those who have erred because we, too, are among them; in fact, we need to invite sinners in. Rabbi Meir of Rothenberg, a leading rabbinic scholar of the 13th century, added these words into the prayer to incorporate the Talmudic teaching that “A public fast that does not include the sinners of Israel is no fast; see, the odor of galbanum is unpleasant and yet it was included in the spices for the incense [in the Temple].” [i]
Judaism teaches us that we are not stuck in our sinful behavior; we can change at any point in time, but we focus on that process and potential during these Days of Awe which now move toward their climactic ending with Yom Kippur. The urgency is great, for with the setting sun tomorrow, the gates of repentance will close.
The first step in true repentance is to confront the realities of our sins and acknowledge our failings; only then can we move beyond them and make the repairs necessary for teshuvah.
We are about to begin the section of the Yom Kippur liturgy that engages us in this process: the Vidui. When I decided that the Vidui would be the focus of my remarks this evening, I thought it would make the most sense to speak now rather than in the usual sermon spot later on in the service, in the hopes of deepening your experience of this powerful section of the liturgy. I invite you to follow along in the mahzor, beginning on 82.
Vidui: The translation here as Confession, though correct, misses an element that is conveyed in the more literal meaning of the term: Declaration. Teshuvah demands that one must first articulate one’s sin. Such declaration has always been part of Judaism. In ancient days, if one committed a sin, one brought an offering and making a public declaration of one’s sin was part of that offering. Following the destruction of the second temple and the end of the sacrificial cult, confessional prayers developed to replace these sacrificial offerings. In time, the practice moved from enumerating aloud – declaring—one’s personal sins to reciting a fixed list of sins as part of the communal liturgy, followed by an opportunity for private confessional where, presumably, one would declare one’s actual sins.
What is the nature of these declarations and what do they teach us about real confession?
If we look at the opening, what is called the Vidui Zuta, the short confessional, the most important phrase of this plea to God is the last three Hebrew words – aval anachnu chatanu, translated here as “We have done wrong.” The way that the text is translated here, the main point of this phrase is somewhat obscured. The most important word is aval. A common word in modern Hebrew, it means “but”. Aval appears only twice in the Torah where it is understood to mean “in truth.” Verily, indeed, in other words: In truth, we admit — we have sinned, we have done wrong. (In this translation, “In truth” is in the line above.)
A story is told in the Talmud by Samuel’s student, Bar Hamdudi, who reports of his teacher: “I was standing before Samuel, and he was seated. When the prayer leader arrived at the phrase ‘But we have sinned [Aval Anachnua Chatanu] Samuel stood up. We learn that this is the essence of confession.”[ii]
Aval is the turning point in our teshuvah, when we can admit and recognize our sins, even if that means bringing up things we have buried long ago. It is only when we own our mistakes, when we stop kidding ourselves, when we no longer blame others, when we recognize what might be some ugly truths, it is only then that the real process of repentance can begin. Vidui as declaration; we need to hear ourselves say the words: aval anachnu hatanu; in truth, we have sinned. These words are so important that some have taught, including Maimonides, that if one says them with sincerity and the commitment not to repeat the sin, no further confessional is necessary.
Nonetheless, the confessional continues with the Ashamnu, or our Alphabet of Woe as it was referred to in the Gates of Repentance. For non-Hebrew readers—each word of this litany of sins begins with the successive letter of the alphabet, beginning with the aleph and ending with taf (or from A to Z as we would say in English). Perhaps this was simply a creative exercise by the liturgist; more, it is understood as conveying a sense of completeness regarding our list of sins, encouraging us to try our best to remember all – each and every one—of our sins this past year.
This sense of the need to take responsibility for our sins is further emphasized in the section of the liturgy between the Ashamnu and the Long Vidui, known as the Al Chet. “What can we say before You, Eternal One” we ask; nothing is concealed from You, You know the secrets of the human heart.” What point then to our confession if God knows all of our sins? God does not need our confession, but we do. Just as when Adam hid after discovering his nakedness and God asks, “Ayeka, Where are you?” Does God not know? Rather, it is Adam who must take responsibility for his actions. By declaring our sins, we begin to take responsibility for them. And the secrets God knows, well, they may be sins that we are not yet able to own, secrets buried so deep within that we are not yet fully aware of them, but as we open our hearts in this communal confessional, we may be able to begin to explore them.
It is not only the aval that is unusual in the phrase aval anachnu hatanu. A moment of Hebrew grammar: the nu at the end of hatanu means we have sinned; anachnu means we. Why this double emphasis on we? Dr. Larry Hoffman, Professor of Liturgy at HUC-JIR, teaches that it emphasizes this sense of ownership of our sins: “It is we who have sinned.”[iii] At the same time, the first person plural sets the tone for the entire public confessional, a tone that has challenged many throughout the ages: ashamnu, WE are guilty; al heit shechatanu, for the sin that WE have sinned. Why am I confessing to sins I have never committed? What kind of confessional is that?
We recite this confessional in the language of “We” because we are part of the Jewish people – past, present and future – and that comes with both responsibilities and with benefits.
The notion of collective responsibility is ancient within Judaism. Time and again in the Torah we are told of the blessings we would receive for doing what’s right and the curses that would befall us if we are not. Even as Moses speaks to the entire people of this responsibility, his language directs his message to each individual Israelite. As you will hear in tomorrow morning’s Torah reading: Moses gathers all the people to reaffirm their entrance into the covenant. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you (plural) this day: I have put before you (singular) life and death; blessing and curse. Choose life that you and your offspring will live.” (Deut. 30:19) We are held accountable for our own actions and for the actions of the community as a whole.
Tomorrow afternoon’s Torah reading from the Holiness Code in Leviticus underscores this responsibility when it commands: Hocheach tokiach – you shall surely rebuke your fellow.” Later, the Talmudic sages developed the principle Kol Yisrael Arevim zeh lazeh, all Israel is bound up with/responsible for one another. They said further, “whoever can stop others within one’s community from sinning, but does not, is held responsible for what those others do.”[iv] We are culpable if we are witness to others doing wrong and don’t do anything to stop them or counter their behaviors. As a people, we know too well the ramifications of being silent bystanders to wrongdoing.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a leading Orthodox rabbi of the 20th century, philosopher and social activist, when protesting against the Vietnam war said “in a free society, some are guilty and all are responsible.” Al Cheit she chantanu, for the sin that we have committed.
The way in which we act as individuals does impact our community and all members of that community bear the consequences of those actions, as Dr. Ellen Umansky, professor of Judaic Studies at Fairfield University teaches:
“… a community that tolerates or condones sexual immorality, financial dishonesty, family violence, indifference to those in need, a disrespect for the rights of others, and so on will not only be cursed but ultimately will be destroyed, if not by God, then by its members. Indifference breeds indifference, violence breeds violence, and hatred breeds hatred. When we recite the words of Al Chet, we ask God to forgive us for the sins that we have knowingly committed, individually or communally, recognizing that what we do, and choose not to do, has an impact on others. In the end, how we think, speak and act shapes not only our life but also the communities and societies of which we are members.”[v]
On the positive side, by standing with community to publicly confess sins, whether we actually committed those sins or not, we offer great support to one another.
By joining our voices together, we avoid shaming individuals who may have committed any of the listed sins. Not only that, by standing in solidarity with them, we say that no one is perfect, and we can give others the strength to take ownership of their sins and undertake the difficult work of repentance. Hearing others confess may even give us the strength to face those sins that lay buried deep within.
The great Orthodox scholar and thinker, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, writing about the difference between individual and communal confession taught, “When the individual confesses, he does so from a state of …despair… In contrast, Knesset Israel confesses out of a sense of confidence and even rejoicing for it does so in the presence of a loyal ally.” “That may explain,” he continues, “why in some Jewish communities it is customary to since the Al Cheit .. in a heartwarming melody.”[vi] There is strength in numbers and in community.
Soloveitchik’s teaching helps to address the disconnect I’ve always felt between the words of the Ashamnu and the upbeat tone of the folk melody that we sing. Even as we take confession of our sins seriously, our burden feels a little lighter knowing that we are not on this journey alone.
Then we get to the litany of sins that is the Al Chet. If you are looking in the mahzor, you will note that on the right side of the page is the traditional prayer (though shortened) and, on the left side, are more contemporary interpretations. But their themes are similar and notable for what they are not about. Though they are all framed in the language of “For the sin that we have committed against You (God) they do not seem to address what we might think of as sins against God: ritual infractions, taking God’s name in vain, violating Shabbat, etc. Rather, almost all declarations address our failings in our interactions with other people. In other words, we wrong God by wronging others.
As we utter these words of confession, the Ashamnu and the Al Chet, some of us will beat our chests with each declaration of sin. Why? If you ask three people, you’ll probably get more than three different answers:
Self-flagellation, I’m beating myself up for what I did wrong;
To show that I’m sorry;
To help me focus on each sin;
To knock the bad things out of me so that I can begin anew with a clean slate;
I don’t know – it’s what I grew up with and it feels right.
I found the following interpretations to be helpful in offering new meaning to this ritual:
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, a Reform rabbi and disciple of the Hassidic masters, views confessional on Yom Kippur as an opportunity to examine the bad things we have done, not to excise the evil, but to try to discover its deepest motivation and seek out the good that is buried deep within – the good that had initially motivated us, but got lost somewhere in the process. Losing our temper because we really are impatient for others to do what is right; interfering too much in our children’s lives because we just want them to succeed and to do well; chastising others because we are afraid to confront our own wrongs. We must take responsibility for the evil, regret what we did, take ownership of and accept the behavior, then we can make amends and move on. In accepting these failings as part of ourselves, we don’t beat ourselves up during the Al Chet and the Ashamnu, we hold ourselves and cry.[vii]
Dr.Ron Wolfson, renown educator in the Conservative movement, views beating the chest differently. He thinks of it as “percussing the heart” as when a musician beats a drum or a doctor percusses the abdomen during a physical. “Beating my chest,” writes Wolfson, “reminds me that I cannot reach a state of spiritual cleanliness for the new year without experiencing the most difficult forgiveness of all—forgiving myself. I beat my chest as a reminder that I must stop beating myself up over the ways I’ve missed the mark. I have to recognize my mistakes, my shortcomings, but I must forgive myself before I can ever hope to forgive others. I must forgive myself before I can ask for forgiveness from others – including God.
Percussing the heart is another innovation of the rabbis to awaken us from our spiritual slumber. Just as the piercing sounds of the shofar are a clarion call to action, the beating of the chest emphasizes the importance, the seriousness, of our confessional prayers. Percussing the heart is the alarm clock for the soul.”[viii]
With these thoughts in mind, we turn now to the first of our confessional prayers. We will repeat them in tomorrow morning’s service, in the afternoon and finally in Neilah as the liturgy builds towards the final promises of God’s forgiveness.
I hope that my teaching tonight will deepen your experience of these confessional prayers and bring your intention to different aspects of them in each service, as you direct your heart to your own confessions. May we each find the strength to take ownership of our failings and shortcomings and make the sincere commitment to strive to be better. Whether we choose to beat our chests, or hold our hearts, may these prayers help us to us awaken our souls. May we find strength, comfort and support in standing together.
In its creative approach to this challenging liturgy, Mishkan HaNefesh adds a section called “For Acts of Healing and Repair” to focus on our positive actions in addition to our failings. Indeed, too much negative (remembering only the “I am but dust and ashes”) is not good for us; it is important to remember the positive, to remember the good that we have done as well as our shortcomings.
At the same time, the process of repentance demands that we take ownership of our sins and failings as a precursor to atoning for them. While there are times when we should also recognize the good that we have done, sometimes we try to hide behind the good in order to avoid accepting the times that have done wrong, where we have missed the mark. Tonight, I invite you to focus your attention on the challenging task of addressing our sins, collectively and individually. Therefore, we will not read aloud the page “For acts of healing and repair,” though you are welcome to do so as part of your private confessional. Let us begin.
[i] Babylonian Talmud, K’ritot 6b
[ii] Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 87b
[iii] Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman, PhD, We have Sinned: Sin and Confession in Judaism (Jewish Lights, 2012), p. 10
[iv] Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 54b
[v] Hoffman, p. 234
[vi] Lecture by Rabbi Margaret Moers Wenig, “Five Minutes, Five Questions” at HUC-JIR, Feb. 22, 2012
[vii] Hoffman, p. 195
[viii] Ibid., p. 241