Friday, September 21, 2007
Susan Speaks: Yom Kippur
Tonight marks the beginning of Yom Kippur, one of the holiest days in the Jewish calendar. When I was little, I was taught that it was the holiest, but my current rabbi insists that the holiest is the weekly Shabbat. I suspect he's right.
Tonight, Jews around the world will get up from dinner and begin a 24-hour fast (okay, most will) that will help set the day apart. It is a day filled with prayer and reflection, a day for thinking on our lives, what we did wrong, what we can do better. It is serious and somber, which is so different from the many joyous celebrations that Judaism is filled with -- although it sounds as if it's not nearly so somber in Israel.
It is said that at the end of Yom Kippur, when the ram's horn shofar blows one final time, the Gates of Repentance will close. These metaphoric gates opened on Rosh Hashanah ten days earlier; this signalled the beginning of the period of reflection and, you guessed it, repentance.
However, Yom Kippur has come to have a different meaning for me. I was pregnant with #2 when my book club read Lilian Nattel's brilliant The River Midnight, a book about a small village -- shetl -- in Poland. The story centered on the midwife; the life centered around the temple.
Thus, when the midwife went into labor as Yom Kippur began, the townspeople left the temple. Instead of listening to the sacred Kol Nidre song, they listened to the midwife's cries of pain.
This doesn't sound like something that should resonate with a person. Yet the scene as Nattel wrote it was absolutely stunning; it drove home the beauty of the shetl and the importance of community. It haunted me, who's always been more than a bit of a loner.
Plus, as I said, I was pregnant when I read the book. Upon finishing it, I looked at a calendar. My due date was only a few days after Yom Kippur. What were the chances…? I mean, really?
The evening of Yom Kippur, when the Kol Nidre prayer is sung, came and went.
The next afternoon, when I picked up my son from day care, I realized that yep, the daily Braxton-Hicks contractions were back. Same time, every day; the Tour Manager and I had been laughing at how very regular they were. These were stronger, though. And when I got home and put my son down for a nap, I listened to that little voice inside. The one that knows these things.
I called the Tour Manager at work, just to be safe.
Just before five o'clock on that Yom Kippur afternoon, I called my parents. They were on their way out the door to attend the concluding services when they heard the phone ring. Knowing I was due in days, they answered.
My daughter was born at ten o'clock that night, well after the Gates of Repentance were closed.
Yet I still equate the holiday with my little girl. I probably always will; she is, in her own way, my own Yom Kippur baby.
One day, I'll hand her my copy of The River Midnight and see if the connection strikes her as deeply as it struck me. But until then, as everyone in temple around me prays for forgiveness and redemption, I'll be remembering the joy of a new beginning.
A note for those of you who noticed: I called the Kol Nidre both a prayer and a song. In kabbalistic beliefs, the Hebrew words for prayer and song have the same numeric value. Thus, prayer equals song, a belief I personally think is totally underutilized. Thankfully, my rabbi agrees and we are a congregation that sings. A lot.
Tonight, Jews around the world will get up from dinner and begin a 24-hour fast (okay, most will) that will help set the day apart. It is a day filled with prayer and reflection, a day for thinking on our lives, what we did wrong, what we can do better. It is serious and somber, which is so different from the many joyous celebrations that Judaism is filled with -- although it sounds as if it's not nearly so somber in Israel.
It is said that at the end of Yom Kippur, when the ram's horn shofar blows one final time, the Gates of Repentance will close. These metaphoric gates opened on Rosh Hashanah ten days earlier; this signalled the beginning of the period of reflection and, you guessed it, repentance.
However, Yom Kippur has come to have a different meaning for me. I was pregnant with #2 when my book club read Lilian Nattel's brilliant The River Midnight, a book about a small village -- shetl -- in Poland. The story centered on the midwife; the life centered around the temple.
Thus, when the midwife went into labor as Yom Kippur began, the townspeople left the temple. Instead of listening to the sacred Kol Nidre song, they listened to the midwife's cries of pain.
This doesn't sound like something that should resonate with a person. Yet the scene as Nattel wrote it was absolutely stunning; it drove home the beauty of the shetl and the importance of community. It haunted me, who's always been more than a bit of a loner.
Plus, as I said, I was pregnant when I read the book. Upon finishing it, I looked at a calendar. My due date was only a few days after Yom Kippur. What were the chances…? I mean, really?
The evening of Yom Kippur, when the Kol Nidre prayer is sung, came and went.
The next afternoon, when I picked up my son from day care, I realized that yep, the daily Braxton-Hicks contractions were back. Same time, every day; the Tour Manager and I had been laughing at how very regular they were. These were stronger, though. And when I got home and put my son down for a nap, I listened to that little voice inside. The one that knows these things.
I called the Tour Manager at work, just to be safe.
Just before five o'clock on that Yom Kippur afternoon, I called my parents. They were on their way out the door to attend the concluding services when they heard the phone ring. Knowing I was due in days, they answered.
My daughter was born at ten o'clock that night, well after the Gates of Repentance were closed.
Yet I still equate the holiday with my little girl. I probably always will; she is, in her own way, my own Yom Kippur baby.
One day, I'll hand her my copy of The River Midnight and see if the connection strikes her as deeply as it struck me. But until then, as everyone in temple around me prays for forgiveness and redemption, I'll be remembering the joy of a new beginning.
A note for those of you who noticed: I called the Kol Nidre both a prayer and a song. In kabbalistic beliefs, the Hebrew words for prayer and song have the same numeric value. Thus, prayer equals song, a belief I personally think is totally underutilized. Thankfully, my rabbi agrees and we are a congregation that sings. A lot.
Labels: holidays, Lilian Nattel, The River Midnight, Yom Kippur
