A month ago, when
I noticed that Michael Isaacs was organising a rota to do the leyning (singing from the Torah), I wrote
him an email, where I said that I had only leyned once before seven years ago
at my daughter’s bat mitzvah. I wrote, ‘Could you give me something to leyn
that is short and about a month in the future so that I can have a daily
practise of a thing’
But honestly when I volunteered, I never imagined that I wouldn’t be leyning in shul in a familiar place with familiar faces, with all of you, my holy congregation.
And so it was
that I sat on my bed for a month, listening to a recording of Claire’s voice on
my phone trying to follow along to learn to leyn the words of this week’s
Parasha. Parashat Emor. I was given
chamishi to do because it is short and because it has many familiar words. It
describes the laws of Yom Kippur. I
practised and I practised:
It goes on to say that we must do no work on this
day and that this an everlasting law for your descendants in all your dwelling
places.
I get goose bumps when I read that now as I sit in
my dwelling place. Yom Kippur has been a law from then until now, until me. Now
we pray in place of fire-offerings, but we keep all the rest of the laws of Yom
Kippur and we've been keeping them for over two thousand years. There’s
something miraculous in that. Generations of people have experienced Yom Kippur
from then until now. How many orbits has
the earth made with our people experiencing Yom Kippur every time? We are the
people who keep Yom Kippur, come what may.
Now I wouldn't consider not starting my fast with
soup, chicken and potatoes, jelly and tinned fruit, as my mother has always
done.
I can’t imagine not going to shul for Kol Nidrei with all the people in my beloved community wearing white clothes and canvas shoes.
I can’t imagine not signing up for stewarding inside so I can still see my friends, and not miss any of the davening.
I can’t imagine a Yom Kippur without having a chat with Bruce and Oren and Pam and Jeanie during the break.
I can’t imagine not sitting alone during Neila and then my kids coming to find me and then they sit next to me, as we go through the last hour together.
I can’t imagine not kneeling and standing up again with everyone during the service.
I can’t imagine not crying along with everyone else on the last Avinu Malceinu.
I can’t imagine not ending my fast with a slice of sister's sponge cake, surrounded by my whole family, all of us hungry, exhausted and clamouring for food.
I can’t imagine not going to shul for Kol Nidrei with all the people in my beloved community wearing white clothes and canvas shoes.
I can’t imagine not signing up for stewarding inside so I can still see my friends, and not miss any of the davening.
I can’t imagine a Yom Kippur without having a chat with Bruce and Oren and Pam and Jeanie during the break.
I can’t imagine not sitting alone during Neila and then my kids coming to find me and then they sit next to me, as we go through the last hour together.
I can’t imagine not kneeling and standing up again with everyone during the service.
I can’t imagine not crying along with everyone else on the last Avinu Malceinu.
I can’t imagine not ending my fast with a slice of sister's sponge cake, surrounded by my whole family, all of us hungry, exhausted and clamouring for food.
But I might have to.
We are now in the time of corona, a place that none
of us living today have experienced before. So far, we know what Zoom Pesach
looks like, and Zoom Havdalah and for us today, Zoom Shabbat.
But what will we be doing on the evening of
September 27 until the evening of September 28 in 2020? How will Yom Kippur be
different this year? How will we keep the laws of Yom Kippur specified in this
week’s parasha? So much has changed in the last two months. My heart sinks when
I think that this will have to change too.
As we learn in Emor, the rules of Yom Kippur are
simple. We have to practise self- denial and we must not work. We have to make
a fire offering to God, and we have to make this day of Atonement, a sacred
occasion.
The laws of Yom Kippur are introduced with a tiny
word. The word is Ach. It’s a small word but it punches above its
weight. I wouldn't have ordinarily noticed that word except I had was having to
sing it aloud over and over again. There is a note called a pazer over it.
My brother in law David, who is an experienced leyner, told me that the pazer
is used to prolong a word significantly. It places strong emphasis on the
meaning of the word. Pazer means distribute or disseminate or spread out.
This relates to the high number of notes in its melody.
Sefaria translates Ach as 'mark', as in 'mark my
words'. But that's not how Rashi translates it. He sees it as a word of exclusion,
like 'only'. Rashi says the word Ach or
Only teaches us that Yom Kippur ONLY works for those who repent.
Or opposite to this meaning, a baraita in Massechet
Shavuot is quoted, which says the verse goes on to say Yom Kippurim hu as
in It is. This additional emphasis on it is serves to
teach us that the day atones in any case.
This means the day itself atones, whether we repent or not. The day itself does the work on us. Just by
being alive on the tenth day of the seventh month, they day itself has the
power to change us.
That’s what we can learn from Corona.
We can let ourselves be changed by the day. Not to
be scared of change, but rather to understand it and be present to the
opportunities it offers us in every moment. Things change all the time. Generations
come and go. The Temple is built and destroyed, built and destroyed. The
printing press is invented. Genocide happens. The Internet is invented. Global
warming changes everything.
The pazer on the word Ach or only, reminds us that
while it looks like only one thing is possible, in fact, a multitude of possibilities
are spread out for us.
So, while I notice I am resisting change to how we
do Yom Kippur, I remind myself anything is possible. The day itself has the
power to change us. Even if we do nothing at all on the tenth day of the
seventh month this year, the day itself will make atonement for us. Next year, when Yom Kippur comes around, the world will have changed, and we will have changed too. But not too much. Please God, we will all be with one another again to experience it together.
