Rabbi Ron Hoffberg, who officiated at the Masorti community in Prague where I participated this Yom Kippur, explained that the day is all about love.
I learnt that forgiveness is at the heart of Yom Kippur, and that it is a true measure of love to pardon someone for their misgivings. Essentially, it is on Yom Kippur that God demonstrates his love for us by forgiving us for our sins. This is similar to how a parent will ultimately exonerate their children for their misbehaviour.
Rabbinic teachings never fail to fascinate me. I always seem to learn something new and am often surprised. I've been going to Yom Kippur services for 53 years (well, OK, it's probably 30 or so years during which I've actually listened to what they have to say), and this is the first time I can recall hearing the 'L' word.
Most of my adult life has been spent on occasions like Yom Kippur in a struggle to achieve some spiritual connection. During my teens, I remember deriving some real meaning and satisfaction from prayer. I often find myself watching and admiring your father for reaping so much from his davening. Alas, this is something that has now eluded me for many years. It is not that I don't appreciate or value the act of Jewish prayer. On the contrary, going to schul and participating in a service, no matter how passively, gives me a deep sense of belonging. I get tremendous comfort from the familiarity of it all, and from the knowledge that there are Jews throughout the world doing pretty much the same thing.
I always feel my father when I am at schul. He took me every weel from an extremely early age. I can honestly remember playing with the tzitzit on his tallit, which were at the height of my head. I recall him constantly showing me the place in the book and giving me the occasional explanation or opinion. He was not a religious man, but was a committed and true believer. He enjoyed schul and participating in the services, and I realise how much pleasure he got from being with me. I miss my father, Gerald, so much at this time of year.
While I love my religion for the tremendous sense of belonging that it provides, and for the intellectual stimulus that it offers, I cannot say that I have any adoration for prayer. I do, however, very much like joining in with the familiar tunes, and in following the various rituals. And there's inner warmth that I always feel when part of communal Jewish prayer.
But I couldn't help being somewhat enamoured by the tremendous showmanship of Catholic worship, which was especially brought to my attention when I saw scenes of the visit of Pope Benedict XVI to Britain, which I watched on TV after Yom Kippur. While I profoundly disagree with the conservatism of Catholicism, and in particular the Pope's damaging condemnation of the use of condoms, contraception and abortions, there is nothing wrong with a religious leader spreading positive messages about love and peace.
The Pope's first state visit to the United Kingdom -- a nation which famously split from the Catholic Church in 1534 -- was most impressive. In contrast to public Jewish practice, which often appears so casual and informal, it is hard not to be touched by the immense pageantry and showmanship associated with Catholic ritual. The beautiful cathedrals, magnificent costumes and imposing music cannot fail to catch one's attention. It's not really my cup of tea, because I feel so emotionally attached to Judaism that it would be inconceivable for me to follow in the steps of someone like the great composer, Mahler, who converted from Judaism to Christianity. But I do believe that we Jews could do a better job of attracting those who'd like to be involved but are somehow deterred by the apparent nonchalance of some of our most important religious events.
Although it is hard to think about love on an empty stomach, the absence of food and drink for 25 hours does help to make the day feel very different. While I can’t pretend to enjoy it, Yom Kippur does provide a unique experience in the year. It is an opportunity for me to reflect on the direction in which I am going. I often feel that my life is without a strategy. And it is on this special day that I try to resolve to establish a course for my life. That is something I find very hard. It can be quite a melancholy experience.
The somberness of Yom Kippur is exacerbated for me by the urgent march of autumn, which I always feel so strongly at this time of year. For me, this is the border between summer and autumn when I am in Northern Europe. Going for a walk in between services feels different. Leaves have started to fall and there are horse chestnuts (‘conkers’) on the ground. As one leaves at the end of the service, having heard the shofar sound, there is a distinct chill in the air. While I really love summer, I cannot say the same for autumn or winter, which are far from my favourite times of year. That final ‘tekiah gadola’ represents the final and graceful exit of summer.
My first Yom Kippur as a grandfather provided me with some added impetus to try and make some sense of the valuable gift that we’ve all been given. Seeing you come into the world has reminded me of the incredible richness of life. It is therefore my wish to survive, and maybe even appreciate, many, many more Yom Kippurim so that I may see you enjoy all of the wonders that life will bring for you.
Yes, Yom Kippur always prompts in me that perennial question: What will life bring?
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
