Parashat Ha’Azinu Deuteronomy 32:1-52
Haftarah Hosea 14:2-10; Micah 7:18-20; Joel 2:15-27
Shabbat Shuva
Dear TBE Community,
On Shabbat Shuva — the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Shabbat of the in-betweens, between judging and sealing, between forgiving and sitting it out another year – on this first Shabbat of the new year, the mood is meditative, introspective. The mood is meditative, introspective. Right now is also a time when the shadows of the late summer grow longer earlier, when we’re slowly beginning to think of the cooler months ahead, when we start to prepare our houses for the next atmospheric river or another El Nino coming our way. Everything about this time of returning is in limbo, liminal, waiting in suspense. And this is when Torah turns to poetry. Parashat Ha’Azinu – Moses’ parting words to the Israelites, his request to “give ear”, to “listen” to his voice – is almost entirely written in Biblical poetry.
Give ear, O heavens, let me speak;
Let the earth hear the words I utter!
May my discourse come down as the rain,
My speech distill as the dew,
Like showers on young growth,
Like droplets on the grass.
Once Moses’ last song ends – shira, שירה, in Hebrew means both poem and song – God tells Moses how his life will end:
Ascend these heights of Abarim to Mount Nebo, which is in the land of Moab facing Jericho, and view the land of Canaan, which I am giving the Israelites as their holding. You shall die on the mountain that you are about to ascend, and shall be gathered to your kin, as your brother Aaron died on Mount Hor and was gathered to his kin; for you both broke faith with Me among the Israelite people, at the Waters of Meribath-kadesh in the wilderness of Zin, by failing to uphold My sanctity among the Israelite people. You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it—the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.
And with those words reverberating, we go into Yom Kippur.
Death, or our mortality, is one central theme of Yom Kippur, though I am not particularly partial to explaining the custom of wearing white with the ubiquitous, if not wrong, answer that we are “rehearsing our death” and are all dressed in a cloth resembling a burial shroud. That is only one aspect. The kittel is not only worn for the final resting place, but also by a groom under the chuppah – and when we wear white on Rosh Hashanah, it is in an expression of new beginnings, humility, a desire to be pure. White was also worn by the maidens of Jerusalem when they went dancing in the vineyards on the afternoon on Yom Kippur and on Tu B’Av.
While the Days of Awe do focus on the preciousness of life and the life-force of creation – and while that importance is put into stark relief by contrasting it with our human mortality, Yom Kippur is ultimately a chag, a festival day, because we see the potential of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of living a valuable and meaningful life. Because our prayers express trust in God’s mercy. Because we walk away eager to enjoy life. And food.
Nevertheless, one of the commandments for Yom Kippur is to “afflict ourselves” – and besides being honest about our shortcomings and failings, that means traditionally the following: To abstain from eating and drinking, from bathing, from anointing, from wearing leather, from marital relations. And these traditional five afflictions are all related to mourning practices.
Though it must be noted that Judaism is adamant about who should fast: Only those who are physically able, who won’t endanger their well-being or health by abstaining from food or drinks. Judaism is a religious system that values life, saving life, above all other commandments. Please eat or drink, or put lip balm on your lips, if you need to, are pregnant, nursing, taking medications, or feel frail. You can try and eat smaller portions if you want to honor the mood of the day, but please rest assured that no one at TBE will judge you either way.
There are two things I’d love for you to consider: Last week, I invited you to wear white, and I would like to reiterate that invitation for Yom Kippur. And I would like to encourage you to not wear leather shoes – one of the almost fun characteristics of the solemn Yom Kippur is that otherwise formally or well-dressed people are walking around with flip-flops, sneakers, or other non-leathery footwear. Consider trying this out, if it feels meaningful – and again, if you need your leather shoes to walk more steadily, or just feel more comfortable, by all means, please wear them.
Lastly, I was almost surprised (in a positive way!) about the strong support I got from several of you regarding the suggestion to give cellphones a break while in the sanctuary. And I know — sometimes there’s this one photo you really want to take, and we are all grateful for footage that we can use for social or local media appearances. As with anything, especially in these liminal times of the in-betweens – it is a fine line to walk. Thank you for your measured consideration and balanced cooperation.
I look forward to our meditative Shabbat Shuva service with Pam Tarlow in the Beit Midrash tonight, and to being together with you on Yom Kippur.
G’mar Chatima Tova – May it be a good sealing.
Rabbi Julia Knobloch