Parshat Rosh Hashana
by Rabbi Leead Staller
Shoshana and I felt so lucky and excited to have been able to participate in Stanton Street Shul’s official reopening this past Shabbat, and we look forward to a future of safe but inspiring Minyanim during this difficult time. Part of the measures we took last Shabbat, and that we plan to take for the High Holidays, involves cutting out some of the non-essential parts of the prayer service to shorten the overall length of Shul, and thereby, potential exposure time. While some may be excited for the shorter Shul time, the process of figuring out what qualifies as “essential” in a Shul service– a ritual that is so deeply bound to non-halakhic associations of childhood memories, nostalgia, and family– has proven a tricky task. Is UNetaneh Tokef halakhically required? No. But could we have a Yom Kippur without it? Surely not!
Given this utilitarian perspective on prayer, many parts of the canonized liturgy begin to stand out as somewhat confusing. Perhaps most striking is Kol Nidrei– a part of the Yom Kippur service that is undoubtedly essential, but which, upon closer scrutiny, seems wholly out of place. While Kol Nidrei is one of the oldest parts of our Yom Kippur liturgy– dating at least back to the Geonic era and crossing Ashkenazi-Sefardi cultural lines– the content of the liturgy is somewhat anticlimactic. Rather than setting the stage for a dramatic day of repentance, Kol Nidrei is a ritual that focuses on annulling halakhic vows of various types. While the Torah allows one to make new halakhic commitments via various forms of vows, unlike actual Mitzvot, those vows come with a failsafe option of annulment at the hands of a Beit Din. But of all rituals, why should Yom Kippur begin with a vow annulling ceremony?
The Geonim and early Medieval rabbinic scholars also note the oddity of Kol Nidrei’s central role in the Yom Kippur service, but go on to give various explanations for the ritual. Rabbi Eliezer ben Yoel HaLevi (nicknamed the Ravyah, 12th c. Germany) points to a section in the Talmud that says that, while vows are halakhically permitted, they are to be highly discouraged. In fact, the Talmud goes so far as to say that anyone who takes a vow is like one who builds a (prohibited) personal altar and sacrifices upon it. The Ravyah explains that the reason vows are to be discouraged is because breaking a vow is very severe– comparable to the idolatrous act of sacrificing on a personal altar– and we are very worried one will come to break a vow. Therefore, to ensure that the Teshuvah process will cover one who commits this grave sin of breaking a vow, we begin the Yom Kippur service with Kol Nidrei.
While this explanation makes sense, it seems insufficient. There are many severe sins– some much more severe than breaking a vow. Of all things, why should vow annulment be the start of Yom Kippur services? Surely, it isn’t the most severe prohibition in the Torah?
Rav Soloveitchik explained that the answer lies in a more literal understanding of the Gemara. Conceptually, when one makes a vow in halakha, they create a new Mitzvah that only applies to them. If I vow not to eat apples, I now have a 614th Mitzvah– thou shalt not eat Golden Delicious– whereas everyone else merely has 613. In other words, says Rav Soloveitchik, the act of taking a vow is effectively a statement that the communal practice of Judaism wasn’t good enough for me. For my spiritual fulfillment, I need to break away on my own and make my own Torah. Thus, Rav Soloveitchik explains that taking a vow is inherently an act of breaking away from the community, as one creates their own ritual life divorced from the broader Jewish people.
Indeed, this is what the Talmud means when it says that one who makes a vow is comparable to one who sacrifices on a personal altar. At first, the comparison seems arbitrary. Why should vow making be compared to personal altar usage? But given Rav Soloveitchik’s explanation it makes perfect sense. Vows are like a personal altar, because they represent breaking away from the community and performing your own Judaism with your own Torah.
Given this background, Rav Soloveitchik explains that the assurance of forgiveness we rely upon every Yom Kippur was given to the Jewish people as a nation, not as individuals. It is only when we come together as one nation, unified and supportive, that we are able to self confidently sing “Ashamnu,” “we have sinned,” outloud and expect God to forgive us. But to accomplish that, we need to ensure that we actually have communal unity. Thus, we begin Yom Kippur with the Kol Nidrei ceremony, symbolically cancelling any substantive religious divergences that may exist between us and our Jewish neighbors, and presenting God with one unified community presented around Torah. That is also why the Kol Nidrei ceremony includes a line welcoming back members of the community who were previously excommunicated. Yom Kippur only works when the whole community is able to function together.
Unfortunately, right now our whole community is not able to be physically in person together. But as we start a new chapter in the Shul, Shoshana and I look forward to being a part of the warm and welcoming community of Stanton Street Shul, as we work to embody the motto of “All are welcome, all feel welcome.” While it will require hard work and communal support to bounce back from this difficult chapter, the Kol Nidrei service reminds us that when we come together as a warm and welcoming community, anything is possible.
Thank you all for welcoming Shoshana and me into your community, and we are excited to grow together! Shanah Tovah.
Parshat Rosh Hashana
by Rabbi Joe Wolfson
There's a major theme of Rosh Hashanna hiding in plain sight that it seems to me is not spoken about nearly enough - infertility.
Consider the readings: The first day's Torah portion, Bereishit ch.21 - has God remembering Sara after so many years of pain of not having children and giving her a son. The haftara meanwhile, from Shmuel ch.1 - features the great sorrow of Hannah unable to have children, a husband Elkana who doesn't understand her, and a co-wife who is both fertile and cruel.
On the second day: we read Bereishit ch.22 - the akeida and the almost loss of the child Sara and Avraham had yearned for. This is followed by the Haftara from Yirmiyahu depicting Rachel, many years after her death, speaking from the mountains: a voice is heard in the heights, a bitter cry, Rachel is crying for her children, refusing to be comforted for them, for they are not'. Rachel, who in her lifetime, is the ultimate figure who struggles to have children, competes with her sister and is misunderstood by her husband and eventually dies in childbirth, becomes in her afterlife, the ultimate petitioner on behalf of her children.
I noticed this many years ago - you really have to be blind to miss it - when I first started to get into the Tanakh's literary themes. Unfortunately this long preceded my emotional understanding. This was a cool piece of Biblical artistry but it didn't touch real people that I knew. Only in recent years, watching too many of our closest friends struggling with infertility and miscarriage has it become clear to me that this is as relevant today as it was in ancient Canaan.
It doesn't seem right that there is still something of a taboo around the subject. A couple of years ago, colleagues of ours ran a Friday night discussion for our students about infertility. Feedback from students was lukewarm - it wasn't deemed relevant. But one day, not so far off, it will be relevant - if not for them personally, then for their close friends and family.
One of the most glorious things about the Jewish community is its love of family and children. And the flip-side of this is that one of the toughest experiences is being single in a community where most everyone else is married, or to be struggling to have children while everyone around seems abundantly fertile.
Not every message of the Yamim Noraim needs to be intensely spiritual. The fact that the Sages chose to center all four of Rosh Hashanna's readings to a single topic should speak for itself.
If all people take from the Torah readings is a greater awareness and sensitivity - considering what to say and what not to say, understanding that not all people's experiences are alike, that innocuous questions can cause pain, and knowing when to give friends some extra love and support - well, that would be no bad thing.
This week is a joyous week for the community with the arrival of Rabbi Leead and Shoshana. They will doubtless have many challenges at this uniquely difficult moment but the most important support that the community can give them is their warmth and openness - to welcome them not just as the rabbinic couple but as new friends and members and to partner with them in continuing the Stanton tradition of welcoming all.
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