Kol Nidre – 2023

“What am I supposed to say?” It cannot be too long, but it definitely should not be too short! You need to capture the gravity of the days, but not bog people down and be all depressing and solemn. At least not completely. Maybe a little. But remember joy. Don’t reuse any material, but you can build off of some of it. Current events? You can mention them, of course, but most of that gets political now. Speaking of politics from the pulpit? HA. Don’t even venture anywhere near that. You must remain neutral. You don’t want to offend anyone. “What am I supposed to say?” 

In 2016, Rabbi Debbie Bravo wrote an article entitled, “ The Perfect High Holy Day Sermon You will Never Hear.” I was, of course, intrigued. The piece was rife with the struggle to remain non-partisan, engaging, in-touch with congregants, but also spiritually elevated and meaningful. 

I wrestled, as we do. Am I supposed to say one thing to people who come in with certain beliefs, and one thing to another group who has a different set of beliefs? Some people agree politically in one arena, but are completely disparate in another. Can I find one thing that we might all agree on? Or at least a large portion of us would come to some form of consensus regarding? Rabbi Bravo ended her article with a strong statement; one that reaches out from the pulpit and addresses the division that seems to run counter to our desire to “return” on this day. one that I want to share with you right now: 

“Enough is enough, she writes. Enough with the hatred. Enough with the violence. Enough of the nasty politics. Enough with the media playing in to the political arena. Enough of the pettiness that will never make our country, nor our world, nor our lives any better. This year we cannot say dayeinu – it would have been enough; this year, we just need to say: dai… enough.” This was written in 2016, but does it still ring true today?

We cry out to God during our Yom Kippur prayers, “Avinu Malkeinu, kotveinu b’sefer chayim tovim–Avinu Malkeinu, enter our names in the Book of Lives Well Lived.” If we do not say “enough” to division, if we do not say enough to the illusion of separateness, if we do not say enough to the venom of negativity that drives us apart, how can we, let alone God, feel as if we are living a life “well-lived.” Can we truly be entered or sealed for good in a book of life, when we won’t even venture out of our section of comfort in the bookstore or library? How can we open up our eyes, open up our minds, and our hearts to those who do not believe what we believe. How can we open ourselves up to those who we think, simply…are wrong.

We read in our Haftorah on this Yom Kippur the words of Isaiah. Isaiah asks the ancient and the modern listener in terms of God…”Is this the fast I desire?” Does God care if we eat or not, if our fast is “filled with strife?” If “with callous fist you strike.” Do we sit in the sanctuary with those with whom we disagree? Perhaps there are those in our lives (in this room?) we used to speak to, but for some reason or another, we do not anymore? Is our pulling further and further away from one another, is this the affliction, is this the fast that God desires? When do we say…Dai…enough? Let us not leave here still separate from one another. I plead to God on behalf of all of us, which means I plead to all of you who are created b’tzelem Elohim, in God’s image. Where is Ha-makom? Where is the place? The place we can meet. The place we can return to?

Famed Jewish philosopher and scholar Martin Buber described us human beings as ladders placed on earth and touching Heaven with its top. We often think of God or the Divine acting upon us, acting upon human history. What about us? Do we not act upon God, act upon the Divine? Our actions and our words…our thoughts even. Do they not matter? 

Perhaps it is time to say enough, and then get back to some basics. I started crafting a little piece called “Find Your Baby Voice” for a blog that I used to update regularly until the great scholars Barney the Dinosaur and Peppa Pig dominated my screen time. I found my way back to this piece of writing, and it really struck me in terms of Yom Kippur’s messages. I studied classical voice and singing for quite a while after college and well into my 20’s, really getting deeply into the process of what could truly open up my vocal potential. I made a great deal of progress in my twenties especially, and found myself studying and singing the great pieces of Verdi, Donizetti, and Puccini. My voice teacher, The Maria Callas trained Marko, said something to me during one lesson in his Manhattan studio that I will never ever forget. I have even mentioned this concept to some of you before. He looked up at me (he was a man of small stature and huge voice), and he said in his heavy Greek accent: “Find your baby voice, Joshua!” “Go out into the city and listen to as many babies cry as you can. Listen to the babies and tell me what you hear! What do you notice! Go find the babies!” I left Marko’s home studio that day and did my due diligence. Grocery stores, department stores, strollers on the streets; I tuned in to every baby cry that I could hear. There were so many different types: The hungry, the tired, the overtired, and the plain “I am angry.” But they all shared something in common that hit me over the head. They were SO OPEN. The cries were pure, unfiltered; the voices ringing out without fear, self-consciousness, no hint of repression and suppression. No political views, no voting records, no interpersonal histories. A baby’s voice is a voice stripped of the experience of the world. The Bereishit or beginning of human life, devoid of strife. 

I worked hard to let go with Marko: to free my voice from years of talking in a voice too low to seem more masculine, or from hearing a nasty comment from a classmate or someone else. From carrying around a heavy bag both literally and figuratively, From anxiety, despair, grief…even happiness and joy. All of our experiences pile on, with the evil inclination (our yetzer ha-ra) seeming to be more powerful than our yetzer ha-tov (our good inclination). The most beautiful of trained voices, to me, is a voice that has been trained to be stripped of tension. To be free. The freest voice is beautiful. 

When a baby cries, it lets go. Perhaps we can think of the Days of Awe as a buildup of that tension, and this day of Yom Kippur as our safe place to let out a wail, a big cry. We literally beat our chests during the Ashamnu of the short Vidui (confession). We can become more in touch with our deepest selves. We strike near our hearts as we say: We confess! We betray. We steal. We scorn and on and on. We confess in the first-person plural. We might not have committed all of these transgressions as individuals, but someone in our greater community has. We do this together. We make it open and safe.We let go of all the negative tension that has been building up in our deepest neshamot over the past year. Sometimes we just need a good cry to let it all out. 

We strike our chest as we get things off of our chests. Rabbi Warren Goldstein describes Yom Kippur as the happiest day of the year. Why? This is a day to be liberated from all that has been bogging us down and holding us back. We let go. We strip away the past years buildup of allostatic load (or stress upon the body through the mind). What could be better than a clean slate, a fresh start?

This year, I entreat you to let go of the strife that is not productive. When voices all around us try to convince us to splinter, to engage in lashon hara (evil speech)…this is our time to say DAI, enough… find your baby voice. Your beautiful openness. Find the essence of the words “Elohai Neshamah Shenatata bi t’hora hi.” Underneath all of our masks, our shadows, our clenched jaws and stand-up straights…do we not all long for a reprieve? DAI. Enough judgment. Enough discord. Let us return- return home to at least say hello to our purest selves prior to experience. Let’s forgive if we can. We can be the place we wish to be. Ken y’hi ratzon, may it be so. As we are sealed in the book of life, I pray that this sealing comes with health, happiness, and a deepened sense of empathy and compassion. Let us come together. Perhaps that would be more than enough.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah

– Rabbi Josh Gray