rabbi ari lev: The Holiness of Imperfection
Yom Kippur 5777
October 12, 2016
I never know what to say to someone before Yom Kippur.
Have an easy fast?
Is that even possible? Is it even the point?
Happy Holidays?
It is a day in which we rehearse our own death.
Although we will sing and dance, and probably get pretty high by Neilah, Happy seems like an odd choice in adjectives.
What have you all been saying to each other?
What is the appropriate greeting for a day whose main purpose is self-affliction.
The Torah teaches, “ta'anu et nafshoteichem.”
You Shall oppress yourselves.
This is the same phrase that the Torah instructs, you shall not oppress the stranger, “Lo tonu et ha ger.”
This is most commonly understood to be commandment to fast from food and water.
But in fact, there are 5 things we are told to abstain from.
We refuse water and food, work and sex, bathing and the comforts of our normal life. Today we allow ourselves the opportunity to consider our mortality, to confront it, perhaps, to accept it.
What is it about these 5 things in specific?
Is Yom Kippur necessarily about abstaining from these 5 things, or perhaps they are meant to offer us examples of self-affliction?
I have personally always interpreted the practice of fasting to be a spiritual paradigm. And so first and foremost I want to make clear that if for any reason, you are not fasting, or if fasting from food or water is not physically or emotionally safe for you – please don't do it.
Instead, consider fasting from something that would be challenging and meaningful.
Over the years, I myself have added to the list.
I have fasted from gossip. I have fasted from phone and email.
I have fasted from self-judgment.
This year, I have decided that I am going to try fasting from perfectionism.
This year I am declaring Yom Kippur a celebration of our imperfections.
A day on which we will pound our chests, and bow low to the ground, delve deep into the ways that our character is flawed.
And from that humble human place, we ask for forgiveness, first from ourselves, then from others, and finally from our Source.
Raise your hand if you think of yourself as a perfectionist.
Raise your hand if you are not a full-blown self-identified perfectionist, but perhaps you have some perfectionist tendencies.
Raise your hand if you were too shy to admit it when I asked the first two times.
OK, you can put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you think God is a perfectionist?
OK, put your hands down.
If my father were a rabbi, I imagine he would write a book entitled,
“The Torah of Imperfection.”
If I got an A in high school, he would encourage me to get a C. When my first child was born, he looked at him and said, he’s perfectly imperfect.
When I got hired at Kol Tzedek, I was so excited, I told him this job was perfect for me - he responded, you mean imperfect!
My father genuinely values imperfection.
Why? Because perfection is unattainable, and our desire for it gets in the way of our happiness. Because it causes us to blame others for that which we cannot control.
Words from the 16th chapter of the book of Leviticus were just revealed to us.
Instructions about the goats, rams and bulls that Aaron and the high priests should sacrifice to cleanse the children of Israel of their transgressions.
The book of Leviticus explains in great detail that when animals are offered they must be tamim, pure, unblemished.
If they are blind or wounded, if they have a sore or a scab,
they are not fit for sacrificing on the altar.
Is this is a taste of God’s perfectionism?
One opinion of the rabbis is that we have replaced animal sacrifice, korbanot, with human prayer.
The Talmud explains, tefillot k’neged korbanot tiknum –
prayers were established to take the place of our sacrifices.
The very root of the word korban, kuf resh bet, l’karev,
means to approach or draw close to. It is a word of intimate relationship and longing.
Rather than approaching God with smoke and incense and barbeque,
we have learned to connect to God with words and song and silence.
If this is so, what about those of us in the room who are imperfect?
I won’t ask for a show of hands.
We have a rash on our skin, our hearts are broken, we are perpetually late.
We have a temper with those we love, we forget to send birthday cards, we don’t visit our parents or grandparents as often as we could .
We are addicts, we are quick to judge, we hold a grudge.
Are our prayers useless?
What is even the point of spending 25 hours hungry and thirsty and cranky,
if we know we will never identify as tamim, entirely pure and perfect?
A midrash in Vayikra Rabbah teaches,
When a person makes an offering to God, from their herd or from their flock -- it must be without blemish; there must be no defect in it.
Anything broken, or injured or with a wart cannot be offered to God.” Yet all these things, which render a sacrifice unfit, God sees as fitting in a human being.
All that God prohibits in an animal sacrifice, God accepts in a human being.
We see this over and over again in the book of Psalms:
Karov Adonai l’nishbarei lev, God is close to the broken-hearted.
HaRofeh lishvurei lev u’mechabesh l’atzvotam,
God heals the broken-hearted and mends their sorrows.
The very brokenness God deems unfit in animals,
God is drawn to in people.
I once read an article in The Wall Street Journal about the Japanese term “kintsukuroi” – which means “golden repair.” It is “the art of restoring broken pottery with gold so that the fractures are literally illuminated. The artists believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful. The true life of an object (or person) begins the moment it breaks and reveals that it is vulnerable.”
The midrash in Vayikra Rabbah speaks to the same intuition – It concludes:
“As human beings, we are often ashamed to use imperfect vessels. Not so with the Holy Blessed One. We are all broken, and we are all God’s vessels.”
Human beings, this midrash reminds us, are not sacrificial offerings.
We are not here to perfect ourselves.
In the words of Rumi, “How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.”
As much as we, as much as I, long to conceal my own vulnerable self,
The Holy One sees what we human beings are not always able to see in each other.
The Hidden One knows the wholeness in those that appear shattered and the brokenness in those that seem to have it all together.
And we are eternally loved just the way we are.
In fact, we are loved because we are imperfect, because we are capable of change, of forgiveness, and of healing.
Because we are capable of teshuva, of transformation,
which is a manifestation of holiness in the world.
Teshuva is woven into the fabric of existence.
It is one of the seven things that was created before the world was created.
Maimonides teaches that a person who has done teshuva is ultimately more righteous and closer to God, than someone who is righteous without having done teshuva. This is like a rope that has been severed. When the two ends are reconnected, they are both closer together and stronger.
In the words of Leonard Cohen,
“There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
This brings us back to the question at hand.
Is God a perfectionist?
When God finishes the work of creation, God pauses and reflects.
In this moment we don’t hear God saying,
“Oh I wish I had created daffodils before tulips,” or
“I should have made day come before night.”
We don’t hear God critiquing creation,
But we also don’t hear God saying,
“All that I have done, Hinei tamim, it is perfect, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
The end of the first chapter of Genesis reads, “Vayar Elohim et kol asher asah,” God peers into creation, “v’hinei tov meod.”
And with humility God says, this isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty darn good, in fact, it’s Very Good.
When the Torah teaches us what it means to observe Yom Kippur, it says,
“Ta'anu et nafshoteichem” - you should afflict your soul.
Our primary association with Yom Kippur is physical discomfort.
But the Talmud specifies that the commandment to afflict yourself is not about doing, it is about being.
We should just be as we are, this will surface the difficult emotions, the mistakes we made, the regrets we have. This will be a form of self-affliction. And that through this being with ourselves, in the presence of others being with themselves, we will heal, we will forgive, we will let go and move on and listen to the still small voice of compassion.
As we move through this Day of Atonement, and begin to unlock the mess, and confess the ways we have missed the mark, the ways we are imperfect, may we remember that we are seen by a divine eye that fully accepts us with all our brokenness, our scabs and our scars.
May we remember that we are all broken vessels, infinitely precious.
And amidst our imperfections may we have the courage and compassion to to say to ourselves, Hineini - Here I am, I am not perfect, but I am very good.
October 12, 2016
I never know what to say to someone before Yom Kippur.
Have an easy fast?
Is that even possible? Is it even the point?
Happy Holidays?
It is a day in which we rehearse our own death.
Although we will sing and dance, and probably get pretty high by Neilah, Happy seems like an odd choice in adjectives.
What have you all been saying to each other?
What is the appropriate greeting for a day whose main purpose is self-affliction.
The Torah teaches, “ta'anu et nafshoteichem.”
You Shall oppress yourselves.
This is the same phrase that the Torah instructs, you shall not oppress the stranger, “Lo tonu et ha ger.”
This is most commonly understood to be commandment to fast from food and water.
But in fact, there are 5 things we are told to abstain from.
We refuse water and food, work and sex, bathing and the comforts of our normal life. Today we allow ourselves the opportunity to consider our mortality, to confront it, perhaps, to accept it.
What is it about these 5 things in specific?
Is Yom Kippur necessarily about abstaining from these 5 things, or perhaps they are meant to offer us examples of self-affliction?
I have personally always interpreted the practice of fasting to be a spiritual paradigm. And so first and foremost I want to make clear that if for any reason, you are not fasting, or if fasting from food or water is not physically or emotionally safe for you – please don't do it.
Instead, consider fasting from something that would be challenging and meaningful.
Over the years, I myself have added to the list.
I have fasted from gossip. I have fasted from phone and email.
I have fasted from self-judgment.
This year, I have decided that I am going to try fasting from perfectionism.
This year I am declaring Yom Kippur a celebration of our imperfections.
A day on which we will pound our chests, and bow low to the ground, delve deep into the ways that our character is flawed.
And from that humble human place, we ask for forgiveness, first from ourselves, then from others, and finally from our Source.
Raise your hand if you think of yourself as a perfectionist.
Raise your hand if you are not a full-blown self-identified perfectionist, but perhaps you have some perfectionist tendencies.
Raise your hand if you were too shy to admit it when I asked the first two times.
OK, you can put your hands down.
Now raise your hand if you think God is a perfectionist?
OK, put your hands down.
If my father were a rabbi, I imagine he would write a book entitled,
“The Torah of Imperfection.”
If I got an A in high school, he would encourage me to get a C. When my first child was born, he looked at him and said, he’s perfectly imperfect.
When I got hired at Kol Tzedek, I was so excited, I told him this job was perfect for me - he responded, you mean imperfect!
My father genuinely values imperfection.
Why? Because perfection is unattainable, and our desire for it gets in the way of our happiness. Because it causes us to blame others for that which we cannot control.
Words from the 16th chapter of the book of Leviticus were just revealed to us.
Instructions about the goats, rams and bulls that Aaron and the high priests should sacrifice to cleanse the children of Israel of their transgressions.
The book of Leviticus explains in great detail that when animals are offered they must be tamim, pure, unblemished.
If they are blind or wounded, if they have a sore or a scab,
they are not fit for sacrificing on the altar.
Is this is a taste of God’s perfectionism?
One opinion of the rabbis is that we have replaced animal sacrifice, korbanot, with human prayer.
The Talmud explains, tefillot k’neged korbanot tiknum –
prayers were established to take the place of our sacrifices.
The very root of the word korban, kuf resh bet, l’karev,
means to approach or draw close to. It is a word of intimate relationship and longing.
Rather than approaching God with smoke and incense and barbeque,
we have learned to connect to God with words and song and silence.
If this is so, what about those of us in the room who are imperfect?
I won’t ask for a show of hands.
We have a rash on our skin, our hearts are broken, we are perpetually late.
We have a temper with those we love, we forget to send birthday cards, we don’t visit our parents or grandparents as often as we could .
We are addicts, we are quick to judge, we hold a grudge.
Are our prayers useless?
What is even the point of spending 25 hours hungry and thirsty and cranky,
if we know we will never identify as tamim, entirely pure and perfect?
A midrash in Vayikra Rabbah teaches,
When a person makes an offering to God, from their herd or from their flock -- it must be without blemish; there must be no defect in it.
Anything broken, or injured or with a wart cannot be offered to God.” Yet all these things, which render a sacrifice unfit, God sees as fitting in a human being.
All that God prohibits in an animal sacrifice, God accepts in a human being.
We see this over and over again in the book of Psalms:
Karov Adonai l’nishbarei lev, God is close to the broken-hearted.
HaRofeh lishvurei lev u’mechabesh l’atzvotam,
God heals the broken-hearted and mends their sorrows.
The very brokenness God deems unfit in animals,
God is drawn to in people.
I once read an article in The Wall Street Journal about the Japanese term “kintsukuroi” – which means “golden repair.” It is “the art of restoring broken pottery with gold so that the fractures are literally illuminated. The artists believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful. The true life of an object (or person) begins the moment it breaks and reveals that it is vulnerable.”
The midrash in Vayikra Rabbah speaks to the same intuition – It concludes:
“As human beings, we are often ashamed to use imperfect vessels. Not so with the Holy Blessed One. We are all broken, and we are all God’s vessels.”
Human beings, this midrash reminds us, are not sacrificial offerings.
We are not here to perfect ourselves.
In the words of Rumi, “How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.”
As much as we, as much as I, long to conceal my own vulnerable self,
The Holy One sees what we human beings are not always able to see in each other.
The Hidden One knows the wholeness in those that appear shattered and the brokenness in those that seem to have it all together.
And we are eternally loved just the way we are.
In fact, we are loved because we are imperfect, because we are capable of change, of forgiveness, and of healing.
Because we are capable of teshuva, of transformation,
which is a manifestation of holiness in the world.
Teshuva is woven into the fabric of existence.
It is one of the seven things that was created before the world was created.
Maimonides teaches that a person who has done teshuva is ultimately more righteous and closer to God, than someone who is righteous without having done teshuva. This is like a rope that has been severed. When the two ends are reconnected, they are both closer together and stronger.
In the words of Leonard Cohen,
“There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
This brings us back to the question at hand.
Is God a perfectionist?
When God finishes the work of creation, God pauses and reflects.
In this moment we don’t hear God saying,
“Oh I wish I had created daffodils before tulips,” or
“I should have made day come before night.”
We don’t hear God critiquing creation,
But we also don’t hear God saying,
“All that I have done, Hinei tamim, it is perfect, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
The end of the first chapter of Genesis reads, “Vayar Elohim et kol asher asah,” God peers into creation, “v’hinei tov meod.”
And with humility God says, this isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty darn good, in fact, it’s Very Good.
When the Torah teaches us what it means to observe Yom Kippur, it says,
“Ta'anu et nafshoteichem” - you should afflict your soul.
Our primary association with Yom Kippur is physical discomfort.
But the Talmud specifies that the commandment to afflict yourself is not about doing, it is about being.
We should just be as we are, this will surface the difficult emotions, the mistakes we made, the regrets we have. This will be a form of self-affliction. And that through this being with ourselves, in the presence of others being with themselves, we will heal, we will forgive, we will let go and move on and listen to the still small voice of compassion.
As we move through this Day of Atonement, and begin to unlock the mess, and confess the ways we have missed the mark, the ways we are imperfect, may we remember that we are seen by a divine eye that fully accepts us with all our brokenness, our scabs and our scars.
May we remember that we are all broken vessels, infinitely precious.
And amidst our imperfections may we have the courage and compassion to to say to ourselves, Hineini - Here I am, I am not perfect, but I am very good.