Rabbi ARI LEV: THE ONE TRUE JUDGE
Rosh Hashanah 5784
September 16, 2023
View the video here.
We have this beautiful tradition at Kol Tzedek of welcoming new babies into the covenant of the Jewish people by placing them back in the womb of Torah. We then swaddle them in a Tallit and bestow upon them a name. At that moment, I am careful to say, “Today we will share the first of many names and nicknames this child will be known by…”
As a trans person with many names, I say this as much for myself as for the parents and baby before me. Though I know name changes and nicknames are not unique to trans people, I experience this ritual moment as healing every time.
We as a community value the ability to be polyonymous, to have or be known by many names.
That's a fun new word, right? Polyonomous.
Our names tell something of our story.
Where we come from and where we are going.
As it turns out, Rosh Hashanah is also polyonymous.
It is a day that has many names, and therefore many meanings.
The very first name of Rosh Hashanah appears in the Torah where it is called Yom Truah, referencing the ritual calls of the shofar - Tekiah, Shevarim, and Truah. Truah is the 9-part staccato call. It seems fitting to call this day by the name of the ram’s horn which is ritually reserved for specifically and almost exclusively this holy day.
And yet, not this actual day.
While today is still Rosh Hashanah and Yom Truah, its coincidence with Shabbat means we need to wait until tomorrow to actually hear the full call of the shofar.
In the rabbinic tradition through the prayers of the machzor and the closing line of kiddush, Rosh Hashanah is known as Yom Hazikaron, the day of remembrance. It has taken me decades and dozens of reminders from Rabbi Mó to understand that this name is not primarily about us remembering our loved ones - because that is yizkor. Yom Hazikaron is about asking God to remember us.
At its heart the day of remembrance is a poetic rendering of our human longing to be blessed with long life. It is a longing to be noticed, to feel consequential.
There are 7.8 billion people on this planet, and potentially up to 100 million species of life. God has a lot to remember. And here we are, squirming in our seats, raising our hands high in the air, begging God, Don’t forget about ME!
We also refer to this day as Hayom Harat Olam - the day the world was conceived. Also known as the birthday of the world. Though I have always been confused about why on the birthday of the world we chant endless hours of Hebrew poetry about life and death.
But it made much more sense after reading a very recent article by Dr. David DeSteno, a research scientist who studies the psychological effects of spiritual practices.
He explains, “This focus on death might seem misplaced, bringing gloom to the party. But…I believe there is a good reason for it: Contemplating death helps people make decisions about their future that bring them more happiness. This is an insight about human nature that the rites of Rosh Hashana capture especially well…”
Which brings me to the name of Rosh Hashanah that I struggle with the most: Yom Hadin. The day of judgment. This is the day's most recent name...(if you call 2,000 years ago recent). It only came into circulation after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. This name seems to be at spiritual odds with all the others.
Is this a cosmic birthday party or a court date?
The last thing I want on my birthday is to be judged.
Which is what I want to talk about this morning.
Judgment.
The ways we judge ourselves.
And the ways we judge others.
And lastly, I want to offer what I hope will be a redemptive understanding of God's judgment.
Let me begin by saying: I think of myself as a rather judgmental person.
For better and for worse, it’s a quality that has followed me my whole life.
It is a quality that I am always trying to soften and transform.
And also a quality that has made it possible to become myself.
So what is din?
Din is most easily translated as judgment.
It has a legalistic tone.
From the same root as Dayan, meaning judge, in which we may hear echoes of the traditional response recited upon hearing of a death, Baruch Dayan HaEmet - Blessed is The True Judge.
However, in the mystical tradition Din is understood to be an aspect of the Divine.
For the Kabbalists, Din is synonym for gevurah, meaning strength or power.
It manifests as discipline, discernment, critical thinking, and boundaries. All crucial and beautiful qualities.
Din is not inherently good or bad, but rather lives in spiritual tension with its complementary attribute, hesed.
Hesed is often translated as loving-kindness.
It is a connecting energy.
It manifests as generosity, compassion and grace.
To quote Pirkei Avot (1:2), “Al shlosha devarim haOlam omed, the world is sustained by three things. By Torah. By Avodah and by Gemilut Hesed. By sacred teachings, by spiritual practice and by abundant hesed, loving-kindness.”
If Din is so important, why isn’t it on that list?
Why invoke Din, if it doesn't help to sustain the world?
Why isn’t this day called Yom HaHesed?
As it turns out, the world as we know it, was not God’s first attempt.
One midrash describes that the Holy One first created the world entirely out of hesed.
This would be my personal instinct.
A world that was entirely kind and caring.
But it turned out to be too fluid. It had no form and it fell apart.
So then the Holy One let the creative pendulum swing, and created a world entirely out of din, out of judgment.
But not surprisingly, it imploded on itself.
There was no connective tissue, only boundaries.
And so the holy one created the world a third time, this time out of hesed and din - love and power, care and critical thinking.
And this is the world we inherit.
A world full of hesed and din.
It is easy for me to understand why the world is sustained by Hesed. At our core, we are here to express care for other people and to care for ourselves. We are called to embody a great and boundless love. We are striving to be adaptable, flexible and resilient humans.
But it can be harder for me to appreciate that din is also an important part of the creative process. One of my dear friends used to keep a post-it note on his computer that read, “Good boundaries will make other people upset.” And as a result, they are so hard to maintain.
As I imagine it, in the moment when the Holy One created the world, and separated the heavens from the earth, and held back the waters above from the waters below…that was din.
These physical boundaries and distinctions made it possible for the creatures of the land and of the sea to come into existence. For us humans to exist. We would not exist without din.
Our capacity to set boundaries, discern truth, cultivate discipline and think critically are part of our inherent holiness.
Din is a necessary part of the creative process.
It is my own capacity for din that allowed me to come out as queer and then trans, to change my name (more than once!) and my pronouns and my body. To think critically and transform the expectations the world had for me. Any time any one of us comes out of the closet —that’s din, manifesting in our own souls.
Din is the reason that I ever make it to the gym. Thank God for the discipline of exercise.
Din is the quality that taught me to think critically about race and racism. Din gives me the courage and clarity to challenge white supremacy, to unlearn political zionism and to think critically about police and prisons.
Din is the force within us that allows us to set boundaries, maintain routines, and question authority.
When I am well rested and feeling spacious, I am able to connect to my truth and my role in the world and bring the gift of insight, clear and critical thinking.
But lest we get carried away with the redemptive qualities of din, judgment can also be the cause of much suffering.
It can foster harmful, negative self-talk and ungenerous judgment of others.
My own judgments arise strongly in times of emotional scarcity, often appearing as insecurity, impatience, defensiveness, unworthiness, insufficiency. A tightness in my chest and throat, heat in the belly, flushed cheeks, shallow breathing.
When I am tired, stressed and overwhelmed, I am quick to judge and slow to forgive.
When it goes unchecked, din can lead to harsh judgment of ourselves and others.
Din can foster profound self-doubt, leading to depression and anxiety.
It can also result from anxiety and depression, causing us to judge others harshly.
This past year I have been navigating a deep and painful conflict with a family member. Over and over again I have asked myself what I can take responsibility for. What am I most sorry for? And I keep returning to my own judgment of this person’s actions. This is what I regret most. It is a kind of hubris that suggests I know how to live their life better than they do.
In its most harmful state, din can lead to questions of self-worth, make us sad to the bone and foster suicidal ideation.
We as people are prone to judge ourselves harshly.
But as we learn from the creation midrash, the world, including our inner world, is sustained by a balance between hesed and din.
And the balancing is ours to do.
This balance is particularly hard to find in spiritually and politically progressive communities.
There is a valorizing of criticism on the left, which I experience as harmful.
I have felt in my own bones the ways that critique can become our reflex rather than our intentional response. I feel this most in the depths of cancel culture.
In her book, We will not cancel us, adrienne maree brown explains, “Call outs have a long history as a brilliant strategy for marginalized people to stand up to those with power…[But] Right now, call outs are being used…to shame and humiliate people in the wake of misunderstandings, contradictions, conflicts and mistakes” (40-41).
Instant judgment is a practice of power over others.
These practices erode trust between people. This makes it hard to build relationships, community and movements for justice.
Which is not to say, we don’t need Din on the left.
Din is so important for social transformation and justice; for voicing criticism, for protest and speaking truth to power.
Din, like every muscle, can be over and under utilized. And we are each called to find a balance between hesed and din.
The repetitive reminder of the 13 Attributes is an invitation to temper din.
Over and over again, we are asking the Holy one to be more compassionate and less reactive.
With a wink, we are also asking that of ourselves.
Why then is Rosh Hashanah called Yom HaDin?
Who is doing the judging? And whom are they judging?
Once a year, at this auspicious time from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, we journey like a flock of sheep before our shepard and we are judged. We will hear of this judgment in the Unetaneh Tokef prayer which we will be reciting in the upcoming Musaf service. [1]
It asks, who shall live and who shall die?
Proclaiming that the measure of our merit and our misdeeds will impact God’s determination.
The ancient poetry portrays a God who is literally judging us as tzaddik, righteous, as rasha, evil or as beinoni, somewhere in the middle, morally non-binary, if you will.
This image isn’t about self-judgment.
Nor is it about the judgment of others.
It is God’s judgment that we are meant to encounter today.
I imagine you are asking, is that any better?
For the last 6 months I have been on sabbatical.
It was an incredibly spacious time for which I am endlessly grateful.
It really allowed me to reset my nervous system after 10 rigorous years of rabbi’ing and parenting.
Let me share a little glimpse of it with you.
I returned to the gym after a long pandemic hiatus.
I read a handful of graphic memoirs.
I went to a two-week meditation retreat.
I coached little league.
I researched a gray water system for my house, and then decided against it.
I spent a Friday at the DMV and got a non-binary Drivers license.
I spent time with friends I hadn’t seen in years.
I listened to the podcast Dolly Parton’s America, TWICE!
With the help of a friend, I built a cedar chest for Shosh’s handknit sweaters.
I went camping in the Smoky Mountains, and swam in lakes and rivers.
And last but not least, I spent several afternoons a week studying with my teacher and hevruta Rabbi Benay Lappe. Yes, this is my idea of fun!
For several months we immersed ourselves in the teachings of Maimonides, retranslating portions of Hilchot Teshuvah, a selection of writing specific to the path of return. I know some of you have been studying this text with Rabbi Mó and me throughout the month of elul. In this time I came to appreciate that it’s my life’s work to live inside this text.
As Benay and I labored to understand and translate these words, I found myself connecting to the unexpected relief that God would judge me on Rosh Hashanah. How surprising!
My shoulders softened. I felt a levity deep in my belly. I felt almost giddy.
I realized this freed me from having to judge myself!
And from having to judge my friends and family.
Turns out, it’s not our job to judge ourselves and others.
What if Yom HaDin is actually an invitation not to judge ourselves, or one another, but to spiritually delegate the work of self-judgment to the Source of All, The Holy Blessed One?!
To the One who is El Rachum v’Chanun - infinitely compassionate.
To Av HaRachaman - the source of compassion itself.
To imagine the Holy One as our Greatest Teacher “grading our tests.” The Holy One, the One who knows all our secrets, who knows our history and our stories, certainly has a more compassionate and comprehensive view of who we are as people. And what it takes for each one of us to survive and thrive.
God is more equipped to judge us than we are. So the rabbis gifted us with being able to take off the burden of self-judgment.
But maybe you are asking, don’t we need self-judgment to become better people?
Is that also why we are here?
To become more self-aware, reflective people?
A certain amount of self scrutiny is helpful. We are invited to do cheshbon hanefesh, to take an account of ourselves. But not more than that.
With practice, we can come to know the difference between self-judgment and self-awareness.
Inevitably, we imagine God to be as harsh with ourselves as we are.
But what if that’s not true?
What if we are completely missing the point?!
We are, after all, asking God, our devoted shepherd, to be gracious and compassionate, and by extension we are inviting ourselves to do the same.
This isn’t an easy task.
Now, I know many of us are atheists or agnostics.
And that many of us are searching for a concept of the Divine that is relatable.
If you do not believe in God and do not want to believe in God, I invite you to imagine surrendering your judgment to something beyond yourself.
Perhaps replace God with the most expansive part of your Self, your relaxed subconscious that is not easily accessible on a daily basis.
Or with the natural world, releasing judgment to the Earth, the trees, a flowing river, a slow exhale.
Or maybe to this community - to the knowing that you are a part of something larger than yourself.
Whether or not we believe in God, we arrive with our own tightly wound tangle of anxieties, well worn habits of mind and body.
Very few of us arrive with a concept of the divine that we trust and take refuge in.
But today we are invited to trust that God sees the best in us.
This Yom HaDin, we are encountering the judgment of Av HaRachaman, a profoundly compassionate and loving judge.
The work of the 10 days is not to quell self-judgment, but to notice it and release it to the One, or to the one part of you, that can hold it more spaciously.
We can take a compassionate stance towards it…like a meditation practice…to notice when it arises, and gently let it go, again and again.
When the negative self-talk gets loud, we can remember that it is balanced by the force of hesed in our lives. We can find ways to care for ourselves and others to metabolize the extra din.
The order of operations on Kol Nidre ensures that we will be forgiven. It is not a question. It is a given.
The words of the machzor and hours of singing are designed to physically help us to connect to a more spacious place in our hearts and minds, and maybe even to recover a concept of the Divine that we can trust to judge us graciously.
May our collective presence help us to experience what it feels like to be judged favorably, so we are more able to offer compassion and generosity to ourselves and one another all year long.
One last story before I close.
Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, in his book Jewish Wisdom, tells the story of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the leader of the then-new Jewish movement in 19th century Germany called Orthodoxy, who surprised his students one day when, as he neared the end of his life, he insisted on traveling to Switzerland. Perplexed, his students asked him why such a journey was so important to him.
In response, he explained, When I stand shortly before the Almighty, I will be held answerable to many questions. But what will I say when God asks—and he is certain to ask—“Shimshon, did you see my Alps?” [2]
Hirsch, in imagining himself at his final Yom HaDin, his Judgment Day, points us to a radically different theology.
To quote my teacher Rabbi Benay Lappe, “Hirsch points us to a G!d who doesn’t just want us to follow the rules, but one who wants, maybe needs, us to drink deeply from the wells of possibility, beauty, wonder, and potential good that make up our world.
I think the early Rabbis of the Talmud were on to the very same theology. In the last three lines of Tractate Kiddushin in the Jerusalem Talmud (Yerushalmi Kiddushin 4:12), we read about the World to Come, and that moment when, in the Rabbis’ imagination, we die and come before the final judge.
The Yerushalmi teaches:
עתיד אדם ליתן דין וחשבון על כל מה שראת עינו ולא אכל
In the World to Come, each one of us will be taken to task [not for the ways we missed the mark], for all [the good] that our eyes saw, but of which we didn’t eat.
I am so much more accustomed to imagining a God who is disappointed at my impatience and imperfections.
When in fact the rabbis are reminding us that what it means to live into our dreams of the world to come, is to prioritize joy. To imagine God’s levity and longing for us to feel ease and delight.
This Yom HaDin, may we have the courage to judge ourselves less harshly for the bad things we have done. And wonder more about the good things that we have not yet done.
May we have the courage to delegate the work of judgment to the One who can hold it tenderly, so we can more fully enjoy the the goodness in our lives.
In the immortal words of Salt and Peppa: “There’s only one true judge and that’s God. So chill, and let my father do his job!”
Shabbat Shalom.
Anyada buena dulce i alegre.
L’shanah Tovah Tikateivu.
Footnotes:
[1] See B.T. Rosh Hashanah 16b
[2] https://svara.org/did-you-see-my-alps-and-other-questions-were-asked-in-heaven/
September 16, 2023
View the video here.
We have this beautiful tradition at Kol Tzedek of welcoming new babies into the covenant of the Jewish people by placing them back in the womb of Torah. We then swaddle them in a Tallit and bestow upon them a name. At that moment, I am careful to say, “Today we will share the first of many names and nicknames this child will be known by…”
As a trans person with many names, I say this as much for myself as for the parents and baby before me. Though I know name changes and nicknames are not unique to trans people, I experience this ritual moment as healing every time.
We as a community value the ability to be polyonymous, to have or be known by many names.
That's a fun new word, right? Polyonomous.
Our names tell something of our story.
Where we come from and where we are going.
As it turns out, Rosh Hashanah is also polyonymous.
It is a day that has many names, and therefore many meanings.
The very first name of Rosh Hashanah appears in the Torah where it is called Yom Truah, referencing the ritual calls of the shofar - Tekiah, Shevarim, and Truah. Truah is the 9-part staccato call. It seems fitting to call this day by the name of the ram’s horn which is ritually reserved for specifically and almost exclusively this holy day.
And yet, not this actual day.
While today is still Rosh Hashanah and Yom Truah, its coincidence with Shabbat means we need to wait until tomorrow to actually hear the full call of the shofar.
In the rabbinic tradition through the prayers of the machzor and the closing line of kiddush, Rosh Hashanah is known as Yom Hazikaron, the day of remembrance. It has taken me decades and dozens of reminders from Rabbi Mó to understand that this name is not primarily about us remembering our loved ones - because that is yizkor. Yom Hazikaron is about asking God to remember us.
At its heart the day of remembrance is a poetic rendering of our human longing to be blessed with long life. It is a longing to be noticed, to feel consequential.
There are 7.8 billion people on this planet, and potentially up to 100 million species of life. God has a lot to remember. And here we are, squirming in our seats, raising our hands high in the air, begging God, Don’t forget about ME!
We also refer to this day as Hayom Harat Olam - the day the world was conceived. Also known as the birthday of the world. Though I have always been confused about why on the birthday of the world we chant endless hours of Hebrew poetry about life and death.
But it made much more sense after reading a very recent article by Dr. David DeSteno, a research scientist who studies the psychological effects of spiritual practices.
He explains, “This focus on death might seem misplaced, bringing gloom to the party. But…I believe there is a good reason for it: Contemplating death helps people make decisions about their future that bring them more happiness. This is an insight about human nature that the rites of Rosh Hashana capture especially well…”
Which brings me to the name of Rosh Hashanah that I struggle with the most: Yom Hadin. The day of judgment. This is the day's most recent name...(if you call 2,000 years ago recent). It only came into circulation after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. This name seems to be at spiritual odds with all the others.
Is this a cosmic birthday party or a court date?
The last thing I want on my birthday is to be judged.
Which is what I want to talk about this morning.
Judgment.
The ways we judge ourselves.
And the ways we judge others.
And lastly, I want to offer what I hope will be a redemptive understanding of God's judgment.
Let me begin by saying: I think of myself as a rather judgmental person.
For better and for worse, it’s a quality that has followed me my whole life.
It is a quality that I am always trying to soften and transform.
And also a quality that has made it possible to become myself.
So what is din?
Din is most easily translated as judgment.
It has a legalistic tone.
From the same root as Dayan, meaning judge, in which we may hear echoes of the traditional response recited upon hearing of a death, Baruch Dayan HaEmet - Blessed is The True Judge.
However, in the mystical tradition Din is understood to be an aspect of the Divine.
For the Kabbalists, Din is synonym for gevurah, meaning strength or power.
It manifests as discipline, discernment, critical thinking, and boundaries. All crucial and beautiful qualities.
Din is not inherently good or bad, but rather lives in spiritual tension with its complementary attribute, hesed.
Hesed is often translated as loving-kindness.
It is a connecting energy.
It manifests as generosity, compassion and grace.
To quote Pirkei Avot (1:2), “Al shlosha devarim haOlam omed, the world is sustained by three things. By Torah. By Avodah and by Gemilut Hesed. By sacred teachings, by spiritual practice and by abundant hesed, loving-kindness.”
If Din is so important, why isn’t it on that list?
Why invoke Din, if it doesn't help to sustain the world?
Why isn’t this day called Yom HaHesed?
As it turns out, the world as we know it, was not God’s first attempt.
One midrash describes that the Holy One first created the world entirely out of hesed.
This would be my personal instinct.
A world that was entirely kind and caring.
But it turned out to be too fluid. It had no form and it fell apart.
So then the Holy One let the creative pendulum swing, and created a world entirely out of din, out of judgment.
But not surprisingly, it imploded on itself.
There was no connective tissue, only boundaries.
And so the holy one created the world a third time, this time out of hesed and din - love and power, care and critical thinking.
And this is the world we inherit.
A world full of hesed and din.
It is easy for me to understand why the world is sustained by Hesed. At our core, we are here to express care for other people and to care for ourselves. We are called to embody a great and boundless love. We are striving to be adaptable, flexible and resilient humans.
But it can be harder for me to appreciate that din is also an important part of the creative process. One of my dear friends used to keep a post-it note on his computer that read, “Good boundaries will make other people upset.” And as a result, they are so hard to maintain.
As I imagine it, in the moment when the Holy One created the world, and separated the heavens from the earth, and held back the waters above from the waters below…that was din.
These physical boundaries and distinctions made it possible for the creatures of the land and of the sea to come into existence. For us humans to exist. We would not exist without din.
Our capacity to set boundaries, discern truth, cultivate discipline and think critically are part of our inherent holiness.
Din is a necessary part of the creative process.
It is my own capacity for din that allowed me to come out as queer and then trans, to change my name (more than once!) and my pronouns and my body. To think critically and transform the expectations the world had for me. Any time any one of us comes out of the closet —that’s din, manifesting in our own souls.
Din is the reason that I ever make it to the gym. Thank God for the discipline of exercise.
Din is the quality that taught me to think critically about race and racism. Din gives me the courage and clarity to challenge white supremacy, to unlearn political zionism and to think critically about police and prisons.
Din is the force within us that allows us to set boundaries, maintain routines, and question authority.
When I am well rested and feeling spacious, I am able to connect to my truth and my role in the world and bring the gift of insight, clear and critical thinking.
But lest we get carried away with the redemptive qualities of din, judgment can also be the cause of much suffering.
It can foster harmful, negative self-talk and ungenerous judgment of others.
My own judgments arise strongly in times of emotional scarcity, often appearing as insecurity, impatience, defensiveness, unworthiness, insufficiency. A tightness in my chest and throat, heat in the belly, flushed cheeks, shallow breathing.
When I am tired, stressed and overwhelmed, I am quick to judge and slow to forgive.
When it goes unchecked, din can lead to harsh judgment of ourselves and others.
Din can foster profound self-doubt, leading to depression and anxiety.
It can also result from anxiety and depression, causing us to judge others harshly.
This past year I have been navigating a deep and painful conflict with a family member. Over and over again I have asked myself what I can take responsibility for. What am I most sorry for? And I keep returning to my own judgment of this person’s actions. This is what I regret most. It is a kind of hubris that suggests I know how to live their life better than they do.
In its most harmful state, din can lead to questions of self-worth, make us sad to the bone and foster suicidal ideation.
We as people are prone to judge ourselves harshly.
But as we learn from the creation midrash, the world, including our inner world, is sustained by a balance between hesed and din.
And the balancing is ours to do.
This balance is particularly hard to find in spiritually and politically progressive communities.
There is a valorizing of criticism on the left, which I experience as harmful.
I have felt in my own bones the ways that critique can become our reflex rather than our intentional response. I feel this most in the depths of cancel culture.
In her book, We will not cancel us, adrienne maree brown explains, “Call outs have a long history as a brilliant strategy for marginalized people to stand up to those with power…[But] Right now, call outs are being used…to shame and humiliate people in the wake of misunderstandings, contradictions, conflicts and mistakes” (40-41).
Instant judgment is a practice of power over others.
These practices erode trust between people. This makes it hard to build relationships, community and movements for justice.
Which is not to say, we don’t need Din on the left.
Din is so important for social transformation and justice; for voicing criticism, for protest and speaking truth to power.
Din, like every muscle, can be over and under utilized. And we are each called to find a balance between hesed and din.
The repetitive reminder of the 13 Attributes is an invitation to temper din.
Over and over again, we are asking the Holy one to be more compassionate and less reactive.
With a wink, we are also asking that of ourselves.
Why then is Rosh Hashanah called Yom HaDin?
Who is doing the judging? And whom are they judging?
Once a year, at this auspicious time from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, we journey like a flock of sheep before our shepard and we are judged. We will hear of this judgment in the Unetaneh Tokef prayer which we will be reciting in the upcoming Musaf service. [1]
It asks, who shall live and who shall die?
Proclaiming that the measure of our merit and our misdeeds will impact God’s determination.
The ancient poetry portrays a God who is literally judging us as tzaddik, righteous, as rasha, evil or as beinoni, somewhere in the middle, morally non-binary, if you will.
This image isn’t about self-judgment.
Nor is it about the judgment of others.
It is God’s judgment that we are meant to encounter today.
I imagine you are asking, is that any better?
For the last 6 months I have been on sabbatical.
It was an incredibly spacious time for which I am endlessly grateful.
It really allowed me to reset my nervous system after 10 rigorous years of rabbi’ing and parenting.
Let me share a little glimpse of it with you.
I returned to the gym after a long pandemic hiatus.
I read a handful of graphic memoirs.
I went to a two-week meditation retreat.
I coached little league.
I researched a gray water system for my house, and then decided against it.
I spent a Friday at the DMV and got a non-binary Drivers license.
I spent time with friends I hadn’t seen in years.
I listened to the podcast Dolly Parton’s America, TWICE!
With the help of a friend, I built a cedar chest for Shosh’s handknit sweaters.
I went camping in the Smoky Mountains, and swam in lakes and rivers.
And last but not least, I spent several afternoons a week studying with my teacher and hevruta Rabbi Benay Lappe. Yes, this is my idea of fun!
For several months we immersed ourselves in the teachings of Maimonides, retranslating portions of Hilchot Teshuvah, a selection of writing specific to the path of return. I know some of you have been studying this text with Rabbi Mó and me throughout the month of elul. In this time I came to appreciate that it’s my life’s work to live inside this text.
As Benay and I labored to understand and translate these words, I found myself connecting to the unexpected relief that God would judge me on Rosh Hashanah. How surprising!
My shoulders softened. I felt a levity deep in my belly. I felt almost giddy.
I realized this freed me from having to judge myself!
And from having to judge my friends and family.
Turns out, it’s not our job to judge ourselves and others.
What if Yom HaDin is actually an invitation not to judge ourselves, or one another, but to spiritually delegate the work of self-judgment to the Source of All, The Holy Blessed One?!
To the One who is El Rachum v’Chanun - infinitely compassionate.
To Av HaRachaman - the source of compassion itself.
To imagine the Holy One as our Greatest Teacher “grading our tests.” The Holy One, the One who knows all our secrets, who knows our history and our stories, certainly has a more compassionate and comprehensive view of who we are as people. And what it takes for each one of us to survive and thrive.
God is more equipped to judge us than we are. So the rabbis gifted us with being able to take off the burden of self-judgment.
But maybe you are asking, don’t we need self-judgment to become better people?
Is that also why we are here?
To become more self-aware, reflective people?
A certain amount of self scrutiny is helpful. We are invited to do cheshbon hanefesh, to take an account of ourselves. But not more than that.
With practice, we can come to know the difference between self-judgment and self-awareness.
Inevitably, we imagine God to be as harsh with ourselves as we are.
But what if that’s not true?
What if we are completely missing the point?!
We are, after all, asking God, our devoted shepherd, to be gracious and compassionate, and by extension we are inviting ourselves to do the same.
This isn’t an easy task.
Now, I know many of us are atheists or agnostics.
And that many of us are searching for a concept of the Divine that is relatable.
If you do not believe in God and do not want to believe in God, I invite you to imagine surrendering your judgment to something beyond yourself.
Perhaps replace God with the most expansive part of your Self, your relaxed subconscious that is not easily accessible on a daily basis.
Or with the natural world, releasing judgment to the Earth, the trees, a flowing river, a slow exhale.
Or maybe to this community - to the knowing that you are a part of something larger than yourself.
Whether or not we believe in God, we arrive with our own tightly wound tangle of anxieties, well worn habits of mind and body.
Very few of us arrive with a concept of the divine that we trust and take refuge in.
But today we are invited to trust that God sees the best in us.
This Yom HaDin, we are encountering the judgment of Av HaRachaman, a profoundly compassionate and loving judge.
The work of the 10 days is not to quell self-judgment, but to notice it and release it to the One, or to the one part of you, that can hold it more spaciously.
We can take a compassionate stance towards it…like a meditation practice…to notice when it arises, and gently let it go, again and again.
When the negative self-talk gets loud, we can remember that it is balanced by the force of hesed in our lives. We can find ways to care for ourselves and others to metabolize the extra din.
The order of operations on Kol Nidre ensures that we will be forgiven. It is not a question. It is a given.
The words of the machzor and hours of singing are designed to physically help us to connect to a more spacious place in our hearts and minds, and maybe even to recover a concept of the Divine that we can trust to judge us graciously.
May our collective presence help us to experience what it feels like to be judged favorably, so we are more able to offer compassion and generosity to ourselves and one another all year long.
One last story before I close.
Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, in his book Jewish Wisdom, tells the story of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the leader of the then-new Jewish movement in 19th century Germany called Orthodoxy, who surprised his students one day when, as he neared the end of his life, he insisted on traveling to Switzerland. Perplexed, his students asked him why such a journey was so important to him.
In response, he explained, When I stand shortly before the Almighty, I will be held answerable to many questions. But what will I say when God asks—and he is certain to ask—“Shimshon, did you see my Alps?” [2]
Hirsch, in imagining himself at his final Yom HaDin, his Judgment Day, points us to a radically different theology.
To quote my teacher Rabbi Benay Lappe, “Hirsch points us to a G!d who doesn’t just want us to follow the rules, but one who wants, maybe needs, us to drink deeply from the wells of possibility, beauty, wonder, and potential good that make up our world.
I think the early Rabbis of the Talmud were on to the very same theology. In the last three lines of Tractate Kiddushin in the Jerusalem Talmud (Yerushalmi Kiddushin 4:12), we read about the World to Come, and that moment when, in the Rabbis’ imagination, we die and come before the final judge.
The Yerushalmi teaches:
עתיד אדם ליתן דין וחשבון על כל מה שראת עינו ולא אכל
In the World to Come, each one of us will be taken to task [not for the ways we missed the mark], for all [the good] that our eyes saw, but of which we didn’t eat.
I am so much more accustomed to imagining a God who is disappointed at my impatience and imperfections.
When in fact the rabbis are reminding us that what it means to live into our dreams of the world to come, is to prioritize joy. To imagine God’s levity and longing for us to feel ease and delight.
This Yom HaDin, may we have the courage to judge ourselves less harshly for the bad things we have done. And wonder more about the good things that we have not yet done.
May we have the courage to delegate the work of judgment to the One who can hold it tenderly, so we can more fully enjoy the the goodness in our lives.
In the immortal words of Salt and Peppa: “There’s only one true judge and that’s God. So chill, and let my father do his job!”
Shabbat Shalom.
Anyada buena dulce i alegre.
L’shanah Tovah Tikateivu.
Footnotes:
[1] See B.T. Rosh Hashanah 16b
[2] https://svara.org/did-you-see-my-alps-and-other-questions-were-asked-in-heaven/