Who by Apathy - Rabbi Suzy Stone on Rosh Hashanah 5778

Unetanah Tokef: Who By Apathy?

Head held high, I compose myself, and enter the courtroom. Standing before me is the Judge on High. The shofar sounds. Court is in session.

The books of life and death stand open in front of me. Even the angels, who can do no wrong, tremble in fear, and announce: “Let us declare the power of this day, for it is awesome and full of dread.”  

We sit and we stand, we stand and we sit, waiting for our turn to approach the bench. In the echo chamber of my mind I hear an awe-inducing prayer:

On Rosh HaShanah it is written, On Yom Kippur it is sealed:

Who shall live and who shall die?

Who by water and who by fire?

Who by sword and who by beast?

Who by famine and who by thirst?

Who by earthquake and who by disease?

I stand in front of the defendant's table, and sheepishly ask: “Are there any other options?”

G-d says: “U’teshuva, u’tefillah u’tzedakah ma’avirin et roah ha’g’zerah. Repentance, prayer, and charity have the power to lessen the harsh decree.” And I reply: “Great, I’ll take that one!”

As I leave the courtroom I start to think about how lucky am I. But then, as I am walking home, I can’t help but wonder if I just got “punked” because it sounds like G-d is saying that if I just try a little harder, pray with real kavanah, and give more money to charity that G-d will let me live?

I’m not sure, but this sounds a lot like blackmail. Albeit “divine blackmail,” but still, I am the first to admit that in a post-Enlightenment world it is difficult to believe in a G-d who metes out reward and punishment based on how many good deeds we do (or do not) do.

It does not take a genius to look around and to see that people who do bad things are rewarded with positions of power and wealth, while innocent, good people suffer.

So what does it really mean that repentance, prayer, and charity temper judgment’s severe decree?

In order to understand how radical this prayer really we have to understand that throughout the Ancient Near East, from the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman empires, the concept of fate (and fate alone) ruled the day.

For example, in classical mythology, the Moirai were depicted as three goddesses who would spin the thread of human destiny. They would determine how long you would live, how much suffering you would endure, and exactly when you would die.

These beliefs, made famous by popular Greek tragedies such as Oedipus Rex & Prometheus Unbound, dominated religious doctrine for the first 1,000 years before the Common Era.

Admittedly, even the early rabbis, known as the Taanaim, were not immune to this thinking. As they taught in the Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat 156a): If you are born on a Sunday, you will be either totally good or totally bad, because this was the day when total darkness was separated from the light. If you are born on Monday, you will be short-tempered. If you were born on Tuesday, you will be rich, but promiscuous…and so on and so forth.

However, by the second generation, the majority of Amoraim, including Rav who was the head of the academy in Sura, declared a radical shift in thinking: “Ain Mazal L’Israel: There is no constellation that determines Israel’s fate.”

Our dependence on astrology ended the minute G-d promises Abraham that he will father a great nation. As the story goes, after years and years of infertility, Abraham is ready to give up on having kids. In that moment G-d appears to Abraham in a dream, and says (Genesis 15:5):

יּוֹצֵ֨א אֹת֜וֹ הַח֗וּצָה וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ הַבֶּט־נָ֣א הַשָּׁמַ֗יְמָה וּסְפֹר֙ הַכּ֣וֹכָבִ֔ים אִם־תּוּכַ֖ל לִסְפֹּ֣ר אֹתָ֑ם וַיֹּ֣אמֶר ל֔וֹ כֹּ֥ה יִהְיֶ֖ה זַרְעֶֽךָ

He took him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” And He added, “So shall your offspring be.”

Perplexed, Abraham shoots back and says: “Master of the Universe, I looked at my astrological map, and according to the configuration of my constellations I am not fit to have a son. The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: Emerge from your astrology, as the verse states: “And He brought him outside,” as there is no constellation for Israel.”

In other words, this story teaches us that we cannot blame the hardships of our life on fate. I know this may not seem that relative to modern life, but on a more subtle level I think we all slip into this fatalistic thinking now and again. For example, how many of you have ever believed: “bad news comes in threes?” Or how many times in our lives do we simply give up, throw in the proverbial towel, because we are having a bad week, a bad month, or even a bad year?

At some point or another, we have all heard this kind of fatalism from ourselves and from others: “It was just my luck to have lost my job and my boyfriend in the same week!”  Or, “Since I didn’t get into the top-ranked school, I am always going to be seen as a failure.” Or perhaps, a more passive form of fatalism, “I have been having so many health issues this year—what’s one more?” Many of us have had moments in our lives like these, in which we throw our hands up in the air and say: “c’est la vie—such is life.”

But as we stand on the precipice of a New Year, the high holy days are here to remind us that the future is ours to create. As Rabbi David Stern explains, the Unetanah Tokef reminds us of the ugly truth that despite our best efforts and intentions there are natural occurrences that are sealed off from human control.

For example, some of us will be struck by diseases that we have done nothing to deserve. As we witnessed this week, others will swept away by the the maelstrom of hurricanes, floods, and natural disasters that have plagued our nation. These images serve to remind us of an everyday reality: Every second that we take a breath in, someone else in the world expels their last breath. Thus, while science has come a long way in helping us to create and save lives; we have yet to find a way to outmaneuver death.

As the great Jewish “rabbi” Woody Allen once said: “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

That’s because, in the secular world and in American society, human limitation is perceived as defeat. But in the halls of Jewish wisdom we are taught that our limitations are the greatest source of wisdom that we can have. The Unetanah Tokef reminds us that life is short, and today is the day to turn. To do teshuvah and to return to the best version of ourselves. Perhaps this means calling the friend you ghosted months ago. Or reaching out to an ‘ex’ who may have hurt you and asking them for what you truly need.  Now is the time to pick up the phone and call your mom, or dad, or siblings, or extended family just to say ‘I love you.’  

Therefore, what may feel like an outdated theology, in which we beat our chests and ask G-d to wipe our slate clean, is actually a radical Jewish idea that transforms a life of tragedy sealed by fate into a life of hope instilled with free will.

 

And yet, for many of us sitting here today, the origins and history of this prayer make it no less palatable because it strikes at the heart of our worst fears and frustrations. Over the years, many people have told me that this prayer is the most difficult for them to recite, let alone believe.  For those of us who have faced illness or loss, this prayer affronts our senses, incessantly reminding us our fragility and mortality.

Who wants to praise G-d when He has taken away a loved one, struck us with illness, or simply dangles our future in front of us like a cruel joke? But this is not the G-d I believe in; nor do I believe that this is the true underlying message of this prayer.

Rather, I believe that Unetanah Tokef is read at the apex of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur in order to remind us of a simple fact: Do not forget to read the fine print!

It is easy to become distracted by the litany of words, the incomprehensible Hebrew, or the haunting melodies of this prayer. However,  if we don’t pay attention, we will miss one of the most subtle; yet important, lines in this prayer:

אֱמֶת כִּי אַתָּה הוּא דַּיָּן וּמוֹכִיחַ וְיוֹדֵעַ וָעֵד וְכוֹתֵב וְחוֹתֵם וְסוֹפֵר וּמוֹנֶה וְתִזְכֹּר כָּל הַנִּשְׁכָּחוֹת וְתִפְתַּח אֶת סֵפֶר הַזִּכְרוֹנוֹת וּמֵאֵלָיו יִקָּרֵא וְחוֹתָם יַד כָּל אָדָם בּוֹ

It is true that you are the one who judges, and reproves, who knows all, and bears witness, who inscribes, and seals, who reckons and enumerates. You remember all that is forgotten. You open the book of records, and from it, all shall be read. In it lies each person's signature.

This means that there cannot be any unauthorized charges on your card. No mistakes on our record because only we can sign on the dotted line. In other words, this prayer is asking us, perhap imploring us, to become active co-authors in the book of our own life.  Therefore, today we have a big choice to make.

We can either seal ourselves for a year of complacency, fear and stagnation, or we can boldly and beautifully sign off on a year of challenge, of courage, and of growth. We can resign ourselves to unhealthy habits and relationships, or we promise to do everything in our power to change our thought patterns and our ways. We can let arrogance and stubbornness control our emotions, or we can humble our egos and we can truly learn from people who we previously disregarded or demeaned. We can succumb to the overwhelming belief that greed, power and lies, rule the day, or we can take a page from the Rabbis and declare: “Ain mazal l’Yisrael.”

In conclusion, I believe that the Unetanah Tokef prayer is less about judgement and more about action. As Rabbi Sharon Brous teaches: “The annual High Holy Day encounter with death is designed to unsettle our routines, break us free from stagnation, and shock our system out of its instinctive selfishness and indulgence. It compels us to ask, ‘If my life ended now, would it have been worthwhile?”

L’shana Tova Tikatevu,

May we be written, and may co-write ourselves, into the Book of Life for a good year.