What is Yom Kippur all about?
Is it about T’shuvah — making a change within; or
Is it about S’lichah u’M’chilah — pardoning others and and wiping the slate clean; or
Is it about restitution — making amends for what our own actions have cost others?
Yes. Yes, it is. Kapparah, atonement, which gives Yom Kippur its name is first, about T’shuvah, re-turning to our best selves; second, about S’lichah u’M’chilah, excusing the misdeeds of others and letting go of the bad feelings they caused; and third, about restitution, setting wrongs right.
This year, three different events pinged my Rabbi-Radar making me say, “Aha! That’s what I’m going to talk about on Yom Kippur!”
In February, when President Donald Trump’s former longtime lawyer and fixer, Michael Cohen, gave testimony before Congress, I thought about T’shuvah.
In June, when the House Judiciary Committee held a hearing on a bill to study reparations for slavery, I thought about restitution and justice.
And in August, while watching an episode of Queer Eye on Netflix, my family and I saw a 30 year old community activist in Kansas City thank the man who shot him. It made me think about forgiveness.
Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, teaches three lessons. First, we can do T’shuvah: re-turning to our best selves. Second, we can forgive our worst enemies — and even ourselves. Third, we must engage in an unremitting pursuit of justice because were slaves in the Land of Egypt. This Yom Kippur of 5780, we should notice that we ourselves were slaves in a land that was not our own for 400 years, until the Holy One, blessed be, finally redeemed us.
First things first: T’shuvah. President Donald Trump’s former lawyer and fixer, Michael Cohen, gave explosive testimony before the House Oversight and Reform Committee last winter. Mr. Cohen accused Mr. Trump of lies and criminality having to do with illegal hush-money payments.
Mr. Cohen did not come to Capitol Hill to rehabilitate his own reputation. His demeanor was meek and remorseful. At one point he described himself as “a fool” for getting in so deeply with Mr. Trump. He freely admitted that he had previously given false testimony, for which he would soon serve time in a federal prison.
Yet he faced irate, even childish questioning from some members of the committee. One of them even brought a sign with a picture of Mr. Cohen in flames reading “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!” He did not include the clause, ‘sitting on a telephone wire,’ perhaps because most phones today are wireless. The kids might not even know what that means.
The spectacle of members of congress chanting ‘liar, liar!’ At a witness made me wonder: Don’t we still believe that a liar can admit his lies, make amends, and change for the better?
It also struck me that Mr. Cohen is both the son of a Holocaust survivor and, well, a Cohen. Families with that name or one of its many variants like Kahn, Kahan, Cohn, etc. claim descent from the ancient Israelite temple priesthood.
In Biblical times when that ancient Temple still stood in Jerusalem, the centerpiece of Yom Kippur was the moment ha-Cohen ha-Gadol, the Israelite High Priest, would enter the Kodesh ha-Kodashim, the Holy of Holies to make expiation for the people. It was understood that the Cohen ha-Gadol the high priest, would die immediately if he were insufficiently pure for the ordeal. And since no one else was ever allowed to enter this holiest of innermost holy chambers of the Temple, the other Cohanim, the Israelite priests, would tie a rope to his ankle just in case they needed to pull his body out. But if the High Priest succeeded (and he always did), he would emerge, glowing with triumph, and all Israel would celebrate his re-appearance signifying the divine acceptance of their atonement. Our afternoon Avodah service will recount the ritual.
But what redemption can this modern Cohen find? Is he to be branded a liar forever? He’s been sentenced to serve time. But has he been sentenced to a life of disgrace with no hope of T’shuvah? That’s why I so appreciated the closing remarks of the committee chair:
You know I’ve sat here, and I’ve listened to all this, and it’s very painful. You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Mr. Cohen. And you’ve admitted that. You know, one of the saddest parts of this whole thing is that some very innocent people are hurting too. And that’s your family… If we as a nation did not give people an opportunity after they’ve made mistakes to change their lives, a whole lot of people would not do very well.
…hopefully this portion of your destiny will lead to a better Michael Cohen, a better Donald Trump, a better United States of America, and a better world. And I mean that from the depths of my heart.
When we’re dancing with the angels, the question we’ll be asked will be: “In 2019 what did we do to make sure we kept our democracy intact?”
These words reminded me of the Chasidic rabbi Zusya of Hanipol, who used to say, “I’m not worried that in the world-to-come they’ll ask me, ‘Why weren’t you Moses?’ Or ‘Why weren’t you Abraham?’ No, I’m afraid they’ll ask me, ‘Why weren’t you Zusya?’”
Who among us has lived up to our greatest potential? If we ask for T’shuvah for ourselves, should we not allow it for others? I pray that somehow this wayward Cohen is able to pay for his crimes and his lies, make his T’shuvah, his return to his best self, and find some measure of atonement, for his own sake and for the sake of his family.
Second: Yom Kippur is about reparations, or making things right.
For the first time since the end of the Civil War, the federal government is considering the idea of paying reparations for African-Americans to address the lingering harms caused by slavery. The bill is actually much more modest than that — it would simply create a commission to study the concept of reparations and make recommendations. The commission would have a budget of $12 million dollars, a modest sum in the federal budget. (Even if this bill were to pass the House, it is unlikely to become law, at least for now.)
Not long ago, I would once have dismissed the idea out of hand as impractical, just as Former President Barack Obama did. But then this hearing finally happened. The bill had been submitted every year since 1989, but it just got its first hearing.
Reading about that hearing led me to an article called “The Case for Reparations,” by Ta-Nehisi Coates, published in The Atlantic Monthly in 2014.
And then The New York Times Magazine sent me its inaugural issue of what it calls The 1619 Project, which seeks to raise awareness that 2019 is the 400th anniversary of the first arrival of African slaves to the Virginia colony in 1619.
In Genesis, chapter 15, verse 13, God says to Abram, “You shall know that your seed shall be strangers in a land that is not theirs for four hundred years. But I’ll judge the nation that they’ll serve as well, and they’ll go out with much property.”
400 years of slavery. I feel something like whiplash or vertigo. This verse helps me put myself in the place of those American slaves and their descendants; But I grew up in a single family suburban home on safe streets, with access to health care and education. I was able to open a bank account and get a credit card. Eventually I had credit good enough to get a mortgage for a single family American Dream House of my own. Most descendants of American slaves never got to have these advantages.
Our Biblical ancestors got their reparations from their former Egyptian masters.
Our Israeli cousins got reparations too. After the Holocaust, the question of whether West Germany should pay reparations to Israel was bitterly debated among the Germans. The question of whether to accept such reparations payments nearly tore the fledgling nation of Israel apart. Former guerrilla fighter Menachem Begin’s career in politics began when he led a fierce campaign against German reparations. Begin lost that battle, but eventually won the Prime Ministership. Perhaps his outlook: nationalistic, skeptical of the motivations of other countries, and pessimistic about Israel’s ability to live in long term peace with its neighbors, even won Israel’s future.
What would reparations mean for our country? A common assumption is that reparations for slavery would mean payments to individuals or families. But reparations advocates also suggest other possibilities like low-interest home loans for families trapped in ghetto neighborhoods because of the federal policy of redlining; or college tuition assistance, or community development loans for black-owned businesses in underprivileged urban or rural areas.
It seems certain that reparations would cause bitterness and backlash on the part of others who are poor and disadvantaged in other ways but who are not African-American. The African-American community itself is not monolithic. It might have a bruising internal fight of its own. Predictably, during the hearing, the idea of reparations was called ‘socialism,’ and a profligate giveaway of hard-earned taxpayer dollars.
Yet on Yom Kippur, I find even the vaguest promise of allowing this nation to find some redemption for its terrible history of racial discrimination, expiating and atoning for some of that awful guilt, powerful just to imagine.
So until the commission actually gets formed and funded, makes its study, and issues its recommendations, I’m not going to decide what my opinion is. And I don’t ask you to take a position on it either. I just pray that we can somehow approach the question in a way that honors our nation’s troubled past and makes us proud of what we have become.
Finally, Yom Kippur is about S’lichah u’M’chilah, forgiveness.
While watching the show Queer Eye on Netflix, our family watched an extraordinary man named Wesley Hamilton carry out an act of forgiveness, that astonished us and exalted him.
Queer Eye features five openly gay men who pay a surprise visit to a new person each episode who has been nominated for a makeover. Each of the fab five has his own specialty. Tan is the fashion guy; Jonathan does hair and grooming, etc. But my favorite guy on the show is Karamo.
Whatever Karamo’s official specialty is, his real role is the group’s chaplain. It’s always Karamo who really listens to the subject of the week and finds out what’s broken or missing in their life that they’re in such need of a makeover. With his gentle presence, Karamo helps to surface that are not just hapless or clueless, but wounded. They don’t just need new clothes, a haircut, and help to throw clutter away. They need empathy and empowerment.
Wesley Hamilton is the head of non-profit organization called “Disabled But Not Really,” which runs programs about fitness and nutrition for people in wheelchairs, and raises awareness about disability.[i]
(More than half the items in a grocery are out of reach for anyone in a wheelchair. Also, $10.00 worth of tailoring allows a person in a wheelchair to wear a suit jacket without getting the sleeves caught in the spokes.)
Mr. Hamilton grew up poor and black in Kansas City. His only role models were drug dealers. He expected to die or be imprisoned before he was 30 years old. In fact, 5 days before his 24th birthday, he was shot multiple times in the abdomen. Paralyzed from the waist down, he has been confined to a wheelchair ever since. Yet, he says, among other things, “Being shot was the best thing that ever happened to me.”[ii]
Karamo listens to all this, and says, “There’s been a lot of growth. But not a lot of healing.”[iii]. Toward some of that healing, and some understanding, Karamo asks for and receives Wesley’s permission to set up a face to face meeting with Maurice, the man who shot Wesley 7 years ago. As they drive to their appointment, Karamo says, “People assume that forgiveness is a one time thing, not realizing it’s a journey that continues all throughout your life.”[iv]
A few moments later, Karamo, Wesley, and Maurice are sitting together in an upscale coffee shop.
Wesley asks, “I know my actions and my emotions probably got the better of me that day. But I’m still like, ‘why you?’” [How come you shot me? What did you have to do with me?]
Maurice replies, “I seen you making belligerent comments to my cousin. He told me you had a pistol. I saw your partner’s pistol had a 30 round magazine hanging out. In my mind, you had a pistol. I seen you coming toward me.
“You know what the streets are like. I can’t risk getting shot or killed, so I shot first.”
Wesley: “It’s crazy. We live in a place where we all carry guns. We don’t care as long as we’re trying to protect someone that we love.” He pauses, and thinks. And then he says, “I can understand why you did what you did. If it was the other way around, I probably would have reacted the same way.”
Maurice: “I didn’t imagine you seeing it from that perspective. It was no malice in my heart.”
Karamo says, “Wes, do you need an apology?”
Wesley says, “I don’t think it’s necessary for apology. I prefer you not to feel sorry. I thank you for me being in this position. I don’t even feel bad energy from you.”
Maurice: That’s crazy. I was thinking the same thing.”
Wesley: “We don’t just forgive each other but also uplift each other. I found purpose in my situation and it seems like you did, too.”
As they say their farewells and leave, Karamo asks, “So how was that?”
Wesley replies, “Really, really liberating. I just looked at the man that shot me and said ‘thank you.’ Now, I can be the Wesley Hamilton I always wanted to be.”
I can hardly believe it. I mean, I’m still mad at a partner in the law firm where I used to work for cussing me out around 10:30 pm over the placement of a comma in a letter. What would such radical forgiveness feel like?
So, I am attempting to emulate Wesley Hamilton by forgiving all of my past hurts and wrongs radically and unconditionally. Thank G1d, I’ve never suffered a bullet in the spine, but I’ve found that nursing resentments and grudges is paralyzing in its own way. Often I’m not even maddest at whoever hurt me. Rather, I’m angriest at myself over a strategy I didn’t use, a choice I didn’t make, or an outcome I wanted but never got.
When I come across these old resentments and grudges that I tried to jettison, I don’t have to waste time getting steamed at myself or anyone else. As Karamo says, forgiveness can be a journey. When I find these old hurts along the way, I try to set them down just as soon as I’ve picked them up – forgiving those who hurt me and myself, all over again, as many times as it takes. Yes, it is liberating.
Will Michael Cohen, descendant of the high priest of Israel, former fixer for Donald Trump, and proven liar, find redemption by making T’shuvah and re-turning to his best self? Will our nation provide any kind of restitution or reparations for the evils of slavery, thus transcending its past and making kapparah, atonement for its guilt, without tearing itself apart in the process? How might Wesley and Maurice continue to transcend their tragic history to uplift one another even further? I don’t know. But I hope we’ll find out.
I do know that any of us might find liberation through T’shuvah, re-turning to our best self; s’lichah u’mechilah, radical, unconditional forgiveness; and making restitution. Any of us can take responsibility for what we can, admit our deceptions and self-deceptions, repair what we’ve cost others, and find the blessings in our own situations, thus liberating ourselves from the crushing weight of grudges and resentments.
ויאמר ה’ סלחתי כדברך.
And the LORD said, “I have pardoned according to your plea.” So may it be for us on this Day of Atonement.
Copyright 2019 by Rabbi Justin Kerber. All Rights Reserved.
[i] And yet, Wesley says, “I found strength in my weakness.” As much as Wesley had made of his new situation, all was not well for him at the start of the show. He tells Karamo both, “[Being shot] was the best thing that ever happened to me. I figured out who is the new me,” but he also says “I’m ready to let go of my old life and grow into my new one,” and “The last day I cut my hair was the day I got shot, and I feel like I’m holding on to that day.”
[ii]He explains, “I had a hostile conversation with an ex-girlfriend. She waved her friend over. That friend shot me. I never got answers. But I didn’t seek ‘em, either. I’m seeking understanding of what put me in this position.”
[iii] Karamo tells Wesley: I reached out to Maurice, the man who shot you. Are you ready to meet him face to face?
Wesley: I could have set something up long ago. But I’m trying to live my life with positivity.
Karamo: I’m impressed for you to be able to say, “What was I doing in that space?”
Pause.
Yes, that is a huge lesson for anyone who wishes to forgive or to be forgiven. So often, we go straight to “If only I had…” or “Next time I will… ” without asking the crucial questions of cheshbon ha-nefesh, self reflection:
– What was my part in what happened?
– Now, why did I do what I did?”
[iv] Pause.
Has anyone else found it difficult to forgive someone else? For whatever it was, a tragic wrong or a petty slight?
What if, as Karamo says, forgiveness is not just one and done, but a journey that continues all throughout your life?
Well, I find that liberating. Perhaps you can relate: When anyone hurts me or someone in my family it is very difficult for me to forgive. Even when I decide to forgive someone for doing me wrong, I feel old resentments bubbling up again and again.
Karamo’s advice to Wesley, reminds me that I don’t have to dwell on old anger or rehearse conversations I’ll never have. Fixating on old wrongs doesn’t help; it doesn’t hurt anyone but myself.
