The play's the thing

There is a captivating storyline at work in the Yom Kippur service, and it should not be lost amid all the pomp and pageantry.

By RABBI STEWART WEISS
As I participate in Yom Kippur services every year, I often get the feeling that I am sitting at a play. An interactive play, to be sure, but a play nonetheless. Think about it: The cantorial and communal singing, and the sounds of the choir (if there is one) provide the music, a kind of soundtrack that plays throughout, as at any Broadway show. Background scenery - the aron kodesh, the white parochet, the menora and 10 Commandments, etc. - adorn the stage, while some of the key actors - the chazzan, the rabbi - are in holiday costume. Why, you even have to buy a ticket to get a seat! Sometimes it's hard to remember that this performance has a plot, a message and a meaning. It's not just about the music, or the costumes or the ambiance. There is a captivating story line at work here, and it should not be lost amid all the pomp and pageantry. For me, there are two crucial questions that I must confront on Yom Kippur, two issues that are central to my encounter with the Almighty on this auspicious day. One, is life a lottery? That is, is there meaning and purpose to the universe; is it guided by an intelligent mind that knows what it is doing and where it is going, or does randomness rule? This is particularly pressing for those of us who live in Israel, surrounded by hostile enemies and under their daily threat. If my presence here and now counts for something and contributes in a real way to the progression of a divine plan, then the struggle and the sacrifice has meaning. But if history is haphazard, then why am I risking my life, and that of my family, in a neighborhood that often gets very nasty? The second issue is a kind of corollary to the first: What is the nature of this God to whom we pray? Is he cruel and capricious, or is he kind and compassionate? Why, at times, does He shower us with blessings and make life so sweet, but at other times test us to the limit of our survival? Here, too, daily living in Israel sharpens the question, as we often operate at the extremes. We can be at the brink of disaster, yet enjoying ourselves in an outdoor cafe - all on the same day! What can we learn from the script of the mahzor that will give us a clue to our Creator's character? I think the first question can be approached by looking at the very name of the day: Yom Kippur. It seems to have a dual meaning. On the one hand, it can be translated as yom k'pur - a day like a lottery (pur, as in Purim, means lottery). That is, there is always a risk in attempting to predict the course of history. Events are shielded from our full view, shrouded in a kind of mask of mystery that defies foretelling. "Who can fathom God's greatness?" says one prayer. "He dwells in mystery, his majesty invisible even to the angels." Indeed, the Hebrew word olam (world) is connected to the word meaning "hidden;" God asserts His control of the universe by "hiding" His plan behind a veil of unpredictability. (While this can be very frustrating, it often works to our advantage. After all, who would have predicted in 1946 that Israel would soon come to dominate the world's headlines?) Yet in the same work where God is described as "ineffable," the High Holy Day liturgy absolutely lays out a cause-and-effect scenario for humanity: If we turn away from wrongdoing and return to the values of our faith, we will not only be forgiven, but will prosper and proliferate. "Say of God," says another Yom Kippur poem, "He acknowledges those who proclaim Him king; and they shall be blessed and possess the land." The implication is clear, here and throughout the prayers: If I keep my share of the bargain, then God will keep His, and all the promises regarding a benevolent climax to history will be fulfilled. It seems, then, that life does have a plan and a purpose, just that I may not always see it coming. In a sense, we act and God acts, each on our own track. If we are "in sync" with one another, we create a nexus where we unite. It is at that point of unity that God and humanity can fulfill our destiny and become One. As for God's character, here, too, the mahzor seems to imply a split personality. God is at once gentle, yet strict; long-suffering, yet eminently determined to mete out justice. We see this best reflected in one of the most prevalent prayers of the Days of Repentance, the Avinu Malkeinu. Here we openly attest to God's dual role, that of the father as well as the king. (We have our own duality, as the son who is also the crown prince). Like any good parent, God will sometimes play the role of the disciplinarian, and at other times He will exercise familial forbearance. And, like any child knows, we cannot predict with certainty how our elder and wiser parent will necessarily react to us in any given situation. Weren't there times when we expected to be spanked, and yet our parents held back? And weren't there also times when we thought they totally overreacted to some "little" thing we had done, and gave us more than we deserved? No doubt that being the eldest son of the king - and the earthly conveyers of His message - complicates the matter even further. The more God expects from us, the more prone we are to His corrective hand, yet the more He lovingly tolerates from us. The balance between patience and punishment is tough for any mom or dad. Can it be easy for God? I want desperately to know that God is not cruel, even when He is corrective; that whatever He does, He does for my own good, out of love, even if it causes me intense pain in the process. In this sense, I would add one more role to our father, our king, that of divine doctor. I can relate to God as dispensing whatever medicine I need to take - be it through simple swallowing or radical surgery - as long as I have faith it is done for my own good. At the end of the day - literally! - Yom Kippur must become a day of discovery for each of us. We must somehow pray that we will be shown the bigger picture, that the clouds may part, if only for a brief, illuminating instant, to give us a glimpse of what this struggle we call life is all about, and that we will achieve the greatest blessing of all: to know God.