Yom Kippur
Oct. 1st, 2006 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lagilmanI'm a very lapsed Jew. But the rituals of my upbringing formed me, and especially during the Days of Awe I find myself returning to them.
On Rosh Hashanna, Jews turn to others and say "forgive me for the sins I committed against you, as I forgive those committed against me." On Yom Kippur, Jews turn to God (however you may determine and define God) and say "forgive me for the sins I committed against You." For me, then, it's a reconciliation with the universe at large, the spark that creates and motivates and enlightens us.
The service that opens the holiday this evening is called the kol nidre. It translates, roughly, to 'all vows.' Repent, and sins of commission and ommission alike are forgiven; unfulfilled vows are dissolved, we begin the New Year with potential and promise, not guilt and regret.
In the year, we have done many things:
We made vows, and were unable to sustain them.
We made promises, and failed them.
We have gossiped
We have judged.
We have comitted slander.
We have been uncharitable.
We have been unkind.
We have not practiced lovingkindness to others.
We have not practiced lovingkindness to ourselves.
The list is long, for we are human. Forgive us (may we forgive ourselves) these failures of positive commands and negative commands, whether or not they involve an intentional act, whether or not they were performed unawares.
On Yom Kippur the Book of Life is closed and sealed for the year. May next year find us all in the City of Peace.
Amen.
May all those who are fasting have an easy time of it, and may we all find peace, within and without.
---
This is also the day I set aside to remember my grandparents. This year I did that by physical means: there are two chairs, one from my father's side of the family, and one from my mother's, that are now mine. This afternoon I took what little we know of their origins, and went into Historian mode: where were they bought? What time frame? How much might my grandparents have paid for it? What did they use each chair for -- did I remember where they kept it in the house? Can I visualize a grandparent using it? Why, of all the things I might have inherited, did I choose these?
One is a Boston rocker, a lovely piece of rosewood. It was my grandmother's, and it always had a place next to the secretary desk in the parlor. When you came up the stairs and into the apartment, the chair was one of the first things you saw. My grandmother had an awful seat cushion on it that I hated with a passion, a cushion that covered a slight stain on the seat. Now, it is in my den, my refuge, the back draped with a shawl, and the seat holds a bright red Chinese pillow and a beloved teddy bear. And I have yet to do anything about that stain.
When I look at that chair, I remember that household, the warmth and comfort and laughter my grandparents gave us.
One is a carved wooden armchair, rounded seat and rounded back, like a miniature throne. I have always loved this chair with a rather silly passion. I only vaguely remember it in my grandmother's house, but it was a mainstay in my parents house when I grew up -- it was by the fireplace, next to the door out to the porch, and my dad used to claim it; I have very strong memories of him sitting in that chair, me on the floor next to his knee.
Right now, it is in my parents' apartment. Last week I was told that it would be coming to me, as they need the space for a more comfortable (padded) chair. I felt -- I feel -- as though I have been given a benediction, a blessing, a lovingkindness.
On Rosh Hashanna, Jews turn to others and say "forgive me for the sins I committed against you, as I forgive those committed against me." On Yom Kippur, Jews turn to God (however you may determine and define God) and say "forgive me for the sins I committed against You." For me, then, it's a reconciliation with the universe at large, the spark that creates and motivates and enlightens us.
The service that opens the holiday this evening is called the kol nidre. It translates, roughly, to 'all vows.' Repent, and sins of commission and ommission alike are forgiven; unfulfilled vows are dissolved, we begin the New Year with potential and promise, not guilt and regret.
In the year, we have done many things:
We made vows, and were unable to sustain them.
We made promises, and failed them.
We have gossiped
We have judged.
We have comitted slander.
We have been uncharitable.
We have been unkind.
We have not practiced lovingkindness to others.
We have not practiced lovingkindness to ourselves.
The list is long, for we are human. Forgive us (may we forgive ourselves) these failures of positive commands and negative commands, whether or not they involve an intentional act, whether or not they were performed unawares.
On Yom Kippur the Book of Life is closed and sealed for the year. May next year find us all in the City of Peace.
Amen.
May all those who are fasting have an easy time of it, and may we all find peace, within and without.
---
This is also the day I set aside to remember my grandparents. This year I did that by physical means: there are two chairs, one from my father's side of the family, and one from my mother's, that are now mine. This afternoon I took what little we know of their origins, and went into Historian mode: where were they bought? What time frame? How much might my grandparents have paid for it? What did they use each chair for -- did I remember where they kept it in the house? Can I visualize a grandparent using it? Why, of all the things I might have inherited, did I choose these?
One is a Boston rocker, a lovely piece of rosewood. It was my grandmother's, and it always had a place next to the secretary desk in the parlor. When you came up the stairs and into the apartment, the chair was one of the first things you saw. My grandmother had an awful seat cushion on it that I hated with a passion, a cushion that covered a slight stain on the seat. Now, it is in my den, my refuge, the back draped with a shawl, and the seat holds a bright red Chinese pillow and a beloved teddy bear. And I have yet to do anything about that stain.
When I look at that chair, I remember that household, the warmth and comfort and laughter my grandparents gave us.
One is a carved wooden armchair, rounded seat and rounded back, like a miniature throne. I have always loved this chair with a rather silly passion. I only vaguely remember it in my grandmother's house, but it was a mainstay in my parents house when I grew up -- it was by the fireplace, next to the door out to the porch, and my dad used to claim it; I have very strong memories of him sitting in that chair, me on the floor next to his knee.
Right now, it is in my parents' apartment. Last week I was told that it would be coming to me, as they need the space for a more comfortable (padded) chair. I felt -- I feel -- as though I have been given a benediction, a blessing, a lovingkindness.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 10:57 pm (UTC)Thank you very much. May peace and love fill your footsteps.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-02 12:37 am (UTC)(From someone who should be at services but is instead home with a sick child.)
It is lovely that you have that physical reminder of your grandparents.