D’Var Torah By: Rabbi Sari Laufer

One of my favorite images of the High Holy Days is that of God shifting from the throne of justice to the throne of mercy. The rabbis imagine that our prayers — honest and true — and the sound of the shofar compel God to lean into the attribute of mercy, presumably remaining there as the Gates of Repentance begin to close. It is a comforting image on a day that is meant to be anything but comfortable. And speaking of discomfort, in traditional communities, the Torah readings for both morning and afternoon focus on the Israelites’ sins. The readings begin with the deaths of Aaron’s sons as a punishment for their wrongdoing, then describe the ancient ritual of the scapegoat – the foundation of Yom Kippur rituals even today. But the real guilt comes in the afternoon service with a litany of sexual improprieties, including the verse so deeply painful to members of the LGBTQ+ community and those who love them. The reading is directed at the congregation with the constant reminder that these are lustful sins in the eyes of God, a viewpoint and a theology that the Reform Movement has long rejected. Explicitly or not, these readings place us in the path of judgment, whether our own, communal, or Divine. In Reform communities, Divine judgment takes a back seat to human agency. The reading chosen for Yom Kippur morning is the same as we read just a few weeks ago – selections from Parashat Nitzavim. Among other messages, we are reminded to, “Choose life – if you and your offspring would live – by loving the Eternal your God, heeding God’s commands, and holding fast to the Divine” (Deuteronomy 30:19). It is incredibly powerful that we are reminded on Yom Kippur, not (only) of God’s power, but our own. So much High Holiday theology feels like it lies in stark contrast to this. We read of God’s sovereignty and dominion; we beg Our Parent, Our Sovereign for goodness and mercy. But the Torah reading begins to reset the balance. The life we seek is not, as the Torah reminds us, in the heavens, but in each one of us. If the morning reading tells us what we should choose, the afternoon reading offers the how. Known as “the Holiness Code,” these verses from Leviticus 19 read as a “greatest hits” of the Torah’s ethical teachings, a step-by-step guide to choosing life, including:
  • Revere your parents.
  • Keep the Sabbath.
  • Do not pick your vineyard bare or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; leave them for the poor and the stranger.
  • Do not steal.
  • Do not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another.
  • Do not insult the deaf or place a stumbling block before the blind.
  • Do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge others fairly.
  • Love your fellow as yourself.
Taken together, the opening of this text suggests that these steps will lead us towards holiness. Rather than a focus on our sins and God’s anger, our Yom Kippur readings point toward hope. These readings remind us that we have a choice in the way we live our lives while outlining what those choices should be. The God of these readings tilts towards mercy. Much is made of the gates of Yom Kippur — the gates of repentance, prayer, even tears. But according to ancient tradition, it was the Gate of Mercy — Sha’ar HaRachamim — which played a crucial role. It was, the texts teach, the Gate of Mercy through which the High Priest would lead the scapegoat into the wilderness. There are some traditions that also teach that the Messiah will enter the Temple through the Gate of Mercy in the eastern wall of the Temple Mount. According to archaeologists, however, the Gate of Mercy has been blocked since the 9th century. Rabbi Danny Nevins offers this image: “It is easy to imagine [how] the Gates of Mercy… a place where the physical [and] emotional needs of the people were accommodated, came to be our vision for Jerusalem.” During the final service of Yom Kippur, the Neilah service, we read Psalm 118 and ask God to open the Gates of Righteousness. But, in a medieval introduction to the morning Yom Kippur service, there is another option. Rather than a plea for God to open the gates, there is a blessing, a statement of gratitude to the God who opens for us the gates of mercy, giving light to those who await God’s forgiveness. The work of Yom Kippur — in our prayers, deeds, and Torah readings — is to connect with the God of mercy, opening new gates for this New Year.