This moment of atonement

A question: Why is this Yom Kippur different than any other Yom Kippur?

Wait, what?

Am I confusing Yom Kippur—the Jewish Day of Atonement—with Passover? That’s when the youngest child, at the Seder table, asks: Why is this night different than any other night?

No. I’m not confused. Jews ask lots of questions. Every day of the year.

But this High Holiday season—the 10-day period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when our fate for the coming year is sealed—definitely is different. Most of us are sadder than usual. And the world is more of a mess.

As we considered what’s being inscribed in the Book of Life for 5781, the Judaism Your Way machzor (prayer book) contained some very different questions this year. Instead of the traditional Who will live and who will die? we asked:

Who will be killed unarmed in the streets and who will live safely in their homes?

Who will die from Covid and who from isolation?

Whose deaths could be prevented and who will live to a ripe old age?

Despite the dire nature of the season, I was encouraged by this line of thinking. I found possibility in the prayers and the songs. And in the wisdom of our rabbis.

My wish—my intention—is that you, too, can find some peace in their words (and in mine).

There’s hope in uncertain times. Nothing, ever—but especially now—is predictable. But if we embrace complexity we can grow in new ways. We are confined and also free. Broken-hearted and also capable of love. Kept apart, yet also connected through our shared experience.

We all are twilight people. We are many identities and loves. Many genders, races, religions—and none. We can never be fully labeled or defined. When we realize this, we can soften our judgments, and widen our view.

Breaking down also means breaking through. Every new year brings a chance for renewal; something profound and necessary can begin. Especially this year, I hope we can create something wonderful out of the rubble.  

Breathing is a sacred act. At the start of the New Year, Jews take a great collective breath. But this year, it’s not only Jews who feel the anxiety of over-full lungs. Rather than waiting for the next thing to happen, I hope we all will use our breath for good. 

After attending separate Zoom services and before we could eat—my pal Lisa and I set out for the Indian Hot Springs, a kosher hot spot just a half hour west of Denver, where we live. Because the caves are fed with water from a natural source, they qualify as a mikvah, where a Jewish woman can officially immerse her soul.

I’d never been to a mikvah before, but over the past year I’ve appreciated tradition more than ever. My weekly Shabbat She-zoom computer call has connected me to friends and given me a place to belong on Friday nights.

So we stripped off our clothes and sank, deep into the water. Three times. The right number according to Jewish law. And we gave our thanks.

For friendship.

For reaching this season.

And for being alive.