FOR YOM KIPPUR
SWEET AND SOUR
Fresh figs are not quite as popular in the stores of United States as they are in other countries. Perhaps it may be because of their extremely short shelf life. These delicate fruits can only last a few days without refrigeration. Dried ones, of course, are available all year round.
Fresh figs, though, are incredible. They are tender, plump and sweet. The fig possesses sweet, chewy flesh and crunchy edible seeds. The ones most frequently sold in this part of the world possess a deep purple and yellow color on their outside and they give off a slightly sweet scent. Since figs possess a delicate skin and flesh, they are usually eaten whole – skin and all; one simply pops the fig into the mouth.
It is customary on the second night of Rosh Hashanah to eat a fruit that one has not eaten during its current harvest season. Before consuming such a fruit, and following the regular blessing made over the fruit, a person recites a special blessing called, “Shehechiyanu” – a blessing made to correspond to an elated feeling created by the newness of the experiences. This blessing is also recited on the yearly festivals by those kindling the candles in honor of the festival, and by those reciting the “Kiddush” for the festival.
On the second night of Rosh Hashanah, when this blessing is a questionable one according to Jewish law, consuming the new fruit enables one to recite this blessing for the festival’s second day.
And so, on a given table in a Jewish home on the second night of Rosh Hashanah, one can usually find fruits that are exotic with interesting shapes and tastes. In the Lew household, fresh figs were featured last week, on Rosh Hashanah’s second night.
The figs were not all fully ripe. Quite a few of them were left over from the meal. During this past week, however, the figs entered into their ripened mode. It was time to indulge.
A few figs in the bunch looked overripe. They were bent out of shape, had some dark stains on them, and they did not look quite appetizing. At one point, though, I opened one of them and a syrupy juice appeared. I took the plunge, and this was one of the sweetest fresh figs imaginable.
Here was a battered and bruised specimen. Yet its taste was as succulent as can be.
Appearances tend to hide what is on the inside. They can hide a lot. One may sometimes come across that which may look hopeless or helpless. When one, however, pulls away the peel and exposes the essence, one discovers pure sweetness – and this is one of the more essential messages of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, Beginning this Friday night.
During the Holy Temple times, Yom Kippur was the busiest day in terms of varied required services. Moreover: the entire service of the day, from beginning to end, had to be performed by the “Kohen Gadol,” the High Priest. The highlight of the day, of course, was the moment the High Priest entered into the Holy of Holies – the only day of the year this occurred. Another exclusive part of the service was the unusual lottery between two goats: One goat would be offered as atonement at the Temple for the entire nation. The other goat would be sent to “Azazel,” over a cliff in the desert, also as atonement for the entire nation. (Vayikra (Leviticus) 16:7-10)
These two once-a-year experiences – the entering into the Holy of Holies by the High Priest, and the goats – embody a crucial element of Yom Kippur: the element of absolute unity between all people and all elements. Here is why:
When the High Priest entered into the Holy of Holies for the first time, he carried a fire pan, a burning coal and incense. Arriving at the Ark in that hallowed location, he combined the coal and incense in the fire pan, and the sweet aroma began to fill the room.
After a short prayer, the High Priest would exit. He would later return, twice to sprinkle some blood of offered animals – including the blood of the goat for atonement – and again much later to retrieve the empty fire pan.
So that was it. Once a year, permission was granted to enter the one and only Holy of Holies, and only by the one High Priest: what an opportunity, what a moment, what an experience! The liturgy of the Yom Kippur services (in the “Avodah” section) leaves no doubt as to the feelings of all the people present for this section of the day, when Divinity and Humanity came together. It was an obvious spiritually intense moment.
Or was it? The High Priest was commanded to carry in some incense and let the room be filled with smoke! What kind of spiritual experience is that? Moreover, the Temple saw an offering of incense twice each day, including regular offerings of incense on that very day. Should the main activity of Yom Kippur not have been a little more creative?
The incense offered in the Temple was comprised of eleven spices and herbs. The aroma produced by this daily offering was so compelling that the sages of the Talmud testify that there was no need for people to wear perfume!
This potent scent was produced by a mixture of spices such as balm, myrrh, cassia, and the very expensive saffron. These together with half a dozen other herbs, mixed with lye, wine and salt, generated this amazing fragrance. Not all of these spices could have been obtained in the Holy Land. Some of these had to be brought from lands as distant as the Far East.
Once unified and blended together with precise specifications, it was irresistible. This particular mixture of spices brought together varied locations from around the world.
Another point: One of the spices was Galbanum. This plant has a “disagreeable, bitter taste, and a peculiar, somewhat musky odor” (Wikipedia). One would not expect this spice to be part of a sweet aromatic fragrance. But that is exactly what the makeup required biblically. This acts as a reminder, explain the Sages, that even bitter and wanton sinners are all part of the fabric that creates a pleasant and sweet odor in His home, the Holy Temple.
There is no more profound message than the High Priest carrying a combination of these spices into the Holy of Holies on the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur. On this day, there is transcendence. This is not a day where one person’s deficiencies and bitterness get in the way. On this date, everyone, even those from the “Far” East, and even those of the bitter and unpleasant odor, are all part of a unified force that creates a pleasant fragrance in the Holy of Holies, the Almighty’s most inner sanctum on this world.
On Yom Kippur, the essential connection of the Jewish people and the Almighty comes to the forefront. And when it does, it produces a sweet aroma. For everyone is expected to contribute to the creation of more sweetness, even Mister Galbanum.
The above idea is also encapsulated by the goat sent to “Azazel.” The Azazel is an allusion to the dark and sinister side, the forces of evil, created by the Almighty to challenge the humans on this world for good.
As a yearly remembrance, a goat is sent “out there” to show that the Almighty creates everything, including the evil forces.
On Yom Kippur, not only are those who do evil part of the ceremony, but even the root and source of evil are all unified in the quintessential holy spirit of the day. Everyone is in.
It matters not what something may look like on the external side. Everyone stands together on this day, united, to create the sweetest fragrance.
It was Erev Yom Kippur in the tiny town of Lubavitch, in White Russia, some 180 years ago. On the morning of the eve of the Holy Day, Reb Shmuel, a prominent Chassid, was heading to synagogue for morning prayers. A long day was ahead of him in this town, the seat of the Chabad movement: prayers had to be prayed, meals had to be eaten, and purification in the Mikveh (ritual bath) had to be experienced. The day before Yom Kippur is a traditionally busy day.
As he was walking, Reb Shmuel heard of a fellow Jew who, together with his wife and six small children, had been imprisoned for failing to pay the rent on the establishment he leased from the local nobleman.
His long day ahead of him notwithstanding, Reb Shmuel immediately set out to the nobleman to plead for their release. The nobleman was adamant in his refusal. “Until I see every penny that is owed to me,” he swore, “the Jew and his family stay where they are. Now get out of here before I unleash my dogs on you.”
“I cannot allow a Jewish family to languish in a dungeon on Yom Kippur,” resolved Reb Shmuel. He immediately set out to raise the required sum, determined to achieve their release before sunset.
This was a poor community. All day, he went from door to door. People gave generously for this important cause, but by late afternoon Reb Shmuel was still 300 rubles short of the required sum. Where would he find such a large sum of money at this late hour?
Then he passed a tavern and saw a group of well-dressed young men sitting and drinking. A card-game was underway, and a sizable pile of banknotes and gold and silver coins had already accumulated on the table.
At first he hesitated to approach them at all: Reb Shmuel was not the type that mingled with these people. Besides, what could one expect from Jews who spend the eve of the Holy Day drinking and gambling in a tavern? Realizing, though, that they were his only hope, he approached their table and told them of the plight of the imprisoned family.
They were about to send him off empty-handed, when one of them had a jolly idea: It would be great fun to get a pious Jew to join their drinking right before Yom Kippur! Signaling to a waiter, the man ordered a large glass of vodka. “Drink this down in one gulp,” he said to the Reb Shmuel, “and I'll give you 100 rubles.”
Reb Shmuel looked from the glass that had been set before him to the sheaf of banknotes. Other than an occasional sip of a vodka on Shabbos and at weddings, Reb Shmuel drank only twice a year - on the festivals of Purim and Simchas Torah, when every chassid fuels the holy joy of these days with generous helpings of inebriating drink so that the body should rejoice along with the soul. And the amount of vodka in this glass – actually, it more resembled a pitcher than a glass – was more than he would consume on both those occasions combined. And all this on an empty stomach. Reb Shmuel lifted the glass, recited the blessing, and drank down its contents.
“Bravo!” cried the man, and handed him the 100 rubles. “But this is not enough,” said Shmuel, his head already reeling from the strong drink. “I need another 200 rubles to get the poor family out of prison!”
“A deal's a deal!” cried the merrymakers. “One hundred rubles per glass! Waiter! Please refill this glass for our drinking buddy!”
Two liters and two hundred rubles later, Reb Shmuel staggered out of the tavern. He was now being led by instinct. His alcohol-fogged mind was oblivious to all the stares of his fellow villagers rushing about in their final preparations for the Holy Day. The baking of the ferocious dogs of the nobleman did not faze him. He handed over the money to the nobleman, but his clouded mind could not grasp the joyous tears and profusions of gratitude of the ransomed family. His legs carried him to the synagogue. Whatever was supposed to still happen that day for him had no chance of actually happening. His predisposition simply took him to the synagogue.
And he collapsed at the entrance, lying there in a drunken stupor.
Those who arrived early at the village synagogue on Yom Kippur eve could not believe their eyes. Reb Shmuel? Drunk? On the eve of the holiest day? His soiled clothes, and the strong scent of alcohol that hovered about him, attested to the cause of his slumber at this early hour.
Soon the room filled to overflowing, mercifully concealing the sleeping drunk from all but those who stood in his immediate vicinity. As the sun made its dip below the horizon, a hush descended upon the crowd. Rabbi DovBer, the second Rebbe of the Chabad dynasty, entered the room and made his way to his place at the eastern wall. Psalms were recited fervently, and then, at a signal from the Rebbe, the ark was opened, and the Torah scrolls were taken out in preparation for the highly solemn Kol Nidrei service.
Even when completely drunk, a man like Reb Shmuel must have felt the importance of the Kol Nidrei moment. He rose from his slumber, stumbled his way to the Bimah, the raised reading platform in the center of the room, and he pounded on the reading table, and announced: “Ne'um attah horeisa!” Apparently, the crowded room, Torah scrolls being carried out of the open ark, seen through a drunken haze, appeared to the man as the beginning of the hakafos ceremony on the festival of Simchas Torah. That is when people holding the Torah dance around that table! The drunk was confusing the most solemn moment of the year with its most joyous and high-spirited occasion.
The scandalized crowd was about to eject the man from the room, when the Rebbe, whose holy spirit sensed and realized what had transpired throughout the day, turned from the wall and said: “Let him be. For him, it’s already time for hakafos. He’s there already.”
The Rebbe later explained: “On Rosh HaShanah we submitted to the sovereignty of Heaven and proclaimed G-d king of the universe. On Yom Kippur, we fast, pray and repent, laboring to translate our commitment to G-d into a refined past and an improved future. On the festival of Sukkos we actualize and rejoice over the attainments of the ‘Days of Awe’ through the special rituals of the festival. On Shimchas Torah, the joy reaches its climax in the dancing with the Torah.
“But Reb Shmuel passed all these ‘stations’ in one day. With his sacrifice for another, he arrived at the destination and the climax of the High Holiday season. For us, Yom Kippur was just beginning; for him, it was already Simchas Torah...”
Reb Shmuel understood what the High Priest understood, as the representative of all types of people. When standing before the Heavenly Father on His special day, there is nothing more holy than the inclusion of all types. As far as the Almighty is concerned, every element in this world, especially people, is crucial to fulfil the Divine will.
As of this writing, there is no Temple in the Holy City of Jerusalem. As part of the current structure of the prayer service of Yom Kippur, everyone reads the details of the day’s business by the High Priest in the Temple. Today, in the unfortunate absence of the Temple, everyone can be the “High Priest.”
And everyone can certainly internalize the message from this holy day: Today, even irregular and unusual looking figs can produce the sweetest and most delicious tastes.
SUMMARY: Appearances are deceiving. Even something as bitter as galbanum or as “out there” as Azazel, becomes an ingredient of elevation.
(With thanks to Chabad.org for the story)