The 355 Days of Awe

As I was going through the Yom Kippur prayer service this year, especially the sections on asking God for forgiveness, a strange thought entered my mind: Why am I looking backward instead of forward?

The easy answer is that looking back is the whole purpose of the Day of Atonement—to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past year. We’re supposed to look backward, to recognize our past mistakes and how we may have hurt others. The Yom Kippur service overflows with long lists of sins, from quirky and archaic ones to obvious and blatant ones. Whether we identify with all of them or not (“Hey, I didn’t do that one!”) the fact remains that we are accounting for our past behavior.

This is the Jewish way of offering second chances. No matter how much we may have messed up in the past, God is telling us that it’s never too late to repent and repair our ways. Yom Kippur is the Jewish Super Bowl of Second Chances. 

But there’s a flip side to that benefit, and that’s what hit me this Yom Kippur. I kept thinking: Instead of simply seeking forgiveness for past sins, shouldn’t I be more focused on how to avoid these sins in the future?

The process of repentance and forgiveness, for all of its greatness, can lull us into a subtle type of complacency. If I know I can always count on the Super Bowl of Second Chances, how careful do I really need to be during the year?

The process of repentance and forgiveness, for all of its greatness, can lull us into a subtle type of complacency. If I know I can always count on the Super Bowl of Second Chances, how careful do I really need to be during the year?

A friend of mine shared something insightful over the High Holy Days: We often assume that the most important time period in Judaism is the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But it really is the period between Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah.

We often assume that the most important time period in Judaism is the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. But it really is the period between Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah.

The point is: If the ultimate ideal in life is to create a better world and become better people, shouldn’t we work on preventing sinful and hurtful behavior throughout the year, even if we know we can count on that annual day of forgiveness?

This notion, of course, is already part of our tradition, as repentance for past sins also means committing to repair future behavior. That idea, though, can easily get lost on a day that revolves so much around seeking forgiveness so we will be inscribed in the Book of Life. 

There’s also human nature. After a very long day, culminating in the Ne’ila prayer when we open the gates of Heaven for a final appeal to the Almighty, we are drained. We are exhausted. We feel cleansed. By then, we are more than ready to move on, break the fast and prepare for the festivities of Sukkot and Simchat Torah.

That is the natural trap with annual events—they trigger a “see you next year” tendency. But if we keep the crucial time period between Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah embedded in our consciousness, we’ll be less likely to move on, and more likely to focus on moving forward better. 

Annual events should not be confused with annual closure. Moral lessons have no closure. Our tradition has sustained our people for millennia by teaching us to internalize the lessons of each holiday into our daily lives. Maybe that’s why Shabbat is considered the holiest day of all—it serves as a weekly reminder to carry with us at all times those annual lessons.

In her column this week, Rabbi and Cantor Eva Robbins reflects on the special, end-of-year Torah reading at Simchat Torah, and how the last letter of the year connects to the first: 

“The last letter of Torah is a ‘lamed’ and the first letter of Torah is a ‘bet.’ Like a never-ending circle, the last letter joins with the first forming the word ‘lev’ which is a heart. The Torah is like a heart, pumping life into each person who engages with it.” 

Perhaps that’s a good way of looking at those 355 “Days of Awe” between Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah—as a communal heart that keeps beating with everyday lessons, including the lesson to dance with joyful abandon on Simchat Torah.