As I look up at the yellowing redwood leaves that have barely received rain since Pesach, I feel the communal introspection and repentance of Yom Kippur lingering over us. Our core prayer of Ashamnu frames each “sin,” or version of us having missed the mark, in the communal form: we have transgressed, we are guilty, we have betrayed… What a time in our world to take accountability for the harmful actions of others, especially if we’ve been actively protesting against them. How do we know what “we” we belong to? If I’m American, do I repent for all the crimes of all my fellow Americans? If I’m Jewish, do I repent for all the wrongdoings of all my fellow, worldwide Jews?
After a Bar Mitzvah I officiated a couple years ago, the teen’s dad, who did not grow up Jewish himself, said to me in awe, “I now better understand the stereotype of Jews growing up to become doctors and lawyers and successful professionals. What a nourishing process for a pre-teen to grow up in- learning to articulate their values into a speech, honing public-speaking confidence, analyzing complicated texts, feeling supported by their intergenerational community, receiving blessings for being exactly who they are.” I used to feel similarly about Yom Kippur. I used to feel like if every single human being annually held themself accountable, truly inspecting how they show up in the world and impact others, how could there be mass murder or war? Just like the B Mitzvah journey transforming a pre-teen into a more self-aware and responsible young adult, if we take Yom Kippur seriously, we cannot possibly continue to commit gargantuan crimes. We have seen the harm, felt the pain, begun healing the wounds, and are moving forward in a new light.
Yet, we share this earth with fellow Jews who pray on Yom Kippur and then continue wrongdoings. We share this earth with fellow Americans who engage in other spiritual practices and still continue their transgressions. We all of course continuously miss the mark in many ways throughout our lives, which we continue to repent for year after year. But what about life-destroying atrocities? How do we hold those this Yom Kippur?
With the Gates of Repentance open, we step into the paradox: we are each only one drop of water, yet together we form the storm. We confess “we” not to bear the weight of every harm in the world, but to honor the ways we are connected– threads that tie us to others’ actions, without letting their darkness eclipse our own hearts. As the Mishnah teaches, לא עליך המלאכה לגמר, ולא אתה בן חורין לבטל “it is not on you to finish the work of the world, nor are you free to neglect it.” Our task is to recognize not only what we have committed, but the currents we swim in, the systems we benefit from, the harm done in our name. To confess “we” is to belong– not to collapse in despair, not to excuse, but to compost what is rotting and make fertile ground for healing. Like the slow yellowing of leaves or the patient winter rain clouds waiting to fill our sky, transformation asks that we root ourselves in awareness, stay tender to the reality of the pain, and tend what we can. This Yom Kippur, may our prayers, repentance, and healing ripple beyond the sanctuary, transforming both ourselves and the world we share.
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About Your Teacher:
Rabbi Paige (Lincenberg) Lowenstein serves the Mendocino Coast Jewish Community, where she lives in the redwood forest on Pomo land. Rabbi Paige loves officiating weddings, funerals, baby namings, and other Earth-based ceremonies across Northern California. To connect with her, please flow over to rabbipaige.com
