There are two energies in the Yom Kippur service.
The one, a human energy, is epitomized by the viduy (confession), the lengthy listing of our wrongdoings which we repeat throughout the day. This is the bulk of the middle of the service, us in our very human messiness.
The other energy. a divine energy, is epitomized by the recitation of the 13 attributes of divine mercy. Hashem, Hashem kel rachum vechanun. Hashem, Hashem, O God who is the same loving, steady God before and after we make a mistake, never leaving us for our failures, O God of great mercy and grace, ever patient and full of love and commitment and truth. This intonation of God’s essence we call out again and again in the beginning of our Yom Kippur journey, in Maariv, and then again at the very end, in Neilah, the two ends creating a frame of divine grace for all that human imperfection in the middle.
A frame of divine grace. In this essay, I’d like to enter into that frame with you, to explore what it might feel like to truly allow ourselves to be held in that loving, forgiving embrace.
Our Human Errors
Maybe starting on the human side, bringing to mind a time you felt you did something not quite right, that there was envy or control or judgment or competition or ego or dishonesty in you, and you spoke or behaved in a way that didn’t feel good even in your own body, and perhaps caused some harm to others as well. We try so hard to be good, to do it all right, to be better, to be loving and kind and patient with others and with ourselves, and somehow we are still here, year after year, maybe a little more aware, a little more open and caring, but still fundamentally human – flawed and imperfect, still reciting the same al het’s.
How God Does Not Meet Us – With A Reassuring Lie
What God offers us in that experience is not reassurance that we did not err. That might be our own tendency with a friend or inside ourselves sometimes, to say: Oh, you didn’t really do anything wrong. You weren’t really being controlling or judgmental or competitive or dishhonest or arrogant, you’re only ever full of love and truth and kindness. But no, that isn’t what God offers us. And I’m glad. Because it wouldn’t feel honest. Nor would it really help us.
On the contrary, to be told – oh, no, you’re not at all flawed, everything you do or say is just right – to be comforted in that way actually puts enormous pressure on us to maintain a standard that we simply cannot meet. As if we must indeed be perfect, as if it is unthinkable that we be wrong, as if it matters so much that we be good, that we do it right, as if our lives depend on it, as if our belovedness depends on it. So much pressure, pressure that we do often feel quite strongly, the pressure to do it all just right, the weight of an impossible perfection, so heavy, like bricks on our shoulders sometimes.
How God Does Meet Us – With Loving Honesty
So no, that is not what God offers us. God does not say – you didn’t make a mistake. Instead, God meets our imperfection with loving honesty. Hesed ve’emet. Both love and emet, truth. Not a soft soppy love that denies the reality of your human struggles and failures, but no, a much firmer love that is girded in truth, the truth of how things are for you, the truth of your flaws and errors right alongside your high soaring spirit and inherent goodness. These errors in you do not need to be denied in order for God to love you. They can be brought into the light of day, out of the shame of hiding, they can be spoken into a room full of people and you will still be accepted and cherished.
This emet, this truth, this invitation to be honest, is such a gift. It is the gift of permission, permission to be real, to be a mess, not to have it all worked out, not to be right, not to be more spiritual or loving than the next person, just to be a poor beggar alongside other poor beggars. God says to us on Yom Kippur, not – you are actually perfect. But – it’s ok that you are imperfect. I love you anyway, always, just as you are. There is so much relief in that.
God’s Secret Joke: Grace
Here is how I imagine it. It’s like God – Hashem, Hashem, the God of steadiness, ever the same – it’s like that God is gazing steadily at you with intense love. Meanwhile you are flailing about like a small child, crying in distress and telling God all the things that upset you about yourself. I didn’t do this right, and I said the wrong thing there, and I’m so judgmental and distracted all the time, our fist hitting our chest again and again. And all through this litany God is looking at you and nodding and saying – yes, yes, that’s true, you are like that sometimes, taking you seriously, but also smiling with a twinkle in the eye, almost laughing, like God has a secret joke. God does have a secret joke – it is grace. It is the capacity to make room for a thousand errors and still stay steady and loving. That’s God’s secret joke.
Yes, yes, that’s all true, you are flawed like that, God agrees, still smiling. Meanwhile, you keep going, bringing out more and more evidence against yourself, almost like you are testing God. What if I tell you this? Will you still sit there so calmly, will you still look at me so kindly and tenderly? We bring out more and more, a whole alphabet of al het’s – let it all come out now for you, everything that you feel bad about, reveal it all, tell it all, release, be honest – I wish I were different, you say, and I know that I am also too harsh with myself but I can’t stop that either, I’m just such a mess sometimes, and I made these mistakes as a parent or friend or counsellor, on and on. God is so exquisitely still, so calm and still, in response to all of this. No change in God’s demeanor at all, receiving it all and still smiling with care and humor, and maybe even some pride. You’re doing great. That’s all I want, God says, for you to be honest. To be honest about what went wrong.
Loving you still, always, forever, steady in it, whatever you bring. Take in that gaze of God’s, that steadiness, wrap yourself up in it. You cannot lose it. Let it hold you and love you so unconditionally, and with such fondness and honesty, knowing you so well, nothing hidden and somehow still loved. If only you knew the truth about me, we think. Well, God does know, and God is still right here with you.
Taking Off The Pressure
I wonder if you can feel the permission, the release, the honesty, how it frees you from the pressure to always be right and do the right thing. It frees you to admit things. It’s ok, you can just be human, just be yourself. We think we have to be extraordinary, but maybe it’s enough just to be an ordinary human and be honest about it. It’s like divine grace takes all that pressure – all those bricks – off your shoulders so you can move around more freely, growing and learning and trying new things without fear.
Grace is the space to make mistakes. Maybe breathing that in, breathing some of that space in, a big breath that opens up your chest – grace is the space to make mistakes.
Becoming Like God, Full of Grace
And when we make space for our own mistakes, we also make space for the mistakes and flaws of others. We become, like God, hanun, full of grace.. Those 13 attributes of God we keep reciting, they are not just outside us, but also inside us. We are also describing ourselves, our own divine potential. We, too, are capable of grace, of holding space for mistakes, of allowing people to just be people with all their crazy quirks, loving them and ourselves through it all.
The energy of grace is so expansive. Once I touch into it for myself, I touch into it for everyone.. It is always to be shared. It’s like we are saying to each other: let’s make a deal – I don’t have to do this right and neither do you. Ok? I don’t have to be a perfect parent and you don’t have to be a perfect child. I don’t have to be a perfect writer and you don’t have to be a perfect reader. Lots of space, lots of permission, lots of allowing, less rigidity and worry and pressure. It’s like we are all sitting together in an ocean of grace, all held aloft there by the same divine energy, all forgiven and all forgiving, nodding and making space for each other’s idiosyncratic imperfections, like God, staying with each other, continuing to love without reason.
Our Usual Blame Game
This energy is so different from how we normally are with one another, so often playing the blame game. Judging, blaming, arguing, defending. It’s your fault. You’re wrong. I’m right. Blame is the opposite of grace. Sometimes we can’t even remember what it is we are arguing about, but the feeling is there, the feeling of needing to be right, to prove it, to justify ourselves, to prove they were at fault, the feeling of me vs you, of defending our egos, of putting up walls. Do we want to live alone in the blame game or together in the ocean of grace? What if we could feel that it was ok to be wrong? Like really ok, to know it won’t hurt us, but on the contrary, it will heal us, it will heal us to be allowed to be wrong. And what if it turns out there is no right or wrong at all in this ocean of grace, just a sea of caring, forgiveness and compassion wiping it all clean? We’ve wasted so much energy on who is right. Maybe releasing some of the tension around holding your position, allowing your defenses to begin to dissolve in the water and lying down together in God’s infinite spacious ocean, no one right or wrong, all of us flawed humans.
Inhabiting Grace
The movement on Yom Kippur is not just towards receiving God’s grace, but also towards inhabiting it in your own body, feeling it as an ever expanding spaciousness inside you, room for human error and failure, room for others in their difference, room for yourself as you are right now, room for free flowing love and compassion for no reason, without being right or wrong or deserving it, letting God inhabit you in this way, becoming, like God, hanun, full of grace, that energy flowing through you, steady, loving, forgiving, generous, unstinting. That is who God is and that is who you are.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto at Pexels
