Rabbi Ain’s Yom Kippur Sermon 5784/2023
Yom Kippur 2023
Remembering and Honoring the Sacrifice
Rabbi Rachel Ain, Sutton Place Synagogue
4000 years ago last week, Abraham bound his son Isaac to an altar, and in place of sacrificing him, sacrificed a ram, but at that moment, introduced us to the impossible choices that have faced our people through the generations.
3000 years ago 600,000 souls stood at Sinai and embraced what it meant to be Jewish. They bound themselves to one another and to God, not knowing quite yet what it would mean to be a part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, but learning soon, that it would mean traveling on a journey with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
50 years ago, 2,656 Israeli soldiers were killed and 12,000 injured in the Yom Kippur war. Nearly 300 IDF soldiers were taken prisoner of war, and later exchanged for Egyptian and Syrian POWs.
22 years ago 2,996 were murdered on Sept 11.
5 years ago 11 “regulars” were murdered in Pittsburgh at the Tree of Life Congregation, just for going to synagogue.
In 2009, the musician Leonard Cohen, stood in Israel, and sang for those young men and women who, now in their 70 and 80ss, had been on the front lines on Yom Kippur in 1973. At that moment, the stadium was quiet. “Cohen raise his hands and parted his fingers. He switched from English to Hebrew. Not the new Hebrew of the tel aviv streets but the archaic language of the synagogue and the diaspora, of the old men at the gate of heaven, the language of the priests, the 15 words that comprise the Priestly Blessing. He blessed the people and left the stage.
WOW.
The image of Leonard Cohen blessing these Israelis, those who served and remembered those days of 1973, recalling the words of the priestly blessing, is deeply profound. At that moment, he transformed those soldiers from warriors to priests, acting on behalf of the people, literally holding them, holding us, on their shoulders as they bore the burden and memory of those fateful days of the Yom Kippur war.
And today, we recall those who have sacrificed for the Jewish people, and for each of us.
We recall our loved ones who birthed us, raised us, lived beside us, loved us, looked up to us, cared for us. We think about what it means to sacrifice and what it means to remember.
I have been spending a lot of time reflecting on the meaning of the Yom Kippur war, a war that many don’t want to talk about because, unlike the 6 day war in 1967 there wasnt a sense of euphoria, there was, at best, once the cease fire came in 1973, a sense of relief, and at worst, a sense of regret, and maybe even some shame.
This summer, the film “Golda” was released, a movie, that, in my estimation, worked to redeem her leadership legacy from how some might have seen her, and reminded us of who is constantly being asked to sacrifice for us. Sometimes it is our leaders but often it is our people, the regular people amongst us.
In Golda, there was a second message-not just the redemption of her legacy but a sense of gratitude and dedication to those who were killed.
Throughout the movie, Golda Meir’s character kept writing the numbers of the dead and I believe she learned their names. It was a hint towards the Unetaneh Tokef prayer itself, where we are told that we walk, one by one, before God, each of us, an individual at this liminal moment. Each of our loved ones mattered and she wouldn’t forget the people who sacrificed
She remembered their stories-She cried alongside them. Because Israel’s children were her children. She was mourning them.
In the book Who By Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Sinai by Matti Friedman, there is a recounting of the incredible and quite frankly bizarre story that Leonard Cohen was in the Sinai during the war, with various Israeli troops. The book recalls not only his movements but his deep understanding of Jewish tradition as a timeless text, and how it was speaking to this very moment as the themes of the Unetaneh Tokef which begs the question, who will live and who will die, who by fire who by water, were coming into a tragic clear focus.
In it, Friedman teaches us about these young people-He speaks of Ruti and Pnina, and Orly. He describes a picture of a soldier named Doron who was moody an had an unmilitary mop of black hair that threw shade over his eyes. Doron wrote dark teenage poetry about a girl he longed for. Doron grew up poor in Haifa, after his parents escaped the country called “The Holocaust.” (Where are your parents from? From the Holocaust. These were the first generation of native Israelis-not tortured, not a minority, not religious, not exactly Jews, but creatures sprung from sunlight and saltwater. As Friedman painted the picture for the readers, we read: On the morning of Yom Kippur, Ruti didn’t make it to the airfield’s synagogue; she had slept in late with her boyfriend. She didn’t hear Unetaneh tokef. But the siren went off, a siren that all Israelis know, a moan that starts low, clenches your stomach than climbs in tone for two or three seconds, giving you time to realize that something bad is happening and to wonder what is going to mean to you. She was standing outside when the engines screamed toward her. She remembers that Doron was there and it was the last time she saw him….There was a description of the 600th brigade, a granular account of one unit’s nightmare in the Sinai. When the shooting stopped and the desert fell silent, everyone could hear an eerie wailing, like a ram’s horn. Only then did Shlomi look over and see the armored personnel carrier smoking atop the rise. Saul from Beersheva was slumped over the horn. That was a terrible sound. Eitan’s body was in the back, and Katz, the religious officer had lost most of his blood by the time a helicopter landed. Shlomi wrestled Saul’s body out of the driver’s seat, and the horn stopped. In the midst of it all, no one heard the Book of Jonah or Neilah. That year, it was the day that never ended.
In Leonard Cohen’s song, Who By Fire, written after his time in the Sinai, he composed the following
Lyrics
And who by fire, who by water
Who in the sunshine, who in the night time
Who by high ordeal, who by common trial
Who in your merry merry month of may
Who by very slow decay
And who shall I say is calling?
And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate
Who in these realms of love, who by something blunt
Who by avalanche, who by powder
Who for his greed, who for his hunger
And who shall I say is calling?
And who by brave assent, who by accident
Who in solitude, who in this mirror
Who by his lady's command, who by his own hand
Who in mortal chains, who in power
And who shall I say is calling?
Who is calling? Who will die? Who will remember? What are they dying for?
There were many telling lines in the movie Golda, but certainly, her exhortation to Henry Kissinger over a bowl of borscht was profound: Kissinger tells Meir that he is an American first, secretary of state second, and only third a Jew. Meir replies, “You forget in Israel we read from right to left.
She wanted to show him and the director wanted to remind us, the viewers, that there have been people willing to sacrifice for us and we need to understand what that means.
As we sit here together, in the diaspora, with a bond to Israel that is sometimes hard to maintain, in both directions, we need to think about who was lost then, and how we understand what it means to live and die today. Who has sacrificed for us? And as we think about our life, who will we sacrifice for? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for? This is the question that I believe people ask to live each day. We know that people would die for Israel, but I also want people to live for Israel…even when it is hard.; So how do we understand what this has meant in the past and the present?
On a recent podcast “for heaven’s sake”- episode which was debating the attacks on the IDF from various sides, Yossi Klein Halevi reminded us of a very important message- ”You think you become an Israeli when you enter the army…you really become an israeli when your children enter the army.
That led to a very profound question was really the one that bore the brunt of the akedah? The ram. At the end of the day, it was the ram that was sacrificed to save the others-while we sound the shofar in both appreciation and hope that it would be a ram sacrificed in lieu of us, we must remember that often people are sacrificed because of the choices of others. In the mids of parents arguing, it is the children who hear things; In the midst of war, there is collateral damage and civilians are killed; in the midst of the government and protestors arguing, there are soldiers caught in the crossfire. So can today be a day that we pay tribute to those who have given of themselves, to us and for us?
With this in mind I have been thinking about the writing of my friend, Debbie, who just watched her daughter, enlist in the IDF. In an opinion piece called-
Pride tinged with fear: Being an IDF parent, she writes,
I moved to Israel 23 years ago. I'm a Jewish educator. What more could I want than my daughter serving our country? Guaranteed safety would be nice
I had created the illusion for myself that I wouldn’t have to worry. My daughter is in the Education Corps of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). She’s not a combat soldier…
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. The illusion that I wouldn’t have to worry disappeared in an instant on Friday afternoon when my daughter called home to tell me where she would be stationed for the next year or two…
“Chatmar Yehuda” she excitedly told me, minutes after receiving the assignment from her commander. Talking a mile a minute, she raved at what a great placement this is for her and started telling me about it.
But I barely heard a word because somewhere towards the beginning of her verbal sprint, she mentioned that this base is located next to Hevron (Hebron). And just like that, this is nothing like summer camp anymore….
The conversation with my daughter only lasted four minutes, so I didn’t have to say much as I held my breath and tried not to cry.
Hanging up the phone, I rushed over to talk to my neighbors who grew up near Hevron, seeking some kind of reassurance. It came in the form of promises that their family in nearby Kiryat Arba would make sure my daughter was looked after.
I also avoided speaking to my mother on Friday, and instead sent a vague message saying that my daughter would be somewhere south of Jerusalem (technically true, but clearly not the whole truth. Sorry, Mom). I understood I needed some time to digest the news before I dealt with anyone else’s fears. I also decided I wouldn’t share my anxieties with my daughter, not wanting to cause her any stress, and instead I chose to simply be supportive.
So much for that plan. It became clear that my neighbors’ daughter outed me shortly after I left their house when I got my daughter’s text, saying, “I heard you’re afraid for my life.”
…
As I tried to process my feelings, I reminded myself that I’m not alone. Parents all over the country are feeling what I’m feeling — pride tinged with fear. Seeing our children give of themselves selflessly for the sake of all of us, full of motivation and enthusiasm, is simply inspiring and I think we use that to help us through… because my anxiety dissipated over shabbat. The pride doesn’t fade.
As my daughter embarks on her new position, I pray that her light continues to outshine my fear and that she always return home safely.
Me too, Debbie, me too.
As we remember the losses from 1948 1967, and certainly 1973, I recall the famous poem by one of Israel’s “National Poets,” Natan Alterman.
The Silver Platter
Natan Alterman
And the land grows still, the red eye of the sky slowly dimming over smoking frontiers
As the nation arises, Torn at heart but breathing, To receive its miracle, the only miracle
As the ceremony draws near, it will rise, standing erect in the moonlight in terror and joy
When across from it will step out a youth and a lass and slowly march toward the nation
Dressed in battle gear, dirty, Shoes heavy with grime, they ascend the path quietly
To change garb, to wipe their brow
They have not yet found time. Still bone weary from days and from nights in the field
Full of endless fatigue and unrested,
Yet the dew of their youth. Is still seen on their head
Thus they stand at attention, giving no sign of life or death
Then a nation in tears and amazement
will ask: "Who are you?"
And they will answer quietly, "We Are the silver platter on which the Jewish state was given."
Thus they will say and fall back in shadows
And the rest will be told In the chronicles of Israel
It is hard to approach these days of the holiday, which always falls on the heels of the attacks on 9/11 and not reflect, momentarily, on that as well.
This year, for the first time that I can recall, I read the transcript of the call between Todd Beamer who was on flight 93 and a 911 operator while he was in air. The terror in his voice is clear even from just the words. His care and concern and wishes for his family is paramount. And, because of the access that he has to her, he learns that the other three planes were used as weapons as they had already crashed into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon and that his plane had just changed course as it was heading towards DC. These are the final words of the recording are the following that Todd says to the operator on the other end of the phone- on the other end of the phone:
We’re not going to make it out of here. Listen to me….I want you to hear this….I have talked with the others….we have decided we would not be pawns in these hijackers suicidal plot. Lisa: Todd, what are you going to do? Todd: We’ve hatched a plan. Four of us are going to rush the hijacker with the bomb. After we take him out, we’ll break into the cockpit. A stewardess is getting some boiling water to throw on the hijackers at the controls. We’ll get them….and we’ll take them out. Lisa, …..will you do one last thing for me? Lisa: Yes…What is it? Todd: Would you pray with me? They pray…Todd: (softer) God help me…Jesus help me….(clears throat and louder) Are you guys ready?…….. Let’s Roll
HOW DO WE REMEMBER THOSE WHO HAVE SACRIFICED FOR US? Those in Israel. Those on the planes. Those first responders. People who gave of themselves so that we could be who we are?
The late Rabbi Howard Schulweis wrote with regard to Yizkor:
Looking backward, we recall our ancestry.
Looking forward, we confront our destiny.
Looking backward, we reflect on our origins.
Looking forward, we choose our path.
Remembering that we are a tree of life, not letting go, holding on, and holding to, we walk into an unknown, beckoning future,
With our past beside us.
At Yizkor, we think of those who have passed on and we have to ask ourselves, what did those, who we personally remember, sacrifice for us? Did they fight in wars so that we could live more freely? Did they work day and night in order to provide us with education? Did they ensure our safety-both physically and mentally? How do we honor their sacrifices and what are we willing to sacrifice? How will we be remembered?
As we now prepare to recite yizkor, we have within us, the souls from Sinai, the victims of the Shoah, the men and women in israel, those murdered in pittsburgh who got some closure this summer, the individuals murdered 22 years ago on 9/11, and our loved ones. They are with us. They hold up our arms when we need balance. They move our feet when we need direction. They sit in our hearts when we might be feeling down. And now, our head and our mouths recall them, as we bring them, their memory, their love, and their influence to this very moment.
May the memories of your loved ones be a blessing.
