Here’s the problem: This Yom Kippur, as in years past, huge numbers of Jews will say words they don’t believe. Some will think about that for a fleeting moment, then go with the flow. Others, particularly those not in synagogue, will have already made their views clear.
Indeed, in various ways this coming Day of Atonement, synagogue-goers will privately, and in unison, acknowledge sins before God while petitioning for forgiveness, health and success. Underlying it all is a belief that God will reward those who are righteous, or who follow Judaism’s broad ethical and specific ritual commandments.
It’s not a concept limited to Yom Kippur. Regular worshippers often chant these words of Psalm 92:
The righteous shall flourish as the palm tree,
Growing mighty as the cedar of Lebanon
To praise the Lord for His Justice,
Our Rock, in whom there is no unrighteousness.
It’s a lovely poetic thought, similar to those conjured in the rest of our remarkable liturgy. Is it acceptable? Can it be when my cousin died so young of cancer so many years ago? Can it be when my friend’s sister, before she turned 10, was struck dead by a hit-and-run driver?
And then there’s the Holocaust. Were the victims all not righteous in their way? Was this their reward? I do not seek to confuse innocence with righteousness, but rather feel that they blend in such cases.
The theme is not new. Rabbi Harold Kushner made a national sensation of it a few years ago in the best-selling book “When Bad Things Happen To Good People.” But it left me unsatisfied. It acknowledged pain but did not give a lasting answer to what must be an always-evolving response.
Some people answer the concern this way: The reward of the righteous will be granted in Heaven. Sorry, unacceptable. Those left to struggle with loss — which means all of us — are decidedly not focused on post-life reward.
Then there’s this answer: Who are we to understand God’s infinitely complex reasons? True enough, but still not enough. After all, we hold humans responsible for their actions. Why not God?
It’s a question that deserves vastly more attention than this column, but a thought that does not receive enough contemplation. As we begin to wrestle with it, we must acknowledge the problem of how accepting Jews are of their tradition. We don’t fight with it enough — which actually is part of the tradition.
But that does not solve our problem. As we head back to synagogue for Yom Kippur, many of us do so out of habit. After all, it’s what Jews do. Certainly some do so out of commandment.
This year, I hope all of us struggle with the eternal nature of what we read. The many renditions of essentially a few themes are there for a reason — to give us different ways in which to relate to the message.
So this Yom Kippur, take a few minutes to ignore the services. Take one prayer whose melody you like; pore over its English translation. What do you think it’s supposed to mean? Do you buy it? If not, wrestle with it. We all have existential questions. Now is the time to return to them. They, too, are part of the Jewish experience.
As for my dilemma, I have arrived with an acceptable answer — likely to change by this time next year: The righteous are not rewarded in this lifetime, but their ideas triumph.
We see it decades later as Nazis, well into their 80s and 90s, are still hunted down and, as a result, the world sets up tribunals for crimes against humanity in other conflicts. We see it as a century of Jewish-Arab hatred takes hesitant, and at times violent, steps down a vastly long path of reconciliation. We see it with the demise of communism, an ideology that murdered millions.
And we see it in the dawn of a new Christian millennium in which a remarkable pope, in the twilight of his reign, begins an era of once unthinkable theological reconciliation. And most important, we see it in how we cherish the sweet memories of those no longer here.
It is all justice, even though none of it will be fully understood in our lifetime. And this Yom Kippur, it brings me comfort.