Yom Kippur and Me

Once or twice a year, on High Holy Days, I take a break from my usual silly self and get all religious on my Facebook page. Here is that post.

Rosh Hashanah is often known as the "Jewish New Year," although it's kinda sorta not technically. It is a day (or two) of celebrating endings and beginnings.

Ten days later is Yom Kippur, or Day of Atonement, which you could most easily associate with Judgment Day. The period of time between these two is commonly known as the Days of Awe, in which there is a tradition of serious introspection and repentance--in other words, of getting yourself ready for Judgment Day.

All religions and faiths have rituals and holy days of one sort or another, and for every ritual and every faith there are people who say that you have the date wrong, or the ritual wrong, or that the thing should be scrapped entirely. Others say that improper observance of exactly the right rituals is practically a capital offense. I find that whenever you have two diametrically opposed views, the truth is almost always somewhere in the middle, and this is no exception.

Rituals have their place. They help to focus our minds, and instill remembrance, which are good things. They only become bad when we place the importance of the ritual above that of human beings, or the technical details of observance above what is happening in our own hearts. In other words, they are made for us, and not we for them.

In short, I think that observing the holy days is HUGELY important. But at the end of the day, I don't actually think that God gives a flying leap whether or not you eat pork or dip apples in honey, because he's too busy being concerned about whether or not you love your neighbor. All rituals have a point.

If I were to choose the one thing that people of all faiths need right now, it would be their own Days of Awe. All of us, including atheists, have an outwardly-focused faith. If you were to ask a random Christian in the US what their biggest religious issues were, I'd guess there's a greater than 50% chance that you'd hear about gay marriage or abortion--and this statement would undoubtably come from someone who was neither gay nor considering an abortion. Ask a Muslim in Saudi Arabia, and you might hear something about lack of conservative dress or the consumption of alcohol, from someone who was dressed conservatively and never drank.

The point is that all over the world, religious people are obsessed with what everyone else is doing, and the majority of their religious energy is focused on stopping them.

Yom Kippur is a yearly reminder that WE are judged. When we stand before God, His questions to us will be about our own hearts and our own actions, and I guarantee He won't be saying that we weren't hateful enough toward sinners, or didn't do enough to make sure those around us were repentant. He will want to know if we loved enough. If we gave enough away. If we were more concerned about whether or not someone had abused their welfare payments than we were about whether or not they had enough to eat.

Here's the kicker: He's going to ask me the same things.

Look at the huge irony of this post. I've just said that what all of you intolerant jerks need is more time of self-reflection and to focus on getting your own house in order.

This is my own greatest fault and, yes, sin.

Last year, I did an experiment with myself. I decided that for one week, I would focus ONLY on myself. I would listen to sermons and think only "how can I be doing better" and never, ever, "Yeah, you tell them, that's exactly what they need to hear." I would read scriptures and think only of how they applied to me. I would remember that the sentence "I hate intolerant jackasses" is ironic, and try to feel only love for those with opposing viewpoints--after all, don't I fault them for the same thing?

I discovered that I can't do it. I can't make it a single day. I might be able to make it a few hours if I avoided all human contact and distracted myself by playing cards or something. But I can't do it.

Yes, the world needs Days of Awe, but far more importantly, *I* need Days of Awe. Yom Kippur is a yearly reminder that *I* am judged. *I* have to stand in front of God and answer for MY heart and MY actions. You'd think that of the 52 weeks in a year, I'd be able to work on my own house for just one, but it turns out that I just might be the most intolerant jackass of them all.

So here's to another year of utter and complete Days of Awe failure. But, you know, maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe when I stand before God, the best thing I can have in my heart is an awareness and acceptance of my own frailty.