It seemed that almost as soon as Yom Kippur was over, the sad stories began rolling in.
The unspeakable tragedy of the little girl in Israel who horrifyingly drowned in a mikveh — the door was left unlocked and she went in to play.
The teenager from Florida, a person who has inspired thousands, walking to shul with her mother for Kol Nidrei just as the holy day began, only to be hit by a car — on the spot the accident ended her mother’s life and started her battle for life, as she lies in critical condition.
Last year in our own community, a person exiting shul at the conclusion of Yom Kippur was literally struck by lightening, although thankfully in that case a happy ending ensued. And, of course, for the collective, this year marked the 40th anniversary of the Yom Kippur War.
As the ironic observation goes, death is part of life. As much as most people live in denial or fear of death, it is right there every moment within our awareness or subconscious.
Yet, there is something about a tragedy on Yom Kippur that strikes with an immediate force and haunting sense, like no other time.
At a time when we are praying for life, pleading to be written and sealed for a year of life, the angel of death is carrying on his business as usual. Just as you are making the request, repenting in prayer and making the effort to receive a good decree for the year, life is interrupted and abruptly comes to a sad, sometimes violent end. When it feels like G-d is so close, sometimes He answers you on the spot — with an answer that is emotionally devastating to all those around you.
Death is not the kind of nearness or immediacy one would ever want to experience, but just as a Yom Kippur birth heightens the feeling of closeness of G-d, by the same token so does a Yom Kippur death.
Granted, as in the heartbreaking story of the the little girl who drowned, it feels like it wasn’t G-d. It feels like it could have been avoided, had responsible behavior been in place.
Yet the timing of it happening on Yom Kippur feels like this person was singled out, even if in a cruel kind of a way.
According to the Talmud (tractate Ketubot), to die on Yom Kippur is actually considered a good sign. Yom Kippur is a kind of pure mikveh in time, and leaving this world on Yom Kippur means leaving pure, without sin, as the Day of Atonement cleanses a person.
This can beg the most difficult question of a child dying any time, since a child is always pure and free of sin. A child’s loss is always the hardest question to wrestle with.
Even without specific news of losses or tragedies that take place on Yom Kippur, the day by its very nature is a day about death, about awareness of death, about our limited time on this earth and its terminal point that will inevitably come to all of our lives. Yom Kippur reminds us that we are all going to die one day. As invincible as we might sometimes feel, Yom Kippur reminds us of our vulnerability, of the contingent nature of our existence.
There is the widespread custom to wear the white kittel on Yom Kippur, the cloak that will one day be the shrouds in which we will be buried.
Just like every encounter with death, Yom Kippur heightens our urgency for life.
Yom Kippur is a day about both dimensions, which actually are inseparable. They are one: death and life.
When we are young we take the poetic imagery of the book of life and the book of death literally. We picture G-d in the sky inking names of those we love into a physical book of life, and we tremble, hoping that no one’s name is being erased from this book.
We still have this prayer and this trembling, but as we mature we understand it is not like that. We know it is an image for us to understand the profound fatefulness of the day.
Face it. For most people, there is never a good time to die. It’s not about the day, it’s about the death. Yet something about such sad news taking place on Yom Kippur itself — including all those who died in the Yom Kippur War 40 years ago — well, I just couldn’t shake that haunting feeling.
Yom Kippur’s truest essence is the reminder, simply, of the mystery of life and death.
On a more positive note, I hope you enjoy the wonderful week of Sukkot and have a Chag Sameach.
Copyright © 2020 by the Intermountain Jewish News
