Kol Nidre 5785: “A Resilient People is Built on Yom Kippur and Throughout the Year”
● Yosif Zeadna, a Bedouin Israeli from the Negev, was one of the heroes of October 7th. The night before, he had driven a group down to the Nova music festival. After dropping them off at 1:00 am, he headed home to get some sleep. Then his phone exploded with messages a little after 6:00 am, after the rockets and first incursions of the Hamas massacre had begun. His “customers,” some of whom he has known since he had driven them to school in first grade, were begging him to come back and save them. Yosif threw on his shorts and shirt, hopped into his mini-bus, and headed back to rescue them.
Yosif, an Israeli Bedouin from the Negev, saved around thirty lives and survived to tell his story. Before telling his story to the authors of One Day in October: Forty Heroes, Forty Stories, Yosif made a statement that I want to share with you.
Usually Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is just for Jews, but in my opinion, from now on, October 7th – that black Sabbath – should be turned into a day like Yom Kippur. A Yom Kippur for all Israelis, not just Jews! It should be for anyone who lives and breathes in the State of Israel – Arabs, Bedouins, Christians, Druze, or Jews – because we all went through it together; it’s everyone’s story…
Yosif makes three key points. First, he urges that October 7th be commemorated each year with the seriousness of Yom Kippur, and using a Jewish spiritual lens, despite his being Muslim.
Second, he emphasizes that the tragedy of October 7th affected all Israelis—–Arabs, Bedouins, Christians, Druze, Baha’is, and Jews alike. In doing so he makes a strong claim to “Israeli identity” when he explains why “…because we all went through it together; it’s everyone’s story…”
Lastly, he implies that the national observance must be inclusive, uniting all of these Israeli communities in remembrance of their shared experience.
Yosif’s words, and those of the other thirty-nine heroes in this book, many of whom are Jews, give us hope. These forty stories are all inspiring. And I know there are so many more stories of heroism from October 7th and every day since. These stories and so many others call out to us. They show us that Israel and those who live there are no longer defined by victimhood. These heroes’ stories remind us of the strength, beauty and courage of Israelis who stand for life and all of its blessings, even in the face of cold, dark, sociopathic hatred.
Our question is not if Israel and the Jewish people will make it through this crisis. Our question is how our people’s resilience will guide us through this crisis. We know this from our own story. Throughout our over three thousand years of history, we have had times when we flourished and times when we were under pressure, squeezed in a narrow space. One way or another, we always find a way to move forward.
Please do not mistake my confidence that our people will persevere in this crisis with naivete or with some sort of overly sunny optimism. Just like that famous protest song “We Shall Overcome” expressed the belief of civil rights protesters in the righteousness of their cause and their conviction that they would one day win, we too shall overcome this crisis just as we have done in the past.
Our history is a tapestry of countless stories, woven across many lands, where our people first thrived, then endured persecution, and ultimately found the strength to persevere. My confidence is rooted in our people’s incredible record of resilience throughout history.
Our people have faced every form of tyranny and oppression. We have been dispossessed from some of the wealthiest countries in the world. The comedian Robin Williams told a story about being on tour in Germany. One of his fans was heaping praise on him and wondered out loud why there were no German comedians who were as funny as him? Robin’s lightning quick response was “because you killed them all.” Germany might not have many comedians, but the Jewish people do.
Even the horror of the Shoa did not stop our people from finding a way forward.Our ability to reflect on, and yes, even to interject humor into our retelling of history, isn’t a sign of defeat; it’s a declaration of victory. From our earliest days, Torah and Tradition have guided us to “choose life” — “U’vacharta BaChayim.” While our enemies glorify death, we celebrate life, and that’s the foundation of our strength. We endure, rebuild, and thrive. And then we, or our children or grandchildren, return to places like Poland or Germany and observe the difference our absence has made. We don’t let hate or despair take our hearts or souls. This is a part of the story we all share. It is a part of what makes us the most resilient people in the world.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l eloquently explains how our Jewish story shapes us into resilient people. “Other nations told stories that celebrated their strength. They built palaces and castles as expressions of invincibility. The Jewish people were different. They carried with them a story about the uncertainties and hazards of history. They spoke of their ancestors’ journey through the wilderness without homes, houses, or protection against the elements. It is a story of spiritual strength, not military strength.”
Rabbi Sacks is teaching us that resilience isn’t accidental; it’s built. The Jewish people are resilient because Judaism shapes us to be so. And once again, science backs up what our tradition has taught for millenia. In a longitudinal study of children directly impacted by the terrorist attacks of 9/11, doctors found that “the ones who knew more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning they could moderate the effects of stress.” Why does knowing where your grandmother went to school help a child overcome something as minor as a skinned knee or as major as a terrorist attack? The doctor said that children who have the most self-confidence have what we call a strong “intergenerational self.” They know they belong to something bigger than themselves. And that is one of the things that Judaism does so well, it builds strong, intergenerational selves in us and in our children.
In his own way, Yosif, the Bedouin Israeli hero we began with, is teaching us the same lesson when he calls for the commemoration of October 7th to be a Yom Kippur-like observance for all Israelis. He recognizes the need to bind the community of Israelis—all Israelis– together through a shared story as they commemorate each year the horrors of that terrible day.
Our Jewish story is the recipe for this resilience. A recipe in a cookbook is useless if left unopened on the shelf. Our story’s power to impact our lives is realized when we know our Jewish story, live it, and celebrate it together in community. This is what Achad HaAm really meant when he said “More than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people.” Shabbat gives us each the opportunity to know our Jewish story, to live our Jewish story, and to celebrate our Jewish story! Shabbat is a day when we read and study our Jewish story that begins with the Torah, continues through our other sacred books, and is still being written each day.
Shabbat also gives us the opportunity to live out our story. Rabbi Heschel taught us, “Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time.” No matter how frazzled a week I have had, every Shabbat, when I bless my children, I sense the connection to every single Shabbat before that one since they were born. In that moment I become instantaneously attuned to holiness in time. As a people, we mark the most significant moments of our lives by our Torah-reading schedule. One question that nearly every bar or bat mitzvah can answer is “What was your parasha?”
And when we do Shabbat right, we celebrate our story with family, friends, and community. Just look around the Shabbat dinner table, or the Kiddush table here at lunch. What Achad HaAm actually meant was that more than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept our people Jewish.
Knowing our story, living our story, and celebrating our story are each key to building our resilience. This is how Shabbat has kept our people Jewish. And each of our major holidays does the same. On Pesach we re-live our people’s story of redemption. On Shavuot we re-enact our people’s moment of God’s revelation. Each Sukkot we re-build our Sukkot, dwelling in shelters like Israelites, as we re-live our ancestors’ arduous journey to Eretz Yisrael, the promised land.
But what about Yom Kippur? Tonight is Kol Nidre, what are we doing here? What is our task? How will it help us strengthen our resilience? On our other holidays we re-live, re-experience and re-build. On Yom Kippur we return.
This is the meaning of the word Teshuva, which we often translate as repentance or atonement. In the days before Yom Kippur, our tradition teaches us to think about our relationships with other people. Which relationships feel more difficult than they should? In which friendships and family relationships do we feel an alienation that didn’t used to be there? Who do we feel more distant from, who once was very close? Through this reflection, we are meant to take ownership for actions we have taken or failed to take that led to or contributed to this alienation. Then, recognizing our part in this interpersonal equation, we are told to make amends and seek their forgiveness. The approach of Yom Kippur spurs us to heal the alienation that we experience from other people, yet this is not the sole purpose of Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur we also seek to heal the alienation we feel from God.
Though we use the same words, Teshuva or Atonement, it is not always easy to recognize how they apply to our relationship with God. Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel, in his work Orot Teshuva Lights of Return helps us understand what Teshuva with God is all about.
When we forget the essence of our own soul… everything becomes confused and in doubt.
The primary teshuva, that which immediately lights the darkness, is when a person returns to himself, to the root of his soul – then he will immediately return to God, to the soul of all souls.”
We recognize the need for Teshuva with other people by paying attention to the distance we feel from people we want to or should feel closer to. Teshuva with God is different. We recognize the need for Teshuva with God by recognizing the distance we feel from the essence of our own soul. We return to God when we return to ourselves.
This idea is simplified and made memorable by a teaching of my Rabbi Alan Lew z”l. He liked to point out that the word atonement can also be divided into three. Atonement can also be pronounced as At One Ment – being one with ourselves and our God. Rav Kook and Rabbi Lew teach us that atonement is about returning to being one, one with the essence of our souls, one with our best nature, one with our mission, and that is how we make ourselves one with God. Yom Kippur is how we return to our story once we finally realize we have strayed.
I love Rabbi Lew’s teaching because it also points to the true nature of Yom Kippur. Yes it is a hard day. And yes, no sane person would engage in all of its traditions if it did not lead the way to something better. Who would do all of these things if it didn’t help us find comfort and solace in a life that is full of ups and downs, happiness and pain?
How do we find solace through the work of Yom Kippur? The poet David Whyte tells us that this solace is found by asking ourselves penetrating questions in hard times. Our tradition guides us every year on Yom Kippur to find solace in the coming year by fasting as we meditate and ponder the fragility of life. Yom Kippur is meant to create for us the “hard time, or difficult moment” in which we ask ourselves challenging questions about our life.
This year is clearly different. The liturgy and spiritual affliction of fasting are not the only sources of our discomfort. They stand alongside the situation in Israel and an indifferent world which prompts us to ask ourselves those challenging questions about our actions and inactions over the past year. Doing so this year is crucial, as we are in desperate need of the solace that, as poet David Whyte suggests, can be found in such moments.
Our history is a testament to the unyielding resilience of our people. Time and again, in land after land, we have flourished, faced persecution, and yet always found a way to rise again. Each chapter of our story, from the exodus from Egypt to the rebuilding after exile, reminds us that no matter the challenges, we endure. This resilience is not by chance but by choice—rooted in our faith, our traditions, and our unwavering commitment to life. It is this legacy of perseverance that we draw upon, and it is this legacy that will guide us through the uncertainties of tomorrow. By engaging with our story, we fortify the resilience that has carried us through generations and will continue to do so.
It is Kol Nidre, the sacred beginning of Yom Kippur. We stand at the threshold of a new year, with these next twenty-five hours offering us a unique opportunity — to return to God, reconnect with our story, and realign with our best selves. As we stand together at this moment of reflection and renewal, I invite you to make a commitment: by the time Neilah arrives tomorrow night, resolve that in the coming year, you will make our Jewish story a deeper part of your life. The challenges of the past year may still linger, but the question we must ask ourselves during this time of Teshuva is, “How can I strengthen my resilience and the resilience of my family?”
In finding our answers, we build the strength to face whatever lies ahead. This is how we persevere, just as our ancestors did before us — by drawing on the wisdom of our tradition and making it a living, breathing part of our daily lives. It is through this commitment to our story, our faith, and our community that we find the resilience to overcome our challenges and the strength to embrace the year to come.
