Rebbetzen Tziporah – Yom Kippur

Dear friends,

One of the most dramatic parts of the Yom Kippur tefillah is the narration of the “two goats” service done by the Kohein Gadol.

The two goats chosen for the central part of the korban had to look alike (to me, all goats look alike. – When I lived in the north, I never knew who to blame for their goats’ eating the veggies growing in my garden – they were like one goat, assuming many forms. To their owners, each one was a unique family member). Lots were drawn. 

One lot said “To Hashem”, and the goat for whom this lot was drawn was used as a korban to Hashem in the Bais HaMikdash. Like every korban, the animal chosen was not random. The nature of the animal chosen reflects a specific aspect of what we call “the animal soul”. 

By offering it as a korban, you affirm that it can be elevated to holiness when you dedicate that part of your “inner animal” to Hashem. A goat is unlike other domesticated animals. It can’t be induced to work – it lives exclusively for pleasure. The desire for pleasure has its place – for instance, it can be part of what brings marriage to its fullest expression. 

This goat was the korban used to serve Hashem in the way all other korbanos do.  The other goat was another story…. It was taken out of the Bais HaMikdash, and handed over to a specially appointed messenger who led it out to the Judean desert where it was thrown off a cliff that was so jagged that the goat was reduced to body parts by the time it hit the ground. What was its message, and more significantly, what does it say to you this Yom Kippur?

STORY BREAK

There was a king who wanted all of his subjects to see his son’s genuine nobility. He decided to give his son a moral challenge rather than have him perform a physical task. Even if the son can run the three-minute mile at 20, he won’t be able to do it at 50, so it is at best a temporary proof of his superiority.

The king had an extraordinarily beautiful concubine who loved him more than she loved herself. The king told her that he wanted her to do her best to seduce his son. He explained to her that if his son resisted her, his moral fiber would be public knowledge, and if he succumbs there is really no reason to give him the respnsibites of kingship at this time.

What would you do if you were the concubine?

If you truly loved the king, you would do as he asked, but in your heart of hearts would you want the son to reject your attempts to seduce with disdain, force, and passion. Your moment of “defeat” would be your moment of victory.

This parable is given in the Zohar to give insight into the nature of the forces of evil. The yetzer hara is an angel committed to doing its job, just as every other angel. Without its challenge what would your life be worth? Would you want to spend your life in robotic response? The reality is that while rising to challenge makes life worth living, you don’t always win. The alternative to victory is spiritual desolation.

The goat is referred to as the “seir l’azazel” the goat sent to desolation. The korban is the “payment” you give to your best friend, and your worst enemy, the yetzer hara. It is the source of every defeat, of the wars and of the despair that it reaps, it is the source of accusations and of death, but it is still the king’s servant, and still authors your potential victories.

WHAT IF YOU LOSE THE GAME?

You must have lost the contest more than once. You may have done things that make you wonder if the game was worth playing. One of the worst stories I ever heard was of a woman who forced her husband into a divorce agreement that was a disaster. The monthly payments that he had to meet made it impossible to even consider remarriage – there was next to nothing left of his check. 

He had their only child in his home in Kiryat Yovel for shabbos. There was a small backyard with play equipment, and it was always his favorite place to have his little boy play. The news reported that he called the police desperately asking for help. He went into the yard, and the child was gone. For the next few days, the entire country was in turmoil, Hundreds of volunteers joined the security forces combing the adjacent Jerusalem forest. 

Finally, an Israeli Arab contacted the police. He saw a man enter the forest, dig a hole, and put a large sack inside. He was afraid to contact the police because he was afraid of being blamed but his conscience didn’t let him remain silent. The police investigation proved that the mysterious man in the forest was none other than the “grief-stricken” father.

Imagine the way the child’s mother felt at the funeral. Her only child was dead. She would never see him again and would return night after night to an empty apartment. She could easily fall into despair, fueling it with unending self-hatred and blaming herself relentlessly for going after the settlement so aggressively. She lost the game. So did the father. You can think that this is the end of their stories.

It can be, or it could be the end of part one.

No matter how deep the evil is, no matter what happened, teshuvah is always possible. You can’t change the event, but Hashem turns you into a totally different person and disassociated from the one who fell into the depths. This is the closest you can come to being like Hashem, who can create new reality from absolute nothingness.  What teshuvah does is it makes it possible to deconstruct the evil, to send the seductress away.

YOUR STORY ISN’T HER STORY

Your story is unique. It is unlike the story of the tragic mother I wrote about, but it is just as unlike any other story. What it shares with the other stories is that when you say viduy, the confession, you are opening the door to Hashem’s desire to reclaim you. It isn’t a grocery list, nor is it an encyclopedia of self-hatred. It is a statement of belief in Hashem’s compassion, of His willingness and of His love, which is great enough to let a new creation come into being.

 

THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS AS THEY SEEM

A clip that was sent out by the Arabic media showed one of their sharpshooters aiming at a Jewish soldier (actually a young man who is a VIzhnitzer chossid!) who fell to the ground behind a rock. What they didn’t see is that he threw himself behind the rock to avoid the bullet. He is fine, B”H, another ness. The One who does nissim is the same One who loves you and will make your tshuvah work.

Love and gmar chasima tovah,

Tziporah