Casting away sins

by Dr. David Fialkoff, Editor / Publisher

I am in New Orleans. I arrived just in time for the dinner that begins the celebration of the Jewish New Year, a delicious feast prepared by and shared with my daughter, S, and her mother, N, both of who live here.

The next day we three went to synagogue to hear the ram's horn sounded, and feasting again, ate lunch there. Then, back at S's, I took a nap, which wasn't long enough because before sunset we needed to go to N's house to perform the ritual "casting of sins," symbolized by pieces of bread, into a body of water, the bayou, which runs a short walk away. The ducks ate our sins up. Then we walked back to N's, played cards (S is very lucky) and, because the holiday is two full days, feasted again.

With all of that S and I were having conversations, some deep, about life, hers, mine and in general, and some light-hearted and funny. Then, Veronica's (and Yasna's and Lore's) dog is coming to her end and after being very much present in the process for months, I had to lend support through our WhatsApp group. Then also, through it all I had to keep to my busy publishing routine.

Somehow, during this very busy beginning of my visit, I did manage to meaningfully answer a message from a new friend down there in San Miguel, a Mexican woman, who very thoughtfully inquired if I had arrived in New Orleans; that answer basically being the three paragraphs above. She responded to my reply by writing that she would "investigate the Jewish New Year to know a little more about me and what I am doing."

The following is my attempt to help with her investigation:

Macondo from One Hundred Years of Solitude
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For me Judaism is like the "magic realism" of Gabriel García Márquez. That is, physical reality does not exist in some scientifically pristine way. The material is not just material. Woven into the world are memories, dreams, myths, songs, prayers...

But whereas the port city of Macondo in García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude is wild and overrun by ghosts of people and past occurrences, Judaism's supernatural world is order itself, a distinction reflecting the difference between "folk magic" and the "high magic" that is Kabbalah.

Kabbalah presents a map, a compound glyph, the "Tree of Life," composed of ten qualities that in their various combinations and mixtures compose all else. These ten spiritual stations are arranged upon three pillars, collectively constituting a "world," of which there are four. The lowest part of the lowest of these four worlds is home to this physical existence. I said it was "ordered," not "simple."

The Kabbalistic Tree of Life
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The rites and rituals of Judaism are aimed at aligning these mystical forces, and aligning the participant, the worshipper with this cosmic order. The other day at my house, you asked me the message of the Hebrew words that are painted upon the basin. I told you, "I acknowledge before You..." That is, I align myself with the higher reality which is beyond this world of forms.

And, of course, Judaism is also about relationship, about belonging to a collective, the tribe. There is something very special about participating in a custom with others today and with los abuelitos in millennia past. Life is remarkably hard to define. But the ability to reproduce, to continue is certainly one of its main hallmarks. Ancient Egypt and Greece have perished, but Judaism, not very different from how it was in the times of the Temple, is vibrantly alive.

The question is asked: if "God" existed in a perfect state, what need was there for "Him" to create this world? The answer is relationship. All alone, with no reflection, God wanted to experience relationship. The free will God injected into creation makes genuine relationship possible. It makes it necessary for us to choose to act in accordance with (or opposed to) the memories, dreams, myths, songs and prayers that are woven into the fabric of the world. And this is "good" or "evil."

Two grandparents with their grandchildren
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The themes of this ten-day holiday period, beginning with New Years, are justice and forgiveness, or better, repentance, or even better, return. We affirm that there is a code, a right way to behave, and that we can leave aside and be forgiven our "sins," that which separates us from relationship with the godly, the divine basis of existence, and "return" to a more perfect alignment with the sacredness of the ordinary.

The sound of the ram's horn, the major component of the Jewish New Year services, is the extraordinary divine influence bursting in upon us. It's reverberant blasts and crescendos flow down from the mountain, calling our attention to the heights and depths that are too easily obscured by our day to day exigencies; waking us up to our heritage and our responsibility as divine beings.

A ram's horn
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For me, the most beautiful line of the New Year prayer service, sung twice as it appears in Psalm 24, is, "Lift up your heads, O gates, and be lifted up, eternal doors, so the glorious King may enter." It speaks of being open to a new, higher influence. The divine requires of us a willful choice, a coming into relationship, a voluntary lifting up.

Happy New Year.

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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, public internet, building community, strengthening the local economy. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.

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