Take a moment to read this famous prayer from the traditional Machzor (high holiday prayer book):
Your kingship is exalted upon it.
Your throne is established in mercy.
You are enthroned upon it in truth.
In truth You are the judge,
The exhorter, the all‑knowing, the witness,
He who inscribes and seals,
Remembering all that is forgotten.
You open the book of remembrance
Which proclaims itself,
And the seal of each person is there.
On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed,
And on Yom Kippur it is sealed.
How many shall pass away and how many shall be born,
Who shall live and who shall die,
Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not,
Who shall perish by water and who by fire,
Who by sword and who by wild beast,
Who by famine and who by thirst,
Who by earthquake and who by plague,
Who by strangulation and who by stoning,
Who shall have rest and who shall wander,
Who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued,
Who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented,
Who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low,
Who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished.
But repentance, prayer and righteousness avert the severity of the decree.
If you’ve ever been to a conventional Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur service, you may recognize this as an excerpt from the prayer “U’netaneh Tokef - Let Us Declare the Mighty Holiness of This Day.” It is a centerpiece of the high holidays, reminding worshippers that on these days their fates are in the balance as they are judged for the year to come.
Humanistic Jews see no evidence for the existence of a deity who determines the fate of individuals, doling out punishments for misconduct or rewards for obedience. Yet the central notion -- that we lack the knowledge of who will live and who will die -- is so powerful that even some Humanistic holiday liturgies, including our own, include creative interpretations. The version that we recite ignores the parts about divine judgment, framing a highly edited litany of the “Who shall’s” with this introduction:
Surely our deeds do not pass away unnoticed, unrecorded. With every word and every deed we write our book of life. Freely we choose, and what we have chosen to become stands in judgment over what we may yet hope to be. We are free; we are responsible; therefore it may be said that our lives pass under review.
If our lives are, indeed, under review, we are the only reviewers. And it is absolutely true that we are writing our own book of life. However, what our version does not (and is not intended to) fully capture is the sense of despair in the face of the unknown.
Though I long ago stopped chanting this prayer, each year I reflect upon the one thing about it that still speaks to me. It is the final line that reads, “But repentance, prayer and righteousness can avert the severe decree.”
What draws me to this idea is a kernel of nascent humanism expressed by some interpreters who argued for a different way to understand the Hebrew (which allows for this interpretive flexibility). They said to read it this way, “… Repentance, prayer and righteousness can avert the severity of the decree.”
Those who gave the prayer this twist are saying, “What will happen will happen. We can’t choose our own fates or know every bad thing that will happen to us. But we can make things better by growing through ongoing self-examination and more acts of righteousness.” (I left out the prayer part for obvious reasons.)
As realists we know that our futures are not completely under our control. But we also know that we can absolutely make the world a better place through our behavior. The central premise of the prayer -- that a god is making these judgments -- has no basis in reality. Yet the reinterpretation of that last line pulls the curtain back just enough for us to see that for all their submissive words to an all-powerful judge, some Jews have always known that righteousness can make a difference to those who suffer; that at least this much lies in our hands alone. A small step toward humanism? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was still a step in the right human empowering direction.
This will be my last newsletter commentary until after the holidays. In the meantime, please enjoy Leonard Cohen’s take on this famous prayer, “Who By Fire.”
L'shanah tovah u'm'tukah - to a sweeter and happier year.