Yom Kippur: The Freedom to Become

Adapted from a longer chapter in a forthcoming sefer on the Yamim Tovim, based on the Torah of HaRav Michel Twerski שליט״א and prepared with his blessing and encouragement.

When Yom Kippur was observed in the time of the Beis HaMikdosh, the avodah of the day stood at the center of its observance. It was the one time during the year when the Kohen Gadol entered the Kodesh HaKodashim, lifnai v'lifnim, crossing a boundary that no other human being was permitted to cross.

Among the most striking elements of the avodah were the two se'irim. They were to be alike in appearance, height, and value—to the extent that they appeared virtually like twins.

The Kohen Gadol stood between them and drew two lots, one inscribed L-Hashem and the other LaAzazel. One goat was offered as a sacrifice, and its blood was ultimately brought into the Kodesh HaKodashim. Upon the other, the Kohen Gadol confessed the sins of Klal Yisrael before it was sent into the wilderness.

Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch sees the two goats as a powerful image of free choice. They begin together, virtually indistinguishable, but their destinations could not be more different. One moves toward the holiest place accessible to a human being. The other is taken into desolation and over a cliff.

At the moment of decision, either direction is possible, but the two choices lead toward entirely different destinations.

This is one of the fundamental messages of Yom Kippur: We are responsible, and we are capable of choosing.

How Can Teshuvah Work?

But there is a fundamental question about forgiveness. How does teshuvah work?

Wrongdoing belongs to the past. What has happened cannot be undone. The words were spoken; the damage may already have occurred. How, then, can a person be forgiven?

The very possibility of teshuvah is a Divine gift

Our Sages express the question strikingly in Midrash Tehillim. Wisdom was asked what should become of the sinner and answered that the evil he had done should pursue him. Prophecy answered that the sinful soul should die. The Torah answered that he should bring an offering and be forgiven.

Finally, the Almighty Himself was asked.

His answer was: Let him do teshuvah, and I will forgive him.

If we relied only upon logic, it is difficult to understand why teshuvah should help at all. We have defied the Author of our lives, taking the very life and blessings He gives us and sometimes using them in opposition to Him.

Logically, it is unpardonable.

And yet the Almighty says: Do teshuvah, and I will forgive you.

The possibility of teshuvah is a Divine gift. But understanding that gift requires us to understand the particular kind of freedom that Yom Kippur offers.

Two Kinds of Freedom

Judaism already has a Yom Tov dedicated to freedom: Pesach. What dimension of freedom remains for Yom Kippur?

The sifrei Kabbalah speak of two dimensions of creation. Tishrei is associated with beriah b'machshavah—creation in thought, the conception of creation in its spiritual form. Nisan is associated with beriah b'maaseh—the realization in deed of what had first existed in thought.

These seasons also suggest different dimensions of cheirus.

Pesach represents a redemption that occurred ultimately because God willed it.

We did not deserve it.

We had descended to the forty-ninth level of tumah. During our years in Egypt, we had lost virtually every visible trace of what had characterized us as the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, and of Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel, and Leah. We stood one step away from complete spiritual severance.

And then, at the last moment, the Almighty set us free.

The cheirus of Pesach was therefore, in a profound sense, a freedom that came to us. Its primary movement was milmaalah lematah—from above to below.

Pesach teaches us that human beings are shaped by powerful forces they did not create: family, culture, history, and circumstances. Every person possesses personal forms of Mitzrayim—forms of avdus that helped mold his personality and may continue to exert influence long after the original circumstances have passed.

Pesach offers the promise that just as God carried Klal Yisrael out of Egypt, His help can lift us from forces that appear stronger than ourselves.

On Yom Kippur, the primary emphasis is different. Its movement is milmatah lemaalah—from below to above. It calls upon our own effort and assumption of responsibility.

If Pesach can be compared to birth, Yom Kippur can be compared to adulthood. Birth happens to us; adulthood demands that a person begin to choose what he will become.

“I Made a Mistake”

Yom Kippur asks us to look at our wrongdoing not to transfer blame to the forces that shaped us, but to identify the mistakes we have made so that we can stop repeating them.

When I can say clearly, “I made a mistake,” I am also able to say, “I am bigger than that mistake.”

If I refuse to acknowledge wrongdoing, I increase the likelihood that I will repeat it. But something even more dangerous can happen: I may begin to identify myself with the mistake.

Yom Kippur teaches us to acknowledge guilt without allowing guilt to define us. A person must be able to say: I did this. It was wrong. I am responsible.

That is very different from saying: This is what I am.

I made a mistake, but I do not have to continue making it. I am responsible for my mistakes, but I am not required to remain imprisoned by them.

Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch relates the concept of kapparah to the idea expressed by the Hebrew word kever—a grave.

There comes a point when something must be buried.

Acknowledge what happened. Take responsibility. Then bury what needs to be buried.

Do not spend the rest of your life standing at the grave.

The Person Hashem Envisioned

Consider the way parents look at a newborn child. They hold a baby who appears pure and unblemished, and they form a vision of the person that child will become.

Reality becomes more complicated. Children grow, make mistakes, and sometimes choose paths painful for their parents to witness. But parents rarely relinquish the original dream completely. Somewhere within them remains the image of the child they once held and the conviction that this child possesses capacities greater than those presently being displayed.

In Tishrei, creation first existed in thought.

Creation was, kaviyachol, a gleam in the eye of the Almighty.

Every soul that God conceived was a soul whose full integrity and beauty were known to Him. God knew what that soul could become.

And the Almighty has never relinquished that vision.

We have made choices that distance us from Him. But God has never lost sight of what He knows the soul can be.

The Divine vision remains.

The things we did were real, and our responsibility for them was real. But they were not the truest expression of the soul God created

This also helps us understand why Yom Kippur begins with Kol Nidrei. The annulment of a vow depends upon recognizing that, in retrospect, one's understanding when making the vow was incomplete. Had you understood then what you understand now, would you have made it?

Our approach to sin contains a similar movement, although teshuvah is not the same mechanism as the annulment of a vow.

We stand before Hashem and say: I sinned. I recognize that the choice was wrong. I accept responsibility. I regret it. With the understanding and appreciation I have now, I would not make that choice again.

And then we say something deeper:

Hashem, I want to become the person You saw in me. I want to become the soul You envisioned at the beginning of creation.

The things we did were real, and our responsibility for them was real. But they were not the truest expression of the soul God created.

The truest self is the self the Almighty saw from the beginning.

Preparing for Yom Kippur

None of this can remain abstract.

One of our great shortcomings is that we do not begin observing Yom Kippur until Yom Kippur has already arrived.

We need a running start.

Before Yom Kippur, set aside quiet time for a private inventory. Consider three areas: yourself, your relationships with other people, and your relationship with God.

What habits, reactions, attitudes, or choices are not what they ought to be? Where have you caused hurt or failed to give what was needed? Where have you fallen short in your relationship with the Almighty?

The point is not to produce a massive catalogue of guilt. It is to identify what genuinely requires attention.

For each significant item, ask two questions: What can I do about this? And when will I begin?

Those questions transform regret into responsibility.

Then, when we reach the Al Cheit, its words are no longer merely a list printed in the machzor. They meet the realities of our own lives.

Just as the Kohen Gadol entered the Kodesh HaKodashim alone, each of us ultimately enters Yom Kippur alone. No one else can assume our responsibility or make our choices

On Yom Kippur, each of us enters his own lifnai v'lifnim. We stand alone before the Almighty and accept responsibility for the portion of His universe placed in our hands.

We acknowledge our mistakes. We recognize our capacity to choose. We send the past away without denying it.

And beneath all our particular resolutions lies one majestic declaration:

Hashem, I want to become the child You always wanted me to be.

That is the freedom of Yom Kippur—the freedom of an adult who accepts responsibility, chooses his path, releases the past without denying it, and returns by his own will to the Divine vision of what his soul was always meant to become.