Yom Kippur and the process of teshuva plunges us into the depths of our souls, stripping away layers of self-deception and ego while removing our artificial masks. It compels us to confront the false narratives we craft about ourselves – stories we desperately cling to as coping mechanisms.
It demands a fearless moral reckoning and an honest inventory of our spiritual lives. We stand before God, stripped of social titles and conventions, exposed in our raw vulnerability. In a moment of existential solitude, we face our flaws and weaknesses, pleading for mercy while committing to transform into better, more authentic versions of ourselves. It is an intimate moment, a quiet dialogue with ourselves and God.
This past year, though, our dialogues haven’t been personal or solitary. We have lived through a collective trauma, feeling our hearts break as one. Our inner worlds have been overshadowed by national sorrow and heroism. We have reflected more upon Jewish identity and perhaps less upon our own spiritual refinement.
While religious excellence rests upon a strong foundation of Jewish identity, heritage, and mission, it requires so much more. It demands a personal relationship with God – rooted in performance of commandments, fervent prayer, Torah study, and the refinement of character. During the past year, our profound investment in national Jewish identity may have diverted our attention from the inner world of religious piety.
As this great day is upon us, we are left to ponder: How do we reconcile the deeply personal journey of Yom Kippur with the overwhelming collective experiences of the past year? How can we change frequencies and think more personally and less collectively?
Reviving an ancient model
Historically, Yom Kippur was once far more collective than personal. When the Temple stood, the day was deeply rooted in our shared experience as a people rather than upon individual repentance.
Thousands gathered in the Temple courtyards, their gaze fixed on the high priest as he performed sacred rituals for national atonement and deliverance. In a moment of profound awe, he entered the inner sanctum, where no man dared tread throughout the year, reconciling our nation with our Father in heaven. As the crimson thread turned white, joy erupted, thundering our national confidence that forgiveness had been granted from heaven.
Even the viduy confessionals of that era were shorter and simpler. Our concerns were focused on the nation’s standing, not only upon our personal religious struggles.
This year, in the wake of our national tragedy, we are invited to resuscitate that ancient model. We stand before God not only as individuals seeking forgiveness but also as a people – wounded by sorrow, bewildered by His mysterious decrees, yet steadfast in our faith, waiting for His guiding hand in the days ahead.
Make the shift
However, even given this collective Yom Kippur option, God still expects personal reckoning, confession, and transformation.
This day calls for a shift inward, to stand alone before God – not as part of a nation grappling with the tides of history but as an individual soul navigating the depths of personal accountability. Yom Kippur demands that we descend into the hidden recesses of our being and confront the flaws and failures we so often evade during the rest of the year.
In the aftermath of the destruction of the Second Temple, Rabbi Akiva, the great sage and visionary, recognized the tension between personal and collective Yom Kippur. In the ashes of that calamity, he quoted a verse from Jeremiah (Chapter 14) calling God “the hope of Israel,” or mikveh Yisrael in Hebrew.
Playing on the dual meaning of mikveh – both “hope” and “ritual bath” – Rabbi Akiva reassured a devastated nation that even without the Temple, God remained their eternal source of purification. Immersing in His presence for the 25 hours of Yom Kippur would achieve the same cleansing as majestic Temple rituals.
But his message wasn’t merely one of reassurance; it also laid down demands. Though the collective experience of Yom Kippur receded without a Temple, individual responsibility for personal growth on Yom Kippur remained fully intact. Rabbi Akiva refused to acquit us of the personal Yom Kippur journey.
The same is true for us. Despite everything that has happened this past year and our shared national trauma, we are still tasked with a personal Yom Kippur – with the inner toil of teshuva, heartfelt confession, and refining our character.
Yet, the heart is still unsettled. How can we focus on our own spiritual journey when the suffering of our people is so overwhelming? How can we turn our gaze inward, even for a moment, when sorrow still weighs so heavily on the hearts of our nation? How can we wrap ourselves in a tallit, creating a private space for personal teshuva, while creating a barrier from the national pain which echoes all around us?
Here are two solutions.
Collective ‘viduy’
Just as teshuva has both personal and collective dimensions, so too does viduy – the confession of sins. After describing our first exile, the Torah predicts that we will “confess our national sins” as the first step toward recovery and return.
In fact, when we returned from Babylonian exile, we engaged in a profound collective confession, acknowledging the many transgressions and betrayals of God that had led to our exile. We understood, with painful clarity, the sins that had caused historical derailment and national trauma.
Today, we do not possess the same clarity about our collective failures. As a nation, we have demonstrated immense courage, bravery, and dedication in defending our rights to the land God promised His children. True, we descended into a year of bitter social strife and national disunity, which undoubtedly factored into God’s harsh decrees.
However, it feels simplistic and morally questionable to attribute the horrific events of October 7 solely to the social unrest of the previous year. Clearly, there are deeper, unresolved sins still preventing our full restoration. Tragically, we do not know exactly what these sins are.
Fortunately, viduy is still impactful even without specificity. As we recite personal confessions this Yom Kippur, we ask God to accept them not only for personal shortcomings but also as a stand-in for the unknown sins of our people. If we knew them, we would articulate them; since we don’t, we let our personal viduy serve as a collective confession on behalf of these national hidden failures.
Teshuva is part of the battle
Additionally, by enhancing our relationship with God and refining our moral character, we do not merely elevate our personal piety. As we strive to become better people and live more fully in the presence of God, we facilitate the return of His divine presence to a world that has, in too many ways, chased Him away through violence and the distortion of truth.
Our war is multifaceted. Our soldiers stand on the front lines, bravely protecting us on the battlefield. Yet, there is another struggle – the battle for the presence of God in this world. The more successful we are in our own spiritual endeavors, the more victorious we will be in our military struggles.
Embrace the personal journey of teshuva. Delve deep into the recesses of your soul, confronting the truths that lie within. But do not, for a moment, overlook the historical significance of this moment. Find a way to view your personal teshuva as an integral part of our collective efforts to bring God back into this broken world.
Our teshuva is not merely an individual endeavor. It is a shared mission to restore hope amid darkness and bring God to this world.
The writer is a rabbi at the hesder Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with ordination from Yeshiva University and a master’s degree in English literature from the City University of New York. He is the author of Dark Clouds Above, Faith Below (Kodesh Press), and the soon to be published Reclaiming Redemption: Deciphering the Maze of Jewish History (Mosaica Press).
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