Here Comes Santa Claus?

Another High Holiday season is very soon upon us, and once again I’m fixated on the language of the familiar liturgy. I have always struggled with much of the imagery and many of the themes of Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah–the Ten Days of Repentance beginning with Rosh Hashanah and concluding with Yom Kippur–because they often seem to be in direct conflict with how many of us view our lives.

Specifically, I’m talking about what I’ve dubbed “Santa Claus Theology.” That is, we pray to a old, bearded guy (if not up on the North Pole, than sitting on a cloud above us), who sees everything, and therefore knows when we’ve been naughty and when we’ve been nice. We will then be punished or rewarded appropriately. If you’re trying to teach little kids about the concept of God and what that means, that model works kinda, sorta well as a starting point. Unfortunately, because the vast majority of Jews pretty much ended their religious education around age thirteen, most adults are stuck with this level of understanding. What might have worked for our ancestors centuries ago doesn’t resonate much in the modern age.

To add more difficulty in our goal of connecting with the words on the page, the text tells us that “On Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.” Of course, that begs the next logical question: if that’s the case, then what is the point of year-round moral and constructive behavior if our fates have already been sealed as of the previous October?

There are certain tefillot that we read during the High Holidays that I keep coming back to, and Unetaneh Tokef is certainly one of them. It is the centerpiece of the service–any fidgety congregant who didn’t yet bolt the sanctuary after the Rabbi’s sermon might likely wait till a few pages later and then take off after this part was done. Each time I think about the entire High Holiday liturgy, I simply can’t stop thinking about this particular majestic and iconic text. (See here, here, and here.) I just can’t get enough!

So maybe it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that after my most recent look at these words which have always challenged me, I in fact noticed something wonderful–almost like little Easter eggs that were placed there just for me. Furthermore, I saw these little tidbits laid out perfectly and logically, progressing from one paragraph to the next, as if the author deliberately meant to hold the reader’s hand and lead them down the path of understanding.

In the first paragraph, tucked away in the last sentence almost like an afterthought, is the line in Hebrew referring to the Book of Life:

וְחוֹתָם יַד כָּל אָדָם בּוֹ

For our own hands have signed the page

The author is giving us a wink and a nod: Yes, he’s saying, I had to write about the omnipotent God who acts as judge, prosecutor, and jury, but don’t be fooled–we’re the ones who control our fate, with our own hands. It is we who have control over our fates, not some distant and invisible deity.

Going on to the next paragraph, we read how the shofar will be sounded, but then–

וְקוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה יִשָּׁמַע

A still, small voice will be heard

Amidst the furor and pageantry of these days, the most important voice we hear is not that of the cantor or rabbi, not of the punishing and frightening words on the page describing a threatening heavenly tribunal, but rather our own inner voice, our conscience. It is up to us how we act and how we change our behavior, and those decisions can only come from ourselves.

Finally, the section concludes with the well-known text of Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die. Because these words are so familiar, we may have overlooked a crucial aspect of the text: everything is written in the passive voice. It does not say, “God will decide who die by fire and who by water…” but rather leaves the cause of all of these calamities ambiguous. In fact, aren’t we ourselves the ones who bring on all of these outcomes? We have the power–not some supernatural power looking down from above–to bring about suffering of all of these types. The fates of those around us are completely within our control.

Seen in this light, the entire Unentaneh Tokef text is a grand cautionary tale, with this thread continuing throughout each paragraph: