Six months ago, the world was a different place. In Jewish circles, we had just celebrated and were making our plans to celebrate

Pesach: We were arranging Seders, figuring out who was coming to whose house, working on travel plans, making food lists, and thinking about cleaning our houses. At Or Atid, we had great plans for our congregational 2nd Seder. It was going to be a fully in-house Seder, sponsored by, and prepared by, our own members.

And then we had to shut everything down. Travel was cancelled, family and communal Seders were scrapped, and cleaning our houses took on a whole new meaning. The Seder is the most celebrated Jewish home-ritual, with the biggest at-home gatherings of any Jewish holiday.

Liberal adapted Pesach, creating large family Seders over Zoom. It was obviously not ideal, but we found ways to be connected, even as we were forced to be distanced. Our 2nd night Seder became an interactive

Zoom experience from our individual homes. It was wonderful to see those dozen boxes on my computer screen, in which nearly 25 people celebrated our journey from slavery to freedom together.

To echo my sentiments from yesterday’s sermon, I imagined previous Seders in the Jewish experience, like the one in the Warsaw Ghetto, where the Jews gathered underground with a piece of bread, the night before they revolted against the Nazis, or during times of persecution in Medieval Europe, where Jews feared an attack by local

Christians because of the libelous accusation that Jews used the blood of

Christian children to make matzah. Compared to that, sitting at a table full of food in front of a computer screen wasn’t so bad.

After the shut downs began, and in the weeks preceding Pesach, before we knew how long we would need to be in isolation, there was a lot of chatter on Jewish social media about whether or not this would be the time to enact . Pesach Sheni occurs on the 14th of , one month after the day that the Pesach offering was to be sacrificed in the Temple. In the Book of Numbers, chapter 9, we find the Israelites about to celebrate the first anniversary of leaving Egypt, and their second time celebrating Pesach. The tells us that there were some men who were ritually impure and could not participate in the offering.

They ask , “why should we be restricted from offering the Pesach sacrifice, when this is the set time that all Israelites are supposed to do it?” The date of Pesach is fixed, recalling an historical event, the day that Israel left Egypt. Because of the importance of this day in Israelite memory, one might think that Moses would have immediately said,

“Sorry you’re gonna miss out, guys, but them’s the breaks.” Instead he says, “Good question. Let me check with the Boss and see what He says.” Moses’ response implies that he understands that there can be flexibility in Torah, even within divine law given at Sinai. This sets a revolutionary precedent for amendments to the Sinai covenant.

Even more surprising, or maybe not so surprising given what we know about the flexibility of Jewish tradition, God responds positively to the petition, and even adds another circumstance. God enumerates that if anyone is in a state of ritual impurity, or on a distant journey, and cannot be present to offer the Pesach sacrifice, it can be done on the 14th of the following month. This is a remarkable accommodation to a human need on God’s part, when things do not go according to plan.

The law of Pesach Sheni does not apply in its truest sense in modern times because we have no Temple and we do not sacrifice the

Pesach offering any longer. However, some Jews in modern times specifically eat matzah on the 14th of Iyar as a remembrance of the Pesach offering that could have been offered on this day. When our communal Seders were cancelled from their set date, some suggested that we hold them on Pesach Sheni this year. This did not happen for a number of reasons: we would have to clean our homes again, we would have to place Pesach restrictions on our homes and diets that were not required and would be a great inconvenience, and most importantly, we still couldn’t gather in early May.

Even it was impossible to have a Seder on Pesach Sheni, this proposal was consonant with what the Torah presents us: a Pesach Do-

Over, another chance to celebrate the holiday when things don’t go according to plan. Similarly, these are not ideal, and as much as we are doing to make them feel as meaningful as possible, we all must acknowledge the painful realization that they are just not what we want them to be.

I’m sure all of us has memories of playing ball as children. It would eventually happen that somebody would hit the ball into the trees, to be lost until a great search for it had been dispatched. But you didn’t want to wait for somebody to get the ball, you wanted bring out a new one and get started again. And so, someone would inevitably yell “do- over!” The game would restart as if the event that derailed it never happened.

Do-overs are not just in the realm of childhood fantasies or antiquated laws in the Torah that can no longer be practiced. When things don’t go according to plan, do-overs are built into the cycles of the Jewish year, and the themes of the High Holy Day season recur, reminding us that we are frequently given opportunities for renewal, recognizing God’s created world, and repenting and returning to our best selves. In fact, every day has the potential to be a do-over.

One of these do-overs is called Katan, the small Day of Atonement. The observance of is believed to have originated in the 16th Century in the mystical circles of Rabbi

Moses Cordovero. The Book of Numbers tells us that a was sacrificed on Rosh Ḥodesh, the first day of a month. Some have the practice of observing the day before Rosh Ḥodesh as a Yom Kippur

Katan, preparing oneself for the coming of a new month by , , and giving tzedakah.

Tradition also teaches that one’s wedding day is a Yom Kippur

Katan. The (Yevamot 63b) explains that a wedding couple receives atonement for all previous transgressions. In practice, the couple traditionally fasts from dawn until the festive meal after their wedding ceremony, and recites the same confessional recited on Yom

Kippur.

Furthermore, the season of repentance can extend beyond Yom

Kippur. A few days after the Day of Atonement comes , where we dwell in temporary huts, which represent the homes our ancestors lived in after they left Egypt, as well as God’s protective embrace. Just as we have ideally mended the rifts between ourselves and God, and between ourselves and others on Yom Kippur, on Sukkot, we are ready to emerge and complete the process by embracing the physical world, and welcoming back our family and friends into our lives. Sukkot completes what began on .

And yet, according to tradition, the High Holy Day season also might end on the final day of . You heard that right. The season of repentance can last four months. Our on the eighth day of Hanukkah states “zot ḥannukat hamizbayaḥ.” “This is the dedication of the altar.” (Num. 7:54), or as tradition reads it, “zot

Ḥannukah.” “This is Hanukkah.” The sages connect the word zot, “This” to a prophecy from Isaiah, “b’zot yekhupar avon ya’akov…”

“With ‘this’ the sins of Jacob are purged.” (27:9), where Jacob is a collective name for the Jewish people. By lighting a full menorah on the last night of Hanukkah, we once again complete the process of repentance, and this last day of our festival of lights is a Yom Kippur do- over.

But that is not the only way that Hanukkah is a do-over. As told by the Books of Maccabees, the Maccabees could not celebrate Sukkot at its proper time because they were at war, and the Temple was controlled by the Greeks. After regaining access to the Temple, they purified it and celebrated Sukkot, the holiday of Temple dedication.

This 8-day festival began on the 25th of , and was observed in the standard way of celebrating Sukkot: with the waving of palm branches and the singing of the psalms of . They then declared that this dedication ceremony was so important that it would be celebrated every year at this time in perpetuity. Hanukkah is a Sukkot do-over.

Pesach marks the halfway point in the year between one Rosh

Hashanah and the next. In ancient times, this was the first major holiday of the year, as the Torah calls this spring month “the first of months.” Remarkably, the ancient rabbis debate whether the world was created in

Nisan in the spring, or in in the autumn, and the discussion is left unresolved. Pesach resembles this time of year: the leavening we remove from our homes symbolizes the desire to remove our inner leavening, our arrogance, which has distanced us from God and others.

Pesach and Rosh Hashanah are also connected in the way we observe them today. Both are central to our personal and collective identity as Jews as the modern covenant ceremonies of the Jewish

People. Although we might not think about it this way or articulate it, when we gather together as extended family and friends in our homes on

Pesach and tell the story of our ancestors as if it were our own, we reaffirm our national covenant of peoplehood. By attending a Seder and reciting and reenacting our ancestors’ journey, we count ourselves as part of the people whom God brought forth from Egypt.

Similarly, when we pack our synagogue as congregants on Rosh

Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we reaffirm our covenant with God and with each other, in order to be reminded of who we are, to whom we are bound, what our ideals are, and what our collective and individual purpose is. In a sense, our attendance at synagogue on these days is also a reenactment of the ceremony that the Torah calls Hak’hel, where all men, women, children, and resident aliens were to gather in Jerusalem on Sukkot every seven years to hear the entire Torah read aloud.

The purpose of this whirlwind tour around the Jewish year was to show that, even if we aren’t able to celebrate a holiday to its fullest in its proper time, the possibilities and opportunities of that holiday can be found in a celebration that is right around the corner.

I’d like to come back to where we began: Pesach Sheni. The

Ḥasidic masters explain that the underlying theme of Pesach Sheni is

Teshuvah, the theme of this season as well. The Lubavitcher taught that Pesach Sheni shows us that it is never too late. It is always possible to make things right. If the Torah presents the possibility of returning from the two great spiritual and physical causes of separation from God, ritual impurity and great distance from God’s holy space, then anyone can do Teshuvah. This is uniquely tied to Pesach because this holiday marks the birth of the Jewish nation. By providing for

Pesach Sheni, the Torah is teaching that every person has a second chance to celebrate the birthday of our people. If we are afforded this opportunity, which is based in the particular

Jewish story, how much more so should we be able to get another chance to engage in the universal ideals of celebrating God’s created world and working towards becoming a better person? In our tradition, we don’t even have to wait for the next holiday, which might be several months away. The impetus of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur can be experienced every single day.

The ancient sage Rabbi Eliezer teaches us to “Repent one day before your death.” (Avot 2:10) The obvious response is “how do I know the day of my death?” The 15th Century Italian Rabbi Ovadia of

Bartenura says, “Since a person does not know when he will die, he should repent today, lest he will die tomorrow.” The work of introspection and contemplation of the self can and should be done every day.

During our morning liturgy, as part of the prayer that acclaims God as Creator of the physical world, we recite b’tuvo m’ḥadesh b’khol-yom tamid ma’aseh b’reishit, “In God’s goodness, God renews the work of creation every single day.” Tradition teaches that we have blessings for everything: over things we see, taste, hear, and smell; special blessings for ritual mitzvot that only Jews do; even a blessing said after relieving ourselves in the restroom. When we recite blessings for even the most mundane minutiae of our daily lives, we are acknowledging God as

Creator.

Each and every day is a do-over, a chance to engage with the newly created world and ensure that our lives are as meaningful and wholesome as they can be. Every day that we wake up in the morning is an opportunity to do the work of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

The Jewish legal tradition has two opposing terms, l’khat’ḥilah, meaning a priori, “at the outset,” describing the ideal situation as it should be, and “b’di’avad, meaning ex post facto, “after the fact” describing the sub-optimal work-arounds to less-than-ideal circumstances. I’ll demonstrate how these terms are used. L’khat’ḥilah, we should all be sitting together, exchanging hearty greetings of

“Shanah Tovah!”, hearing the , and chanting the prayers that recall the joy and celebration of God’s created world. We should be engaging with the seriousness and gravity of calling ourselves to account for our misdeeds and supporting each other through that collective experience.

B’di’avad, we are limiting our attendance, just enough to make a minyan, holding some services over Zoom, live-streaming to you over

YouTube, and sounding the Shofar outdoors later today. Unfortunately, we are living in a b’di’avad world, when nothing is as it should be, and we have to make do with what we can. This is what we did with Pesach earlier this year. L’khat’ḥilah, we should have been sitting with over twenty people and multiple generations of family and friends at our

Seder table. B’di’avad, we had Seders over Zoom.

And yet, that little can be more than enough. If we do enough every day, then it can add up to be great. Every day, even every experience, can be a Rosh Hashanah moment, when we recognize God’s presence in the world by giving thanks for what we have, taking nothing for granted. Every day, even every experience, can be a Yom Kippur moment, when we do the inner work of reflecting on our actions and returning to be the best individuals we can be.

L’khat’ḥilah, we should may every effort to be living the fullest

Jewish lives possible. B’di’avad, we do what we can in our less-than- ideal circumstances. The sum-total of all of our best efforts to live

Jewishly, despite the challenges, can make for a meaningful and engaging experience. The ability to do something over, to make the best of a bad situation is one of the hallmarks of the Jewish tradition, and paints a beautiful picture of the resilience that our people has always exhibited. We are not living in an ideal moment. So, in this sub-optimal moment, let us take solace in the fact that Rosh Hashanah and Yom

Kippur are available to us every day. May we be open to these opportunities for praise and reflection, and realize that every new day can be a substitute for the last. Shanah Tovah!