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Home , Kol Nidre

TONIGHT’S WORDS—ALL THE VOWS

The first High Holidays that I had to prepare for were back when I was a student at Congregation Etz Hayyim in Great Falls, Montana. It was such a small congregation that I was not only the student rabbi, but the chazzan as well. This meant I needed not only to prepare the first sermons of my career, but that I also needed to learn a certain amount of the liturgy that I had never led before— including , the Al Chet, and, most daunting of all, the Kol Nidre. Well, that summer I was working at Camp Tawonga, so I brought my cassette tape and boom box with a cassette player, and during my free time I attempted to learn it. It happened that one of the other staff members brought a pet parrot with her that year. You can probably see where this is going, but this is not a setup to a joke. So I’m playing Kol Nidre on the cassette recorder and singing it line by line, and after about 15-20 minutes, sure enough the parrot had it learned perfectly, at least the tune. And me, well, it took all summer. I tell that story only to introduce what I want to talk about tonight, which is the Kol Nidre. With apologies in advance, tonight is more lecture than sermon, but rabbi means teacher, and sometimes it is important for me to teach and not just preach. So tonight I intend to give you a primer in Kol Nidre, and hopefully you will leave tonight with a better sense of what this prayer is all about, and it will be more meaningful to you in future years. With the theme of these High Holidays being the importance of words, some of the best known and most important words of the Jewish tradition are these two, Kol Nidre, since they are the centerpiece of one of the most important and best attended services of the year. Kol Nidre literally means “all the vows.” It is such a strange prayer, really, in that is essentially just a formula for annulling our vows. We are essentially saying: “Here , we are going to make a bunch of promises that we’re probably not going to keep, so, in advance, please forgive us.” That’s problematic, to say the least, and I’ll say more about exactly how problematic that is in a few moments. But first, what exactly is this prayer and how did it get in our ? For that, you have to start at the very beginning—in the itself. There is a series of laws at the beginning of Parashat Matot, Numbers Chapter 30, which deal with the significance and seriousness of both , vows, and , oaths. These are similar but slightly different categories, both covered by Kol Nidre. It’s rather technical in nature so I am not going to go into detail, but the gist is that the ancients took their vows very seriously, both breaking and making them. 2

We see just how seriously in the Book of Judges, when Yiftach or Jeptha, undertakes a or vow before battling the Ammonites, where he says: “If You deliver the Ammonites into my hands, the first thing out of the door of my house I will offer up as a burnt offering.” He’s probably thinking it will be a chicken or a cow, but it turns out it’s his daughter, and in one of the most disturbing, brutal scenes in a Bible filled with disturbing, brutal scenes, Yiftach has to sacrifice his own daughter! It is necessary to point out that what Yiftach was doing is forbidden by Jewish law, was never part of normative , and this is considered one of the worst periods in Jewish history, a time of anarchy where the text says “each person did what was right in his or her own eyes,” but from this story you can see how seriously the ancient Israelites took their vows. Fast forward to the , where there is an entire tractate called Nedarim or vows. The neder, which is translated as vow, is really much more than the English word implies, but I am going to use them interchangeably tonight. In Nedarim, it discusses how pronouncing such a vow gives a person the right to do something that normally only God could do, which is to create a new halachic status. It’s self-imposed legislation, whereby a person can impose an obligation on him or herself as binding as God’s commandments. There are two kinds, one that prohibits something the Torah normally permits and one that obligates oneself to perform an additional commandment, usually meaning bringing an offering of animal or tzedaka, a mandatory pledge, if you will. If that is confusing, let me give you a concrete example. Let’s say I make a vow not to drink coffee for the 30 days preceding . This is smart, because it actually makes your fast much easier, but in any case, coffee is now forbidden to myself for 30 days. Coffee is normally permitted, but if I have said the neder, then for the next 30 days, coffee becomes as unkosher as pork. Coffee’s halachic status, to me, has changed. I could also decide that, in lieu of a daily salted caramel latte soy almond concoction, I am going to pledge what I would have spent on said concoction as an offering of tzedaka for Mazon, the Jewish world hunger organization. Because I said the neder, it is now a requirement. If I drink coffee and/or don’t bring the tzedaka pledge, I am liable for punishment (in Biblical times anyway; these things are not in force today). The only way I can get out of the vow is by presenting the case to a Bet Din, a Court of 3 , who would have to annul the vow and they may or may not decide to. This is the backdrop for understanding the Kol Nidre prayer. So let’s ask and answer a few questions about it directly.

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When? It was written some time during the Geonic period, which is from about 600-1000 CE, a rather large spread. It appears in the oldest on record, the Seder de , which was written in the 9th Century. But that means it was written sometime before that, since it is included just like the Shema or or anything else. And he also calls it a “minhag shtut, a foolish custom,” a controversy I will explore in just a moment, but it is further evidence that it had been around for a while. How and why did it get in the service? The answer usually given is most likely a myth. The number one answer, even if it’s wrong, is that it was written in a time of extreme persecution such as during the Spanish Inquisition (impossible, since it was around long before that) or Visigoth Spain in the 7th Century. Of course, a time of persecution could be any time in Jewish history, but that’s tomorrow’s sermon so I will let that go for now. In any case, the thought goes that in these times of extreme persecution, had to vow to denounce their Judaism and accept other religions like and Islam. Forgoing these vows on Kol Nidre meant they didn’t “count.” As I said, this is likely a myth, but it created an additional, related problem here. While the prayer was likely not written because of persecution it unfortunately led to persecution. Gentiles would point to this prayer as “proof” that Jews could not be trusted. In 1240 in France, for example, Rabbi Yehiel of Paris was forced to defend the prayer against Franciscan Nicholas Donin, and in the 1850’s the Russian government required that all Siddurim must be printed with an introduction to this prayer limiting its use to only specific situations. More likely than persecution, the prayer was probably inspired by the Talmudic instructions about avoiding vows and oaths. The Talmud, Tractate Nedarim, mentions a formal ceremony of annulling vows on the day before Rosh Hashana. So the original Kol Nidre prayer may have originally been on Rosh Hashana. But Yom Kippur was always seen as a much more solemn and serious holiday, so it was moved to Yom Kippur. It was especially important to include on Yom Kippur because, during the 10 days of repentance between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, people tend to make lots of vows in hopes of changing their fate, since this is our theoretical “last chance” before our fates get sealed in the Book of Life. “On Rosh Hashana it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed…” Recognizing that these vows were made somewhat willy-nilly, or at least not with the seriousness the Torah requires, and given the severe punishment that can be incurred for making a vow, we needed a “system” for annulling them. Here, more 4

than ever, in the presence of God on the most awesome day of the year, we need a clean slate. Thus, the Kol Nidre was included in the liturgy. What else is there to know about Kol Nidre? At least seven things if I can remember them. First, it doesn’t count! The renunciation of oaths and vows is entirely symbolic at this point. It doesn’t technically absolve us from anything, since the Temple in is not standing, and these specific halachot/rules are not in force. Secondly, 7 is important. As our own Machzor points out, mentions seven types of promises and uses seven verbs expressing nullification. Seven symbolizes completion in Judaism and links us back to the Creation story. Thirdly, it was originally written in Hebrew, but changed by the influential Rabbenu Tam to the , even though it was no longer spoken, to match the Talmud’s language for annulling vows. It has several grammatical errors, but once it became fixed it became almost impossible to change. Fourth, it was originally written in the past tense and is still recited that way in most Sephardic communities. ’s son-in-law, Rabbi Meir ben Samuel, changed it from “from the last Yom Kippur until this one” to “from this Yom Kippur until the next.” The thinking was that you couldn’t change the past mistakes, but you had an opportunity to potentially correct future ones. Fifth, even though it isn’t in force, the dispensation from vows refers only to those which an individual voluntarily assumes for him or herself alone and in which no other people or interests are involved. In other words, the formula is restricted to those vows which are between our own consciences and God. So I can’t make a vow on behalf of the congregation or my family; only on behalf of myself. It’s between you, your conscience, and God. Sixth, even though it doesn’t count, the symbolism of it counting is why it must be recited before sundown. A court of three rabbis, a Beit Din, is what can annul vows, and it can never be done on or a Chag. Here, it is the “Heavenly tribunal” which symbolically would annul it. Seventh, lots of people tried to get rid of the prayer, but they all failed. I already mentioned that Rav Amram Gaon thought it was a foolish custom. So did 5 of the 6 most important in Babylon, but they failed to get rid of it. The early Reform movement tried to get rid of it, but they failed. The great Modern Orthodox Rabbi tried to get rid of it, but he failed. Some rabbis felt it led Jews to recklessly and carelessly make any vow that came to their 5

minds. Others believed it was easy fodder for anti-Semites. Still others felt it was simply outdated. So lots of people have tried to get rid of it, and yet it still around and it is not going anywhere. Regardless of how scholars felt, the tribe has spoken, and it is here to stay. Is it because it fills a primal need deep in our hearts and souls? Is it because we still feel the need to be absolved of the many promises we will make to ourselves and ultimately not fulfill? Is it simply because it is “tradition?” The answer is probably all of these things and none of these things. The real answer probably has more to do with the music than the lyrics. It’s the tune—the haunting, awe-inspiring tune. The tune is said to have descended from Sinai, though you will find no two versions exactly alike. The musical structure of the Asheknazi Kol Nidre is an intermingling of supposedly simple cantillation (maybe for the parrot but not for me) with rich figuration. It is considered similar to what is called Catholic “plain-song” or “pneuma,” and some say it is also similar to the first five bars of the sixth movement of Beethoven’s C sharp minor quartet. Whatever the technical terms may mean, it is such a beautiful inspiring melody that has inspired generations of Jews so much that they not only can’t let it go, but that they actually arrive early to a service just to hear it. So that is a primer in one of the most significant prayers in the Jewish tradition. Hopefully, you know more about it now than you did when you came in tonight. But what is the takeaway here? Well, I have a few final thoughts. First, we are such an overly rationalistic people, but some things are meant not just to stimulate our brains, but to stir our souls. The tenacity of Kol Nidre, a prayer that really makes no sense in today’s word, should remind us to open our hearts to things that don’t necessarily make sense. Secondly, it should naturally make our thoughts turn to the importance, not of full on vows, but the promises we make to ourselves and to others. So, in closing, I would like us to consider three questions regarding our own promises, remembering that even in these we can only obligate ourselves, not others. 1. What is a promise you want to make to yourself this year that, while maybe you won’t quite fulfill, is important enough for you to keep top of mind? It can be work related, family related, world related, volunteer related, health related, Jewishly related, or anything else. This is the promise of an ideal. You may not quite get there, which Kol Nidre acknowledges, but you are at least going to attempt it. I want to give you a moment to reflect on that. 6

2. What is a promise that would be closer to a vow, that you are relatively sure that you can fulfill? Not without effort, of course, but that you think you can realistically accomplish. Again, same criteria. Work related, family related, Jewishly related, etc. I want to give you another few seconds to reflect on that. 3. Finally, what is a promises you might have broken, either to yourself or to others, that you need to forgive yourself for.

And then, realize that the words which end Kol Nidre are the following: Vayomer Hashem salachti kidvarecha, and Hashem replied: “I have forgiven, as you have asked.”