I want to tell you a story of a man who lived nine hundred years ago around the times of the Crusades, Rabbi Amnon of Mainz. Rabbi Amnon was a very prominent leader in the Jewish community. The king (or bishop) and other officials of Mainz put heavy pressure on Rabbi Amnon to convert to Christianity. At first, it was easy for him to resist. But, as time went on, the constant pressure and the promises of a better life became too difficult to deal with so, thinking he would get temporary relief, Rabbi Amnon acquiesced, but told them that he needed three days to prepare for his conversion. Almost immediately, he realized that converting required him to abandon his community, Judaism and God and that he was not quite so ready to do so. After three days of fasting and praying for forgiveness, the moment came and Rabbi Amnon failed to show up for his own conversion. Consequently, he found himself in front of the bishop for his punishment to be pronounced. He was punished with mutilation – the cutting off of his hands and feet for failing to act on his words.
Knowing he was going to die, he convinced his disciples to take him to the synagogue where the community had gathered for the annual Rosh Hashanah services. As the shaliah tzibbur (this was before the time of cantors) got ready to call out the words of the kedusha of the Musaf service, Rabbi Amnon interrupted him with his own words of kedushat Hashem – sanctification of God’s name.
As the story goes, on that same day, Rabbi Amnon died. Three days later, he appeared to Rabbi Kalonymous ben Meshullam in a dream, and taught him the liturgical piece he recited - the liturgical piece we know as Unetaneh Tokef,asking him to share its message with Jews in future generations. And so, while scholars understand its literary structure to imply authorship in the Byzantine era, it is from the story of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz’s last day of life that this, one of our most well-known and challenging of all High Holiday prayers, got its permanent placement in the High Holiday Machzor.
The last day of his life, Rabbi Amnon paints a picture of a heavenly court in session. In God’s courtroom, each person is put on trial with God as judge and jury, witness and scribe, remembering things forgotten, looking at each person one by one, sealing our fate, writing it on Rosh Hashanah and sealing it on Yom Kippur.
“Who will live, who will die, who by fire and who by water, who in the fullness of days and who before, who will wax rich and who will be impoverished.” God’s list seemingly determines our fate in the year to come – who will live and who will die. How do we reconcile such an image of God with the compassionate and loving God that resonates with so many of us?
Is this not determinism which most of us would argue is not really Jewish? What happened to the notion of free will? If life is predetermined on the High Holidays - or at any other time for that matter - why go through the motions of daily care? Why bother paying attention to how we live if it is already decided who shall live and who shall die? And if that were not hard enough to live with, then we all join in with full voice to say Uteshuvah, u’tefilah, u’tzedakah ma’avirin et roa hagezeirah – which many machzorim translate as ‘But Teshuvah (repentance), prayer and tzedakah avert the severe decree’. So, then, on the actual last day of our life or even in our imagined last day of life, does this mean we did not do enough Teshuvah, tefilah, or tzedakah?
I don’t believe that Rabbi Amnon intended for us to see ourselves as defendants in a courtroom, unwilling or unable to testify. I do believe that Rabbi Amnon meant to inspire us. I believe that Rabbi Amnon intended for each of us to experience Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as if it was indeed the last day of our life – to step for a moment into his shoes, feel the pain and regret of a life ending and out of that to accept responsibility for writing our own fate in the Book of Life, to awaken ourselves to the possibility of change, and to immerse ourselves in a life filled with goodness. On Yom Kippur, we face our own mortality, standing before God and each other, considering where we are, what path we are following, to voice our questions and search for answers. And hopefully, we do, with hearts open to the possibility of change even as we pray that our life will be renewed for another year.
As the prayer teaches us, ‘V’chotam yad kol adam bo” – the seal of every man is in it. Each of us signs the book for ourselves – we are not merely puppets in the drama of our own lives. Such is the lesson of Rabbi Eliezer, whom the Talmud tells us upon hearing that his behavior left him with no share in the world to come, cried out to the stars and planets to plead on his behalf, as if implying that everything was simply an act of luck and that he was not to be held accountable for his own actions.
Only after describing much soul-searching does the Talmud continue to record his realization that he couldn't blame the planets, or fate or destiny for the conduct of his life. He burst into tears and said, "Ein hadavar taluee elah bi" – the matter is not reliant on anything or anyone but me! Everything that has happened is the result of my own deeds. With that confession, a voice from heaven proclaimed, "M'zuman hu l'chaye olam ha-ba” - Rabbi Eliezer has now earned the right to a place in the world to come.
Rabbi Eliezer came to realize that he, like we, is accountable for his actions, and it is in our own handwriting that what we do is recorded in the book of our life. We present ourselves in front of God and in front of our community, knowing that who we are, what we do, how we act – all this matters as we are asked to judge ourselves, to record what we have accomplished and we have fallen short, not for the purpose of feeling guilty, but rather with a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to begin again.
And, of course, this brings us to what is perhaps the most challenging of all lines in the Unetaneh Tokef - U’Teshuvah, U’Tefilah, U’Tzedakah maavirin et roa hagzeirah – which our machzor translates “But, repentance, prayer and tzedakah avert the severe decree.” Do we really believe that Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah are a prescription to avert death? You and I both know pious, kind people whose lives were filled with righteousness, religious piety, and generosity, who died.
U’Teshuvah, U’Tefilah, U’Tzedakah maavirin et roa hagzeirah is not a prescription to ward off death. But, if you look closely at the Hebrew, you’ll notice that the literal translation is actually that repentance, prayer and tzedakah avert the severity of the decree. And, this is indeed a message for all of us. There are aspects of life and death that, despite the desire in the human heart to, in some limited fashion, direct one’s own destiny, are not within our power to control. But, it is in our control to determine how we experience what life brings us and what we do with the time we are given. Death is inevitable, but the tragedy of a meaningless life can be averted. Teshuvah, Tefilah and Tzedakah do make a difference – not because it necessarily changes the day of our death – but because it changes us and changes how we live each and every day of our lives.
In this new year of 5767, may each of us be blessed to inscribe our own deeds in the Book of Life, to resolve to act in ways that make for real life, and to help determine the quality of our life for the coming year.
Gmar Hatimah Tovah,