Comforting Haftarah #6: Perhaps Not the Brightest of Topics...

This Saturday evening, September 1st, we will be starting the High Holiday season in earnest. Even though Rosh Hashanah is (thankfully...) still another week away, our
"warm-up" continues to help get us ready for its arrival. For a month, we have been hinting at the coming holidays, by ending the regular daily minyan prayers with a quick set of shofar blasts and a special psalm. Now, we take yet another big step closer, with a lesser-known service called Selichot. This service takes place at nighttime; ideally at midnight (though our version starts at 8:00 p.m.). Lately, I've been thinking about the many themes of the High Holidays, these Days of Awe, and especially about those we don't talk about as much. Both the Selichot service AND this week's Haftarah afford us opportunities to look at a darker side of these holidays. It's not an easy perspective to embrace, but it's quite important... and I think you and I are up to the challenge!

I used the term "darker side" on purpose, because our Haftarah emphasizes something we didn't hear about in most of the previous Haftarot of Comfort. This vision of Isaiah's refers constantly to God as the very manifestation of Light, and proclaims the emanating, healing, protecting, rejuvenating power of
the rays of light that shine from God. The prophecy begins: "Arise! Shine! For your light has dawned. The Glory of Adonai shines upon you" (60:1). However, even though the entire prophecy is about brightness, I find myself reflecting on the need for darkness to accompany that light. It's hidden, I acknowledge, but it's unmistakeable. You see, the main reason to tell a people about how much they will bask in radiance is because they are currently mired in gloom. Right? The power of this prophecy is the stark contrast it creates from their present situation. This, to me, mirrors the High Holiday experience. We can't talk about repentence without sin. We can't talk about improving things without acknowledging what is currently bad and needs change! Light and warmth and security and hope are only powerful concepts when the speaker or the listener (or both) is experiencing the exact opposite, and NEEDS to know things can - and hopefully will - get better.

Selichot carries a similar weightiness that is challenging but important. It's late at night. Perhaps we're tired. Perhaps we aren't ready to heed the messages of the High Holidays, but nonetheless, we jump in. We think about the fragility of life, the

precariousness of every day, and the idea that we get no guarantees in life, no assurances that our actions will secure our health and prosperity. These things are hard to think about, and most definitely uncomfortable to face. But how sincere can we be about making changes and wanting a fresh start in the New Year, if we can't first face the uncertainty of what it means to be alive? When we get to Yom Kippur, we traditionally dress entirely in white... not entirely unlike the tachrichim, the burial shrouds in which we dress the deceased at a funeral, and we also abstain from food or drink. We place ourselves in an almost-dead state, because we're meant to stare at our own mortality and be humbled. In our Haftarah, Isaiah declares: "Adonai will be a light to you forever... and your days of mourning shall be ended" (20). Yes, we're meant to see the first part, about God shining on our behalf. But can we afford to ignore that our ancestors listening to Isaiah felt like mourners every single day? Death NEEDS to be a part of living, otherwise we're just burying our heads in the sand.

Like I said, I know this theme can be difficult for many people to discuss. Death has become, for many of us, scary, looming, potentially filled with pain, deeply sad, and the very LAST thing we ever want to confront.

And yet, oddly enough, I think our Jewish tradition tries to put this issue in front of us time and again to make it EASIER to grasp. A lot of the terror that death holds over us is about what MIGHT happen, and how we COULD feel; the reality of the actual engagement with death is often much less intimidating. The final point I want to make about this here is; ultimately it isn't really about what I see in the text, or what I think we should be talking about. What do YOU think? How do you feel about death, or the notion that mortality is an underlying High Holiday theme that the rabbis want us to confront? If it IS something you're willing to explore, what are your concerns and/or fears around death, and how might you want that to change in the New Year? I know this isn't easy for MANY people, but it truly is vitally important. Now is the time to shed some light in this dark corner; the wait (and the trepidation) is over.

Images in this blogpost:
1. CC image courtesy of Vivobarefoot on Flickr
2. CC image courtesy of Pixabay
3. CC image courtesy of Sander van der Wel on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of stgortol on Pixabay