A Greek salad. Thirty years later, I still remember salivating over the perfect blend of salty feta, crunchy lettuce, flavorful olives, and tangy vinaigrette. The first few times the salad was from Renato Pizza in Swarthmore; in subsequent years, I would order from whatever place I could find. Over time, the tradition gave way to bagels and cream cheese or pizza (though I probably had pizza with the salad) and later to casseroles, both savory and sweet.
The break-fast at the end of Yom Kippur is more than just food after a 25-hour fast; it is a return to the physical. Since the pandemic hit, I have missed the handout of shredded apple in rose water that my synagogue offers at the end of services to begin that transition from the spirit back to the body.
Intentionally, Yom Kippur is focused on the spirit. We symbolically enact our death — refraining from food and drink, refraining from sex and bathing, and refraining from oiling the body or wearing leather shoes, wearing white, and praying as if we are at Heaven’s door — to shed the failures we committed with our bodies. We seek to atone, to become at one with God by repenting, praying, and pledging righteous action. Is it any wonder then that eating after hour upon hour of worship does more than fill our belly?
“Pledging righteous action” is the key turn. We cannot live the lesson of Yom Kippur if we remain focused only on the spirit. There are 364 or 365 other days in the year after Yom Kippur in which we are meant to be our better selves, not just as an idea but as a practice.
Rabbi, are you really getting all of this from remembering break-fast foods? Of course not; I get it from what comes on the heels of break-fast, the festival of Sukkot, sometimes called the Feast of Tabernacles.
For eight days, starting tonight, Jews move outside into temporary huts to eat meals, welcome guests and connect to nature by celebrating the fall harvest. The holiday is a cornucopia of embodiment (pun intended): it is a feast for the eyes (we go out of our way to beautify aspects of the holiday); it plays to the other senses (the lulav and etrog offer a range of tastes, smells, and textures while representing our eyes, lips, spine, and heart); it requires motion (as we shake the lulav and etrog in all directions and as we go outside to the sukkah hut to eat); we build that sukkah just strong enough to protect us but not so strong that we don’t feel the weather or can’t see the stars, and we eat and drink and make merry (we are specifically commanded to be joyous on the holiday), many even sleep in the sukkah.
There are many meanings and lessons to draw from Sukkot. This year, I am instead thinking about the time leading up to it. From that Yom Kippur break-fast, amidst all the preparations for Sukkot (purchasing the beautified items, building the sukkah, making menus, and sending invitations), I am struck by how intently Judaism seems to be saying, “Don’t get stuck in your head!”
Repentance and prayer took center stage during the High Holy Days. The moment the High Holy Days end, we are pushed to make good on our pledge of righteous action. We are pushed back into the real world–the broken world–to do real repair. We are pushed to infuse that spirit into our physical selves, to be whole, and to harvest that wholeness. The Hebrew word for whole is shalem, like shalom, which translates as peace or completeness. It is only when we harvest our whole selves, not just our spirit that we bring peace. I can almost taste it.
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