Reciting Shehechiyanu on Yom Kippur
Kol Nidrei, 5781
Shmuel Herzfeld
On Motzei Shabbat Shuva our congregation joined via zoom for a maariv minyan
with my rebbe, Rabbi Avi Weiss, to commemorate the yahrtzeit of Rabbi Weiss’
mother, Miriam. The actual yahrtzeit is on Yom Kippur, but Rabbi Weiss will not be
attending services this Yom Kippur on account of his underlying health risks. While
I felt honored to be able to connect with Rabbi Weiss on this very special occasion, I
also felt sad that Rabbi Weiss will not be able to attend a Yom Kippur service this
year. One of the most beautiful Yom Kippur davenings that I ever experienced was
when Rabbi Weiss was the chazzan for Neilah. What an amazing feeling of joy and
spiritual connection! No one cared about time or the fact that the fast had
technically ended. We were all singing and dancing with such joy. No one wanted
the day to end; we were so happy. We just wanted Yom Kippur to continue forever.
Rabbi Weiss has inspired tens of thousands of people with his brilliant Yom Kippur
derashot and powerful davening and now sadly he has to daven in his own home.
Of course, both Rabbi Weiss and the many, many others who aren’t able to attend
services have the right perspective. They are staying home this year so that they
can attend a service next year and Gd willing for many years to come. Indeed, Rabbi
Weiss also inspired us at our zoom minyan by singing an uplifting song that he
recently composed. The song was based on the words of the Elul Psalm (Psalm 27),
the Lrd is my light, le-david Hashem ori. Rabbi Weiss sang about the light of Hashem,
the light of Torah, and the light of Zion.
It was amazing to me that rather than focus on his inability to be at a Yom Kippur
minyan this year, Rabbi Weiss was able to lead us in a beautiful and encouraging
song.
One of the great challenges of life is to be able to go beyond the obstacles of a
moment and find a sliver of light. It is so important to find any light because once a
little bit of light can get in the light can grow stronger and stronger.
At our zoom maariv, I shared with Rabbi Weiss and our minyan, a story that I read
from Michael Zylberberg.
In 1949, Zylberberg published in London an account of what it was like to
experience Yom Kippur in Warsaw during Nazi rule.
In 1939 Kol Nidrei came during the Nazi invasion of Poland. Zylberberg tells how
that year all the shuls closed for Kol Nidrei and so Warsaw Jews gathered for Kol
Nidrei in small groups in their homes and “prayed to the accompaniment of falling
bombs.” He said that all day he lay hiding in a cellar and when he finally stepped out
of his house he found himself stepping over corpses of friends and relatives.
The next year on Yom Kippur, 1940, the shuls of Warsaw were closed but the Jews
still gathered in private minyanim. Zylberberg writes that at precisely noon that
day—right between Shacharit and Mussaf—an announcement went up on
loudspeakers that the Nazis had set up. The Nazis had chosen that moment—on our
holiest day of the year--to announce that a ghetto was being formed and that all
Jews had eight days to move into the ghetto.
In 1941 Zylberberg recounts how he helped lead a Yom Kippur service in the ghetto
for 150 orphan children. The service was organized by a secular Jew named Dr.
Janus Korczak. Zylberberg writes that Dr. Korczak wore a yarmulke the whole day
and stood reciting the prayers. This secular Jew was transformed by the holiness of
the moment. He addressed the children before Neilah and urged them to appreciate
the sanctity of their tradition: “He spoke of life and death, of Jewish faith, of the
Torah, of Israel…. Next Rosh Hashanah the children were no longer there. And Dr.
Korczak was dead.”
By Yom Kippur 1943, Warsaw was judenrein. Yet, somehow Zylberberg and a
handful of other Jews were able to survive in the city of Warsaw. He writes that that
year on Yom Kippur the only place he felt safe was in a church. So that Yom Kippur
he decided to walk into a church in order to spend the day in contemplation. During
the three-hour mass that he attended he noticed that there were other Jews who
had also come for a similar purpose. They all held their heads down and refused to
make eye contact so as not to expose each other. After the mass ended he stayed in
the church that entire day. Most of the day he spent in silence. But there was a time
when a priest ascended the altar in a white gown and sang a powerful melody for
those in need. Zylberberg had never heard the melody before but after the war he
attended services at Sephardic synagogue in London and heard the same melody
(Goodman, The Yom Kippur Anthology, 204-209).
When I read Zylberberg’s account I was saddened but also inspired. I was saddened
by his experiences but inspired by his incredible commitment to survival. I was
inspired by the fact that he found light in the most unlikely of places. I was inspired
that he found the same tune on Yom Kippur in a church in Nazi Warsaw and then in
a Sephardic synagogue in London.
Here was this proud Jew forced to spend Yom Kippur in a church away from his
traditions. And yet, he was able to find light—to find inspiration. His story is a
lesson for all of us that if we open our hearts wide enough and if we look carefully
for it then inspiration can be found even in places where we do not expect it.
The Talmud discusses whether or not the blessing of Shehechiyanu should be
recited on Yom Kippur. The blessing states, “Thank You Hashem for bringing us to
this moment in our lives.” But asks the Talmud how can we recite this blessing
without any food or drink? Nonetheless the Talmud concludes that we must recite
this blessing on Yom Kippur as one can recite it even in a shuk (Eruvin, 40b).
As we prepare to daven Kol Nidrei in a parking lot and in an open plaza in front of
our shul, I feel like the Talmud has addressed our prayer service directly. We must
recite Shehechiyanu even in a shuk.
This year has felt like there have been many days where we question if we can recite
the blessing of Shehechiyanu. But of course we must recite it this yontiff. We must
recite it loudly and clearly. We must declare thank you to Hashem for all the
blessings we have in our life. We must declare that we will strive to come out of this
experience stronger and more connected to each other than ever before. We will
find the light.
And if we can’t muster the strength on our own to recite this blessing then we will
draw strength from each other and from our holy ancestors like Michael Zylberberg.
We don’t know what 5781 will bring us, but we do know that whatever it brings, we
will not be alone. We will be able to lean on our faith and the holy traditions of our
ancestors.
