After The Death: Yom Kippur in the Shadow of War

Every year, I struggle with the end of Yom Kippur. After hours and hours of intense prayer, culminating in the dramatic Shema and Shofar blowing at the end of Ne’ilah, how can we continue on to an ordinary, daily Arvit, without even any of the additions for the High Holidays? How can I let a spiritual moment like that go, just like that?

The struggle compounds itself as Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret lead into the long year ahead. I not only miss the deep feelings and spiritual highs of the Yamim Noraim, but I start to feel like they were an aberration. It’s much easier to strive to be the person I want to be when I am fully immersed in the melodies, prayers and ideas of the day. But the real world, full of distractions, pressures and fatigue, makes it much harder. 

It can sometimes feel like Yom Kippur exists in a totally different universe than the rest of the year. In some ways, it is: by fasting and wearing white, we become like angels. For the same reason, we recite the line Barukh Shem Kevod Malkhuto Le’Olam Va’ed aloud (see Devarim Rabbah 2:36). 

In the times when the Temple stood, the singularity of Yom Kippur was expressed in its unique avodah, its special, once-a-year Temple service. The Mishnah (Yoma 4:4–6) lists the many ways the avodot of Yom Kippur were different from the rest of the year: the coal-pan was gold instead of silver, the incense was ground more finely, the High Priest would ascend the ramp of the altar through the middle as opposed to the side, there was an extra fire on the altar and much much more. Most significantly, it was on this day and this day only that the High Priest would shed his year-round priestly vestments, don plain white robes, and enter the Holy of Holies, coming into direct contact with the divine presence.

I can imagine a Jew living in temple times feeling the same way as me. If Yom Kippur is so special and so different, how could it possibly leave an impact on the rest of my year?

In the Torah, however, the service of Yom Kippur does not appear in a contextless bubble. The Torah introduces the service not by saying “God said to Moses: This is the service of Yom Kippur,” but rather with the following context (Leviticus 16:1-3):

The LORD spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of the LORD. 

The LORD said to Moses: Tell your brother Aaron that he is not to come at will into the Shrine behind the curtain, in front of the cover that is upon the ark, lest he die; for I appear in the cloud over the cover. 

Thus only shall Aaron enter the Shrine: with a bull of the herd for a sin offering and a ram for a burnt offering…

The order of the service of Yom Kippur comes in response to an event – the death of the sons of Aaron – and, as Rashi (quoting the Sifra) notes, it provides an answer to their death: Aaron’s sons came before God in a way that was improper, and thus they were killed, but now God will enumerate the proper way to come before God so as not be killed. 

Many have written extensively on the connection between the service of the Eighth Day of the Inauguration of the Mishkan, the day on which Aaron’s sons died (Leviticus 9), and the service of Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16). (See, for example, Rav Yoel Bin-Nun’s piece)

Both days’ avodah includes a bull to atone for the High Priest, a goat to atone for the people, and a ram brought by each as an olah. On both days, the High Priest performs all of the tasks himself. Both days are described as achieving atonement. 

However, the service of the Eighth Day occurred entirely in the courtyard of the mishkan, with the goal of bringing the divine presence from the Holy of Holies outward. In contrast, on Yom Kippur, God does not come out to us, but the High Priest goes into the Holy of Holies to encounter the presence of God in its resting place. Thus, the Eighth Day and Yom Kippur are inverse parallels. 

I’d add that the verse “after the death of the two sons of Aaron” frames this inverse parallel in terms of a “before and after.” The Eighth Day occurred while God and the Israelites were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship (“Before the Death”), while the service of Yom Kippur was commanded in response to tragedy (“After the Death”). The Eighth Day existed in an ideal universe where the divine presence could come out to us; Yom Kippur is a response to the tragic reality that drawing too close to God results in death, as God’s presence remains in its resting place. 

Of all people, it is Aaron who is forced to enter the Holy of Holies and greet the presence of God, knowing full well how that ended up for his sons. What is different about the service of Yom Kippur such that Aaron can be comforted knowing his outcome will be different?

I want to highlight a key difference between the Eighth Day and Yom Kippur, one that I think addresses this concern and provides the key to helping connect our Yom Kippur to the rest of the year. 

On the Eighth Day of Inauguration, God commands Aaron to execute a number of tasks, saying nothing of the order in which these tasks are to be performed. Aaron, still living with a “Before the Death” mindset, deals with the various sacrifices in a rather logical and rational order. He approaches the calf, the sacrifice by which he would personally be atoned, slaughters it, and performs all the tasks he is to perform with it. He then moves on to the goat, the Israelites’ atonement sacrifice, slaughters it, and performs all the goat-related tasks. And so on and so forth, in a very organized fashion, he completes every task he begins before moving on to the next.

In stark contrast, the Mishnah portrays a rather hectic and seemingly illogical order of events of the Yom Kippur service. It starts the same – Aaron approaches his personal bull and confesses his sins. But before he slaughters it, he abandons the bull and moves on to cast the lots on the goats. Before he is able to continue on with the goats, he returns to his bull, and confesses again, this time including the sins of rest of the priests. He slaughters the bull, but before he performs the blood sprinklings , he runs to prepare the incense and bring it into the Holy of Holies. Aaron jumps from task to task, not seeing each of them through to the end.

Thus, when Aaron comes before God in the Holy of Holies to offer the incense, he is in the middle of two other unfinished tasks. The bull has been slaughtered but the blood is waiting, as another priest stirs it, ensuring it will not congeal. The goats have been designated to God and to Azazel, but are waiting in the courtyard for their fates to actually be fulfilled.

After-the-Death Aaron, unlike Before-the-Death Aaron, is frenetic and disorganized. This can be attributed to his trauma, but it can also be that he realizes that in an After-the-Death universe, he needs to balance priorities and tasks in a new way. Trauma and suffering lead people to reevaluate their priorities and commit themselves to their beliefs in a stronger, more urgent way. Thus, After-the-Death Aaron sees in each of his noble tasks an urgent need, and he now struggles to balance them in an orderly fashion.

I imagine Aaron’s inner turmoil as going something like this: He approaches his bull first and confesses, because he knows cannot attend to the atonement of others before he atones himself. He cannot care for others before he attends to self-care. But he stops before he can complete the task — he realizes cannot leave the people hanging while he only attends to his own needs! The urgency of the moment requires him to put his needs second to the needs of the people! So he turns to the people’s goats and casts the lots. But then he realizes: his selflessness towards the people as a whole is coming at the expense of his family. It is one thing to sacrifice your own needs, but your family always takes precedence! He drops the goats and returns to the bull, this time including the sins of the priests, his extended family. He slaughters it, but then realizes he has forgotten another critical factor: he cannot sprinkle the blood of the bull in the Holy of Holies without first bringing the incense! The incense is a prerequisite for entering the holiest place, as it shields him from encountering God too directly. In other words, Aaron realizes that his obligations to himself, his family and the people are distracting him from his obligations to God!

After-the-Death Aaron encounters the reality that life is a delicate and difficult balancing act. Fulfilling our obligations to ourselves, our families, our people and our God is not meant to be simple and organized. These obligations, all sacred and holy, distract from one another and often come at the expense of each other. There are many contradictions and paradoxes involved in being a leader at a time of crisis, at a time of After the Death. There is no clear answer of what to prioritize first.

But, says God, this is the way to serve me on Yom Kippur. Aaron’s frenetic service, unlike the service of the Eighth Day, is commanded to be done in this confusing order. While a day of calm, organized service resulted in the death of his sons, a day of hectic, seemingly disordered service will bring atonement to the entire Jewish people. God wants us, even and especially on the holiest and most separated day of the year to learn to balance our priorities and commitments. That’s what serving God means.

As I imagine the Kohen Gadol running from task to task, unable to complete each one fully, I am reminded of Israelis during this year of war. After-the-Death Israelis have to balance renewed commitments to themselves, their families, their people and their God with extraordinary resilience. Whether it be the wife of a reservist, thinking of her husband while working and taking care of the kids alone, or the injured soldier, focused on his own recovery while his mind is with the unit of soldiers he left behind, Israel is full of High Priests this year, each figuring out how to messily balance critically important tasks and obligations.

Normally, Yom Kippur is a chance to block out all distractions, even small ones, such as nutrition, hydration and footwear, and focus purely on repentance. This year, countless soldiers will need to eat and drink, delicately balancing the sacred task of the day with their sacred task to keep the Jewish people safe. I think of these soldiers and their families as as great as the Kohen Gadol. 

In this After-the-Death Yom Kippur, I hope to re-frame my day as one of paradoxical commitments and delicate, messy balancing work. We have so much to pray for – what do I prioritize? Myself? My family? My people? Coming close to God? There is no correct answer. 

I also hope this kind of Yom Kippur can help me face the rest of the year, without the disconnect that I usually feel. If Yom Kippur itself is about juggling commitments, every day, with its own struggles, distractions and dilemmas, becomes its own Yom Kippur.