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Ben Einsidler

Letting Go of Anger – Yom Kippur 5785

A story is told about a holy tzadik, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev. He once stayed at an inn during the days leading up to the high holidays. As the rabbi rose early in the morning to say his selichot- his penitential prayers- he noticed the innkeeper reading out loud from a notebook. As he listened in, he realized that the innkeeper had been keeping a diary where he recorded all the times he had “sinned” during the past year.

“On this day I missed a minyan for the morning service,” read the innkeeper from his old notebook with a sigh. “On this other date, I spoke lashon hara (gossip) about one of my guests to my wife,” he continued. “On this particular day, I accidentally desecrated the holy Shabbos by speaking of business, and on this other day I was so famished before lunch I started eating without saying hamotzi…” This went on for a while- the innkeeper rattling off dates and systematically reciting his transgressions.

After the innkeeper finished reading the record of his misdeeds, he stood up and declared, “Ribbono Shel Olam – Master of the Universe, I am deficient in my deeds. I was late for minyan many a time, even missed a minyan on occasion, did not study enough of your holy Torah, and showed disrespect to others.” Then, the innkeeper took out a second notebook, and started to read:

“Before Sukkot, Yankel’s horse had a lame foot, and he couldn’t deliver his milk.”

“This past winter, my wife’s aunt came down with a terrible stomach ailment.”

“A fox came into Simcha’s chicken coop and ate all his chickens, and he had neither eggs nor meat to slaughter and sell.”

“The tailor Chaim and his wife lost their newborn baby before Pesach.”

This went on for a while: the innkeeper reading aloud his tally of all the instances during the year when, he felt, G-d had caused hardship and transgressed against him and his community.

Finally, after several minutes, the innkeeper stood up and said “Ribbono Shel Olam, Master of the Universe, as I confessed I have not led a blameless life this year. But I have not killed and I have not stolen. You, on the other hand, You take little babies from their mothers and You take mothers from little babies, and cause people to lose their livelihood…who is more guilty? I will make a deal with you: I will forgive you and you will forgive me.” With that, he tossed both notebooks in the blazing fire in the fireplace.

To put it bluntly: this past year, I have felt on multiple occasions that G-d has a lot to answer for. Moreover, I’m sorry to say that, in retrospect, anger has been one of my dominant emotions over the past year. I was angry after October 7th. I’ve been angry at the ongoing instances of antisemitism on many college campuses and around the world. I’ve been angry at the lack of will to address the ongoing climate crisis. I’ve been angry at the lack of nuance in our political discussion. I’ve been angry at things large and small, for things benign and harmful, at people and situations which, of course, are completely beyond my control.

I’m here to confess and say: I’m sorry. I certainly don’t consider myself an “angry” person; but like many others, my temper can get the better of me sometimes. When my children don’t listen, when things don’t go my way, and when the world feels like it’s on fire and I’m the only one who notices- and sometimes, yes, when the Mets lose- I can be a little kvetchy. Sometimes very kvetchy. But in all seriousness, on this Yom Kippur I feel comfortable sharing with you that this, specifically, is one sin I am hoping to atone for.

In our Yom Kippur liturgy, anger actually looms quite large. When we look at the shorter confession, “Ashamnu”, many of the behaviors enumerated therein can often be attributed to anger. Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu, dibarnu dofi- “we abuse, we betray, we are cruel, we destroy”, and so on. In the longer Al Chet as well anger is in the background of several of our transgressions. Al cheit shechatanu lifanech bifrikat ol- “We have sinned against you by throwing off all restraint”, can mean in a sense that we have let our emotions get the better of us.

Even beyond Yom Kippur, anger as a theme continues to be present in our texts. The book of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), which we read over the holiday of Sukkot, also cautions us against an angry disposition. In one week we’ll be chanting a chapter of Kohelet as part of our Chol Hamoed Sukkot Shabbat service. It’s one of my favorite books of Tanakh, full of wisdom and one that I enjoy reading every year on Sukkot. Ecclesiastes teaches in chapter 7 verse 9:

אַל־תְּבַהֵ֥ל בְּרֽוּחֲךָ֖ לִכְע֑וֹס כִּ֣י כַ֔עַס בְּחֵ֥יק כְּסִילִ֖ים יָנֽוּחַ׃

“Don’t let your spirit be quickly vexed, for vexation abides in the breasts of fools.”

Despite Kohelet’s advice, we should acknowledge that anger, or at least agitation, in the right circumstances can be a healthy motivator. It can prod us to become more politically active, be “fuel for the fire” for us when we exercise, and simply serve to rouse us from complacency. Is this not what drives the great prophets in our tradition? When they look at the bad behavior and misdeeds of B’nei Yisrael and are divinely roused to preach against it, does this care and concern not come from a place of agitation?

It seems, however, that anger is a divine attribute, and not one that humans should necessarily seek to emulate. It’s Moshe’s anger after all, according to the midrash, that precludes him from entering the promised land. In chapter 20 of the book of Numbers, Moses strikes the rock, instead of speaking to it, in order so that the people may drink. Infamously, because this is done out of anger, Moshe is disqualified from completing the journey to the promised land with the rest of the Israelites. And it must be noted that this is not the first time that Moshe has displayed anger and complaining towards the Israelites.

There are many other instances of anger being a detrimental aspect of human behavior throughout the Tanakh. To name just a few apart from Moses: Esau’s enmity and vowing to kill Jacob after he steals the blessing of the firstborn; Samson’s repeated instances of violence in the book of Judges against the Philistines; Saul’s near-murder of David before David becomes king, and the fratricide between David’s children.

For us, we might be forgiven for getting angry at times. After all, last year was anything but normal, and immensely trying in many ways. We live in a society and culture that at times, it seems, prioritizes and rewards raw feelings over making healthy mental health choices. But the fact is, we all get angry at times, and sometimes justifiably so. However, it’s not okay to take out your anger on other people who are bystanders, outside of whatever is causing us to have “big feelings” (as we call it in our house).

A friend of mine told me that, in their interview for rabbinical school, one of the rabbis on the admissions panel said that loving Judaism is easy; loving the Jews, on the other hand, can be something else entirely. It’s been said that the mitzvah of ahavat Yisrael- love for the Jewish people- can often feel like the hardest mitzvah of all to fulfill. Judaism, in so many ways, is meant to be a communal enterprise. We are each not an island unto ourselves; in order to most fully express the beauty of what it means to be Jewish, we need to overlook each other’s faults and foibles and come together in community.

Over the past year especially, it can feel for many of us like this sense of ahavat Yisrael has been strained, with anger taking center stage. Our own internal divisions have become all too apparent at times with regards to the war, to the Israeli government, to different responses to antisemitism, to Zionism, and other areas. Moreover, our national discourse outside of the Jewish world is extremely polarized as well. It’s been pointed out that these fissures can often occur between people who, for all intents and purposes, agree on 95% of everything else. For whatever reason, being able to bridge the chasm of that last 5% can seem impossible. Why can’t we acknowledge both that 5% difference as well as the 95% common ground? Some things, it must be said, are “deal breakers”, but nevertheless we should strive to find common ground with each other, reasonably, when we can.

One common refrain during the high holiday season is the thirteen attributes of G-d. We recite them in our selichot during Elul and between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and in nearly every service:

יְהוָ֣ה ׀ יְהוָ֔ה אֵ֥ל רַח֖וּם וְחַנּ֑וּן אֶ֥רֶךְ אַפַּ֖יִם וְרַב־חֶ֥סֶד וֶאֱמֶֽת ׀ (ז) נֹצֵ֥ר חֶ֙סֶד֙ לָאֲלָפִ֔ים נֹשֵׂ֥א עָוֺ֛ן וָפֶ֖שַׁע וְחַטָּאָ֑ה וְנַקֵּה֙

“The LORD! the LORD! a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, (7) extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin;”

Slow to anger. At first glance, this may seem counterintuitive. At the giving of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai, G-d describes themself thusly:

כִּ֣י אָֽנֹכִ֞י יְהֹוָ֤ה אֱלֹהֶ֙יךָ֙ אֵ֣ל קַנָּ֔א פֹּ֠קֵ֠ד עֲוֺ֨ן אָבֹ֧ת עַל־בָּנִ֛ים עַל־שִׁלֵּשִׁ֥ים וְעַל־רִבֵּעִ֖ים לְשֹׂנְאָֽ֑י׃

“For I your God יהוה am an impassioned God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me.”

Doesn’t G-d, like Moses, act out of anger repeatedly? Bringing the Flood, destroying Sodom and Gomorrah, and even threatening to wipe out the Israelites at times?

But in the very next verse we read:

וְעֹ֥֤שֶׂה חֶ֖֙סֶד֙ לַאֲלָפִ֑֔ים לְאֹהֲבַ֖י וּלְשֹׁמְרֵ֥י מִצְוֺתָֽי׃

“but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments.”

One can’t help but notice this duality of G-d’s character, with divine anger existing alongside divine love. If I can offer my own interpretation, G-d is dynamic and not static. There are certainly times when G-d’s ire is raised, and G-d may exact consequences. But simultaneously, it’s G-d’s nature to be “el erech apayim”- a G-d who is slow to anger. We pray, in our selichot and at other times, that G-d’s divine attribute of mercy overcome their divine attribute of judgement- that chesed (lovingkindness) triumph over din (judgement).

How do we emulate this ourselves? How can we, in our better moments, act with derekh eretz (good behavior)? It’s been said, and I believe, that the way we best check our own anger is by engaging in hakarat hatov– literally, “calling out the good”. This is the Hebrew phrase for showing gratitude. By not allowing our negative emotions to overcome us, but still acknowledge them as a healthy emotional response, we are able to check our anger. By seeking out and acknowledging the positive in a situation, as opposed to concentrating solely on the negative, we not only bring our best selves forward but also honor the divine in other people and in the world.

Now, this can be hard to do. I struggle with it myself, and it takes some training. But just because a laudatory action is difficult does not mean that we are automatically excused from it. We may not always succeed- that’s what it means to be human, and that is the essence of what Yom Kippur is about. Despite our best efforts, we all too often don’t live up to all we can be. But let us make the effort.

There’s an adage which I’m quite fond of in Judaism. It was actually the motto of the Jewish day school where I used to teach: “Derekh eretz kadmah l’Torah”. The plain meaning of the phrase is “good behavior precedes Torah”. To interpret its essence, it means that to adhere to mitzvot and live Jewishly cannot be done independent of ethical thoughts and actions. When we feel angry or negative yet are able to be el erech apayim- slow to anger- we put this dictum into practice. “Righteous anger”, as it’s been called, certainly has its place, but it should by no means become an obstacle to us being our best selves and seeing the divine in others. This coming year, may we all be el erech apayim, engage in hakarat hatov when we can, and continually display derekh eretz towards each other and this world, which needs it so very much. May this year be a more serene one than the last. G’mar chatimah tovah- may we all be sealed for a good year.

About the Author
Ben Einsidler serves as rabbi at Temple Beth Sholom in Framingham, Massachusetts. He received rabbinic ordination from Hebrew College in Boston, where he previously earned Master’s degrees in Jewish education and Jewish studies. He completed a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education as part of the chaplaincy team at Beverly Hospital, and has participated in fellowships with Hadar, the iCenter, and the Shalom Hartman Institute. Rabbi Einsidler is proud to be a long-time volunteer with the Community Hevra Kadisha of Greater Boston.
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