The moral courage to pray with the transgressors
With the sanction of the Almighty, and with the sanction of the congregation, by of the Heavenly Court, and by authority of the earthly court, we hereby grant permission to pray with those who have transgressed.
On the eve of Yom Kippur, before the Kol Nidrei prayer, we permit ourselves to pray “with the transgressors.” This phrase, embedded in the liturgy for centuries, has always been paradoxical and thought-provoking. How is it possible to stand before the Creator of the Universe, on the holiest day of the year, while intentionally including those who have harmed, sinned, broken the law, or deceived their fellow human beings?
The answer is simple yet sharp: the community is not whole without them. The people of Israel are composed not only of the righteous and the pure, but also of the broken and the transgressors, and we have no authority to erase them from the collective.
But this year, two years after the Simchat Torah pogrom – that terrible day of October 7 – the words take on a different, far harsher meaning. They are no longer merely a theological or poetic statement, but a painful mirror held up before us. The “transgressors” are not an abstract concept; they are present among us, sometimes even at the very centers of power, and they have not yet admitted responsibility, asked forgiveness, or corrected their ways.
A state commission of inquiry has still not been established to examine the failures of the government before and during the disaster. This avoidance is not merely a technical failure; it is an expression of moral delinquency. It is an escape from responsibility, an attempt to blur the truth, and at times even an insistence on making the public hostage to a political narrative instead of demanding accountability.
Transgression is not only a criminal violation of the law; it is also a moral and civic failure. It occurs when leaders do not see themselves as servants of the public but as its masters. It occurs when entire groups in society wish to enjoy the protection of the state but do not share in the burden of security or taxation, leaving the responsibility to others.
Precisely on this day, when our loved ones are still captive in Gaza, when countless families wait in torment for their release or their return for burial in Israel, the gap between the people’s pain and the cynicism of the leadership is more searing than ever. While citizens expect acts of responsibility, sacrifice, and unity, in the centers of government, personal rivalries continue, cynical deals are made with public funds, political extortion thrives, and corruption is laid bare. Transgression is no longer at the margins; it stands center stage.
And not only in Israel. In the Diaspora we are witnessing a new wave of antisemitism, cloaked in the garb of anti-Zionism. The pain is multiplied when Jews themselves join this chorus. Some confuse legitimate criticism of a particular government with the denial of the very right of the State of Israel to exist and to defend itself. Some justify terror, granting Hamas legitimacy and rewards instead of condemning it, and believe one can love the Jewish people while relinquishing love for the State of Israel. This too is a form of moral transgression – the turning away from the basic principle of mutual responsibility between Diaspora Jewry and Israel.
Love of the people of Israel cannot replace love of the State of Israel. Our Jewish identity is incomplete without a commitment to Jewish sovereignty, to self-defense, and to Zionism as a fundamental value. Whoever seeks to be part of the community cannot shirk this shared responsibility.
The liturgy reminds us of a clear principle: God forgives sins committed between human beings and God, but only after we have sought forgiveness from other human beings. One who has sinned against the public, against the community, against the State of Israel, cannot suffice with a quiet prayer in the synagogue. They must confess, apologize, and seek repair. Forgiveness is not a magical formula; it is a process of assuming responsibility and committing to change.
The phrase “we permit ourselves to pray with the transgressors” is not a call to reconcile with sin or corruption. It is not a license to forget the harm or ignore responsibility. On the contrary, it is a call to moral courage. It is a reminder that there can be no community without justice, no people without truth, and no forgiveness without repair.
On this Yom Kippur, more than in any other year, we must understand that the transgressors are not “them.” They are part of us. They sit beside us in the synagogue, they appear on our screens and in the news, they hold the steering wheel of political power. And we can no longer allow ourselves to remain silent.
Yom Kippur is a gift of a new beginning, but only if we all, righteous and transgressors alike, stand before the truth. Only if we understand that divine forgiveness requires human confession, that reconciliation with heaven depends on repair on earth, and that the people of Israel have no future without the courage to admit the truth.
