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Avidan Freedman

The Question We Must Ask before We Fast

It never fails to astound me. Every year as I sit in synagogue and listen to the words of the prophet Isaiah read on Yom Kippur, I am struck anew by the radical hutzpa of the Sages who specifically chose these verses as the portion of the prophets to be read on the most severe and holy fast day of the Jewish calendar. But this year, in addition to astonishment, these words inspire a deep and awesome sense of commitment, because the prophet’s words resonate with our current reality in a way that fills me with fear and trembling.

Why do I have the hutzpa to accuse the rabbis of hutzpa on this holy day? Imagine that in the middle of Yom Kippur, your rabbi were to get up and start shouting at the congregation: “Do not fast today!”  This is an exact quote of Isaiah (58:4). This is precisely what he says to a people whose only desire is to seek God out and follow His ways. Isaiah admonishes them: you ask God “Why do we fast and you do not see?” It’s because you’re doing it all wrong! So just stop. These are the words the Sages want us to be confronted with while we are in the midst of our fast, because they wanted to remind us that the fast is only a means, and not an end in and of itself. They wanted to make sure that we understand that God is not at all interested in a fast that consists only of external behaviors, to bend over and beat our chests, to afflict ourselves or to dress in sackcloth, if the essence is missing.

And what is that essence? What is the fast that God truly desires? Isaiah’s familiar answer takes on an entirely new meaning when heard this year. “This is the fast that I desire: Open the chains of the wicked. Loosen the bonds of oppression. Send those who have been crushed free, and severe every yoke. Share your bread with the hungry, and bring the impoverished downtrodden home, if you see someone naked, dress them” (58:7-8). If you want your fast to mean something, you must dedicate yourself to relieving the suffering of the oppressed and the downtrodden. And who is more bound by the chains of the wicked than the 101 captives still held by Hamas? And who is more crushed than they who cry for freedom after over a year in captivity? They are hungry, they are downtrodden, they are naked. This year, I cannot hear the words of the prophet any other way, and it could not be more clear. Isaiah is saying: your Yom Kippur is meaningless if you are not doing everything in your power to free the captives. And he ends his words with a profound moral charge: “Do not ignore your own flesh” (Isaiah 58:6-7).

Anyone who wants their Yom Kippur to mean something this year must ask themselves one question: Have I ignored my flesh? Am I doing everything I can to bring the captives home?

When I asked  myself this question after Hama’s brutal murder of six hostages mere hours before the IDF reached them, hostages who could have come home alive, I was forced to admit: No. I’m not doing enough. I am going about my regular life while succeeding to ignore the suffering of my own flesh, the suffering of my brothers in sisters in Hamas’ grip. And in the spirit of this season of repentance, after recognizing my sin, I felt that I needed to make amends. And so I joined a hunger strike started by 83 year old Israeli activist Orna Shimoni. For a week and a half before Rosh Hashana, I embarked on a hunger strike in front of the Knesset, sleeping outside in a sleeping bag at night. Along with me, many others have already joined, and more are joining all the time, men and women of all ages and backgrounds, all of whom have put their own lives on hold in order to answer the call of the prophet: Do not ignore your own flesh. A group of doctors have also joined, closing their clinics out of a sense of basic professional responsibility. The patients that are currently in the most dire need of treatment, whose lives are in danger at every moment, are the hostages, and the principles of triage demand that other patients wait until this emergency is properly resolved.

The first words of Isaiah’s prophecy that we read on Yom Kippur are: “Pave, pave, clear the path, raise the stumbling block from my nation’s path.” For over a year, we have all struggled to know what the proper path is to begin healing and repair after the vicious attack of October 7th and everything that has ensued since. Israeli society is torn by deep disputes regarding the proper methods, means, and priorities.  Isaiah has a suggestion for us. The path to repair must start with one thing: “Send those who have been crushed free.” It is all of our responsibility not to ignore our own flesh, not to allow our hearts the harden, not to stand idly by the blood of our fellow, to do everything humanly possible to bring them all home. Now.

About the Author
Avidan Freedman is the co-founder and director of Yanshoof (www.yanshoof.org), an organization dedicated to stopping Israeli arms sales to human rights violators, and an educator at the Shalom Hartman Institute's high school and post-high school programs. He lives in Efrat with his wife Devorah and their 5 children.
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