We Never Lost It

The genius of the rabbinic sages lay not only in their encyclopedic knowledge of the Tanakh but also in their extraordinary ability to read its texts imaginatively, drawing from them insights that spoke to their own lives and circumstances. Rabbinic Judaism emerged and developed during a period of profound upheaval and radical change. The destruction of the Second Temple and the resulting decentralization of Jewish religious life required significant adaptations to make Jewish life possible under new circumstances. The sages’ ability to interpret Scripture in ways that both legitimized and reinforced these innovations gave their work a sense of divine imprimatur.

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the season of penitence, provide a striking example. The centrality of atonement during this period had been closely connected to the ritual performed by the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, in the Temple on Yom Kippur. With the destruction of the Temple, how was atonement to be achieved? On what basis could acts performed outside the Temple be considered both relevant and effective? While it may be impossible to trace precisely how this transformation took place, we do have evidence of the religious and textual inspiration that helped shape the rabbinic response to the very real need for spiritual renewal and a new religious path.

The juxtaposition of two verses from Psalm 102 seems to have provided an important source of inspiration for rabbinic innovation or, at the very least, a post facto justification for a “new” source of atonement:

He has turned to the prayer of the desolate; and has not despised their prayer.
Let this be inscribed for the generation to come, that a people yet to be created may praise the Lord. (Psalms 102:18–19)

In their biblical context, these verses are intended to strengthen those returning from exile, assuring them that their prayers, even when offered in the Temple, will forever be acceptable before God. (See A. Hakham, Tehillim 2, Daat Mikra, pp. 335–336.)

A midrash, however, applies these verses to an entirely different time and set of concerns:

Another explanation: “Turn to the prayer of the desolate.” Rabbi Yitzhak said with regard to the generations that they have neither prophet, nor priest, nor Temple to atone for them, but there is still one prayer left to them, which they pray on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and He does not despise it from them. “And do not despise their prayer”…

“Let this be inscribed for the generation to come, that a people yet to be created” — as it says, “and a people shall be created”?… The Rabbis say that this refers to generations who are considered dead because of their actions, but who come and pray before You on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and You create them as a new creation. What should they do? They should take a myrtle branch and a palm branch and praise You, as it says, “and a people is created, they will praise God.” (Midrash Tehillim 102:3, Buber ed., pp. 430–431)

This midrash reads these verses as a response to a Judaism forced to confront the loss of the religious tradition as it had been known and practiced. In the absence of the Temple, prophet, and priest, the rabbis found in Scripture a way to articulate and perhaps even legitimize a new religious path. Prayer could take the place of the sacrificial and priestly rituals that were no longer possible. God would not reject the prayers of those who found themselves in this new situation. Their prayers would be accepted, atonement would be granted, and each year, at this sacred season, they would be given the possibility of being “created” anew.

That may be one of the deepest meanings of Rosh Hashanah. Judaism had lost the means by which atonement had once been achieved, but it had not lost the possibility of renewal. The Temple could be destroyed; the religious institutions of the past could disappear; but the human capacity to turn toward God, to pray, to repent, and to begin again remained. And for that, the newly created people had reason to praise God.