The theme of reversal is a prominent one during the Teshuvah season and on Yom Kippur.
- How many times do we say קרע רע גזר דיננו? We ask Hashem to reverse the evil decree and inscribe us in the book of life.
- The Rambam writes that the victim who refuses to grant forgiveness to the wrongdoer can himself become the sinner.
- And the Talmud that tells us that, one who does Teshuvah sincerely and completely can transforms one’s demerits into merits. Avonot can become mitzvot.
It’s in this spirit that I’d like to humbly suggest that perhaps we’ve been looking at this pandemic from the wrong end of the telescope. Let me explain what I mean.
Why is it that of all the books we could read to inspire us in the waning moments of Yom Kippur afternoon, we choose the book of Yonah? We know the classic answer: If even the wicked people of Ninveh could repent, surely we can do it.
But what about Yonah himself? He’s such an ambivalent character. He’s so reluctant and so begrudging. Why do we put him on a pedestal? Why is he considered a hero?
What I’d like to suggest is that the story of Yonah is fundamentally about the human capacity to defy our nature in the service of a greater good.
As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has written about, there are two types of leadership in Tanakh: There’s the priest and the prophet. And they’re opposites.
- The priesthood is dynastic; the prophets don’t work that way. Even if my father was not a prophet, I could be a prophet.
- The priest functions in the Temple; the prophet is out among the people.
- The priest follows pre-ordained rules; the prophet is a charismatic leader who adapts and changes as the circumstances change.
- “The priest does his work in silence; the prophet carries the word of God.”
Literally or figuratively, Yonah was a priest.
- In his prayer, he talks over and over again about returning to the Temple and offering sacrifices.
- On the boat, he does whatever he can to separate himself from other people.
- Wherever we find Yonah in the book, he always prefers solitude to the company of others.
- In conversation, he either says little or nothing. Like the priest, he’s a man of few words.
- He’s good at speaking to God; but he’s not very good at speaking to people.
Dispositionally, Yonah is a priest and he doesn’t want to be a prophet. So he’s willing to go to any lengths to avoid the mission he’s called on to perform. The idea of travelling to a far-away place to deliver the word of God to a nation of sinners runs counter to his nature.
And yet, in the end, he pulls it off. For a moment, Yonah rises to the occasion and becomes a prophet. What’s more, word for word, he may be the most successful prophet in Jewish history. His whole prophetic career lasts just a matter of moments. He utters only five words: עוד ארבעים יום ונינוה נהפכת and he turns around the fate of an entire nation.
That’s why we read Yonah on Yom Kippur. That’s why Yonah is a hero. He’s the proof that it really is possible to do something that’s not in our nature – that’s not in our comfort zone – and be wildly successful.
That’s what I mean when I say we’ve been looking at the pandemic from the wrong end of the telescope.
We look through a lens that reveals all the upheaval and havoc that the pandemic has wrought.
But we also can’t lose sight of what the pandemic has revealed about us.
It’s shone a spotlight on the degree to which we’re capable of changing who we are.
I’m imagining three fictitious conversations that I might have had a year ago. I’m imagining pulling aside three members last Yom Kippur and telling them, “I want you to make a dramatic change in your life and do something drastic.”
- I know you jetset all over the world. This year, I want you to stop traveling and spend more time at home.
- I know that you’re dreaming of making this huge wedding for your daughter. Instead of inviting 1200 people, I want you to cap it at 50.
- I know you go to shul every day and that’s a core part of your identity. But you’re always whizzing through the davening. I want you to turn off the autopilot and daven at home for the next 6 months to see if you can bring a little more kavana to your davening.
How many people would have taken me seriously? People would have smiled and nodded. And then they would have said, “Rabbi, thank you so much for the input. That’s not who I am.”
This pandemic has shown us in the very starkest term that major life assumptions can change in an instant.
Every year on Yom Kippur we tell ourselves this line:
- Sure there are people who never speak Lashon Hara. They’re so holy. But that’s now who I am.
- Of course there are people who learn Torah every day. It’s so nice. But that’s now who I am.
- I know there are people who are these really great בעלי חסד and they volunteer all the time. It’s beautiful, but that’s not who I am.
Or maybe, just maybe, that could be who I am if I gave myself license to be.
In just a moment we’re going to recite Yizkor. And we remember people who are no longer in this world. Maybe it’s worth turning the telescope and wondering for a moment what future generations will remember about us when we came face to face with a cataclysm.
Were we able to see the hand of God?
Were we able to use this time to change something about who we are and reach our fuller potential?
Were we able to ask ourselves not just Who am I, but what am I capable of becoming?
Maybe, like Yonah, we’ll find that we’re capable not only of changing ourselves, but the whole world in the process.