Food is life.

This past summer, Vicki and I were making travel plans to California to visit her family—her parents, her siblings, her cousins, her nieces and nephews, and especially, her grandmother. Vicki’s grandmother, Grandma Gertrude, had spent the last few years in that typical end-of-life journey from a retirement home, to a nursing home, to the Jewish Home for the Aged, in and out of the hospital, and finally to hospice care at the Jewish Home. As we planned our annual summer trip to California, Grandma Gertrude’s status was a primary factor in our decisions. We were trying to figure out the best time to go. We were trying to figure out how long she had left to live. Her status, unfortunately, became clear when we heard three words. The three words were: “She stopped eating.” She went right away. Vicki was there when she died. She stopped eating, so she stopped living.

Food is life.

Why do we fast today on Yom Kippur? And what difference does it really make if we fast today? After all, doesn’t spirituality transcend materialism? Aren’t issues of the soul beyond the body? Why do we fast today on Yom Kippur?

There’s an assumption out there that we fast in order to punish ourselves. To punish ourselves for wrongs we committed in the previous year. But, that’s just not true. We don’t atone though self-denial and physical torture. Why do we fast today on Yom Kippur?

Almost all religious constructs are based on the idea that the material world is insignificant, trivial, and even morally corrupt. The body brings us down. Judaism says otherwise. Our tradition sees human beings as composed of two parts: body and soul, one unit, a perfect fusion. Judaism rejected the Greek and Gnostic belief that the earthly body imprisons the soul—still the prevailing notion in almost every religious construct today. We tell ourselves that our bodies are secular and our souls are religious. It doesn’t matter how I treat my body, as long as I’m a good person. It doesn’t matter what I eat, as long as I’m a good person. It doesn’t matter when I eat, as long as I’m a good person.

Judaism rejects that notion. We reject that notion. To our Sages, our souls are holy and our bodies are holy, while we’re alive and after we pass away. That shy we take such good care of the body after someone dies. After our souls have departed, the Chevra Kadisha watches over our bodies and cares for our bodies. We don’t cremate our bodies. Our bodies are holy while our souls are in them and our bodies remain holy after the soul is gone.

On Yom Kippur, we fast not to punish or renounce our bodies, but to uplift our whole being by reflecting on our relationship with food. We raise the act of eating to something spiritual and holy that celebrates our physical beings and connects us with God and our souls. Food is life. Food can be made holy. Food is the perfect vehicle through which to sense God’s presence and improve our lives.

The Holy ARI, Rabbi Yitzchak Luria, says that while the physical essence of food provides nourishment for the body, the spiritual essence of food provides nourishment for the soul. There is holiness, or sacred sparks, in food because it was created by the Holy One. When you eat food, says the Ari, you digest and receive those sacred sparks. A few centuries later, Reb Zusya of Hanipol said, “It is God who has brought you hunger. It is God who has brought you thirst. The will of the Creator is to give life to things by means of eating.”

Before sitting down to write, I spent a good while considering whether I should speak about food on Yom Kippur. After reading Reb Zusya’s quote, it was clear that hunger and thirst were absolutely appropriate topics for a day of fasting. Our hunger is a gift from God. Our thirst is a gift from God. Our appetite is a sign that we’re alive. When you’re feeling uncomfortable today, remember that it’s a sign of life, a Gift from God, a physical sign that God sustains us with food. To sustain is l’kayem, as in v’keemanu. “Shehechiyanu, v’kee’eemanu, v’heegeeyanu lazman hazeh.” We thank God for sustaining us with food, the primary source of life. So, I ask your forgiveness for talking about food today. But, food is life and life without food, is death. On Yom Kippur, we reflect about the holiness of life and death.

In Judaism, the path toward holiness goes through the body; it does not transcend the body. The greatest of all spiritual achievement is to join the body and spirit together. On Yom Kippur, we remind ourselves that, thank God, our bodies have appetite. On Yom Kippur, we remind ourselves that, thank God, our bodies are alive. The texts that we read of Yom Kippur can help guide us.

During this morning’s Haftarah, the prophet Isaiah admonished us, “You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high. Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for a man to humble himself? Is that what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the LORD?” Isaiah implies that, in fasting, we have to find meaningful and lasting connections, not just for one day, but for the rest of our lives.

Let’s use this day of fasting to help us sanctify our relationship to our bodies. Let’s use this day of fasting to teach us its lessons about our relationship to food. Let’s make this fast today so meaningful that it will affect the rest of our year.

We can make our Yom Kippur fast more meaningful by committing to sanctify our eating experience in three ways: using traditional spiritual practices, making good food choices, and creating a sacred space to eat. In these ways, we can elevate the ordinary experience of eating.

In the Torah it says, “And you shall eat, be satiated, and then bless: v’achalta, v’savata, u’veirachta.” This is basis of the traditional way we sanctify eating, by reciting the Birkat Hamazon—our Grace After Meals. But our tradition beckons us to go deeper—to make the move from ritual practice to spiritual practice. The Medieval sage, Bachya ibn Pakuda, writes, “Whoever contemplates the natural processes of the body, he will see such signs of God’s wisdom. Realize that when food enters, it is distributed to every part of the body. Whoever contemplates the natural processes of the body, will be inspired to thank the Creator and praise the Source of All.” This is bentching. This is Birkat Hamazon, the Grace after Meals.

“And you shall eat, be satiated, and then bless: v’achalta, v’savata, u’veirachta.” Three mitzvot. The only way to truly fulfill all three obligations is for us to eat and digest and express our gratitude more deliberately and mindfully. In other words, there’s eating and there’s eating. The Ba’al Shem Tov writes, “When you eat, your thoughts should be that the taste of the food we are eating come from the God, who is the Source of All.” The Darchei Zedek, Rabbi Zechariah Mendel of Yeruslav, takes his idea one step further, and observes, “The main service of God is through eating … and the tzadikim, the righteous ones, meditate as they eat, in love and fear of God. They eat like they are praying.” Eating as prayer. I’m not suggesting that we get to that level right away, but I am suggesting that we can all begin to eat more mindfully.

Mindful eating. If we’re eating mindfully, then the urge to bless will come naturally. The religious ritual transforms into a spiritual practice. “Eat, be satiated, and bless.” This is the first way we can make our fast more meaningful by sanctifying the way we eat.

Another way of sanctifying our eating experience is by making good food choices. Judaism links our Jewish identity with food through the system of kashrut—keeping kosher. Kashrut allows us to take our ordinary experience of eating and make it holy so that we are consistently connected with our Jewish identity and with God. Food is the perfect vehicle of identification, because we need food so consistently!

There are three basic criteria for keeping kosher. Number one: Only certain animals may be eaten. Number two: Those animals have to be shechted, killed, in a specific, humane way. Number three: Meat and milk may not be eaten together. If you’re doing at least those three things, you’re keeping kosher. Don’t eat pork and shellfish, eat kosher meat (or go vegetarian), don’t mix meat and milk— and you’re keeping kosher! There’s a whole lot more nuance, but this is basic kashrut. Are you keeping kosher if you do this? Yes. You’re a low-functioning kosher Jew. Why is that so important? Keeping kosher allows us to identify with our faith community—Conservative Judaism with a full heart. We are what we eat. By making Jewish food choices, we bring ourselves closer to the Jewish community and we bring ourselves closer to Godliness. In order to feel more connected to our community and within our congregation, we should all strive to meet these basic standards of kashrut. The point of kashrut is to allow God to enter our bodies. To eat kosher food is to be a fully embodied Jew—to feel God with you always. Again, the greatest spiritual achievement of all is not transcending the body, but joining the body and spirit together.

A third way to sanctify our relationship to food is by creating a sacred space for our meals. In the Talmud, Tractate Brachot, it says, “As long as the Temple was in existence, the altar was the means of atonement for Israel, but now it is every man’s table that atones for him.” The seat of Judaism was once the Holy Temple; now the seat of Judaism is around the kitchen table. And for special occasions, the dining room table. The dinner table is a sacred space. It is the space in which a family comes together—face to face. It’s the space in which traditions are passed down. It’s the space in which culture lives and breathes. It’s the space in which love and esteem are realized. It happens during the week, but especially on Shabbat.

A while before I moved to Houston, I met Stuart Dow and his brother, Leon. I don’t think Stuart remembers, but I actually interviewed for a Judaic Coordinator position at Emery/Weiner, when I was completing my Rabbinic studies.  He is an impressive Jewish leader. And when I lived in Israel, I played basketball with his brother, Leon, who is also great Jewish educator in Jerusalem. I recently met with Stuart, and I asked him how it is that he and his brother both turned out to be Jewish educators. He said that it happened at the Shabbat dinner table. Each week, their father prepared for the Shabbat table. Every Friday morning, he took out an hour at his office to make a short list of questions and discussion triggers. At the dinner table, the kids would run to get the Encyclopedia, the Bible and the Atlas to answer the questions and take part in the discussion.

Barbara Fiese is the chair of psychology at Syracuse University. She describes the unique character of the Friday night Shabbat meal. She writes, “The family Shabbat meal has a double significance: It is simultaneously a patterned routine of weekly dinnertime, as well as a family celebration heavily weighted with specific religious rituals. The patterned routine, with its familiarity and frequency, supplies the family a sense of continuation by knowing what to expect and joining together on a regular basis, providing a strong sense of security and comfort.”

Besides the emotional and general health benefits regarding family rituals, there is growing documentation about the cognitive and social benefits of family mealtime rituals. Various studies have looked into the benefits of improved vocabulary, socialization skills and the imparting of values. Based on Fiese’s research and another study by, it was determined that, quote, “the single most effective intervention for the widest variety of teen and adolescent problems was also the easiest, speediest and least expensive: The implementation of family mealtimes.”

Food brings us together like no other vehicle. Eat with people you love. Love the people you eat with. Make time to eat at home. If you can’t make an elaborate Friday night dinner, order some pizza. Cheese pizza. Sanctify the places in which you eat and sanctify your relationship to food.

In these three ways, we can all come closer to God, grow closer to our communities, and to our True Selves: by using traditional spiritual practices like Hamotzi and Birkat Hamazon, by making good food choices, and by creating a sacred eating space.

Food is life. To be alive means that our Creator has given each of us the gift of an appetite for sustenance. Are you hungry? If you’re hungry say, “Amen.”

Give thanks to Adonai, for God grants you life and a means to sustain your life.

Do you long for something more? A deeper connection with community? Closer relationships with the people you love? If you’re yearning say, “Amen.”

Give thanks to Adonai, for God grants you a spiritual appetite and a means to sustain you life.

In the Psalms, we read, “Those who have died cannot praise God. Lo Hameitim y’halelu Yah. Ananchnu n’varech Yah. We, the living, have the opportunity to praise God. Let us praise God, right now, for the gift of our lives. If you agree with a statement of praise, please say you agree in Hebrew by saying Amen.

To be alive means we hunger. If you hunger say Amen.

To be alive means we thirst. If you hunger say Amen.

To be alive means we yearn. If you yearn say Amen.

Ribono shel Olam, as we feel hunger, remind us of Your gift of sustenance. You shower us with your grace when we eat: morning, noon, and night. Teach us to eat more mindfully. Strengthen us to make better choices. Help us to create more sacred space. And in those ways, may we improve our lives for the time that we live on this earth. And together let us once again say Amen.

© Ranon Teller