Kol Nidrei is our moment to gather as a congregation. A full congregation. It’s the time for communal reflection, for personal reflection—the time for ultimate reflection. In preparation for this moment on the pulpit, I began with the question: Of all the important things to express, of all the crucial issues to address, what is the most important idea for me and for the community right now?

Over the summer, I came up with this process to find a Kol Nidrei topic: I would take some time to reach into my neshama, to delve into the heart of my mission in the Rabbinate. And the result of that reflection would be the topic of my Kol Nidrei sermon. I’ve come to realize that the most compelling part of our mission for me this year is to seriously develop our sense of joy.

For far too long, our associations with Judaism have been negative—coercive, boring, guilt-ridden. It’s time to take Judaism from darkness to light. It’s time to give life to the Joy in Judaism.

We are about to embark on a journey through Yom Kippur. What are some of your associations that accompany Yom Kippur? Hunger, pain, anxiety, dread, guilt. Many of us have at least some negative associations with Yom Kippur. Of all the moments on the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur represents our relationship with God—and it’s filled with negative associations! The moment that exemplifies our relationship to Judaism is filled with negativity. It’s just not going to work. As you well know, we Jews have a long history with negativity. As a people, it started in the desert, as we complained and rebelled our way through the wilderness. To this very day, unfortunately, we’ve retained some of that negativity.

A story is told about a waiter who is struggling to serve a table of Jewish machers. He consistently checks in with the group, and each time he asks, “Is everything OK?” Every person around the table has a special request, an adjustment, a complaint, or at least a major concern. Three times, the waiter goes back, and asks, “Is everything OK?” and three times, he receives another earful from every person around the table. The last time, he finally learns, he goes back to the table asks instead of asking if everything is OK, he says, “Is anything OK?”

We, Jews, thank God, are rarely content—always striving, striving, wanting more. And that’s good. But, sometimes we regress into our historical, negative behavior patterns—stiff-necked and stubborn rabble-rousers. As a congregation, we can turn that around. Everything we do ought to be borne from joy.

The great Maharal from Prague teaches that joy is a prerequisite for holiness. When a person is discontented or sad, their soul is lacking and fragmented. When a person is joyful, their soul is complete. The Divine Presence rests on things that are whole, and not lacking. Rashi, one of our greatest teachers writes, “The Divine Presence only rests on one who is joyous.”

If we approach Yom Kippur with dread and guilt, God’s presence will not descend upon us. If we approach Synagogue life with dread and guilt, God’s presence will not descend upon us. And so, my friends, I’d like to pause for a moment of silence to call upon the Divine Presence. I’d like to call for a moment of silence as we rid ourselves of all the negative associations we’ve had with Yom Kippur, the negative associations we’ve had with Judaism, the negative associations we’ve had, in prior years, with this congregation. Our moment of silence—as we pay our respects and officially bid farewell to our years of negativity, dread and guilt.

Let’s start with transforming our relationship to Yom Kippur, then we’ll address our relationship to Judaism and our congregation. The Torah’s perspective on Yom Kippur revolves around one word. Our mandate for Yom Kippur comes from the Torah in the holiness codes of Leviticus. “On the tenth day of the month … it shall be a Shabbat of complete rest for you,” then the Hebrew reads, “V’eeneetem et nafshoteichem,” which is normally translated as, “and you shall afflict your souls.” That’s the way our text defines our relationship with Yom Kippur. The traditional translation of  “V’eeneetem et nafshoteichem” describes Yom Kippur as an affliction.

We know, somewhere deep within, that affliction is not an accurate description of what Yom Kippur can be for us. What about the power of a community standing together in prayer? What about the opportunity to pause and reflect on our life’s journey? What about the awesome holiness of the rituals and prayers? There must be more to Yom Kippur than the Torah’s charge to “afflict our souls.”

Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, chief Rabbi of Efrat outside of Jerusalem, teaches that it’s a matter of translation. “V’eeneetem,” doesn’t necessarily mean to afflict. He surveys the Bible’s use of the word, and finds an instance in the chapter on the Golden Calf. Moses is coming down the mountain with the two tablets. Toward the bottom of the mountain, he meets Joshua, who accompanies him as he walks toward the Israelite camp. Moses hears a strange commotion. The word Moses uses to describe the sound is “kol anot,” the sounds of response—an answering call—the same root as the word v’eeneetem.

So, Rabbi Riskin suggests a secondary meaning of this root verb ani. It is a response, or an answer, to a call. The response may be positive or the response may be negative. It could be a crying response of defeat or a laughing response of victory. Based on this reading of the root ani, Rabbi Riskin translates the word “v’eeneetem” as something far from “affliction.” He sees the word ani as, “An audible, emotional response to a stimulus that evokes joy or sadness—a celebration or tragedy.” To put it more simply, it’s a song—a melody.

Rabbi Riskin translates the word “v’eeneetem,” as “and you shall cause to sing.” He concludes that instead of reading “V’eeneetem et nafshotechem” as “And you shall afflict your souls,” he reads the verse, “And you shall allow your souls to sing.” And the mood and spirit of Yom Kippur are transformed. Yom Kippur is our opportunity to allow our souls to sing. The mood of Yom Kippur is transformed from dread to joy.

The Baal Shem Tov once arrived in a certain town right before Yom Kippur and he asked the people, “Who will be leading the prayers during Yom Kippur services?” They replied that it would be the rabbi of the town. The Baal Shem Tov asked, “And how does he lead the prayers?” The people of the town said, “On Kol Nidrei evening, he recites the Vidui, the confessional prayers, with a cheerful melody filled with joy.” The Baal Shem Tov went to the Rabbi to ask him about this strange custom. “Rabbi, Yom Kippur is our day of judgment, it’s a day full of awe and fear. Why do you recite your prayers so joyfully?” The Rabbi replied with a parable, “Watch as even the lowliest of the King’s servants cleans the Royal courtyard. When he serves the King, he is happy while he cleans. Even if his job is sweeping garbage and filth, he is happy because he’s cleaning the courtyard of the King. Watch the servant and you’ll see that he sings as he cleans. And what does he sing?” The Rabbi continued. “He sings a cheerful melody with joy because he knows that his work pleases the King.” Then the Rabbi said, “I know in my heart that our prayers are pleasing to God because they move us and inspire us to do better. That fills me with joy.” The Baal Shem Tov thought for a while, and said, “If that is your intention when you pray, then may my lot be with your lot. Lead me with your joyful prayer.” And he sat in the congregation and prayed with the Rabbi. And the congregation was filled with joy.

Rabbi Moshe Cordevaro, a sixteenth century mystic in Tsfat writes, “A worship comprised only of somberness and suffering is not acceptable to God. Only a worship of joy.” The Talmud in Taanit says that Yom Kippur is one of the most joyful celebrations on the Hebrew calendar.

The Jewish concept of joy, simcha, is not the same as happiness. Joy has much more depth and complexity. In our tradition, a sense of joy comes from three primary sources: contentment, purpose, and relationship. Joy comes from a sense of contentment. Our Rabbi’s teach: Who is rich? Eizo hu ashir? The one who is content with his lot. Hasameach b’chelko. The one who finds joy in what he has. There’s that word simcha, joy. As humans, we can never have enough. True joy can be found when you discover the riches of the blessings that are already in your life. You have enough right here, right now. The second source of joy is a sense of purpose. I find tremendous joy when I have the opportunity to serve with purpose—to serve simply and efficiently. Most issues I deal with as a rabbi have some complexity and usually have a compound series of steps. But, when I get a simple, straightforward, informational question—that rare, beautiful question that actually has a simple answer—I am filled with such joy: the joy of fulfillment of purpose. Occasionally, I’ll do the grocery shopping for my family. And sometimes, if the stars are all aligned, I’ve got a shopping list. These moments are some of the most joyous moments. When I’m driving to the Randall’s and I’ve got my shopping list in hand, I have ultimate clarity of purpose. This is joy. It’s the joy of fulfillment of purpose—my purpose of providing for my family. (You can probably guess that I don’t do most of the shopping, otherwise I’d be in a contact state of ecstasy, and that wouldn’t be too productive.) Listen to this beautiful quote. R. Bachya ben Halawa writes, “The joy accompanying the carrying out of a religious performance is even more acceptable to God than the mitzvah itself. The righteous feel this ineffable delight in performing God’s will in the same way as the spheres and planets rejoice in their going forth and are glad in their returning.” This is the joy of the sense of simplicity and clarity of purpose.

The third source of joy is connecting with others—relationship. As a rabbi, I have the unique experience of being with people at the end of their lives. As you can imagine, impending death has a way of cutting through to the core of what’s really important in this life. Death has a way of clarifying priorities. Do you know what people talk about when they’re about to die? Relationships. That’s all. They don’t talk about hobbies. They don’t talk about interests. They don’t talk about music and art. They don’t talk about social status or personal achievement. They don’t talk about money and they don’t talk about their professions. They talk about relationships. That’s where joy can be found or, God forbid, that’s where joy can be lost.

Everything else fades away. Nothing else matters. It goes one of two ways. Either they are filled with remorse about not connecting more with others, or they are filled with joy for having lived a life filled with relationships with their loved ones and their community. The members of this congregation, who I’ve sat with at the end of their lives, speak with a tremendous amount of joy about their connection to this congregation. I hear about the power and depth of relationships at Brith Shalom. I hear about the way that this congregation responds to people in need. I hear about the way this congregation pulls together in times of crisis. I hear about the way the community of Brith Shalom takes care of each other. Albert Einstein once wrote, “Strange is our time here on earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. There is one thing we do know definitively; that we are here for the sake of each other.” I hear that sense of joy built into the fabric of this congregation.

And so Rabbi Riskin, with one interpretation, one poetic translation of the word “v’eeneetem,” opens up a whole world of Torah—a whole world of possibilities on Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is the day we allow our souls to sing with joy. What does it mean for a soul to sing with joy? How do you allow your soul to sing? That’s the Yom Kippur question—how can I make my soul sing this year? Judaism is there to help guide is on our journey through self-expression and self-refinement toward full expression of the self.

That’s what my Judaism is about—the joyful pursuit of expression. The Synagogue, this synagogue, is the vehicle for that kind of connection. The Synagogue is how we become more whole, holy, fully expressed human beings. Our synagogue offers the primary ingredients of a life filled with joy: contentment, purpose and especially relationship. The sense of contentment established through prayer, Jewish learning and spiritual guidance; the sense of purpose—living a deliberate life with direction and meaning; and the relationships, the sacred bonds that tie us all together.

I am committed to transforming this synagogue into an embodiment of this kind of joy. No negativity. Only kindness, tolerance, positive attitudes and positive language. One of my foundational mentors, Rabbi Brad Artson, once told me that there’s really only one thing people look for in a Rabbi, and that’s kindness. Kindness is at the core of rabbinic leadership. I think the same is true for Brith Shalom and for Judaism.

In my home, we use positive and joyous language for religious observance. Instead of saying, “We don’t drive on Shabbat,” we say, “We walk on Shabbat.” Instead of saying, “We don’t watch TV on Shabbat,” we say, “On Shabbat we sing and play with each other.” For the most part it works to defray the disappointment; and a bonus is that it allows for tolerance of other ways of practicing. “We walk, they drive and we can both celebrate Shabbat.” We’re going to use that positive language in this synagogue as well. Our policies, our guidelines, our rituals and observance are going to be filled with a joyous and open spirit.

Right now, I intend to lead this congregation to point where we are serving people at all points along their Jewish journey. We will guide, accompany, and support your personal Jewish journey with kindness and joy.

Tonight, as we begin Yom Kippur together, let’s remember what it’s all about. It’s about time spent with people you love. It’s about finding your place in this community. It’s about using the synagogue as an expression of your highest and most sacred and noble ideals. Joy is to allow your souls to sing in relationship with one another. Joy is to allow your souls to sing in relationship with this congregation. That’s what Yom Kippur is all about. That’s what synagogue is all about, that’s what Judaism is all about. That’s what life is all about.

And so, as I stand before this congregation, on the night of Kol Nidrei—this is what I choose to preach. This is how I am going to address the contemporary challenges of Judaism and synagogue life. This is how we’re going to deepen your Jewish experiences. This is how we’re going to engage an unaffiliated generation, hungry for spirituality and tradition. This is how we’re going to intensify the core of this congregation—by infusing everything we do with joy, with simcha—the way we answer the phones, the way we make difficult decisions, the way we develop relationships. Yom Kippur cuts to the core, and it’s the time to allow our souls to sing.

Ribono Shel Olam, Master of the Universe, Source of All, take us from darkness to light. Fill our hearts with Joy—the sacred joy of contentment—the one who is content with what he has—the joy that comes with a sense of purpose, the joy that comes with the connectedness that we feel being a part of your holy congregation, Congregation Brith Shalom. And together let us all say: Amen.

© Ranon Teller