The Joy of Expiation
Yom Kippur, Climate Change, and the Kohen Gadol
On Yom Kippur, we rehearse for our death. We abstain from eating, drinking, and bodily pleasures. Donning white that resembles burial shrouds, we pray as if our lives depend on it.
This year, the feeling of rehearsing for my death has never felt more real. It seems as though each day, a new reminder of the reality of the climate crisis is literally in our backyards. Heatwaves in the Pacific Northwest. Hurricanes hitting from New Orleans to New York City. Wildfires. Droughts.
Who by water and who by fire. Who by earthquake and who by pestilence.1
Today, when we rehearse our death, we’re ideally preparing to really, truly live. To live with purpose, direction, and meaning. In order to live through, and hopefully shape, the course of the climate crisis, we not only need to resist. We must also persist.
This summer’s climate crises come amidst a year and a half long pandemic. From attacks on black and brown neighbors -- emerging from systemic racism in our country and the post-9/11 security state -- to white supremacist attacks on our democracy, the political upheaval is dizzying. There is no shortage of issues weighing on us, and it can be exhausting. How do we persist in the face of these large-scale challenges?
The Torah reading for Yom Kippur details the rituals that the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, would perform annually on this day when the temple stood in Jerusalem.2 Two goats were used for this ritual: one would be cast off into the wilderness, carrying off the sins of Israel, and the other would be sacrificed in the temple. At the climax of the parsha, the Kohen Gadol enters the Holy of Holies, the innermost chamber of the temple, where he would perform a ritual of expiation. The Kohen Gadol sprinkles the blood of the sacrificial goat on the kaporet, the ark of the covenant, removing any impurities, and cleansing Israel and the Temple of their sins. After the Kohen Gadol completes the associated rituals and emerges unscathed from the Kodesh HaKodashim, the Israelites surround him in ecstasy.
On Yom Kippur, we too purify ourselves of all of the gunk that has been accumulated over the years as a result of our personal and communal missteps. To do the work of teshuvah, of return and repair, we need a reset. Figuring out what is weighing us down is essential. This can help us persist. So often, when working on large societal issues, we forget to pay attention to how this work affects our personal psyche. We are angry. We are tired. We are dejected.
What do we need to leave behind in 5781 so that we can be renewed, so that we can continue the work in 5782?
When the Kohen Gadol emerges from the Kodesh HaKodashim, the people are elated. It seems like they actually feel lighter. Letting go is hard, but it’s worth it. And letting go doesn’t mean choosing not to care about the past. In fact, I think the Israelites probably had some idea that the ritual in the Holy of Holies didn’t undo everything from the past year. They chose to let the ritual move them into a space of exuberance, where they could focus on the year ahead. By not remaining caught up in the missteps, in the fatigue, in what was not serving them, the Israelites moved into the new year with less weighing them down.
Figuring out what to let go of is an intentional act of resilience. It makes space. Space for joy, space to let the light in. Joy is not just what comes when the struggle is over. We can choose to bring joy into our resistance. It is a necessary part of our spiritual work and our justice work year round. It is part of the activism itself. Writer Adrienne Mareee Brown has coined the phrase “pleasure activism” to describe “the work we do to reclaim our whole, happy, and satisfiable selves from the impacts, delusions, and limitations of oppression and/or supremacy.” Whether related to the climate crisis or another pressing issue, can we let go of the things that weigh us down and actively choose to move forward from a place of joyful resilience?
This Yom Kippur, I hope rehearsing for my death truly reminds me of how I want to live in 5782. G’mar chatima tova.
With thanks to hevrutot Ariella Rosen and Caleb Bromberg.
Unetanneh Tokef prayer
Leviticus 16: 1-34