Post #4 - Yom Kippur

 On Yom Kippur, we read the story of Jonah. Jonah is sent to prophesy the future of Ninveh, an ancient city whom G-d decreed to be destroyed for their evil deeds. When Jonah arrives to Ninveh and announces his prophesy, the people begin to repent and change their ways. Jonah, upset, leaves the city. He is afraid that if G-d listens to the people’s repentance, then the decree will be upturned: if this happens, Jonah will be called a fake prophet. As he sits outside the city, G-d makes a tree grow next to Jonah to protect him and comfort him. In the morning, however, G-d sends a worm to eat away and destroy the tree. Jonah becomes very grieved: the intense sun shines on him after his long and difficult travails. G-d speaks to him, 

       And God said to Jonah; "Are you very grieved about the [tree]?"

      And he said, "I am very grieved even to death."

      And the Lord said: "You took pity on the [tree], for which you did

not toil nor did you make it grow, which one night came into being

and the next night perished.

      Now should I not take pity on Nineveh, the great city, in which there

are many more than one hundred twenty thousand people who do not

know their right hand from their left, and many animals as well?"

                                                                       book of Jonah, ch. 4: 9 - 11

      With this rebuke, the book of Jonah mysteriously ends. What does it teach us? There is much to draw from this exchange between G-d and Jonah – but one reflection sticks out to me. As we go through our lives, many times the world serves as a backdrop to the narrative of our existence: the many buildings, trees, and stones, the many people and cars without end, are like mere scenery to our own stories. This is the default of the human perspective — to see oneself as the protagonist and the rest of the world as mere extras. This is what happened to Jonah: he saw Ninveh as part of his story, not an independent world unto itself.  G-d’s rebuke taught him, and teaches us, otherwise.

      If only we had a moment of introspection, we would notice the immensity of G-d's world. Everything that we see — every car, building, and tree — was grown, built, came to be, has a story of its own: as our our sages say that “nothing in the world was created without a purpose” [Talmud Shabbat 77b]. All the people we run into, the ones we mindlessly cross on the street, are living their own protagonist role. If we would reflect on this reality, we would see the world as a grand stage for all life, not just ours. It is a stage which we merit to be a part of: which holds our story — as well as everyone else’s, simultaneously. 

     Through this introspection, we will merit to fix our role in the world and return to G-d, the only who can see the entire picture. Only G-d is able to hold all stories at once and only G-d can truly judge each individual. This is the essence of asking for forgiveness before Yom Kippur: we apologize and recognize that there is much more going around us than we initially thought. The person I hurt was truly a world unto themselves — not just the superfluous extra I made them out to be.