Yom Kippur Reflections on Freedom of Religion or Belief
A moment of quiet revealed a link between the Yom Kippur liturgy and a misunderstood Human Right
It was Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, earlier this week. Some years, I find the day’s complete change in rhythm and focus to be utterly disorientating. As a parent of young children within the space of 36 hours you go from the whirlwind of the school gate and the end of the school day, to preparing a pre-fast meal, to the day itself (long hours spent in the synagogue), to the breaking of the fast and then straight back into “normal life”.
The liturgy which is read over the course of the Fast includes many passages and meditations read only on this day. Some will be familiar to many, Jews and non-Jews alike: the Book of Jonah, a tale of repentance and personal responsibility, is read on the afternoon of Yom Kippur. Others, less so: the Avodah which describes in minute detail the rituals of the Temple service as conducted by the High Priest in Jerusalem when the Hebrew Temple stood. Another less familiar reading is the Eleh Ezkerah (“These I will remember”), an account of the murder of ten rabbis killed by the Romans, which was being read as I settled into the rhythms of the service.
Earlier this summer I attended the Freedom of Religion or Belief (FoRB) Ministerial held in London. In the days afterwards, I found myself wondering where I might find a Jewish response to FoRB violations. It is a thought that has been flitting in and out of my mind ever since. Then, on Wednesday afternoon, I found myself face-to-face with a way into that question.
The murders accounted for in the Eleh Ezkerah are described in excrutiating, gruesome and in some respects perverse levels of detail by the author. In previous years, I have struggled not to be distracted by the detail and the narrative, however, this year I found myself thinking more about the context in which those murders took place and what it might mean in relation to FoRB.
It is not difficult to draw parallels between the persecution carried out by the Roman authorities against organized Jewish life in first centuries of the Common Era with contemporary persecutions carried out against people of different faiths and beliefs, including non-religious beliefs. In writing this piece I took some time to read reports on the website of Christian Solidarity Worldwide. The testimonies of people tortured and murdered because of their faith or belief identity could have been lifted straight from the Eleh Ezkerah. It would seem that humankind’s ability to inflict pain and misery on one another is neither new nor novel. History doesn’t repeat itself, but sometimes it rhymes.
Jewish scholars have struggled to articulate a clear rationale for why the Eleh Ezkerah is included in the Yom Kippur liturgy. For some, it enables the individual to reflect on the solemnity of the day, and what constitutes a meaningful death. Others see it as a warning against baseless hatred.
As I sat there thinking about the piece and about my thoughts of FoRB, I was struck by the juxtaposition between the Eleh Ezkerah and other pieces read on Yom Kippur afternoon.
I have already mentioned the Avodah which is a narrative poem retelling the celebration of Yom Kippur in the Hebrew Temple when it still stood in Jerusalem. Within that poem, there is the prayer for the New Year (Yom Kippur is also a festival associated with the Jewish New Year) which the High Priest recited when he emerged from the Holy of Holies. It is a prayer for health, good weather and good harvest, of peace and abundance. But in addition to all the things which one might expect in a prayer such as this, is the hope that the year ahead will be a year “of attending our Holy Temple”.
The Eleh Ezkerah is not simply a statement about discrimination and violent persecution; it is a manifestation of the negation of the High Priest’s prayer from the Avodah. The High Priest’s prayer expresses a hope about an ability to live a full Jewish life in the first centuries of the Common Era — in contemporary language, an environment in which Human Rights, including FoRB, can flourish. The Eleh Ezkerah is the negation of that hope, a case-study of a society where Human Rights have been obliterated.
I am not sure if I have answered my question about what a Jewish response to FoRB might look like, but I do think that reflecting on these two moments from the Yom Kippur liturgy might offer a stepping off point. The High Priest’s prayer was a collective prayer for the whole community, and though there was a sense that it was in Gods hands to grant, the prayer itself was the result of a communal act of worship. In the same way, creating a society where Human Rights flourish cannot rely on a deus ex machina, it requires collective action and determination. Perhaps then a Jewish response to FoRB violations is one which seeks to balance two forces which can sometimes feel in tension: positive action to create societies in which everyone can attend their own “Holy Temple” with a need to recall and remember violence perpetrated on the grounds of faith or belief difference.
I hope that you have enjoyed this piece, I would love to hear what you think!
