My Unataneh Tokef
Moments
On
Rosh Hashanah, it is written and Yom Kippur, it is sealed; who shall live, who
shall die. But repentance, prayer and
charity avert the severity of the decree.
If you apply a literal reading to this most famous of High Holiday
prayers, you cannot help but conclude that it is medieval gobbledygook. Our destinies for the next year are
predetermined by God, but repentance, prayer and acts of charity will somehow
mitigate that predetermined destiny.
What does that mean? If someone
dies, would a few more ducats in a Tzedakah box have allowed that person to
live another year? Would a few more
times at Shul reciting some prayer by rote have altered the outcome?
Ours
is a tradition that begs for interpretation.
And for this prayer to be meaningful to me, I needed to put a spin on it,
which is almost directly contrary to its literal meaning. I have learned from humanistic, rational and
compassionate teachers to interpret the prayer as an acknowledgement of the
inevitability of death; that every living creature must at some point die. And if human mortality becomes a foundational
element of the prayer, then the emphasis on repentance, prayer and charity
become the choices you make with the finite time that you may have on this planet.
Perhaps our choices
should include more acts of caring for those less fortunate; let’s call that Tzedakah. Maybe we should be more forgiving of others
and of ourselves and sincerely work at making ourselves into better people;
let’s call that one Teshuvah. Finally,
if we take some time, perhaps each week, to acknowledge the orderliness of
creation and of a creator that has taught humanity morality, compassion and
justice; let’s call that one Tefillah.
Now there’s an interpretation of what is otherwise a problematic prayer in
which I can believe.
And
yet, I have also literally experienced moments of life and death, triumph and
tragedy all on Rosh Hashanah.
Who shall die: It was Rosh Hashanah 1990 and I flew in from Los Angeles to New
York to spend the holiday with my father and brother. My father cooked the dinner for the first
night, which was attended by my father, my brother, a co-worker of my
brother’s. After dinner, Dad made a
point of saying that since he had done the cooking; he was retiring to the den
to relax, while we did the clean-up. The
three of us schmoozed while we cleaned the dishes and put away the food. After we were done, I went downstairs to the
den to check on my father. I discovered
him lying on the floor unconscious; I quickly made a 911 call and waited
outside for the ambulance to arrive while my brother held my father. He regained consciousness by the time the
paramedics arrived; Dad argued with both the paramedics and us about not
wanting to go to the hospital. I pleaded
with my father to no avail. Finally, I phoned
his twin brother to see whether someone of his own age and experiences could
better persuade him to take care of himself than his sons. Fortunately my uncle was hosting his own son,
a physician, who explained to my dad that losing consciousness was a result of
lack of oxygen to the brain and that someone had to figure out what the cause
of that might be. After that
explanation, Dad allowed us to drive him to the emergency room. The hospital wanted to keep him overnight for
observation, but had no rooms available.
Dad had no desire to spend the night on a gurney bed in the ER. We let him come home only after we extracted
a promise from him to go back the next morning.
That was only the beginning of a very long and difficult evening as my
father fell and collapsed multiple times with my brother reviving him each time.
The reason that
my dad was vehemently opposed to going to the hospital is that he witnessed his
spouse, my mother (z’l) go into the hospital for cancer treatment eight years
prior and never emerge. My dad knew
something was seriously wrong and where this all was heading. By the way, I never did make it to Shul that
Rosh Hashanah as I spent the entire holiday in the hospital with my dad. My father died in that same hospital 54 days
later, never having left the hospital during that time period.
Who shall live: Fast forward to Rosh Hashanah 1997. My wife Brenda was pregnant with our second
child, who was due to be born five days after Rosh Hashanah by a C Section,
which was scheduled two weeks earlier than the actual due date. Rosh Hashanah began that year on a Wednesday
evening and Brenda wanted to prepare a festive holiday dinner for the family. I argued with her to no avail that Hashem
would give her a pass this year. So she
went off to to purchase a huge roast beef.
In
the course of dinner preparation, I received a phone call at work from Brenda
indicating that she was not feeling too well.
I asked whether she had called her obstetrician, which she had. Brenda was instructed to drink a half glass
of wine and relax. I, of course, was
anything but relaxed as I rushed home from work to join my wife. By the time I came home, she was still not
feeling too great. However we had a soon
to be 2 ½ year older sister in the house and no one to watch her while we went
to the hospital. So I had to call a
friend of mine who was sitting down to Rosh Hashanah dinner with his own family
and ask him to leave his family dinner to pick up my daughter and take care of
her. While we waited for him to arrive,
I wrapped up the roast beef and put two slices of cheese on some bread for my
dinner to eat on the drive to the hospital.
We
arrived at the hospital about the same time as the obstetrician who was the
only non-Jew in a medical practice group which except for her consisted of all
Jews. The first words that I spoke to the
obstetrician were expressions of gratitude that she was not of the Jewish faith. The doctor examined Brenda and quickly came
to the conclusion that if the birth were vaginal, she would be sending Brenda
home because labor had not progressed far enough. She also mentioned that given that Brenda was
going to give birth by C Section in a few days and that both doctor and patient
were already at the hospital that she was willing to perform the C Section that
night if Brenda wanted it. I remembered
seeing two obstetricians in the operating room for my older daughter, Judy’s
birth, because a C Section is still surgery.
I asked the doctor about who would be assisting her in the
operation. Maria said that she had
called the least religious in her practice group, but he still was in no mood
to interrupt his own Rosh Hashanah.
Maria said that a surgical resident would be more than adequate
assistance.
Next
I did what any guy would do at this time, which was shut up and let my wife
decide what she wanted to do. She opted
for having the baby that night. I had a
kippa on under my surgical garb and witnessed the birth of our daughter Lindsay
at 10:44 PM on the first night of Rosh Hashanah. With a sense of circularity, our daughter Lindsay
was named for the same person who collapsed on Rosh Hashanah seven years
earlier, my father, Leonard (z’l).
Despite
my view that Unataneh Tokef is a bunch of medieval gobbledygook, I have witnessed
during the days of awe and judgment, life’s highest highs and lowest lows. Most of life is lived somewhere in between
great triumph and horrible tragedy. The
birth of my child and the death of my father are in my thoughts each and every
Rosh Hashanah, making every High Holiday since those events somewhat
anti-climactic.
However, if I am
going to live, I still want to make my life have some meaning and value. In that regard, Teshuvah, Tefillah and Tzedukkah
can certainly help improve the quality of my life and that is what I will focus
on for each Rosh Hashanah going forward.
I will still take my Rabbis’ teachings over those of medieval Jews. L'shanah tovah.
Written September 4, 2014
© 2014 by Douglas J. Workman
