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The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Monday the 8th of Tishrei 5783 and October 3, 2022
“I Had So Much More to Say”*
(*from the Short Vort Archives)
It was Motzei Yom Kippur.
Hundreds of Mispallelim are outside the Shul reciting Kiddush Levanah.
Afterward, a large circle is formed, and we begin to dance.
Everyone is hungry, thirsty, and tired; somehow, there is strength left for one more dance, one more opportunity to sing our praises to Hashem.
The dance concludes, and everyone wishes each other a “Gut Yuhr” and that with Hashem’s help, we should be able to dance again next year.
I make my way back into the now empty cavernous Shul.
This is a special time for me.
Everyone else goes home to eat.
I, too, will go home; however, not just yet.
I head back into the vacant sanctuary and stand-alone and listen.
The room is now silent; yet, just twenty minutes before, there were hundreds of Jews united and unified as they proclaimed in one powerful and dedicated voice: “Hashem is the one and only G-d.”
I see Talleisim, which will be folded and put away tomorrow.
I spot more than one Kittel still moist and wet from the sweat of a man who poured out his soul to Hashem the entire day.
I noticed the Machzorim with bookmarks protruding which the children used.
Their Rebbeim and Moros had the children mark those special places in davening where the child should be able to follow along.
And I see the tissues… the wastebasket is overflowing from the tissues soaked with the tears of Hashem’s children.
The room is now totally silent.
I relish this time in the now empty sanctuary; it is a time when the walls are still reverberating from the day’s davening, yet simultaneously, the room is eerily quiet.
I am alone with my thoughts and with my contemplations.
I indulge myself for one extra minute to dedicate one more Tefillah thanking Hashem for allowing me to experience one more Yom Kippur.
Suddenly I hear a cry.
I am sure I am dreaming; perhaps a leftover sob from today’s Neilah is still resounding off the walls?
I hear a whimper; it is real; I am not hallucinating; someone is here.
I am not alone.
I scan the tables and the seats, and then I spot him; he is at the far end of the Shul, in the last row in the corner seat.
He is a newcomer; I have never seen him here before today.
He is crying.
“Are you alright? Do you have a place to break the fast?” I ask.
“Yes, thank you, rabbi, I have plenty of food, and I am fine,”; he says through tears.
“I don’t want to disturb you. Yet, Yom Kippur has ended; the Shofar has sounded, and davening has concluded for today. It is now is the time to eat and to get some rest”, I tell him.
He looks at me, and with a tear-stained face, he cries out and says, “That is exactly why I am crying.”
“Why is the fact that the Shofar has sounded and davening is completed a reason for you to cry?” I ask.
“Rabbi, I am thirty-two years old, and today was the first ‘real’ Yom Kippur in my life. Today I fasted and prayed like a Jew the entire day. It was exhilarating, and I felt Hashem as I never have before.”
“That is wonderful; today, you intensely and meaningfully communicated with Hashem for the first time in your life. Why, then, are you crying?”
“I am crying because I had so much more to say… there was so much more I wanted to tell Him, and then- suddenly- the Shofar sounded…and the day was over…I needed so much more time….”
And I thought I knew what Yom Kippur was all about.
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman, Rabbi,
Congregation Ahavas Israel, Passaic, NJ
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