By Rabbi Eric Yanoff
Ki Tavo
Most years, I try to end the year like an Olympic runner – arms high, breaking the finish-line ribbon with a puffed-out chest – exhausted, perhaps – but exhilarated, exultant.
Not this year, God.
I don’t think I’ll be alone among the Jewish people this year, God, if I just barely break the goal line plane by a fingertip (to mix sports metaphors) – crawling, beaten, worn down by a world that has left us feeling vulnerable, alone, less loved than we’d believed or hoped, as a Jewish people.
God, your people were caught unaware, violated, murdered, held hostage – still now: Both held in actual captivity, and held paralyzed by a sense of helplessness and futility, of in-fighting and encroaching hatred from all sides. Perhaps, God [tap chest – Al Cheit], we were guilty of the sin of complacency, arrogance or self-assuredness. But we did not deserve any of this, God. You know that.
And so, it feels like you are piling on a bit, as we read the litany of curses in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Ki Tavo. First, the theology that we deserve such sorrow is patently false. At best, such a belief system is betrayed by our human experience, for we cannot fathom any reason to allow such evil. At worst, a theology that any of this was justifiable is just cruel, inhumane and inhuman. The rationalizations and even celebrations after Oct. 7 add salt to our already deep, intergenerational wounds – wounds that had almost healed but are now reopened once again. There is no viable theology that could imply that we deserved such horrors.
I know, God, that the sage Abbaye (Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 31b) taught that the scribe Ezra stipulated that we should read the section of the curses in Parashat Ki Tavo just before Rosh Hashanah, “k’dei she-tichleh shanah v’kil’loteha – so that we let the year conclude, and all its curses conclude” – but God: Enough with the curses already!
Enough with the blame, the sense of “az mah” – asking, what should we do now? Can we not be unified in our shared grief and outrage more than we are divided by our finger-pointing?
I think of the 13th-century piyyut (liturgical prayer) by Rabbi Avraham Hazzan Girundi, entitled Achot Ketana (“Little Sister”) – a poem imagining us as your little sister, praying desperately, sick at heart as “enemies devour her… the lions scattering us, the vines left burning and unharvested…leaving her in the pit of exile, the dungeon.” Sound familiar, God?!
The poem tells our story of this past year: We are in the depths! Our people are held captives in exile! They are “Acheinu” – our little sisters and brothers! God, enough already with the curses like those in this week’s parashah!
And yet, the poem ends, “solu, solu m’siloteha – pave a path for us.” Show us the way, God – so that (as the poem ends) “tachel shanah u-virchoteha – so that a new year may start with its blessings. With our prayers realized: that our hostages may come home, that our displaced families may return to their homes and their fields, that a tough year that felt cursed and suffocating in darkness may give way to new year with a glimmer of blessing!
Enough with the curses, God. They come in this Torah reading, just before the New Year, each year. But this year, the curses have come over too much of this entire year. Tichleh shanah v’kil’loteha – may this past year, with its curses, conclude. And tachel shanah u-virchoteha – may this coming year, with its blessings, begin.
God: We are tired. We are sick. We are afraid, angry and lonely, and we are unsure of our best path forward. In the Torah portion, the curses far outweigh the blessings. But we need blessings more than curses in the coming year.
May we greet the New Year with the blessings of our people made whole again, God; with acheinu, our brothers and sisters, released from captivity; with our fields bearing new fruit, our sense of security reaffirmed, our soldiers home, our dead buried, our wounds healing, our loved ones in our arms, our blessings restored.
May this be your will, O God, for the year ahead. Amen.
Rabbi Eric Yanoff serves Adath Israel in Merion Station. He lives in Bala Cynwyd with his wife Dava and their four children, Aiden, Ezra, Avi and Anael, and he has visited Israel twice since Oct. 7. The Board of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia is proud to provide diverse perspectives on Torah commentary for the Jewish Exponent. The opinions expressed in this column are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the view of the Board of Rabbis.
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