Yom Kippur/Kol Nidrei - Evil, Revisited
On Yom Kippur, forgiveness is reciprocal.
This week, we marked the first anniversary of October 7 with participation in the Jewish Federation’s outdoor commemoration, as well as a meaningful ceremony at our shul. Many other synagogues and Jewish groups around the world held similar gatherings. I think we all needed some form of communal expression to help us cope with the new reality facing the Jewish people. We are still grappling with the extent of this horrible massacre, and our feelings remain raw, not just from that day but from the ongoing darkness and suffering we've been forced to confront this past year. It’s natural to question our faith at times like these. Where was God? Though it feels uncomfortable to ask, these are the kinds of questions that cannot be ignored.
Moreover, the suffering on October 7, and many other times, seems so arbitrary. We hear stories of miracles—people who were in precarious situations and suddenly, God saved them. But what about the countless others who prayed and still perished? Were they not sincere enough? This line of thinking can lead down a dangerous path.
Yom Kippur brings these questions into sharp focus because, on this day, we grapple with themes of Sattan/Satan, Chet/sin, teshuva/repentance, viduy/confession, and kapara/atonement -- themes that are deeply embedded in our tradition and central to our understanding of why bad things happen in the world. Unfortunately, when Jews initially sought translations of these Jewish concepts, we borrowed Christian terminology that has since taken on different connotations, diverging from Jewish theology.
And so, like generations before us, we grapple with one of the most fundamental questions: Why is there so much suffering in our world? Why do so many bad things happen? I do not presume to solve the ultimate mystery of why bad things happen to good people, or why they happen at all. God is ultimately unknowable—we cannot fully comprehend why He created the world this way, and we may not understand His ways until the Afterlife, if at all.
These questions are as old as the Torah and life itself. But I believe Yom Kippur provides us with a framework to wrestle with the reality of evil. We can begin to understand the purpose of Din—God’s attribute of strict justice, which is associated with the presence of the challenges and suffering we encounter in the world.
Friction and challenges are tools God created for our benefit. If life were always smooth, we would face no obstacles in loving God. But a meaningful relationship can only be forged through struggle, through moments that demand painful choices. Each time we face an obstacle—whether in our relationships with loved ones or God—and choose to persevere, our connection becomes deeper and more meaningful. In this light, we can view the depravity brought by Satan, ironically, as an essential phenomenon that allows us to deepen our relationship with God.
The Chofetz Chaim, known for his straightforward and often blunt style, offered a surprising analogy to help us understand the role of evil in our relationship with God. He likened life to an expensive hotel, where everything—down to a piece of cake—comes at a price. Yet, some people are allowed to eat for free. Who gets that privilege? The employees and the owner’s friends and family. While this analogy may seem simplistic, it conveys a profound truth: If our relationship with God is purely transactional, like hotel guests, we must somehow "pay" for everything we enjoy in life. Nothing is free. But if we develop a close relationship with God, we become like His family or team, and life’s blessings are free.
Similarly, the Rambam defines avoda—service to God—as something rooted in love, not obligation. Our deepest connection to God is not transactional, where mitzvot are merely duties, but relational, where every act strengthens our bond. A mitzvah is a good deed, but avoda is a relationship. When we build a relationship with God, we’re no longer “paying for the cake”—it is given freely, either because it’s necessary for us to fulfill our purpose in life or because of the loving relationship we’ve cultivated.
This principle works both ways. Yom Kippur teaches us that forgiveness is reciprocal. If we accept the difficulties and complications that God sends our way, and choose to love Him despite the inexplicable suffering in the world and our personal lives, we elevate ourselves spiritually. As the Kabbalistic texts describe, we become a mekabel yisurin—one who accepts suffering from God. In doing so, God, in turn, forgives our mistakes and chooses to love us.
And this is a significant path for connecting with God on Yom Kippur. Just by showing up to shul on Yom Kippur, we are, in a sense, accepting the reality of God's world, His Torah, and His will. We accept God despite the suffering and challenges in the world.
We might be upset by some or all of it, but we're here—we showed up—and we recite viduy, which means to admit or confess. What are we admitting? That God is in charge, that He makes the rules. Like it or not, we accept God, both for the good and for the bad, for the beauty and the challenges in this world.
Moreover, God mirrors whatever we do on this holy day. As King David says in Tehillim, and as explained by the Zohar, “Hashem Tzilcha,” "God is my shadow." He follows our movements. If we accept God, with all the complexities and challenges, then God will act as our shadow, showing the same acceptance of our flaws that we showed Him.
That’s why we reference evil so often during the High Holidays and on Yom Kippur, which is the only time of the year when we can fully process the kind of devastation we’ve been grappling with since October 7. It’s the day we stand before God and say, "Despite everything that happens in Your world, I am still here. I still want to be in this relationship." When life is good, showing up has its challenges, but it’s relatively easy. Yet, when we come before God after a year of unremitting pain and loss and still choose to remain in this relationship—that is where the true power of Yom Kippur lies. God, in turn, responds by saying, "I still want to be in this relationship with you too, and so I forgive you for your mistakes and betrayals of Me."
This idea is beautifully illustrated by the story of the Berditshever Rebbe, which bears repeating each year. Before Yom Kippur, he would sit down with a list of grievances—not only his transgressions but also those he felt God had committed against him throughout the year. He would say to God, "If You forgive me for my transgressions, I’ll forgive You for Yours." This was not blasphemy; it was the ultimate expression of an unbreakable relationship, rooted in mutual acceptance and love.
This is what Isaiah meant when he said, Dirshu Hashem bihimatzo—"Seek God while He may be found." Yom Kippur is a unique day, unlike any other on the calendar, and we are all fortunate to be in shul on Yom Kippur, which is the right place at the right time. The phrase bihimatzo doesn’t just mean that this is a special time when God is more accessible to us—it also means that by "finding" God, we are accepting Him. In seeking God, we are not only looking for Him but choosing to embrace and accept His will, despite the challenges and difficulties in life.
The essence of Yom Kippur lies in this reciprocal relationship with God. It’s not just a day to repent and fast; it’s a day to repair and strengthen our bond with God. We fully acknowledge the evil and suffering in the world, but instead of turning away, we turn toward God. We accept, we are mikabel, and in turn, we are forgiven because we are beloved. Yom Kippur is the day of kapara—atonement—not because we are expected to be perfect, but because we are willing to show up and work on our relationship with God, even when it’s difficult.
The ultimate test of our relationship with God is not in the easy moments but in the excruciatingly difficult ones. On Yom Kippur, we stand before God and say, "Despite all the pain, despite all the evil, I still choose You." And in that moment, God responds, "And I still choose you, too, and I forgive you for everything.”
Shabbat shalom. Chag sameach. Shana tova. G’mar chatima tova.
Rabbi Eliezer Hirsch