G-d is so multifaceted that we use different names, nouns, and adjectives to describe Him. He is Havaya, eternal and compassionate, and sometimes Elokim, the Almighty who sits in strict judgment of all of us. In our daily kedusha, He is immanent – melo kol ha’aretz kevodo, His glory fills the earth – and yet transcendent, mimkomo, in His place in heaven. In Bereishit, He is called Borei, Creator ex nihilo, and Yotzer, He who fashions the world out of existing matter. These contrasts are not contradictions; they reflect the inexhaustible richness of our relationship with the Divine. In this essay, we explore four pairs of contrasting themes that we hope will deepen and enrich this season for all of us.

We begin with two Yom Kippur memories from our own lives, one from the best of times, the other from the worst.

Rookie: I spent a year in Israel as a student a few years after the miracles of the Six Day War. The country was still intoxicated with the euphoria of its miraculous victory: the unification of Jerusalem, the liberation of Yehudah and Shomron, Me’arat HaMachpelah, the Golan Heights, the Sinai. David had triumphed over Goliath, and Israel was the world’s hero. I was young, carefree, and full of enthusiasm about learning and growing in Israel.

On Kol Nidrei night, my friends and I made our way through the streets of Jerusalem, from Machon Gold in Geulah toward Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav in Kiryat Moshe. I can still feel the stillness of those streets: traffic lights blinking, no buses, almost no vehicles. Everyone was dressed in white, garments that carried their own clarity, simplicity, and innocence. The children’s voices were hushed, the adults and students solemn. The scrubbed faces of those hurrying from the mikvaot, the bearded scholars and young men emptying the Aron Kodesh of its Sifrei Torah, holding them, clutching them, embracing them: the love was palpable.

The kahal was at one with G-d and with each other. We chanted the words of BiYeshiva shel Ma’alah, asking permission to pray even in the presence of the sinners among us. Then we recited Shema and Baruch shem aloud, with power, unity, and faith. Our voices swelled as we sang one of the most beloved passages in the machzor, which describes the many ways Am Yisrael relates to its G-d: nation and G-d, children and Parent, servant and Master, congregation and Leader, homeland and Destiny, flock and Shepherd, vineyard and Caretaker, creation and Creator, beloved and Lover. 

There was a concentrated effort, in silence, grace, and dignity, to bridge the gap between finite man and infinite G-d, to truly communicate, supplicate, and articulate our innermost selves before our Creator. And then came the sweet peace of walking home under the Israeli moonlight, in small groups, reminiscing, thinking, planning the future, secure, as only teenagers can be, in a world at peace. 

Rookie and Heshie: By contrast, consider an experience we shared during the worst of times, in Leningrad, in the USSR, when the awakening Jews of the Soviet Union lived in despair.

We were a young couple experiencing the frenetic pace of erev Yom Tov, eating a makeshift meal of rice and soup cube dissolved in hot water before leaving our hotel well before sunset. We had checked our bus connections to the synagogue in advance, knowing that for the trip home we would have no bus, no map, and no choice but to rely on new friends to escort us back so we would not become lost halfway across the city.

The crowd in the street was shabbily dressed, in everyday clothing, carrying book bags and grocery bags, with no siddurim or machzorim in sight. There was tension in the air, a deep contrast to the previous Shabbat in Odessa, where barely ten men, not one under seventy, had made the minyan. Now there were scores, perhaps hundreds, of people, young and old, their eyes filled with fear, studying faces and trying to identify spies, the “bad people,” as they called them.

Heshie wore his tallit on the outside, purposely and bravely, to attract attention. People stood in small groups, speaking cautiously, greeting old friends warily, noting the absence of some and the presence of others who had not dared appear publicly at the synagogue for years. KGB agents took notes, instilling fear and circumspection.

The tefillot could barely be heard. There were no prayer books, little knowledge of Hebrew, no decorum, and more Jews outside than inside. People asked us to lead them in Hatikvah and Yerushalayim Shel Zahav, the only Hebrew songs whose melodies they knew. We made the conscious decision that on this Yom Kippur, after a few brief tefillot, our place was in the courtyard with our people, singing Hatikvah rather than the liturgy of the machzor.

These two Yom Kippur experiences embody the first two themes we explore: Reaching in, to deepen our relationship with Hashem, and reaching out, to connect with our brothers and sisters.

Reaching in and reaching out: Deepening our relationships with Hashem and with people

Reaching in means learning to feel G-d at our side, over our shoulder, and within our hearts and minds, recognizing ourselves as recipients of His gifts. Whatever intellect, sense of humor, or artistic ability we possess is a gift from G-d, not merely the result of chance. Our accomplishments are certainly the result of our own efforts, but without His blessing and favor, those efforts might never have borne fruit.

Reaching out means learning to see the world from another person’s perspective, to walk in someone else’s shoes and understand their experiences. We must empathize with the disadvantaged, the newcomer, the physically challenged, the widow, the single parent, families raising children with special needs, the elderly, the anxious, the infirm, and the poor. Our mission is to lighten another person’s burden, whether through a kind word, a thoughtful gesture, a phone call, a flower, a thank-you note, or a Shabbat invitation.

Humility and confidence: Recognizing our place before Hashem

A second contrast in the machzor is humility versus confidence. We approach Hashem with profound humility in the piyut recited on leil Kol Nidrei. In Ka-chomer b’Yad haYotzer, the paytan compares humanity to clay in the hand of the potter, stone in the hand of the mason, the axe in the hand of the blacksmith, a wheel in the hand of the ship’s captain, silver in the hand of the silversmith, glass in the hand of the glassblower, and material in the hands of the embroiderer. G-d sustains us and determines whether our efforts will bear fruit. He molds and transforms us, strengthens and weakens us, guides us along the proper path or allows us to stray, directs our destiny, purifies us, or leaves us to our own choices.

The paytan also describes G-d as the Preserver of lovingkindness; the One who gives life and takes it away; the One who supports the poor and vulnerable; the Source of goodness and forgiveness; the One who forgives our wrongdoings, whether intentional or unintentional; the One who desires our complete devotion; and the One who brings justice to wrongdoing.

“Motar ha-adam min ha-behemah ayin, man has no superiority over the beast,” says Kohelet: in one sense we are only the highest rung of the animal world. Yet the Psalmist declares “Va-techasreihu me’at me-Elokim, You have made him only slightly less than the angels,” teaching that we stand just below the divine in spirit and potential. Human beings can think, write, create, remember, and emulate G-d Himself. The very fact that we can address Hashem directly, standing before Him as shlichim, emissaries, for our families and communities, reflects the confidence we have in our relationship with our Creator.

Preparation and spontaneity: Balancing tradition and personal growth

A third contrast of this season is preparation versus spontaneity. Shai Agnon, Israel’s Nobel laureate, writes in Yamim Nora’im, quoting a nineteenth-century rabbi: “I am profoundly displeased with many persons who spend large sums on gorgeous garments while they do not care to buy themselves attractive machzorim for the Yamim Nora’im. An attractive prayer book is extremely effective in increasing our devotion.”

Just as we begin studying the laws of chametz and matzah thirty days before Pesach, we begin preparing for the High Holy Days thirty days before Rosh Hashanah. We blow the shofar daily in the synagogue beginning on the first of Elul to awaken us to teshuva and introspection. We add L’David Hashem ori, reminding us that our deepest desire is achat sha’alti me’et Hashem, to dwell in the house of Hashem, surrounded by His love, all the days of our lives. We study the tefillot so they will have greater meaning when we recite them. We study the viduy so we can examine our actions and recognize where we need to grow. We add our own reflections when the traditional list does not fully capture our personal failures of omission or commission. We send greetings to friends, family, and neighbors. We prepare festive meals and symbolic foods like carrots, honey, pomegranates, and fish heads to connect us to our prayers and hopes. We prepare a kittel or white garment as a reminder of the purity and holiness toward which we strive.

And yet spontaneity is equally important. A sudden decision to write to an old friend with whom we have lost touch; a last-minute resolution to end a conflict with a relative against whom we have held a grudge; an unplanned commitment to take on a new mitzvah, repair a middah, or practice shemirat ha-lashon; these moments can transform us.

Sometimes we need to reach out to those we love most, because we can be careless with the people whose unconditional love we rely upon. A spontaneous request for forgiveness from those whose love we take for granted is always appropriate. At times, we may also need to step away briefly from the exact words of the machzor and offer our own personal prayers for children, for those who are childless, for companionship, for those who are lonely, for patience with the challenging people in our lives, or for protection for IDF soldiers and for Israeli and world Jewry. The composers of the machzor provide the words we need, but there is always room for the words that emerge from our own hearts.

Viduy and shira: Repentance and gratitude

A fourth contrast of these demanding days is the relationship between viduy and shira. Studying the Hilchot Teshuvah of the Rambam is a powerful way to prepare for teshuva, which consists of several essential steps: hakarat hachet, recognizing our wrongdoings; viduy, admitting them aloud to ourselves and to G-d; genuine regret for the ways we have hurt others, distanced ourselves from G-d, or failed to appreciate our blessings; and kabbalah la-atid, resolving with complete conviction not to repeat these failures. Viduy is an essential part of the process of teshuva and of cheshbon hanefesh, an honest accounting of the soul.

Rav Soloveitchik teaches that cheshbon hanefesh requires more than viduy. We must acknowledge our mistakes, regret them, and commit to a more noble and ethical future. But there is a second, equally important component: shira. We must also sing a song of praise and thanksgiving to G-d during this season, recognizing the happiness and satisfaction that come from the worthy things we have done, even if they are not yet sufficient. We must feel gratitude for the gifts that make our lives richer and more filled with truth and purpose, and focus less on what we lack and more on what we have received.

This attitude of gratitude, which has become so central to positive psychology today, is a vital part of teshuva and of creating a true balance sheet of our lives. The Talmud teaches that had Chizkiyahu HaMelech sung shira, he would have become Melech HaMashiach, and the suffering of the Jewish people throughout history would have ended at that moment. Shira must therefore be at least as much a part of our preparation for the Yamim Nora’im as viduy.

Conclusion: Embracing the contrasts of the season

We close with a summary of our four contrasting themes.

We can reach inward to deepen our relationship with Hashem, with the intensity and spiritual connection we felt in Jerusalem, and reach outward to strengthen our bonds with others, as we learned from the experience in Leningrad.

We can balance humility in approaching G-d with confidence that our sincere prayers and heartfelt teshuva will be received favorably.

We can prepare with diligence and dedication while remaining open to moments of spontaneity and personal transformation.

We can reflect penitently on our wrongdoings while singing the praises of Hashem for our accomplishments and for the gifts He has so generously bestowed upon us.

May these contrasting themes help us experience the Yamim Nora’im with greater depth, meaning, sincerity, and connection.

Rebbetzin Rookie and Rabbi Heshie Billet recently made Aliyah after long and distinguished careers in Jewish community work in the United States. Rabbi Billet is Rabbi Emeritus of the Young Israel of Woodmere and a member of the US President’s Commission for the Preservation of America’s Heritage Abroad. Rookie Billet recently retired after a long career as a Jewish educator, principal, shul Rebbetzin, and yoetzet halachah, and hopes to contribute to life in Israel.