“No days parallel Yom Kippur and the Fifteenth of Av in their goodness for the Jewish People” (Taanis 31). The greatness of Yom Kippur, its unparalleled elevation, lies in the power of atonement. This raises a question: why is atonement so good?
The ideal, it seems, is that a person should not sin. Atonement is good, but only as a solution to a problem. The Gemara (Sukkah 53a) thus records the words were sung in harmony at the Temple, “Happy is he who did not sin; and he who sinned should repent and he will be absolved.” Why celebrate the non-ideal situation of atonement?
The simple answer is that sin is an integral part of our world.
Kohelet instructs us, “Let your clothes be white all the time, and let not oil be lacking on your head” (9:8). The Gemara derives from here that a person should repent every day of his life. But why? Surely, a person should simply refrain from sin, thus keeping his clothes white at all times?
Chazal do not entertain this interpretation. There is no such thing. We try to keep our clothes clean, but know that over time they will be soiled. Clothes inevitably get dirty, and people inevitably sin. “Happy is he who did not sin” is true, in theory; in reality, such people do not exist.
There is a good reason for this. All relationships are predicated on our respective needs and corresponding willingness to fill others’ needs. Moreover, the initial give-and-take leads to the deepest and most essential human interaction – that of relationship, of love. As the Harvard Study of Adult Development found, the greatest hazard to a person’s health is loneliness, and the best remedy is relationship.
The same thing is true of our connection to Hashem. The Ramchal explains that the world was created flawed in order that it should forever continue to receive from Above. We are made imperfect so we can seek to improve our reality while looking heavenward and knowing that all goodness comes from Hashem. To trust Him, and to love Him.
Being in relationship involves being independent. And being independent, for us humans, involves falling. Failure is not a bug. It’s a feature of humanity and our path to connection, to greatness. Based on the Pasuk in Michah (7:8), the Midrash teaches that “had I not fallen, I would not rise; had I not sat in darkness, Hashem would not be my light” (Yalkut Tehillim 628). “The wise,” wrote Rav Hutner on the Pasuk, “A tzaddik falls seven times and rises” (Mishlei 24:16), “know that he rises only because of his falls” (Letters, pp. 217-219).
This is the terrible and wondrous secret of Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur reveals that Teshuvah is not something bedieved. Rather, it is part and parcel of the original plan. Our sins, in the words of Chazal, become “ordered and planned from the six days of creation” (Shabbos 89b). They become part of our relationship with Hashem – which was always the intention. It is cause for great celebration.
We need to do one thing: Teshuvah. The positive capacity of our flaws depends on Teshuvah. The darkness of our falls can translate into light, but only when we seek to dispel it, rising up by stretching our hands out to Hashem. Staying down defeats the purpose.
May our Teshuvah on Yom Kippur be complete. And may our year – all of us – be sealed for the good.
