The Approach of the High Holy Day Season
Written by Rabbi Ira Stone
The approach of the High Holy Day season, as we all know, is a time of reflection. In the master narrative with which we are all familiar, the focus of that reflection is ourselves: putting ourselves somehow right with God. And while our tradition makes clear that putting ourselves right with God depends upon putting ourselves right with other people, the very pageantry and grandeur of the liturgy can easily distract us. We imagine a listening and forgiving God who can punish us or absolve us, and our task becomes one of being punctilious in our observance and enactment of the liturgy.
On the surface, Mussar should act as a corrective to this tendency. Yet it is possible that Mussar itself can become part of the problem, for the perceived goal of Mussar, for many of us, directs our practice inward. The state of our own souls becomes the focus of our introspection. We examine our middot, measure our progress, and strive to become better versions of ourselves. But if that is where our work ends, we have missed something essential.
In doing so, we cut ourselves off in two related but distinct ways. First, we separate ourselves from the insights of the Mussar masters in whose tradition we stand. Second, we lose sight of the larger network of people and relationships surrounding us.
The masters of Mussar did not intend for us to use middot as a tool for polishing our souls until they shone brightly. They intended us to use the tools of Mussar to create the conditions necessary to forge a world characterized by compassion and justice. Their work was a continuation of the Torah’s injunction to care for the poor, the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. Mussar begins with the self, but it does not end there. Our inner work is meant to prepare us to act differently in the world.
It is in order to remain connected to this tradition that the CCM program insists on serious text study rather than relying only on introspection. Text study helps us resist the solipsism that can turn Mussar into a form of spiritual self-help. It reminds us that our spiritual health has a purpose. Our work begins with our closest relationships, with the people immediately around us, but it does not end there.
For as long as we tolerate a society that eschews justice for the poor, the stranger, the widow, or the orphan, our spiritual work is only beginning. To imagine otherwise is to mistake the means for the end. Worse, it is a kind of idolatry: replacing the God who demands justice with an image of God who exists merely to affirm our own spiritual progress.
The prophet Isaiah did not reject fasting and sacrifice. Rather, he reminded us—and every year reminds us again—that the true God of Israel demands worship that transforms the society of the worshippers. Our rituals matter precisely because they are meant to change us, and because changed people are meant to change the world.
May this new year, then, begin such a transformation: for Am Yisrael, for Eretz Yisrael, and for the world—for the Olam HaBa, the world that is coming. May our introspection lead to responsibility, our spiritual practice lead to compassion, and our repentance lead to justice.
For the past has meaning only if it transforms the future.