I truly hate doing things for the sole reason that I am supposed to. This is a fact that has infuriated every authority figure in my life. My parents, teachers, guidance counselor, academic advisors, professors, camp counselors, EMT instructor, and many others seem to abhor my favorite question: why. After being called difficult, petulant, insubordinate, or some combination of that sentiment, I would begrudgingly accept. Luckily for me I had the perfect role model growing up: Jonah.
Jonah, the story of the prophet for whom I am named, began with a call to action. From the start, we find the word of God approaching Jonah to instruct him on his quest. In his short epic he refused God’s call, was thrown overboard by his crewmates, swallowed by a large fish, and led an entire city of people to repent. Jonah’s refusal to take up the mantle of prophecy later reappears as he spoke to God on the banks outside the city of Nineveh. In the fourth and final chapter, God expressed the inherent value of life and how it must be protected. The core conflict of Jonah’s narrative was his refusal to accept tasks he didn’t understand, mirroring my constant frustration with understanding the “why” in all situations.
As I reflected on this past holiday season, it became clear that this year was different. Every year of my life, excluding this one, I’ve felt in awe of Yom Kippur, but this year, I struggled to connect to the holiday.
In other years, I’d beg my parents for white clothes and break out my cleanest non-leather shoes, and feed ducks bread during the Ten Days of Repentance. This year, I just did not feel connected to the actions I performed. I dipped apples in honey and tasted the sweetness but had a difficult time imagining a sweet new year. I felt awash with sin, but I felt unable or unwilling to absolve myself of them because of my complacency within the systems around me.
As I watch the world around me, I’ve become more and more disillusioned with the idea of a capital G God. A creator that is itself a being. A father. A king. A judge. This is a typically theist view of God. One that sees him as separate from the world. A clock maker and the world his clock set in motion. I struggle to have faith in this view of a creator and even more deeply the one Yom Kippur envisions.
The “Una Tana Tokef” is the center of the high holiday liturgy. Jews have been chanting it, or a variation of the prayer, for over a thousand years. The central tone of the poem is a predestination by God of the ensuing year. The prayer is a moment to ask God, “who will live and who will die. Who will become rich and Who will become poor. Who will rest and Who will toil. I even struggle with the concept of a merciful deity predetermining punishments, or a deity that assigns punishment at all if the result of that punishment is the current world.
I stood with the ark open, facing a holy space, listening to the Kol Nidre, longing to feel something. Waves of apathy crashed as I searched for the crew to throw me into the sea hoping God sent a big fish to swallow me and rediscover my faith.
