Yom Kippur: The Reflection We See
In the spring of my last year of rabbinical school, I was asked to officiate my first solo wedding. It was a couple I had met through friends. But when the three of us over coffee for the first time, I knew it was meant to be. I was excited but nervous, so I contacted my mentor, Rabbi Jeff Marx in Santa Monica. We sat down over lunch and talked through the process of taking the couple through the process. He explained all the questions I should ask. He walked me through every step. And right before I got up to leave, I remembered one last thing. Jeff, "The couple wants to know how much I charge. What do Rabbi's cost for these things?" He smiled. More like a smirk. "Good question, Aaron. Let me ask you. How much are you worth?" "How much am I worth?" I asked rhetorically - the quizzical expression of a naive puppy draped over my face. One ear flopped backward, and head cocked. "I have not the first clue..."
"Here's what I want you to do," he said. "When you go home tonight, I want you to look in the mirror. Take a moment. Stare nice and hard. And then say out loud, 'I charge x amount.' Start with a figure. A low one. Five bucks. And then keep going. Ten. Fifteen. And when you're no longer able to look at yourself in the mirror. That's when you know you've gone too far. That's when you know you've gone too far. So start subtracting. And when you're finally able to keep a straight face. That's when you'll know."
Associate Professor of Psychology at Barnard Tara Well, who explores how mirrors and reflections influence our psychological states – particularly how people navigate the self-consciousness [upon] seeing their reflection, says this:
"If you believe that gazing into a mirror often increases discomfort, well, you're right...Contrary to the myth of Narcissus, most people do not instantly fall in love with their image. The mirror orients our perception to how others see us." [1]
So that night, I went home and did as instructed. It was slightly embarrassing and uncomfortable. But I remember the instant when I caved. Burrowing my chin into my chest. And it was at that moment, a memory was triggered. One I had shoved far, far away. It was the only other time where I viscerally recoiled from my own reflection. It was the night I got home from the hospital after my last surgery for testicular cancer.
I was nineteen. And I was fortunate. And still am. There was no chemo. Instead, it was suggested that I undergo two surgeries. The last of which was an aggressive one. Which meant spending a week in recovery. The evening returned home, I was ready to finally take a shower. And I remember catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I peeled off the bandages. Yikes! Who was that person? That couldn't be me. That's not me...Not the ME I remembered. This one didn't resemble me at all. This other human was stitched up like a poorly manufactured doll. He looked incomplete. Fragmented.
Week after week. The same reaction. Until about six months later. I was able to look at that man in the mirror. Don't get me wrong. I still wore a giant grimace on my face. I wasn't entirely happy about it. But I accepted the person staring back at me.
Also, let's just get it out of the way. Michael Jackson's 1988 #1 Billboard hit "Man In The Mirror." It's been in my head for weeks. Okay. I said it. It's in your head now too. I can move on.
I believe that turmoil and inner disruption were precisely what Rabbi Marx wanted me to find in my reflection. Because the moment we look away is when we no longer identify with the person gazing back at us. A slight wince or recoil is all it takes. That's our mind's way of saying something isn't adding up here. Somewhere between Our sense of self - How we think of ourselves - What we think we look like to others - And what the mirror actually projects. Often, there's a disconnect between these stray wires of thought. Sometimes, they are not all in compliance.
Recently, I saw a social media video by a woman named Olivia Durant. Who was blind from birth until recently. The question she was answering in the video was the following: "What was the thing that shocked you the most when you first saw it?" She said the following:
"I did. What I looked like. I had no idea what I looked like. I would go into stores with mirrors on the wall, and I would actually say hello to myself because I thought I was a different person. And I had a complete identity crisis because it's a little weird when you can't recognize yourself. It's kind of disturbing." [2]
And the question one could ask is, why do we look in the mirror at all? What exactly are we searching for in our reflection? In my opinion, I believe there's something unsure that stirs in us. A part of us wants so badly wants to know what we look like to the outside world. Because I believe deep down inside, we recognize a disconnect. And thus, we are seeking to make a reconciliation. We want to come to terms. Make peace with. Hammer out a deal. Whatever idiom you want to use. We want reassurance that what I see is what you see. It's why the Queen in Snow White consults her Magic Mirror. "Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" Because if the Queen knew the answer, she wouldn't need to ask the question in the first place.
At the end of the day, none of us have the gift of seeing ourselves through the eyes of the other. It's why we go shopping with friends. It's why we ask for feedback. Yes, the dreaded word known as "feedback." It's also why feedback is so disturbing. Because it can disrupt our perception of who we think we are. And thus, we ask the age-old question: "Tell me what you see?" Tell me how I am. It's not that we don't have an inkling of a clue. Or the world is secretly gaslighting us. But there resides a natural cognitive dissonance.
And that's precisely why both you and I are here today. It's why we have our days of awe. For this reason. As Dr. Tara Well reminds us, "Learning to tune into your image will not turn you into a towering narcissist. Quite the opposite: you'll learn to stay present with yourself." When we arrive on the holidays, we're asked to provide an account - of us. To take a record of our actions. And then, come to a reconciliation. Not necessarily between you and the others in this room, but between You and You. But there's one added element to this. One more item that needs addressing. God. As our Rabbis taught:
"Mark well three things and you will not come into the power of sin: Know from where you come, and where you are going, and before whom you are destined to give an account and reckoning...Before whom you are destined to give an account and reckoning? Before the King of the kings of kings, the Holy One, blessed be he." [3]
What's the word in Hebrew for "account," you ask? Well, let me tell you. Because I just can't pass up a Hebrew opportunity. Just a smidgen, I promise. This word account is wrapped up in another term we use often. "Chesbon HaNefseh". In simple terms, it means an account of the soul. In modern Hebrew, a "chesbon" is "a bill." Like for the electricity. It can also mean "an account or sum"
And funny enough, its root is from the root word "chasav" meaning, "To think. To intend. To plan." And because we live in a world where what I think and you think is so relative, it's bizarre that the word for "bill" is derived from this word. But these are the rabbis of old we are speaking about. They left very little to chance. They spent years locked away arguing about how I might owe you if accidentally your cow wanders on your property and dies.
So while, yes, they did lots of thinking, ultimately, they arrived at a decision. A conclusion. A precise number or result, if you will. Because after all the consideration. All the pondering and pontificating. As I did in my mirror. Ultimately, we need a figure. An account. Something concrete. A thought without a conclusion doesn't sit well. Not in the 11th century. And certainly not now.
Because what a bill really is, is a testament of agreeance. A reconciliation of what I think I'm paying and what you think I owe. Whether or not your tuna tartare was actually worth 38 dollars is another question altogether. But at the end of the day, that number is real. It's not just a figment. It's thought "chasav" turned into actuality "chesbon." And it needs confirmation. It requires a signature. "Okay, yes, I agree. This is how much it was. I will give you that much." Our rabbis didn't intend for us to just ponder the day away on Yom Kippur. We need to provide answers. Conclusions. Proof. "I'll think about it. I'll sleep on it," It just isn't enough.
That is why on Yom Kippur, we ask God over and over and over again. Write us, seal us, write us, seal us…” To dot the "I's" and cross the "T's" ad-nauseam. I can't tell you how many times in the last few days I've heard the words "Gmar chatima Tova!" Well, "gamar" is the word "to finish or complete." "Chatima" is a literal signature or stamp. The ink kind, not the postal sticker kind. We literally walk around for weeks on end saying, "May god sign off on you. May god rubber stamp you!" Yes, thanks Gary! May you be signed too!" Let everyone be signed and accounted for!
We ask God not simply to think about the decision God will make but to put it in writing. As we all know too well, if you didn't put it in an email, it's like it never happened. You can spend nine hours at a car dealership, and if you never sign a thing, you can simply get up and walk away. I don't suggest this tactic. But a contract is a contract. For better or worse. Our Rabbis teach:
"When we seek to grasp what our inner and outer duties to God truly are, we must realize that it is impossible for us to fulfill them until we bring ourselves to an accounting on them before God and are meticulous in this...Spiritual account-taking means the deliberation of a man on his torah and worldly affairs between his nefesh (bodily soul/emotional side/will) and his intellect, so that one may know what one has and what one still owes of his duties." [4]
But what exactly are we asking God to confer on? What precisely is the bill, the document that needs agreement? Right before Cantor sang our prayer, Shema Koleinu, there on pages 308 to 309, we arrive at a section of our Machzor called Chesbon Hanefesh. It is quite possibly the most detailed outline of our wrongdoings on Yom Kippur. In the span of two entire pages, we don't just find. "I have wronged. I have sinned." No, this list is quite meticulous indeed:
"Through failure to trying to meet my emotional needs in unhealthy ways. Indulging in negative thinking, self-obsession, or self-denigration.
Through my intrusiveness, over-involvement, or manipulation...neglect, impatience, or insensitivity toward my children and other young people.
Through my failure to take time to educate myself about complex social problems…my discourtesy, ill-temper, and impatience at work or in public settings…."
"Through neglecting to do my part to carry on tradition...my failure to be a good Jewish role model for the children in my life…"
I don't know about you, but these seem pretty clear to me. But as I mentioned, this is for better or worse. Meaning, this declaration of agreement isn't always a bad thing. In fact, I don't want anyone to walk away thinking that our need for confirmation is harmful in any way at all. That this concept only applies when we're at our lowest - or only for the sake of repentance.
Because we have another formal document in Jewish life. Where signatures, written understanding, and God's sign-off are of the utmost importance. A wedding! "Blessed are You, Sovereign of the universe...who brings together two people so that they become one." And how do they become one? Well, the ceremonial rights of a wedding under the chuppah are indeed joyous and meaningful. But before any of that. It comes down to brass taxes. Pens and paper. The Ketubah.
"'The ketubah is an ancient traditional contract to remind a couple marrying of the prenuptial outcome," explains Rabbi Michael Broyde, an Emory University law professor. In its original form, the Ketubah was to govern the financial ending of the marriage. It was an ancient monetary system." says Broyde. As Rabbi Broyde notes, "the traditional ketubah still calls for a husband to pay his wife ‘200 zuz and 200 zekukim of silver' upon dissolution of the marriage." [5]
So yes, Ketubah's original intention was financial. As we've noted. The Ketubah also explains how a husband and wife treat each other in a proper, meaningful way. How each is to conduct themselves. Because in Judaism, we are not only rigorous in the misgivings of our past, but our future endeavors as well. As you may have noted, today is not only about what we've done, but what we intend to do. Our ambitions for the future. We want to align the past, present and future. To align our wrongs, but also our plans. We seek to unify the disconnect. The stray wires. Our sense of self. As the Mussar rabbis instruct us:
"One thing must of course not be lost sight of: unification of the soul...the whole man body and spirit together...is never final. The soul is beset by inner difficulties. Thus even a soul most powerfully struggling for unity can never completely achieve it." [6]
But as Buber explains, any work we do acts in the direction of new and greater unification. While it leads us through all sorts of detours, ultimately, it leads to a steadier unity than before. As Buber writes, "Vigilance, of course, is necessary, but a relaxed vigilance." And that is why, night after night, we come back to the mirror. Each day, we find greater unity and wholeness. Every Yom Kippur, we see more agreement than we did the year before. Each year it gets easier to see ourselves in the mirror. And be more sure, more adjusted, and well acquainted with what we see.
This year of 5782, may we enter with relaxed vigilance. May we know our worth. May find unity. Wholeness. Understanding. May we make peace with ourselves. Peace with the mirror. And peace with God. As they say in Spanish, "Porque no Los dos?" Why not both?”
[1] What the Mirror Can Teach You About Yourself” by Tara Well; January 2nd, 2020
[2] Olivia Durant
[3] Pirkei Avot 3:2
[4] “Duties of the Heart, Eighth Treatise on Examining the Soul 1,” Bachya ibn Pekuda
[5] “The Ketubah: Ritual Contract of Love?,” Roni Robbins; Atlanta Jewish Times
[6] “Way of Man,” Martin Buber