Yom Kippur: The Debts We Owe
11 trillion, 824 billion, 231 million, 345 thousand, 301. 11 trillion, 824 billion, 231 mill, 345 thousand, 528. 11 trillion, 824 billion, 231 million, 345 thousand, 887. And on and on and on. At a dizzying pace. I don’t think I have ever seen a number in the trillions actually written out let alone watch it climb steadily, speedily seeming without out end.
11 trillion, 824 billion, 231 million and some change. No, it is not the number of brownies served at Beth El kiddushim in the course of a year. That is our national debt. Or it least it was a few days ago when I logged on to the National Debt clock. It is probably a few billion higher by now and that is without health care reform.
I know there is a lot about the economy that I don’t understand. But I have to believe that even the most schooled among us share my gut reaction to watching the national debt clock: it is dizzying and sobering. Even with the asterisks factoring in the gross GDP and the footnotes about good debt, still, the shear magnitude of these numbers is imposing. And “worrisome” doesn’t begin to cover it.
We are as is often pointed out a debt ridden nation. We live off credit, leverage our debt, and spend beyond our means. How can we get ourselves out from under water?
The Hassidic Rebbe Nahman tells the story of a rich man whose fortunes filled vast treasuries. One day he decided to let others benefit from his wealth. He issued an announcement that anyone who wanted to borrow money could come to him as needed. Naturally, many people took him up on his offer and before long he had lent out vast sums of money.
The rich man kept an account in a special book in which he wrote down how much each person had borrowed. One day he happened to be glancing through the ledger and something caught his attention. He realized that not a single person had bothered to pay him back. Well, as you can imagine, this caused great anguish and he began to regret the loan.
Now, there was one person who had borrowed from the rich man. Unfortunately, when his business went bankrupt he had no way to pay back his debt. But because he was an honest man, it bothered him terribly. After long deliberations with himself, he decided that he should at least go see the rich man and confess what had happened.
He came to the man and began to explain how he had borrowed money, how he wanted to pay it back but that he was broke. Part way through his tale of woe, the rich man interrupted him with a sort of laugh, “If you only knew how many millions of dollars people owe me, you’d realize how small your debt is in comparison!” “But since you seem to feel so bad about it and would like to pay me back, I have a suggestion. You should…” Hold that thought.
Before I share the conclusion of the story, I want to draw out the implicit analogy. For Rebbe Nahman, God is the rich lender whose treasury is full and who gives generously to all in need. We are the borrowers who have accumulated a large debt and who come to confess, in the words of our Yom Kippur prayers “ma kocheinu. Halo kol hagiborim k’ain l’fanecha.” What power do I have to make good on my loan? I am like nothing before You, God; I am bankrupt of worthy deeds.
Rabbi Nahman’s tale draws on a teaching of the sage Rabbi Akiva who reminds us: “hakol b’eiravon. Hapinkas patuch v’hayad kotevet. Everything is on loan”. And yet a safety net is spread out. The ledger is open; the loan officer extends credit and the hand records.” In its brutal honesty, this mishna warns us that life is on loan. And that is the message of these High Holydays. On Rosh Hashanah God records in the ledger; in the interim ten days God reviews the balance sheet of our lives and notes our debt. And today on Yom Kippur we are served notice with the reminder for which each of us is ultimately accountable.
Now back to the story. What did the rich man suggest? How could this poor man ever repay such a large debt? “Here, take this book,” said the rich man. “In it, I have recorded all the debts. Go to the different people who owe me money. Remind them of their debts and encourage them to pay’m back. If each person pays back even just a fraction of what they owe, at least I’ll recoup some of my treasure.”
Each of us may only have the resources to pay a portion of what we owe. But we take comfort in Reb Nahman’s belief that we don’t have to pay it back all by ourselves or all at once. Work together; work with others, he counsels. Encourage others to do their part. In short, form a community; give not only of your own resources but of your time and talent. Such an approach will never satisfy the banks. But it may satisfy God.
If there was ever any doubt, this past year we were reminded of the cost of debt, not just the financial cost but the social cost. We heard stories or felt ourselves stressed, scared, isolated or demeaned by their burden. But at this time of heshbon hanefesh, when we make an accounting of our lives, it is worth considering that not all debts are so onerous. One kind of debt actually fills us with pride, gives us confidence, and expresses trust. Rather than inviting financial disaster, one kind of debt lays the foundation for a prosperous future. A debt of gratitude.
After every bread meal when we recite the birkat hamazon we pray v’na al tatzrikeinu adonai eloheinu lo l’day matnat bsar v’day v’lo l’yday halvaatam. We sing it in camp or at home but rarely pause to understand or think about what it means.
“May I never be in need of a gift or of a loan from human hands but only from Your full and open hands, God, that I might never be humiliated or put to shame.”
Being dependent on others, this prayer implies, can be humiliating. It can be shameful to be in debt. That is why anonymous giving is so praiseworthy. But what is true of our earthly loans is not true of our heavenly ones. ki im l’yadecha hamaleia hapatucha hakadosha v’harhava shlo navosh v’lo nikaleim l’oalm vaeed. “May I not be dependent on humans but only on God” we sing. Relying on God, being indebted to God carries no shame, because we are all indebted to God, all the time.
Jews do not believe that we are born into this world with original sin. We are not evil from birth. But I think it is fair to say we are born into this world with original debt. We are indebted from birth for the life we are given, the air we breathe, the food we eat and on and on.
Now I understand that in light of today’s economy “debt from birth” might not be the most enticing Jewish philosophy. But we can take consolation: if the loan rates on earth serve as an index for those in heaven, then God the Prime Lender has also suffered a bad year.
In debt from birth. If it’s true of all human beings, it is particularly true for Jews. Not only do we owe God for life, we owe God for freedom. We read in the Torah and our siddurim, “vaasetem et kol mitzvotay, ani adonai eloheikhem asher hotzeiti etchem m’eretz mitzrayim Do the mitzvot for I am the Lord who brought you out of Egypt.” God had rahmanus, pity on us and redeemed us. And so at Sinai as a people, we pledged an IOU to God.
Now as strange as it sounds for a people often associated with money lending, from that point on, debt became an essential element of what it means to be a Jew. The language of halakha, of Jewish law, makes that point explicitly. Let’s say, for example, someone brought food for the Yom Kippur food drive or someone fasts the full 25 hours of Yom Kippur. Both of these are mitzvot, commandments. We say about a person who fulfills the mitzvot that they “yatza y’dai hovatam.” Yatza y’day hovatam is usually translated as “they fulfilled their obligation.” But hova doesn’t simply mean sense of duty. It also means debt. In other words, when a person performs a mitzvah- saying the motzi, lighting Shabbat candles, eating in a sukkah, honoring ones parent’s, visiting the sick, they are paying off a debt. You may have heard it stated simply this way: mitzvoth are the way we repay our loan on life.
“Wonderful,” you’re probably thinking to yourself. “Not only is my house under water, now I owe God 613 mitzvot?!”
None of us like to be in debt, to owe anyone anything. We like to be independent; that is the American ethos. But that is not our natural state. We owe the bank for our mortgage. We owe the government for our college loans. We owe VISA for our credit cards. And then there are the other debts, debts of gratitude we owe our parents, we owe each other, we owe God. We are indebted to all of them for the time and talent, possessions and principles, love and life they gave us. Rather than putting us in bankruptcy, these debts create dependency. They do so by strengthening the ties that bond our family and community, together, the ties that connect us to God. They do so by communicating “I need you. I trust you.” Rather than strapping us with a burden we can never repay, this debt is within reach.
It is a lesson amplified by another hasidic story, the story of the Rebbe Shimon Skernovitcher. The rebbe had thousands of hasidim (disciples). But every Thurs night, the strangest thing happened. He disappeared. No matter how many people were waiting to see him, he was no where to be found.
One night, some of his hasidim decided to try to find out what was going on. They hid in some bushes outside the beit midrash (study hall) hoping to see the rebbe when he left on his secret business. Sure enough, after several hours, he came out and hurried away. So they followed him.
The holy rebbe moved quickly through the streets of Warsaw and the hasidim snuck behind. Soon he turned into one of the poorest neighborhoods of the city and was immediately surrounded by people asking for tzedaka. But the rebbe didn’t just give some money and then walk on. He stopped by each poor man and said, “My sweet friend, I’d be happy to help you. But I really can’t give you charity. I can only give you this money as a loan.”
The beggar would look at him in surprise. “A loan? Rebbe, you want to give me a loan?”
And R’ Shimon would say “yes, of course. Would you accept a loan from me? I have so much faith in you. I know you’ll be able to pay me back.”
With a huge grin on his face, each person would happily accept some rubles as a loan and the rebbe would go on his way.
After watching the rebbe, the hasidim decided they’d seen enough. They went back to the beit midrash to wait. And when the rebbe finally returned, they confronted him: “How could you tell all those people you were giving them loans? You know full well they’ll never be able to repay you.”
“Why? I’ll tell you why,” he answered. “Do you know what it means to them when I offer them a loan? I have faith they can get back on their feet again. Listen to me. I’ve taught you a lot of Torah. But this is the most important thing I’ll ever tell you. It’s not enough to hand a person a few rubles. You have to do more than that. You have to show you believe in them.”
On Yom Kippur, we are called upon to account for the debts we owe our parents and children, our family and community and the debt we owe God. They gave us life, wisdom, guidance, concern and love. They were our mentor, protector, moral compass, comfort and more. For many of us, 11 trillion, 824 billion and some change doesn’t begin to capture just how much we owe them.
For sure, over the course of the year that has past, we repaid a portion of our debt. And on this Yom Kippur day, the gratitude, apology, or forgiveness we express cancels some existing claims against us. But an outstanding principle remains for us to pay down. And no matter how many mitzvoth we do, it will continue to hang over us until… until one day, the remainder is due. Then, when we are out of days, out of deeds, out of words, what will we do? We will pay it off by paying it forward. “Ours is a religion of continuity,” writes Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, chief Rabbi of England. “Judaism depends for its very existence on the willingness of successive generations to hand on their faith and way of life to the next generation and on the loyalty of those that follow to the heritage of their past.” Said simply, one generation is called upon to pass on its wisdom, values and traditions not as burdens but as blessings. And the next generation, motivated not by overwhelming debt but profound indebtedness proudly and lovingly accepts.
More than perhaps any other time of year, on Yom Kippur we hear the clock ticking. We hear not just the march of time but our individual, and communal and national debt of gratitude clock. As we gather to remember our loved ones, we feel the weight of responsibility on our shoulders for preserving their memory and continuing their mission. We know we owe this to them. But the weight is lightened sensing that they believed in us, they entrusted to us their story and their way of life. So that today, as yizkor approaches, we vow to make good on our debt not out of guilt or pressure but out of love and admiration.
It is then with pride that we will rise to say, “I am the connecting link between the generations, between the past and the future. I am the dreams and hopes of my ancestors; and they live on in me. Today, at this sacred hour, I willingly accept responsibility to my family and community, to my people and to God. And when the time draws near, I pledge to lovingly hand it over with confidence and faith in those who follow. In so doing, may blessings be granted for us, the people Israel and the world in this coming year and for years to come. Amen.
