Yom Kippur Morning, 10 Tishrei 5776

Little Aaron and his father were entering the synagogue to pray on Yom Kippur. It was an old, large Temple, the type with lots of old, large plaques on the wall of the sanctuary. Aaron stopped at one and asked his father, “Daddy, who are all those people?”

His father answered, “Those are the names of all the members of this congregation who died in the service.”

Aaron was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “The morning or the evening one?”

While I devoutly hope that no one will perish during this service, I do admit that there’s much about the experience of Yom Kippur that reminds us of death. The unetaneh tokef poem that we recited earlier raised the point explicitly: “Who will live and who will die?” it asks. Then, just to make sure that we don’t miss it, it continues with all the ways we could lose our lives: by fire, by water, by beast, by earthquake. And our minds conjure up our own lists: by cancer, by heart attack, by auto accident.

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