Open for us the gate of prayer,

Even at the closing of the gate,

Even now that the day has declined

Gates, Locked and Unlocked

Rabbi Eliezer said: Since the destruction of the Temple, the

gates of prayer are locked, for it is written, Also when I cry out, He

shuts out my prayer (Lamentations

3:8). Yet though the gates of

prayer are locked, the gates of tears are not, for it is written, Hear

my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my cry, hold not your peace at my tears (Psalms 39:13)…

Rav Hisda said: All gates are locked, excepting the gates [through

which pass the cries of those suffering] wrongs, for it is written, Behold

the Lord stood by a wall of wrongs, and in his hand were the wrongs (Amos 7:7).

(Bava Metziya 59a)

Rabbi Hanina bar Papa asked Rav Shmuel bar Nahman:

What is the meaning of the verse, But as for me, let my prayers be unto

You in an acceptable time (Psalms 69:14)?

He replied:

The gates of prayer are sometimes open and sometimes closed, but the gates of

repentance always remained open.

He then

asked him: Whence [do you know this]?

[Rav

Shmuel replied:] Because it is written, You

are] the confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of the far distant seas (Psalms 65: 6). Just as the ritual bath is sometimes open and sometimes closed, so

too are the gates of prayer sometimes open and sometimes closed; but as the sea

ever remains open, so is the hand of God ever open to receive the penitent.

(Devarim

Rabbah 2:12)

The matter

of Yom Kippur and Ne'ila is like a

parable: one makes a chest and closet; when they are completed a lock is made

for them to guard their contents.

(R.

Naftali Tzvi Horowitz's Zera

Kodesh, quoted by S.Y. Agnon in his Yamim Nora'im, pg.

362)

So very open that it will never close again, so

very closed that it shall never reopen…

Forget, remember, forget

Open, close, open

(From Y. Amichai's Patuah, Sagur, Patuah)

On opening the gate

Shmuel Reiner

Were someone to ask me to create a symbol for the Days of Awe, I would

vacillate between scales, which are, of course, the zodiac sign of

Tishrei, and a gate. My final choice would be the gate. And then

I would ponder which kind of gate; a gate with doors open and light streaming

through, or perhaps a gate with no doors at all. The gates accompany me throughout

my Days of Awe. There was a time when, during the month of Elul, I would peruse

"Shaarei Teshuva"

period found me studying Rav Kook's "Orot HaTeshuva" [Lights of Repentance], on the binding of

which was a magnificent picture of gates bathed in rays of the sun.

The climax of the Days of Awe is Yom Kippur, and its pinnacle is

reached with day's end, during the Neila [closing of the gates] service.

In contrast to other festivals, in which the intensity wanes as the day progresses,

on Yom Kippur, as I experience it, the day's most powerful moment is when the

sun hangs low in the sky, and through the treetops the sensation of fleeting

time becomes stronger.

In the Jerusalem Talmud we read: Until when is Neila recited? Our

Yochanan said; With the closing of the gates of the Temple. (Taanit,

Chap. 4, p. 67, Tur 3, Halacha 1)

It is clear to all that Neila is the closing of a gate.

The question is which gates – the gates of the Temple or the gates of heaven.

There is more here than a halachic disputation. Between the lines hides

a spiritual message: What is Neila, and upon

what is it dependent?

In the Neila prayer, in the Ashkenazic poem Shaarei Armon M'heira

Tiftach – (Speedily open the Temple Gates)

we recall the gate. Later we recite the moving poem:

Open for

us the gate,

Even at

the closing of the gate,

Even now that the day has declined.

The day

has declined,

The day

has declined into sunset,

O let us

enter into your gates.

At the conclusion of Elul and Tishrei, the days of Awe, we face the

gate closing before our eyes. Perhaps our great hopes will remain on the other

side of the gate. We have one final hope: Let the gate not close for us. This

is the powerful experience of Neila.

The experience of teshuva, repentance, is to pass through the

gate, to leave behind a world and to enter a new world.

This passage is not easy, for two main reasons:

The first, separations are not easy. Often we are enamored of

our weaknesses; we are aware that they are problematic, but even so our

failings find favor in our eyes and it is so difficult to part with them.

The second reason is that the new world, too, is not at all

simple. Beyond the gate lies another difficulty, the fear of the new; the

questions "What will be?" and "How will it be"? are frightening thoughts.

Rav Nachman of Breslav (Likkutei Moharan

Tenina Torah 63) deals with the question "How can

one merit repentance." He paints a beautiful description of fifty gates of

repentance; forty-nine gates are for us humans, one for the Holy One,

Blessed Be He. The Holy One, too, returns to us, as is written: "Return

to Me and I will return to you. (Malachi 3).

Every person has his own gate, and only through it can he change. I

cannot repent the same way as my good friend, even though we are true friends,

partners in our path.

Repentance is the most personal thing one can do, and therefore one

cannot share his gate of repentance with another, regardless of how close to

him he may be.

Rav Nachman continues: "For there may be one who is not at all

aroused to repent, or even who has been aroused to repent but does not merit reaching

his omen and his personal gate to repentance, or he may even have reached the

gate but finds it shut, and because of all this, the person does not achieve

teshuva. But by reciting Tehillim [Psalms], even one who has no inner

arousal to repentance is aroused to teshuva, and by virtue of Tehillim

he merits reaching his gate and his omen, and he is able to open the gate."

R' Nachman

describes the beginning of the process, the first stage in which one is not

certain that he wants to change, or if there is any reason for change. Then the

question is raised: How does one reach the gate. Even if I want to change, a

serious question is posed: Why do I want to change, and through which "gate"

do I enter – which is my gate? What is suitable for me… not what

attracts me. And then there arises an additional

difficulty: The gate is shut! Not always is the gate open, but there

exists a possibility of a key – song. A single song, properly

tuned, has the power to open the gate. Perhaps one's finding his verse

in Tehillim, that verse which arouses him is the key to the gate

through which the desired change is effected. Then will he merit teshuva.

The process described

calls to mind Kafka's famous story "Before the Gate of the Law" (it

is interesting to note that Kafka published this work in the Rosh Hashanah edition

of Czechoslovakian Zionist weekly in 1915. It seems to me that the Jewish place

and the period, Rosh Hashanah eve, are not coincidental). Kafka places his

amazing parable in the mouth of a priest addressing his church congregation (HaMishpat, Shocken p. 220)

"The man"

remains passive, facing the gate of the law, he does not attempt to breach it,

he believes, and he obeys the Tatar guard. So his entire life passes before the

seemingly open gate. Only in old age, as his strength wanes, does he detect the

light. "… Finally his eyes grow dim, and he no longer knows whether it's

really getting darker or just his eyes that are deceiving him. But he seems now

to see an inextinguishable light begin to shine from the darkness behind the gate

of the law".

Kafka's story ends with

a terrible tragedy: "…Nobody else could have entered this way, as this

entrance was meant only for you. Now I'll go and close it'."

Rav

Nachman and Kafka, each in his own way saying the

same thing, as the ancient proverb has it, will we live or die? Will we refashion

our lives or remain as we were?

Kafka's admonition is

multi-faceted. It reverberates inside me for many years, especially during

these days. Therefore I will not remain standing before the gate with longing

alone; I will try to enter through the gate to new life.

This is the hour of change – mute we stand

On the border of light

To where will our heart turn?

Will we return, my brother,

Will we cross over?

             (Leah Goldberg, On the Border of Light)

This moment of Neila, too,

as we stand facing the gate before God of Tremendous Deeds, is part of the

poem.

May it be His will

enter better and more meaningful new life!

Rabbi Shmuel Reiner

lives in Mitzpeh Netofa, is head of the Kibbutz Hadati

Yeshiva on Maaleh Gilboa

So Moshe wrote down this song on that day, and he taught it to the

Children of Israel.

(Devarim

31:22)

"This

song" – From "Haazinu hashamayim"

(32:1) through "effecting atonement for the soil of his people."

(Rashi

on 32:22)

This refers to the Torah, for we have already learned that the Torah is

called "song".

(Haamek Davar, ibid.)

It is important to understand how it is that the Torah can be called "song"

– after all, is it written in the style of song?!

However, you must admit that it has the nature and virtue of song, in

that it uses figures of speech. For it is known to all who have studied that

the language of metaphor differs from prose in two respects:

A. In poetry – unlike in prose – matters are not clearly explained.

There is need for explication, – this verse refers to this event, and this

passage alludes to something else. This is not drush

– hermeneutical explication – this is very essence of poetry, even poetry

penned by unprofessionals. Another axiom is that one

well versed in the subject which produced a particular metaphor, is capable of

much greater and more joyous appreciation of the language employed than is one

who is ignorant of the subject matter and tends to a more literal reading, thus

possibly reaching false conclusions which were never the intention of the poet.

This is the nature of the entire Torah – the text is never clearly understood,

and notes and explanation of the literary devices are necessary. This is not

called "drush"; this is the plain meaning –

pshat – of the text. Another axiom is that one cannot

completely comprehend the word of God unless he refers to some Halacha or

ethical teaching and Aggada which have come down

through tradition from Chazal – for such a person,

the light of exact meaning is exceedingly sweet.

 B. Song has the virtue of embellishment by allusions which

are not relative to the subject matter of the song, for example, having the

lines arranged alphabetically, or providing an acronym of the name of the poet – this is common to poetry but not to

prose narrative. This trait sometimes forces the author to sometime 'bend' the

language… This is quite common to all the Torah, for in addition to the plain-reading

of the text, there are many secrets and veiled matters, and therefore the

language of Scripture is not always precise.

                                    (From

"Kidmat Haemek" –

The Netziv's introduction to his commentary on the

Torah")

The Gates of Tears are not Locked

I further observed all the oppression that goes on under the sun.

from hand of their oppressors – and there is none to comfort them.

(Kohelet 4:1)

Rav Rahumi used to spend his time

in Rava's presence in Mehoza. He would return home to visit every Yom Kippur eve.

Once he became involved in his studies and remained where he was. His wife

looked forward to his arrival, saying in her heart, "Now he will come! Now

he will come!" He did not come. She broke down and a tear dropped from her

eye. Rav Rahumi was sitting on the

roof. The roof broke under him and he died.

(Ketuvot 62b)

Our master [Rabbi Hayyim of Zans], once spun a parable:

A man had been wandering about in a forest for several days, not

knowing which was the right way out.

Suddenly he saw a man approaching him. His heart was filled with joy. "Now

I shall certainly find out which is the right way", he thought to himself.

When they neared one another, he asked that man, "Brother, tell me which

is the right way. I have been wandering about in this forest for several

days."

The other said to him, "Brother, I do not know the way out either.

For I too have been wandering about here for many, many days. But this I

can tell you; do not take the way I have been taking, for that will lead you

astray. And now let us look for a new way out together."

(Darkhey Hayyim, quoted in "Days of Awe" by Agnon)

The thirteen attributes are a program for action, not only for

recitation

"The Lord passed before him and proclaimed" – Said Rabbi

Yochanan: Were this not actually written, it could not have been said. It

teaches us that The Holy One, Blessed Be He, wrapped himself as a shliach tzibbur – a cantor –

and showed Moshe the order of prayer. He said to him: Whenever Israel sins,

– let them do this order before me, and I will forgive them. "The

Lord, the Lord" – I am He before man sinned, and I am He after man

sins and repents. "A compassionate and gracious

God" – said Rabbi Yehuda: A covenant was made promising that the

Thirteen Attributes will never go unanswered, as is written, (Shemot 34), "I hereby make a covenant."

(Bavli,

Rosh Hashana 17b)

There is no magical power in turning to the Thirteen Attributes of God;

like every promise given in the Torah, the only significance of the Thirteen

Attributes is the demand made of man so that he be worthy of this

promise.

Regarding the custom of reciting the Thirteen Attributes in "Selichot", and during most of the year during

the Tachanun prayer, the Alshich (Rabbi Moshe ben Hayyim,

disciple of Rabbi Yosef Karo, 16th cent.) wrote:

The Talmud does not say "Let them say this order before me," but

rather "Let them do this order before me." Forgiveness is effected not by the saying but by the doing. The meaning of

the words of Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Yehuda is that when a person does,

i.e., makes his personal attributes similar to those of The Holy One, Blessed

Be He, as per the recommendation of Chazal – Just as

He is called 'merciful', so you shall be merciful, just as He is called

'compassionate', so shall you be compassionate, just as he is called 'slow to

anger and abounding in kindness' so shall you be slow to anger and abounding in

kindness – only then will your transgressions be forgiven.

That covenant made over the Thirteen Attributes is not a prescription

for forgiveness of sin, but it is a program for human behavior. Whoever is

acquainted with Maimonides's writings, knows of the doctrine of "negative attributes".

No description has any validity with regards to God. These attributes point

to man's obligation to emulate … living according to these attributes is

both the repentance and the atonement.

'…How often do we see that we are wrapped in our prayer shawls and

recite the Thirteen Attributes, yet we are not answered.

But the meaning is that whenever Israel does according to this order

of attributes which the Lord does, having mercy and being gracious to the poor,

being slow to anger and doing kindness one to the other, waiving demands for

rightful satisfaction, as in the words of Chazal: If

one waives his demands for rightful satisfaction, his sins will be forgiven,

then they (Israel) are assured that they will not remain empty-handed; but if

they are cruel, and act immorally, certainly they will be condemned by their

recitation of the Thirteen Attributes' (Sefer

Yereim).

In other words, not only are the Thirteen Attributes not a magic means

for atonement of sins; the mention of The Holy One's attributes by one who

makes no effort to observe them calls attention to his sins. Not only do they

not provide a remedy for man, they become a pitfall.

(Y. Leibowitz, Discussion

on the Festivals and Appointed Times of Israel, pp. 184-185)