washwords

Today is Yom Kippur, the day of atonement for my faith, the closing of the 10 day period of the new year, of reflection for the year behind, of looking to the year ahead.

Truth be told, I love this time of year. I love the rituals of cleansing, purifying,  the haunting melodies,  the looking ahead and celebrating first so that filled up with love and hope and promise, you can more properly atone for sins, and reform into someone better, stronger, more authentic.

I especially love the poetry, the music of our services. I sing “Avinu Malkeinu” to myself throughout the year (no doubt especially annoying friends and neighbors this time of year) and unlike my favorite songs in English where it’s the lyrics I most connect to, focus on; in prayer, it’s the melody - the haunting beautiful notes that express better where my heart is dwelling then the actual words sometimes can.  “Our Father, Our King” the literal translation of that prayer’s title, isn’t what the song speaks to me.

Rather, it says loudly, softly, heartfully, tearfully, pleadingly, “I’m sorry.”

It says: I’ll do better. I’m working on it. I do have love in my heart of hearts, I do appreciate the riches I have.

It says: I am joyful, exhuberant, warmed by this community, even when they are strangers. I am home here with this familiar melody I seem to have always known, by the ability to sing fully, forcefully, till I’m dizzy and hoarse.

It says: Thank you. Thank you, God, if that’s what you believe in. Thank you friends and loved ones. Thank you strangers for forgiving me the sins and offenses I don’t even know I’m committing. Thank you love for finding me, thank you world for recognizing the talents and strengths I have.

And it says this: There’s going to be hurt, there’s going to be mistakes and pains and some of them are going to be your fault. And