Yom Kippur was once relatively simple. To repent for my sins, I had to recite all the words on all the pages in the prayer book. Having fulfilled my obligation, I could expect a year of health and wealth.
I thus continued, until the study of chasidic philosophy added an inner, deeper dimension to my Jewish experience, with Yom Kippur being more of a quality spiritual quest.
Despite my lofty intentions, Yom Kippur found me daydreaming, with a vision of a tall frosty glass of beer. This didn't matter on previous Yom Kippurs when my goal was just routine prayer recital. But I now knew that the external verbal activity of the mouth is not as vital as the heart and mind, where my pickings are slim.
My Yom Kippur was a downer, but I did not lose heart. Yom Kippur needs preparation, so I began earlier next year, hoping to devote the previous reflective month of Elul when the Divine "King is in the field," to prepare properly for the High Holidays.
But my plan failed. The King was certainly in the field, but so were the undergraduates, graduate students, postdoctoral fellows, admissions committee, curriculum committee, graduate faculty council, etc., all demanding my full attention. I unfortunately missed meeting the King in the overcrowded field, making my Yom Kippur a sorry repeat of previous years.
But recently, something special helped me attain a Yom Kippur climax.
The day began inauspiciously, and went downhill from there. My prayers caught me meditating on such sublime profundities as the identity of Hoppalong Cassidy's sidekick, why my favorite tomato juice brand cost 50 cents more in Canada than in the States, and why I never advanced beyond the rank of "Bear" in the Cub Scouts.
Seeing my Yom Kippur hopes crumble, I sighed in defeat as the cantor stepped up to the lectern and solemnly intoned "Ashrey" of the closing prayer.
Just then, an elderly friend next to me turned, face white with anguish and clutching his abdomen. "Yankel, help me!" I panicked. Disaster scenarios raced through my mind. A ruptured appendix?
Acute colitis? A dissecting aneurysm of the descending aorta?
Not quite. Simply, my friend's rear suspenders had detached, and he was losing his pants.
I assessed the complex situation. On top, my friend wore his tallit, white kittel underneath, and black caftan underneath, beneath which the renegade suspenders went into hiding. He couldn't leave shul to put himself together and return in time.
I told him to bend over and began working my way through his multiple garment layers. I reached his shirt and went up his back, hoping the suspender ends had retracted no farther than his shoulders.
Behind me, I could hear exclamations of astonishment, and sensed a hundred pair of gawking eyes in the background. Sitting in front of the shul, our performance's center stage location gave the congregants an unobstructed view.
I finally caught the two fugitive suspender ends and pulled them back, but a crisis emerged. Having no prior suspender experience, I saw that the suspender clamps had two claws, plus an intercalated metal plate. Did the plate go on the outside or inside of the pants? "Nu, Yankel, what's taking so long?" said my friend. "Titayn emes l'Yaakov.." said the Cantor. "Gevalt!" said I, paralyzed with indecision.
Finally, I clamped one with the plate out and the other with the plate in, so even if a clasp gave, three others would hold up the pants.
By now, the cantor had concluded the opening Kaddish. My friend thanked me, and I began my prayer, expecting my usual silly pre-prayer distractions.
But my thoughts cleared, and a positive recollection entered my mind.
I had recently read that the Rebbe Rashab said that chasidic meditation before prayer refines and cleanses the soul, revealing Divine illumination.
But, the Rebbe added, the deepest meditation pales in comparison to prayer after doing a favor for another.
This flashed through my mind for an instant, but the message was clear. Helping someone else helped me jump-start my final Yom Kippur prayer, right at closing time! With a clear head, a full heart and joyous spirit, it was my best prayer ever.
Dr. Brawer has a B.S.c.(biology) Tufts University, PHD. cell biology Harvard University NIH Research Fellow (auditory neurobiology) Harvard University NIH Research Fellow (auditory neurobiology) Harvard University Professor of Anatomy and Cell Biology at McGill Univ. of Medicine, Montreal, Canada
