The Yom Kippur Fast: Between Suffering and Hope

Aside from resting from labor, the Torah articulates the basic obligation of Yom Kippur with the words ve’inisem es nafshoseichem (Vayikra 23:27). The word inuy, whose root is the simple ani (meaning poor), is employed in many Torah verses to mean suffering and affliction—concerning the widow and the orphan (Shemos 22:21), our bitter exile in Egypt (Shemos 1:11), Sarah’s harsh treatment of Hagar (Bereishis 16:11), and many others. The Artscroll translation of the Pasuk, “You shall afflict yourselves,” is grounded in these precedents. On Yom Kippur, we are instructed to afflict ourselves, to suffer, by refraining from food and drink.

Throughout the days liturgy, Yom Kippur is described as a day of closeness to God, as a time of Divine compassion and love. Is this a day on which we should be suffering affliction?

Yet, it seems strange that the Torah, which describes the day as a mikra kodesh just like all other festivals, should obligate us to suffer on Yom Kippur. Later sources confirm that Yom Kippur is a time of joy and gladness. After mentioning the various prohibitions of the day—eating, drinking, washing, anointing, and so on—the piyyut (mareh kohen) describing the euphoric conclusion to the Yom Kippur service notes that it is also “a day for restoring love and brotherhood, a day of abandoning envy and strife.” The Mishnah, in a similar vein, notes that “there were no more joyous days for Israel than the Fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur” (Taanis 4:6). Throughout the day’s liturgy, Yom Kippur is described as a day of closeness to God, a time of Divine compassion and love. Is this a day on which we should be suffering affliction?

Perhaps in light of this difficulty, the Koren translation replaces “you shall afflict yourselves” with “you shall practice self-denial”—we deny ourselves food and drink, but this does not mean we suffer. Christian translations are likewise divided. Some favor “affliction,” while others opt for “deny yourselves” or “humble your souls.”[1]

In this short piece, I will prefer the latter translation of denial rather than suffering, though, as I will show, it is contingent on a dispute among Torah authorities. In addition, I will try to give the matter a deeper perspective. Leaning on the episode of the Akeida, which we mention time and again in the build-up to Yom Kippur and on the day itself, I will attempt to explain why refraining from food and drink is so central to the atonement we procure on Yom Kippur.

Are Afflictions Beloved?

Must we suffer on Yom Kippur? The answer to this question is subject to a dispute between different authorities. The Talmud teaches that alongside the obligation to fast on Yom Kippur, there is a parallel obligation to eat on the day before Yom Kippur. Some commentaries understand that this duty is a Torah obligation, while most hold it rabbinically mandated. For our purposes, however, the relevant question is the reason behind the duty: why must we eat on the ninth of Tishrei?

According to several commentaries, the reason is to augment the suffering of our fast on Yom Kippur. R. Yosef di Trani (16th Century) writes that the reason for eating is to ensure that one doesn’t become accustomed to fasting, which would ease the agony experienced on Yom Kippur.[2] Clearly, the Maharit believed that the purpose of the Yom Kippur fast is to cause a person affliction, and it is thus illegitimate to mitigate the pain. R. Tzidkiya b. Avraham (13th Century) writes similarly that eating on the day before Yom Kippur creates a contrast between eating and fasting, which augments a person’s suffering.[3]

An especially creative explanation, though in the same vein, is noted by R. Shlomo Kluger. According to his interpretation, a person who eats—and eats well, as befitting a day on which eating is a duty—will feel ashamed upon fasting on the next day, and this shame is part of the Yom Kippur affliction.[4] R. Moshe Sofer, in an unrelated comment, joins the “suffering camp” when he states that a person should cease eating a while before Yom Kippur commences. “Otherwise,” he explains, “he will not feel any affliction as the day begins.”[5]

According to these authorities, the Torah, quite literally, demands that we suffer on Yom Kippur. The means of suffering is refraining from eating and drinking, but the point is less about banning food and drink and more about the affliction this causes. Suffering, as several passages of the Talmud mention, atones.[6] “Beloved are afflictions,” several Talmudic sages stated, for they purify a person’s body and soul,[7] to the degree that R. Chaim Vital stated that “if you have brains in your head, you will seek out somebody to afflict you, for you desire life.”[8] Indeed, R. Yishmael stated that while most sins are atoned for by the combination of repentance and the power of Yom Kippur, the severest sins require additional suffering—yissurin—for the cleansing to be complete.[9]

According to the “suffering camp”—a camp that includes several illustrious luminaries, possibly including Rashi—the Day of Atonement is the exception to the rule. On Yom Kippur, at the very least, afflictions are indeed beloved

This approach is far from unique to Judaism. Ascetic practices, most fundamentally celibacy, abstinence, and fasting, are common to many world religions. Indeed, they are commoner to them than they are to Judaism, which repudiates celibacy—every Jew stands obligated to beget children—and, notwithstanding exceptions, generally refrains from recommending the ascetic life. According to the “suffering camp”—a camp that includes several illustrious luminaries, possibly including Rashi[10]—the Day of Atonement is the exception to the rule. On Yom Kippur, at the very least, afflictions are indeed beloved.

A second camp of Torah luminaries patently rejects this approach. According to R. Yaakov b. Asher (the Tur, citing his father), we eat on the ninth of Tishrei to minimize the suffering of Yom Kippur—to ensure that fasting should not cause us to suffer overly.[11] Another idea R. Yaakov mentions, as stated explicitly by R. Yonah b. Avraham Gerondi, is that since we cannot eat on Yom Kippur, the festive meal of the day is brought forward to the ninth of Tishrei, when we celebrate the great gift of Divine atonement.[12] This reasoning hardly goes hand in hand with the “suffering” approach.

Based on this latter approach, R. Moshe Sternbuch writes that our fasting on Yom Kippur is unrelated to suffering but is rather an act of “resting”: we rest from labor, and we rest from eating and drinking.[13] This idea is borne out by the Rambam, who states that we must “rest” (lishbos) from performing labor and employs the same word for the obligation to fast: “resting” from eating and drinking.[14] In his Sefer Ha-Mitzvos he likewise places the two together.[15] This approach supports the latter translation of “denial” rather than “affliction.” Moreover, it seems that several Talmudic passages support this approach.[16]

Several legal (halachic) ramifications hinge on the two approaches. For instance, is it permitted (or worthy) to take nutritional supplements before Yom Kippur to ease the burden of the fast? Is it permitted to connect to an infusion on Yom Kippur, which would relieve one’s hunger without engaging in eating?[17] However, focusing on the latter approach—the “non-suffering camp”—I wish to consider how the Yom Kippur denial of food and drink should be understood. If it isn’t about suffering, what is it about?

In the Merit of the Akeida

Some commentaries have suggested that refraining from eating and drinking raises us, on the day of Yom Kippur, to the level of angels, who (likewise) do not eat and drink. It seems the first mention of this concept occurs in Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer (Chap. 46), from which it was copied by the Ramban (Vayikra 16:8) and later authorities.[18] It is interesting to note that according to R. Avraham Gombiner (17th Century), only men can resemble angels, which is why men alone dress in white on Yom Kippur. Since even women must participate in the fast, it seems there is more to the denial of food and drink than the idea of becoming partially angelic. Along different lines, R. Menachem Recanati suggests that abstention from eating and drinking is akin to a sacrifice. We sacrifice ourselves, as it were, before Hashem.[19] I wish to suggest a third understanding based on the episode of the Akeida.

The Akeida, the momentous passage of the Binding of Isaac, accompanies us throughout the period of the Yamim Nora’im. Virtually every Selichos session throughout the period includes a piyyut focusing on the Akeida. At the end of each Selichos we beseech Hashem to “remember the covenant of Avraham and the binding of Yitzchak,” and in the prayers of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we ask Hashem time and again to recall the love of Avraham (meaning, Avraham’s love for God), and to “nullify our adversary in the merit of the son who was bound.” In the Mussaf prayer of Rosh Hashanah, we spell out what the infinite merit of the Akeida is all about:

Remember in our behalf, Hashem, our God, the covenant, the kindness, and the oath which You swore to our father Avraham on Mount Moriah, and let there appear before You the binding with which our father Avraham bound his son Yitzchak upon the altar, and how he suppressed his compassion to do Your will with a whole heart; so may Your compassion suppress Your anger against us, and in Your great goodness turn Your fierce anger away from Your people, and from Your city, from Your land, and from Your territorial heritage.

We thus beseech Hashem that in the merit of Avraham, who suppressed his love and comparison for his son to do the Divine bidding, so, too, Hashem should suppress His anger and allow His compassion to shine upon us. The comparison raises an apparent difficulty. Avraham suppressed his compassion—his love for his son—in performing the Divine will, while our request from God is that He suppress His rage at His people. How are these acts of suppression—one of compassion and one of rage—connected? Does the shared mention of the word “suppress” (kibbush) imply some profound correspondence between the two, irrespective of the wholly variant content of the suppression?

The simple explanation of the comparison is that both suppressions relate to a suspension of the natural way of the world. It is natural for a father to feel love and compassion for his child, yet Avraham was able to suspend that natural love to do the Divine bidding. More precisely, he could overcome his natural tendency due to his outstanding love for God—the love we ask Hashem to recall in our prayers—for which he is referred to as Avraham ohavi (Yeshayahu 41:8)—“My friend” or “My lover.” Corresponding to this, we ask Hashem to suspend the natural ways of justice, the midas ha-din (attribute of justice), by which a person must get what he deserves, overcoming it through the Divine love of the Jewish people.

A person’s compassion for his children on one hand, and the Divine attribute of justice on the other, are both hard-wired into the world, integral to the function of our reality. Yet, the intensity of Avraham’s love for Hashem could overcome the former, and—as we beseech Hashem—the intensity of Hashem’s love for His people can overcome the latter

A person’s compassion for his children, on the one hand, and the Divine attribute of justice, on the other, are both hard-wired into the world, integral to the function of our reality. Yet, the intensity of Avraham’s love for Hashem could overcome the former, and—as we beseech Hashem—the intensity of Hashem’s love for His people can overcome the latter. In the words of the Selichos we recite on the eve of Rosh Hashanah—words taken from the Midrash concerning the Akeida[20]—“love distorts the straight line.” Avraham’s love for Hashem “distorted” the line of parental compassion, and Hashem’s love for us distorts the straight line of justice.

Perhaps the denial of food and drink on Yom Kippur can be understood in a similar vein. Of all the “ways of the world,” the most basic for the human condition is eating and drinking. Yom Kippur is the single day of the year (on a Torah level) on which we suspend this “way of the world.” Out of our love of God, we are ready to deny ourselves eating and drinking, the most fundamental of physical human functions. This, indeed, is what Moshe Rabbeinu did upon ascending Sinai to receive the Torah and again to procure Divine forgiveness for the sin of the Golden Calf: “Forty days and forty nights, I did not eat bread, and I did not drink water” (Devarim 9:18). Hashem, in turn, reciprocates. His compassion overcomes His justice in His love for us, and all our sins are cleansed.

Based on this understanding, the point of our refraining from eating and drinking is not to suffer; if we can fast without suffering, then all the better for it. Instead, the point is to transcend our nature for the sake of Hashem, as Avraham did at the Akeida. Fasting on Yom Kippur gives us the right to pray for Divine compassion in the name of the Akeida: “Nullify our adversary in the merit of the son who was bound.”

Avraham’s Prayer

At the end of each Selichos session, we mention a shortlist of prominent biblical figures whose prayers for salvation were answered, such as Yaakov in Beit El, Yosef in prison, our ancestors at the Reed Sea, Yehoshua at Gilgal, Shmuel at Mizpah, Eliyahu on Mount Carmel, and so on. The first figure on the list is Avraham Avinu on Mount Moriah, followed by his son Yitzchak. But what did Avraham pray for? What do we mean when we say, “He Who answered our Avraham Avinu on Mount Moriah, He will answer us”?

The answer, of course, is that Avraham prayed that his son should be saved. He was prepared, for his love of Hashem, to offer up his son. But as he went, he prayed that Yitzchak should be saved, and he trusted that somehow, Hashem would answer his prayers. We sometimes miss this fundamental point. Avraham Avinu did not want to sacrifice his beloved son. He heeded the word of Hashem, but he was forever hopeful for a reprieve.[21]

Avraham was, indeed, ready. Yet, at the depth of his heart, he trusted Hashem that ultimately it would not happen. “Love,” as the Sages teach, “distorts the straight line.” But where there is love, there is always hope

This goes a long way to resolve the ethical dilemma that many raise concerning Avraham’s readiness to sacrifice his son—in contrast with his moral indignation at the Divine plan to destroy Sedom. Avraham was, indeed, ready. Yet, at the depth of his heart, he trusted Hashem that it would not happen (even telling his servants that he would worship God and return). “Love,” as the Sages teach, “distorts the straight line.” But where there is love, there is always hope.

This, too, is our prayer and our hope for Yom Kippur. As we deprive ourselves of food and drink—of our very lifeline—we pray that Hashem should have compassion upon us, grant us life, and show us the brilliance of His countenance. As He grants us life, Hashem also trusts that we will improve, correct our ways, and continue upwards. We place our trust in Him, and He reciprocates.

***

Throughout this piece, I have emphasized, as do our prayers and multiple Midrashim, Avraham’s love for God. Yet, at the end of the Akeida, the angel seems to emphasize Avraham’s fear: “Do not stretch out your hand against the land nor do anything to him for now I know that you are a God-fearing man, since you have not withheld your son, your only one, from Me” (Bereishis 22:12). Was the Akeida about love, or was it about fear?

Yom Kippur is a day of awe. It is a day of ultimate hope—hope that we dare not articulate any other day of the year. And it is a day of love and intimacy

Yirah, however, does not mean simple fear. It means awe. The Ramchal, in fact, writes that the essence of Yirah is hope—hope directed at the all-powerful God, which is the quintessence of awe.[22] Avraham Avinu did not withhold his son from Hashem because of the magnitude of his hope in Hashem. This drew, in turn, from the depth of his relationship with Hashem. From his love.

Yom Kippur is a day of awe. It is a day of ultimate hope—hope that we dare not articulate any other day of the year. And it is a day of love and intimacy, a day when Hashem cleanses us of our sins and entrusts us with life for the year ahead.

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[1] See the range of translations offered here: https://biblehub.com/parallel/leviticus/23-27.htm.

[2] (Shut Maharit Vol. 2, no. 8).

[3] Shibbolei Ha-Leket no. 307.

[4] Chochmas Shlomo, Orach Chaim 614.

[5] Chiddushei Chasam Sofer, Rosh Hashanah 9a. This position has some difficulty because a person won’t feel afflicted even if he ends his (big) meal several hours before Yom Kippur begins. It should be noted that the statement is not made in the formal halachic works of the Chasam Sofer, but in his commentary on the Talmud.

[6] See, for instance, Berachos 5b.

[7] See Berachos 5b; Bava Metzia 85a; Sanhedrin 101b; among others.

[8] Shaarei Teshuva 1:6.

[9] Yoma 81a.

[10] See Shabbos 115a, concerning preparing food on Yom Kippur afternoon for consumption after the fast terminates. According to Rashi, it appears that this is permitted because of the suffering that a person will experience in preparing the food while being unable to eat it. However, we can suggest (though it is somewhat strained) that Rashi does not mean that suffering is a positive virtue on Yom Kippur, but only that this suffering balances out the forbidden benefit of preparing for after the fast. At any rate, other early authorities interpret the passage of the Talmud in a different light.

[11] Tur, Orach Chaim 614; Rosh, Yoma 8:22.

[12] Shaarei Teshuva 4:9.

[13] Moadim U-Zmanim Vol. 1, p. 108.

[14] Rambam, Mishnah Torah, Shevisas Asor 1:1 and 1:4.

[15] See Sefer Ha-Mitzvos no. 164.

[16] See [Mori Ve-Rebbi] R. Asher Weiss, Minchas Asher, Mo’adim (Vol. 2), pp. 97-101, who mentions several relevant proofs for our discussion.

[17] See, on this question, Achiezer, Vol. 3, no. 61 (permitting).

[18] See Maharal, in his Sermon for Shabbos Shuvah; see also Ramchal, Derech Hashem 4:8:5.

[19] See Commentary of Recanati to the Torah, Vayikra 16:28.

[20] Bereishis Rabba 55 (citing from R. Shimon b. Yochai).

[21] I am aware that this does not necessarily fit with different Midrashim concerning the Akeida; certainly, however, it emerges from the prayer our Sages placed in the mouth of Avraham.

[22] See the Ramchal’s Derush Be’inyan Ha-Kivuy (Treatise on Hope), published in Otzaros Ramchal (5746), p. 246.

Picture: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Aleksander_Grodzicki_-_Praying_Jew_-_MP_280_-_National_Museum_in_Warsaw.jpg