"All vows, oaths, and obligations, which we will vow, swear, declare, and impose upon ourselves from this Yom Kippur until the next Yom Kippur may it come upon us for good. Regarding them all, we regret them. Let them all be released, forgiven, erased, null, and void. They are not valid nor are they in force. Our vows are not vows, our prohibitive vows are not prohibitive vows. Our oaths are not oaths."

Each year we begin Yom Kippur with these words chanted in the familiar plaintive, haunting melody. The Kol Nidre is so central to tonight's liturgy that we have named the service for it. Yet, when we look closely at the words of Kol Nidre, they seem like an odd way to begin our Day of Atonement, a day on which we do our deepest soul-searching and ask for forgiveness for the past year. Why begin by asking God to annul vows that we have not yet made? According to the Torah, vows are to be taken with the utmost seriousness and failure to make good on them can incur divine punishment.

Some believe the Kol Nidre was composed in 6^th-century Spain at a time when Jews were forced to convert to Christianity or face death. In this light, Kol Nidre can be seen as an expression of overwhelming grief at the prospect of having to commit apostasy^[1]. Others put the origin of the prayer somewhat later, but the Kol Nidre has clearly had great staying power because of its message about the power of the words we utter.

Members of the early Reform movement removed the Kol Nidre from the liturgy because it had been used by the non-Jewish world to show that Jews could not be taken on their word. They retained the melody but changed the words. It didn't work. Reform worshippers demanded the reinstatement of the prayer, perhaps because they recognized in it a universal recognition of the power of language to work for us or against us.

That message—that words have real power and must be taken seriously—still rings true. Even as we atone for last year's sins, we know that we are fallible and will most certainly make inappropriate vows—that we will later regret.

Yet, my biggest issue with the use of language today is not that we fail to use words appropriately, but that we let others appropriate words that rightfully belong to us. One of the problems with language is that words can take on different meanings depending on who is using them. And I have noticed that there are words in our communal lexicon that we have let others define for us and we have accepted these definitions. Three in particular come to mind that fall into this category that I would like to discuss with you tonight—religious, pro-Israel, and spiritual. So often, I hear people use these in ways with which I do not agree. People often say to me apologetically, "Rabbi, I'm not a religious person," when what they mean is that they don't perform religious rituals…don't attend worship services.

"That group is anti-Israel." This may mean simply that an organization is critical of the policies of the Sharon government. What appears on the most superficial reading is what we accept as gospel: criticism of Israel = anti-Israel. Only occasionally will you find the term anti-Israel used correctly, to describe actual opposition to the existence of Israel as a sovereign state.

"She's very spiritual." I take this to mean that a person appears to devote an awful lot of time to prayer or meditation. What we see, or what we think we see, is what is.

But when we use these words in these ways we promote stereotypes and misconceptions. On this holiest night of the year as we contemplate the power of our words and our desire to speak with greater integrity, I'd like us to look at these words carefully and reclaim their meaning.

Pro-Israel:
When I hear people use the term pro-Israel, I am usually exasperated. Not because I am sick of people being pro-Israel. On the contrary, I consider myself a passionate advocate for the State of Israel. But what it seems to mean to so many Jews to be pro-Israel runs completely contrary to my own Zionist convictions. Too often pro-Israel seems to connote "support for the present Israeli government and its policies." Right here in the halls of Beth Emet, I hear people using the term in this way. Not only is this definition limited, it is also a definition that advocates of right-wing policies have succeeded in using to define the terms of the debate about what is right and good for Israel. Supporting the maximalist policies of Israel—whether in terms of loan guarantees, outright grants of foreign aid, or a tacit green light to Israeli military activities in the West Bank and Gaza—is pro-Israel. By extension, criticizing Israeli policies (often portrayed as meddling in Israel's affairs) must be something other than pro-Israel; namely, it is anti-Israel.

I am concerned that this is the definition that people often have in their minds when they decide for whom to vote and which organizations to support. The term pro-Israel should describe every organization that cares about the long-term security and character of the State of Israel, even those that are openly critical of the policies of a particular Israeli government.

Ironically, there is somewhat of a double standard on this point. I don't recall right-wing Jewish critics of the Oslo Accords during the early 1990s being accused of harboring anti-Israel sentiments. On the contrary, they were often treated as standard bearers for Israel's survival—albeit perhaps too zealous in their advocacy.

No, it is the left-wing critics of Israeli policies who end up labeled anti-Israel. As anyone who has observed the election campaign here at home during the past year can attest, once you have been labeled, your adversary has defined the terms of the debate. And that is what has happened in the past quarter century of American Zionism. The right has succeeded in defining their own agenda as pro-Israel, whether or not the policies they support can objectively be stated to improve Israel's long-term prospects for peace, security, and prosperity for its citizens. And a sizable proportion of the American Jewish community has accepted that claim.

When people question my own advocacy of groups such as Americans for Peace Now, I tell them that I am a passionate supporter of Israel. I am doing what I can to show support here in the U.S. for the solid majority of Israelis who believe that Israeli desperately needs to achieve a territorial compromise that enables it to establish safe, secure, and internationally recognized borders with all of its neighbors.

The term pro-Israel applies no less to those who believe that the United States should take a more even-handed approach in dealing with Israel and the Palestinians so that the U.S. can be a true mediator between the parties. There are certainly people and organizations that are anti-Israel; that question Israel's right to exist and that advocate in favor of a multinational state in place of the State of Israel. But to willy-nilly accuse anyone who is critical of Israel as being anti-Israel is a way of trying to delegitimize them and to exclude them from the debate.

In the current issue of The Jerusalem Report, columnist Gershom Gorenberg writes about a letter that Rabbi David Saperstein, director of the Reform Movement's Religious Action Center, sent to Colin Powell. Although critical of some of Israel's actions, the letter, Gorenberg writes, states opinions that would firmly place the Reform Movement within the political mainstream in Israel. But here in the US, it received harsh criticism from many corners of the American Jewish world. In response, Gorenberg writes, "For the American Jewish establishment, though, the Reform statements are a break with the tradition that defines "pro-Israel" as ratifying the current Israeli government's position, that accepts dissent from the right, and that does not suffer the possibility of loyal opposition from the left." The danger in this is that many American Jews are intimidated to speak up, "dismaying many Israelis who truly are concerned about their country… The reasoned dissent of the Reform movement," he continues, "should therefore be a source of pride to its members. By speaking out, it announces to Congress that being pro-Israel does not require writing Sharon a blank check, and it may thereby contribute to renewing the peace efforts Israel needs." ^[2]

People of good will who love the State of Israel can disagree and still fall under the banner Pro-Israel.

Religious:
When we think of religious people, we think of people who speak in religious terms and engage in religious ritual. The word religious sometimes brings to mind people who are intolerant, dogmatic, or even willing to commit acts of violence in the name of their faith. Why? Because their actions are the most visible and the most easily linked to a religious faith. When I think of religious people, I prefer to think of those whose devotion to God is expressed in overt acts of manifest righteousness and love of humanity. When Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched with Martin Luther King Junior, he said his feet were praying. Heschel wrote: "The prophets were those who, in the name of God, stood up against that which most people to this very day call religion."^[3]

The Haftarah from the book of Isaiah that we read tomorrow morning is a perfect example of what Heschel is speaking of: As Isaiah says, "Why, when we fasted did you not see? When we starved our bodies did You pay no heed? Because on your fast day, you see to your business and oppress all your laborers! Because you fast in strife and contention, and you strike with a wicked fist. Your fasting today is not such as to make your voice heard on high." ^[4]

What is Isaiah saying? — that to be religious means to live with compassion, generosity, discipline, and humility. To be religious means to cultivate awe for the grandeur of the universe and its mysteries, and to express gratitude for what we have attained. That it is an act of religious faith when we feel compelled to make our world more peaceful and more just. By my definition, then, one can be ritually observant without being a religious person. One can use religious language in the public square as a way to express a deep and abiding religious faith. One can also use such language to exploit one's audience.

Please don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't be a rabbi if I didn't believe in the transformative power of Jewish ritual practices and of their importance to our tradition, but our rituals and practices are not in and of themselves religious. They are tools designed to help us lead religious lives.

This past spring I had the opportunity to go on retreat with an amazing group of women from a variety of faith communities. They reinforced in me my faith that religious traditions can be a force for good. Ann Feldman, a member of Beth Emet and a filmmaker, brought the group together. Ann had met and filmed each of us individually for a film that she was making about women's religious leadership called, Ties that Bind. The retreat was to be part of the film. Two nuns, two female pastors, one African-American the other Hispanic, two Muslims, and I spent two intense days talking about our faiths, our fears and frustrations as religious leaders, our desire to see people of faith work together for justice and peace. Even though we express our faiths in different languages and traditions, we found that our religious conviction that God calls us to serve humanity and make our world a more peaceful and just place, helped us connect deeply with one another.

There were many moving and powerful moments that happened during our retreat. At one point, Karen Danielson, one of the Muslim women, and I were sharing stories about our fears as Jews and Muslims. She talked about a time she was taken into a side room at the airport and held there for hours without being told why. I talked about being in Jerusalem and choosing a restaurant for dinner based on which one had fewer people and was therefore a less likely target of terrorism. She told us about her family huddled in their living room on 9/11 afraid to leave their house because of the fear of anti-Muslim reprisals. I talked about the additional security that every synagogue and Jewish organization has because of the terrorist threat. That evening over dinner, Karen and Aisheh, the other Muslim woman in our group, told me that I was the first Jew they had met who had listened to their stories and seemed to understand their fear and pain. They also told me it was the first time they had heard and understood the fears Jews experience.

It's no wonder there's so much strife in our world when we don't know each other's stories; when we don't understand each other. As the Rev. Willie Barrow, another women who was part of our group, kept reminding us, "We are not so much divided as we are disconnected." We need to connect. We need to understand each other. We need to work together. The health and well-being of our communities and our world depend on it. I invite all of you to come to a screening of the film, followed by a panel discussion, which I will host at Beth Emet later this year, with the women religious leaders who are in the film. The women in the film reminded me of the true meaning of the word religious. Their faith, their generosity, and their vision are powerful expressions of their religious faith that will inspire you as well.

Spiritual:
Mostly, we use this term to refer to a personal experience of transcendence, a feeling that we are elevated from our mundane existence, if even just for a moment. Spiritual people are often seen as people who seek out these kinds of experiences; those who are trying to escape reality in search of this kind of high. They are sometimes seen as pursuing the spiritual in search of a quick fix for what troubles them. But, as Gershon Winkler teaches, "Spirituality does not happen through fads and fashions, through instant hit-and-run processes. It happens through long, patient, step-by-step and very individualized processes… The quickie spiritual kick is a result of our contemporary cultural accent on instant-ism."^[5] The true mark of the spiritual person is one who inhabits his life more fully and who lives with greater clarity. Spiritual practices such as prayer, meditation, and Torah study are techniques to help us do this, but they don't make one a spiritual person. As Gershon Winkler teaches, "It [the spiritual life] is defined by action, by how you choose to live your every moment."^[6]

Over the last few years, I have introduced new practices and programs at Beth Emet to help us live more spiritual lives. This December, we will have the opportunity to explore Jewish spiritual teachings and practices and to gain a greater understanding of what Jewish spirituality is. Rabbis Art Green, Myriam Klotz, and Sheila Peltz Weinberg will be at Beth Emet the weekend of December 17-19 to teach us and guide us on our journey. Art Green is a professor at Brandeis and one of the foremost scholars of Kabbalah and Hassidut in the world. Myriam Klotz and Sheila Peltz Weinberg are highly sought out and acclaimed teachers of Jewish meditation and yoga. All three are my teachers and mentors. Their teachings have transformed my life. I'm delighted to be able to share them with you. You will receive the brochure for the weekend soon and you can even register online. I hope you will join us for what will be an incredible weekend of deepening our understanding and experience of Jewish spirituality.

Kol Nidre ultimately remained in the liturgy because we all realize that, despite our best efforts, we make promises we can't keep and say things that we don't mean. Kol Nidre teaches us the power of language. The power of life and death—we learn from the Book of Proverbs—is in the tongue. In the Book of Genesis, God creates the world through speech. What we utter has the power to create or to destroy. What we say must be taken with the utmost seriousness. Kol Nidre also reminds us that we all use language carelessly. We say things we don't mean or can't make good on. So we perform the ritual of Kol Nidre annually with all its grandeur and power, hoping and praying fervently that in the coming year we will use our power of speech for good and that we will be forgiven when we use it for ill.

Yeheyu l'ratzon imrei fi vhigayon libi l'fanecha adonai tzuri v'goali, Holy One of Being, help us know Your presence through the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts. Help us know Your presence that our acts in the world might flow from the fullness of Your being.^[7]