SEDER HA’AVODA – THE ORDER OF the TEMPLE SERVICE There now follows a unique feature of the Yom Kippur prayers: a narrative retelling of the order of service as it took place in the Temple. Every Musaf Amida contains a specific reference to the sacrifice of the day, but only here are we invited to re-envision it as it happened. The service in the Temple on Yom Kippur was unique, the dramatic high point of the Jewish year. On the holiest day the holiest person, the High Priest, would enter the Holy of Holies and, with the holiest name of God on his lips, atone for the sins of all Israel. It was a supremely emotive moment, an entire nation confronting its faults, confessing its failings, and turning to God as its source of forgiveness and hope: a nation focused on the service of one man, the Kohen Gadol, who prayed and confessed on their behalf. For close to two thousand years we have not had the Temple, nor High Priest, nor sacrifice. That the Jewish people survived as a people, that Judaism survived as a faith, and that Yom Kippur survived in the absence of so much of what constituted the service of the day, are three of the more remarkable stories in human history. In effect, the sages said: in place of sacrifice, we have prayer. In place of the Temple we have the synagogue. In place of the service of the High Priest we have the service of each of us, turning to God, confessing our sins, committing ourselves to a different and better future, offering God our heart. We no longer have the Temple ceremony, but we have the story; and we have the day itself, which atones even in the absence of the Temple. So on this day of days, more vividly than at any other time, the synagogue becomes a fragment of the Temple, and we re-create in our minds the scene that took place then on this holiest of days. Seder HaAvoda – the narrative retelling of the rituals of the day – was part of the Yom Kippur service already in Talmudic times. There were communities that recited it also in the morning and afternoon services, but the predominant custom was to do so only during Musaf. Many poetic versions were written, of which the most famous are Ata Konanta, adopted in Sephardi rites (), and our own Ashkenazi version, Amitz ko’aḥ(“Unshakable of strength”). (See also Mishna Yoma, Appendix II on .)

אַמִּיץ כֹּֽחַ: A Brief History From Creation to Induction of the High Priest. Written by Rabbi Meshullam ben Kalonymus, this poem is set out as an alphabetical acrostic, the number of lines devoted to each letter gradually increasing. The poet begins his account, not where we would expect, with the sin of the golden calf and God’s forgiveness, but with the creation of the universe and humankind. The poet’s approach to sin and atonement is cosmological rather than historical. It has to do with who we are: embodied creatures with drives and desires who, knowing what is good, often do what is bad. Sin is not inevitable but it is commonplace. Hence, in the language of the sages, God created the possibility of teshuva before He created the world, and had designated the Day of Atonement before He created man. Judaism does not believe in “original sin.” It does believe in original forgiveness. מַפְרִישִׁים כֹּהֵן הָרֹאשׁ: The Preparation of the High Priest Seven days before Yom Kippur the High Priest was taken from his home to the Officials’ Chamber on the north side of the Temple courtyard, to prepare for his ministrations, as Aaron and his family had been commanded to do before they embarked on the service in the Sanctuary (Ex. 29; Lev. 8). This period of preparation was undertaken partly to rehearse the details of the acts he would undertake on the day, partly to keep him from any possible impurity, and partly to endow him with the added sanctity, physical and spiritual, he would need to enter the Holy of Holies, epicenter of the Divine Presence. For seven days he would sprinkle the blood of the daily sacrifices, burn the incense and tend to the lamps. Elders would read to him, or if he were learned, he would read to them. The specific references to the order of incense, and the weeping of the High Priest and his mentors, are reminders of historic tensions in the late Second Temple period. Under the Hasmonean kings the office of High Priest was commonly sold to the highest bidder. Often, High Priests were ignorant. Sometimes they were Sadducees. The word itself comes from the name Zadok, the most famous priestly family. The sages belonged to the group known as the Pharisees. There were significant differences between the two groups. The Sadducees tended to be an elite, whereas the Pharisees were of the people. The Sadducees believed in the Written Torah only, the Pharisees in the Oral Torah also. For the Sadducees the central institution was the Temple, for the Pharisees it was the house of study. There were also theological differences between them. So there were tensions which sometimes flared. There were specific differences relating to the service of Yom Kippur, one of which was the precise point at which the High Priest offered incense. The Sadducees held that he did so before entering the Holy of Holies, the Pharisees only after entering. So as part of their preparation the sages had to elicit a commitment from the High Priest that he would follow the oral tradition. At that point both the High Priest and the sages wept, the one at being suspected, the others for needing to suspect.

עָלָה בְּרַק הַשַּֽׁחַר: The Morning Service As dawn broke, the High Priest began his ministrations by immersing himself in the mikveh, the first of five occasions he would do so in the course of the day, each time to cleanse himself for the next stage of the service. He then donned gold robes, made the first incision and sprinkled the blood of the morning sacrifice, burned the morning incense, tended to the lamps and completed the morning service. פְּשָׁעָיו הוֹדָה: The First Confession He then immersed himself again, and put on white vestments made of Pelusium linen (Pelusium was a city on the east of the Nile Delta, known for the quality of its flax). Next he approached the bull that was to become his own sin-offering. Over it he confessed his own sins and the sins of his family. During the course of the day he would atone three times: first for himself and his family, then for his fellow priests, then for the nation as a whole. It was essential that the High Priest atoned for himself at the outset (“First adorn yourself, only then adorn others” [Bava Metzia107b; Bava Batra60b]). He could not atone for the people unless he had already been atoned. Each confession was accompanied by semikha – the “laying on” of hands on the head of the animal, signaling a transfer from one entity to another. The word semikha still exists as a description of rabbinic ordination since originally it was conferred by the laying on of hands by master to disciple; likewise the laying of hands when parents bless their children on Friday night. What is transferred – sin, authority, blessing – varies from case to case, but the significance of semikha-as-transfer remains. During each confession the High Priest pronounced the Shem HaMeforash, God’s holiest name, three times. The people, aware of this, prostrated themselves. Extreme sanctity attached to the name of God as pronounced in the Temple. As people began to abuse its sanctity, its use was progressively restricted until it was used only by the High Priest on Yom Kippur, and was said so softly that others could not hear it. Its pronunciation became a secret passed from High Priest to High Priest until with the loss of the Temple and the passage of time the secret was forgotten. Our convention today is: (1) in non-sacred contexts to say HaShem (“the name”), and (2) in sacred ones to print the four letters of the name but to pronounce them as Adonai, meaning “My Lord.” Prostration was performed daily in the Temple by officiating priests but was restricted in the synagogue to two occasions: (1) during the first paragraph of Aleinu in the Musaf Amida on Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur; and (2) here, retelling the story of the High Priest’s service on Yom Kippur. At all other times, we merely bow rather than kneel and fall on our faces. The reason is to mark a clear distinction between the synagogue and the Temple. The synagogue may be a “miniature Temple” but a symbol is not the same as what it symbolizes. Only on Yom Kippur do we deliberately re-create the atmosphere of the Temple, in two ways: by this threefold (in some rites, fourfold) prostration and by saying aloud throughout the day “Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom for ever and all time,” normally said silently. This was the congregational response in the Temple instead of the word “Amen” which, for reasons unknown, was not used in Temple worship.

צָנַח וְהִגְרִיל: The Casting of Lots Two goats were now brought before the High Priest, as identical as possible in appearance. Over these he would draw lots. On one was written “To the Lord,” on the other “To Azazel.” Originally they were made of boxwood, later of gold. He would shake the box and draw the lots, which were then placed on the goats respectively. On the head of the goat to be sent to Azazel he would tie a thread of crimson wool, the color symbolizing sin. Next he returned to the bull he had dedicated as an offering for himself and his family and confessed over it his sins and those of his fellow priests (the Torah states that the High Priest had to confess his sins and those of “his house,” which might mean (a) his family, or (b) his fellow priests, “the house of Aaron”). As he was making this confession too, the people would prostrate themselves and say, “Blessed be the name…” He then slaughtered the bull, gathered its blood, took some glowing coals in a special gold pan, and prepared the incense. This he brought into the Holy of Holies, placing the incense on the glowing coals only after he had entered. He would then say a short prayer. Next he sprinkled the blood of the sacrifice, upward once, downward seven times, counting carefully to ensure he had followed the procedure exactly. He then slaughtered the goat on which the lot “To the Lord” had been placed. He sprinkled its blood as before, in the Holy of Holies, once upward, seven times downward. Then he would sprinkle the blood, first of the bull, then of the goat, on the outer curtain facing the Ark, and then, after combining the bloods, sprinkle on the golden altar, four times on its corners, seven times on its surface.

עֲזָאזֵל: The Scapegoat He now turned to the goat on which had fallen the lot “To Azazel,” and, placing his hands on its head, confessed over it the sins of the whole people. As during the previous confessions the people prostrated themselves and cried out “Blessed be the name…” He then handed the goat to a specially designated person who led it out to a precipice several miles (12 mil, a distance of 3.6 hours at normal walking pace) outside Jerusalem from which it fell. The goat that carried with it the sins of the people is a supreme example of ritualized symbolic action. There are many one-time-only symbolic acts in the Hebrew Bible – such as the bronze snake made by Moses to protect the people from a plague (Num. 21), or the yoke worn by Jeremiah to warn of the coming Babylonian conquest (Jer. 27–28), or the scroll eaten by Ezekiel to show he had internalized God’s word (Ezek. 3). Symbolic action is usually designed to shock, focus attention, and dramatize. That too is the case with the scapegoat. Maimonides says that the scapegoat ritual was “of a symbolic character” (Guide for the Perplexed, 3:46). It was a dramatic enactment of what otherwise might be too abstract an idea: the removal of sin, stain, and guilt. There are good reasons why we have an inbuilt capacity to feel guilt. It is to the moral life what the capacity to feel pain is to physical life. They are our pre- conscious warning systems against behavior that can do harm. But without rituals of purification and catharsis the burden of guilt can be crushing. Cain said, “My guilt is too great to bear” (Gen. 4:13). King David said, “My sin is always before me” (Ps. 51:5). Even after repentance, feelings of guilt can remain. The mind needs symbolic action. That was the function of the scapegoat. Watching it go off into the desert hills, the people felt a sense of relief and release. It is striking that, in the absence of the scapegoat, two popular customs emerged in the Middle Ages, Tashlikh, the symbolic casting away of sins on Rosh HaShana, and Kaparot, the symbolic offering either of a fowl or money before Yom Kippur (). Some halakhic authorities expressed doubts about these ceremonies, yet their popularity suggests that they answer to a felt psychological need, the same need addressed in the scapegoat ritual. For more commentary on the scapegoat, see Introduction, . תֶּֽכֶל עֲבוֹדוֹת: The Conclusion of the Service Meanwhile the High Priest completed the sacrificial service. When he received report that the goat had reached its destination, he was given a Torah scroll from which he read two sections, Lev. 16 and Lev. 23:26–32, both dealing with the Day of Atonement, and a third section from the book of Numbers (29:7–11) which he recited by heart. He then recited eight blessings. He immersed himself a third time, put on gold robes, and offered the remaining sacrifices. He immersed himself again and donned white robes to bring out the censer and coal pan from the Holy of Holies (since he was not permitted to enter this sacred space in gold robes). He immersed a fifth time, put on gold robes, offered the afternoon daily offering, burned the afternoon incense and lit the lamps. The service concluded, he would put on his own clothes and return home. Later he would make a feast for his friends to celebrate the fact that he had completed the service in peace. Solomon ibn Verga, the fifteenth-century historian, quotes the following eyewitness account (by the Roman consul Marcus who held office in Jerusalem during the late Second Temple period) of the scene as the High Priest emerged at the end of the day: All the people that were in Jerusalem passed before him, most of them carrying torches of white wax, and all of them dressed in white clothing; and all the windows were garlanded with embroideries, and lit with candles. Priests have told me that often the High Priest could not reach his home before midnight, because of the press of the people passing before him, and because of the great numbers, for although all the people were fasting, they did not go home until they had seen whether they could reach the hand of the High Priest and kiss it. (Shevet Yehuda)

יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ May it be Your will. A poetic expansion of the various versions of the High Priest’s prayer given in the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds.

שֶׁלֹּא יִצְטָרְכוּ…זֶה לָזֶה Need not depend on one another. Though Judaism places a high value on philanthropy, it values economic independence more. We pray, at each Grace after Meals, not to be “dependent on the gifts or loans of other people” so that “we may suffer neither shame nor humiliation.” That is why Maimonides ranks providing someone with a job or helping them start a business as the highest form of charity (Laws of Gifts to the Poor, 10:7). “Flay carcasses in the marketplace,” said the third-century teacher Rav, “and do not say: I am a priest and a great man and it is beneath my dignity” (Bava Batra 110a). וְעַל אַנְשֵׁי הַשָּׁרוֹן…שֶׁלֹּא יֵעָשׂוּ בָתֵּיהֶם קִבְרֵיהֶם And of the people of Sharon…that their houses do not become their graves. Some say the area was subject to heavy rains and landslides; others that the building materials available there were not suitable and houses needed to be regularly rebuilt (Sota 44a); yet others that this was an area subject to periodic earthquakes.

מַרְאֵה כֹהֵן The appearance of the [High] Priest. This remarkable poem reflects the sense of exhilaration that accompanied the emergence of the High Priest at the successful completion of his duties for the day. We find the following description in the book of Ben Sira, written in the early second century bce in Second Temple times, of the appearance of the High Priest: How glorious he was, surrounded by the people, as he came out of the house of the curtain. Like the morning star among the clouds, like the full moon at the festal season, like the sun shining on the Temple of the Most High, like the rainbow gleaming in splendid clouds; like the roses in the days of first fruits, like lilies by a spring of water, like a green shoot on Lebanon on a summer day; like fire and incense in the censer, like a vessel of hammered gold studded with all kinds of precious stones; like an olive tree laden with fruit and like a cypress towering in the clouds. (Ben Sira 50:5–10) At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation. כְּהוֹד אֲשֶׁר הִלְבִּישׁ צוּר Like the splendor with which the Rock clothed. Like the garments of light with which, according to the school of Rabbi Meir, God clothed Adam and Eve as they were about to leave Eden (Bereshit Raba 20:12). בְּצָנִיף טָהוֹר By an immaculate miter. The white miter with which, according to the prophet Zechariah, God would adorn the High Priest Joshua (Zech. 3:5).

אַשְׁרֵי עַֽיִן רָאֲתָה כָּל אֵֽלֶּה How fortunate was the eye that beheld all this. A lament for the disparity between then and now: then visible majesty, now mere memory. שִׂמְחַת בֵּית הַשּׁוֹאֵבָה The Celebration of the Water Drawing. On Sukkot, one of the great moments of festivity in the Temple courtyard (Mishna Sukka 50a). שָׁנִי הַמְלֻבָּן The whitening of the crimson thread. If the scarlet thread from the goat sent to Azazel turned white, this was a sign that atonement had been granted.

עֲוֹנוֹת אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ The iniquities of our ancestors. A fragment attributed to the poet and philosopher Solomon ibn Gabirol and the first of a series of laments for what we have lost with the destruction of the Temple. This sequence of prayers, a lacerating articulation of grief and national bereavement, is similar in tone to the Kinot (Laments) we say on Tisha B’Av, with this one difference – on Tisha B’Av we sit like mourners in the grip of loss. On Yom Kippur the pain is not a form of mourning as such but rather part of the process of teshuva, a sense of collective remorse that our ancestors sinned and that our merits have not sufficed to rebuild what has been lost. אַהֲבָה וְרֵעוּת…עֲזִיבַת קִנְאָה וְתַחֲרוּת Love and companionship…cast aside all jealousies and rivalries. It has long been the custom for people to mend broken relationships at this time.

וּמֵרֹב עֲוֹנֵֽינוּ And in the abundance of our sins. We lament the loss of elements of the Temple and its service that exist no more.

תָּכְפוּ עָלֵֽינוּ Troubles have come upon us. A cumulative description of the tragedies that befell Israel under the Romans, first with the destruction of the Temple, then with the Hadrianic persecutions following the failure of the Bar Kokhba rebellion. אֲדוֹן בַּֽיִת, כְּאוֹרֵֽחַ בַּמָּלוֹן The Master of the House has become like a guest at an inn. A graphic description of how God, as it were, has become homeless, exiled with His people.

וּמִשֶּׁחָרֵב בֵּית מִקְדָּשֵֽׁנוּ And ever since our holy Temple was destroyed. The mood of grief deepens, evoking the dark passages in the Torah known as the Tokheḥa, the rebuke (Lev. 26:14–45; Deut. 28:15–68).

אַל תַּֽעַשׂ עִמָּֽנוּ כָּלָה Do not bring us to an end. A series of passionate pleas delivered in the midst of deep distress. A prayer constructed on the pattern known as אתב״ש, the first phrase in each line following an alphabetical acrostic, the second a reverse alphabetical acrostic.

כְּתוֹעִים As wanderers. The poet describes the desperate plight of the Jewish people in exile.

אִם תָּעִֽינוּ If we have strayed. Though we may have deserved our plight, please, God, rescue us: a prayer to God to lift us from the depths.

תַּאֲוַת לֵב לֹא הִשַּֽׂגְנוּ We have not attained the desire of our hearts. Our hopes for an end to our troubles have all been disappointed. An expression of the despair Jews felt at the length of exile. Unlike the destruction of the First Temple, when there were prophets of hope, and when Jews, within the span of a lifetime, were able to return to the land, the second destruction had no such consolation. The situation of Jews continued to worsen.

תֹּאמַר לִמְחוֹת אֲשָׁמֵֽינוּ Declare that our sins be erased. Accept our prayers, grant atonement for our sins, return to us that we may return to You.

אוֹרְךָ תַזְרִֽיחַ Let Your light shine. A plea to God to remember the love with which Israel followed Him into the desert in the days of Moses.

אֹֽפֶל אַלְמָנָה תָּאִיר Light up the dimness of the widowed[Jerusalem]. A prayer that the “widowed” Jerusalem be granted joy again.

תִּתֵּן אַחֲרִית לְעַמֶּֽךָ Give Your nation hope. A continuation of the theme of the previous prayer for Jerusalem to become again the holy city, visible home of the Divine Presence.

תָּעִֽינוּ מֵאַחֲרֶֽיךָ We have strayed from Your path. A further confession of the collective sins that led to a succession of national tragedies.