Kol Nidre D'var Torah

Earlier tonight we sang a short song that we only sing on Yom Kippur: Ki Anu Amecha. The translation of the title, “Because we are your people” comes from the opening line, which finishes “and you are our king.” Growing up I always liked this song because a friend of mine would sing the solo in the choir and I just really loved the tune. When I got older, it was pointed out to me that the metaphors in this song may be difficult for modern people to understand.

For example, the first line that claims “Because we are your people and you are our king” was written at a time when the Jewish people likely had a contemporary understanding of kingship. Even if we had to struggle between the king of our nation and God, our true king, we nevertheless had regular reminders of how one should relate to a king – bow in his presence, be obedient to his laws, et cetera.

However, looking at this metaphor in modern times, I do not think it is that difficult for us to view God as our king; in fact, perhaps the fact that none of us live under the rule of an earthly king makes it easier for us to regard our God as the one and only true king.

Another metaphor in this song is when we say: “Because we are your sheep and you are our shepherd.” Again, even though most of us have never experienced life as a shepherd, we understand the general idea of the metaphor; God looks after us just like a shepherd looks after sheep.

It was not until a few years ago that I came to understand this metaphor even more deeply. A friend of mine, Sam Apple, recently wrote a book, “Shlepping Through the Alps” based on his travels with a shepherd:

If you’re traveling the Alps with a Yiddish folksinger who also happens to be the last wandering shepherd in Austria and he assigns you the task of walking behind his flock of 625 sheep, you’ll discover that the little lambs sometimes tire out and plop down for naps. Since your job is to make sure no sheep is left behind, you’ll approach the sleeping lambs, your shepherd’s stick firm in your right fist, and shout, “Hop! Hop!” You’ll have learned to make this noise, which rhymes with “nope,” from observing the shepherd and his sons. On occasion, when a lamb is in a deep sleep and not responding, you’ll look around quickly to see whether the coast is clear. If the shepherd is far ahead or busy singing Yiddish ditties to himself, you’ll kneel down next to the sleeping lamb and say, “Come on, little cutie. Time to move on.” Then you’ll attempt to give the lamb a quick pat on the head. Usually the lamb will wake up before you touch it and scurry ahead in search of its mother. When this happens, you’ll let out several angry hop hops, as though you’re completely in charge.
…
Suddenly, you’ll reach a narrow passage and find you’ve drifted too far ahead and are now stuck in the middle of 625 tightly packed sheep. You’ll realize that the sheep, for all their virtues, don’t have much regard for human shins or feet. They’ll bump their woolly sides against you from every angle until you almost lose your balance. You’ll try to clear some space with your stick, but it will be no use. The sheep will treat you like the novice you are. Then, just as you’re regaining your bearings, a mangy gray sheepdog will race by and bark its angry orders. Your heart will skip a beat, and you’ll hurry ahead as fast as the others. If only for that one fleeting moment, you will understand the hardships of life in the flock.
… eventually your eyes will wander downward, and then all you’ll see is manure. Sheep droppings, you’ll come to appreciate, are formless, unaesthetic; droppings that, if not for the smell, could pass for mud. Next to the charming pebbles of goats or the healthy round cakes of cattle, the mushy green-brown splotches sheep leave behind can only disappoint. Still, you’ll keep staring at it because it’ll be everywhere, a parade of digested grass and Alpine flowers. You’ll see one sheep’s droppings stacked upon another’s. You’ll see globs of dried dung clinging like black icicles to the wool of sheep tails. You’ll get to know the droppings so well that, for the first time in your life, manure will seem harmless. You’ll walk through it as though you’ve been walking through it for years. You’ll stab at it with your shepherd’s stick for sport.

Apple’s book goes on to tell many stories about the shepherd and his sheep. While getting to know the life of shepherd made me connect better to the metaphor of God as our shepherd, nothing to me was more meaningful that this opening passage that I just read. Not only does God as shepherd show us that God cares for us, but God is so close to us that after walking through all of our wasteful, negative, or hurtful actions, God remains by our side in full dedication to each of us – one flock wandering this earth.

The other significant part of the metaphors of “Ki Anu Amecha” is its parallelisms; each “Ki anu” phrase, “ki” which means “because,” is followed with a “V’atah” phrase, meaning “and you are.” While other texts read simply, “God is my shepherd,” this song contains a “Ki” section – because we are your flock. It is not enough to say that God is our shepherd; it is a much stronger statement to also support this idea with “ki”, because – we, the Jewish people, we are one people, a flock in God’s keeping.

Why is this ki phrase so important? How does it extend the metaphor for us?

Harvard University social psychologist Ellen Langer writes about what she calls “mindful attention,” explaining the drawbacks of learning a skill to the point of doing it without thinking. She identifies examples of tasks where performance becomes inadequate when one only relies on past learning rather than from individually evaluating the current situation. When a task is rotely over-learned, it is more difficult for the learner to make adjustments when circumstances change, and thus his or her initial knowledge becomes less meaningful and less useful.

Even though Langer is writing in the context of education, her theory is also relevant to our understanding of connecting to God through metaphors. Simply having the prayer book display a metaphor, such as “God is my shepherd” is not always enough for us. The “ki” phrase, the section that tells us because, is the next step in our understanding, as well as meaning-making.

In 1978, Langer attempted to do an experiment with this word “ki,” “because.”

Standing in a line in the university library where others were waiting to use the copy machine, Langer posed three different questions to those in front of her.
1. "Excuse me, I have five pages. May I use the Xerox machine because I am in a rush?”
2. "Excuse me, I have five pages. May I use the Xerox machine?”
3. "Excuse me, I have five pages. May I use the Xerox machine because I have to make these copies?”
Only in requests 1 and 3 was the word “because” used. Langer explained that 94% complied with the first request because there was some reason provided and introduced with "because". To the second request 60% complied without any reason being given. In the third case, where "because" was also used but reason of substance was offered, just a "because" clause, 93% still complied.
The addition of the word “because,” even in the case of #3 in which the person stated the obvious action, “because I have to make these copies,” merited compliance more often than in its absence. While I am not suggesting that we all go out to manipulate people with this newfound data, I would like to encourage everyone to use this word, “ki,” because, to maneuver our individual actions.

As we go into the New Year, let us examine ourselves carefully. Are we acting by rote, or our actions connected to the world around us? How often do we think through our actions? From choosing our words to choosing which companies to support, we have the opportunity to insert a “ki” phrase, to say “because” about everything we do.

On this Yom Kippur, we stand before God not just as servants of a King, but together by saying “Ki” – because we are Your people, Your children, Your flock. May God hear our prayers because they are full of sincerity. By taking our actions mindfully, we do justice to the things we are resolving to do in the new year.