Ash Wednesday

February 17th, 2024

“A story is told of him (Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Bereditchev) that once, right before the Kol Nidre service, the opening service of the Day of Atonement, he stood before the ark as the sun was about to set. For a long time, he stood silent, still, as the evening approached. Noticing that the time to begin prayer was upon them, his students and disciples became uncomfortable worrying that the Rabbi might begin too late. At the last possible moment, he spoke.

‘Dear God’, he said, ‘we come before You this year, as we do every year, to ask Your forgiveness. But in this past year, I have caused no death. I have brought no plagues upon the world, no earthquakes, no floods. I have made no women widows, no children orphans. God, You have done these things, not me! Perhaps you should be asking forgiveness from me.’

The great Rabbi paused, and continue in a softer voice. ‘But since You are God, and I am only Levi Yitzhak, Yisgadal v’yiskadah sh’mei rabah’, and he began the service.”

from The Healer of Shattered Hearts by David J. Wolpe

Ash Wednesday is the Catholic version of the Day of Atonement. It is a day for fasting and prayer. It is a time for repentance, a turning back to God (t’shuva in Hebrew). The constant refrain on Ash Wednesday is “From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.” – Genesis 3:19. The day is set aside for self-reflection and for understanding of a person’s place in the scheme of things.

My wife, Karin, wanted to go to the Ash Wednesday service in the evening. Just a couple hours prior to the Mass, a person who we love had a drug relapse in our house. Every relapse comes as a shock to me, but somehow it is also a trip down memory lane. The episode activates the PTSD inside of me and unleashes a torrent of raw emotion. It’s a mix of panic, frustration, and sorrow. All plans are abandoned, and the priority is figuring out how to deal with an individual who is not thinking straight.

Karin and I decided to take our little grandson, Asher, and go to the Mass together, leaving the impaired person at home to sleep it off. I had the gnawing fear that we would return to find a squad car and/or an ambulance in front of the house. That is a legitimate concern. The cops have been to our home enough times that they have our address listed in favorites.

Asher was wound up tight when we got to church. Apparently, he was absorbing all of the Sith energy I was radiating. He would not sit still, not even for a moment. I spent most of the service following him around as he toured the church. It generally does not bother me that he is mobile during Mass. Years ago, I would have felt embarrassed. Not anymore. Karin and I have gone to number of Latino and Native American liturgies, and it normal for kids to run wild during those services. The people in our congregation have never complained about Asher’s activities. They are just happy to see a child in their midst.

It was hard for me to pray during the service. I wasn’t feeling very remorseful. I was more upset with God than anything else. If I did pray, it was like,

“Hey, you know, I’m trying to do the right thing, and You keep fucking me…”

I’m pretty sure saying that is not appropriate on Ash Wednesday, but it did come from the heart.

At one point, Asher and I were in the back of the church next to the holy water font. Asher was dipping his arm into the water up to his elbow. Other people were in line to get ashes placed on their foreheads. After everyone else had been smudged, the lady who was applying the ashes walked all the way from the altar to where we were and gave me a small black cross on my head. She said,

“From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.”

The approved answer is “Amen.”

All I could think of was, “Yeah, I know.”

I thought a lot about Rabbi Levi Yitzak. I understand how he felt.

May God have mercy on us all.