When we move to a new country, there are many elements to adjust to: from the most basic things, like finding out how to do the recycling, what the good brands are in the supermarket, and the unwritten rules of driving; to more subjective concepts, like how to show affection without crossing personal boundaries, or what issues can be openly talked about and what needs to be whispered only with people you really trust.
Among the most prosaic aspects of being a newcomer to South Africa is learning its calendar. Some might say it is the basic Gregorian calendar used in most of the world, and indeed, it is. But every country adds its own flavour to the way it relates to the calendar. In South Africa, I am learning about its holidays and their history, which are a reflection of South Africa’s past, as you know much better than I do. Brazil, with a very different history, doesn’t have a Day of Reconciliation, a Heritage Day or a Freedom Day. Other national holidays come from religious contexts, such as Good Friday and Christmas in South Africa, or Rosh haShanah, Yom Kippur, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot in Israel. There are also dates that were created, or at least encouraged, by entrepreneurs interested in profiting from them. I don’t know the history behind South Africa’s Children’s Day, but in Brazil it is observed on the 12th of October and, while existing on the books since the 1920s, it only became a real phenomenon in the early 1960s, when toy manufacturers decided to invest heavily in marketing campaigns advocating for families to give presents to children on that day. When I was born, in 1971, it was already a huge success.
As a child, I always wanted a remote-control car, but I never got one. When I was, perhaps, six years old, I was walking with my mother and I saw a remote-controlled car in a shop window. I started screaming and crying that I wanted it… so my mother did what many parents would do in that situation: she deflected the issue. “I will give it to you on Children’s Day”, she told me, without any intention of keeping that promise once the day arrived and hoping that I would have forgotten the issue by then. Immediately, I stopped crying, happy that my tantrum had achieved something. Many months later, but still in the same year, I remember my mother getting home and I ran to greet her at the door. “Where is it?” I asked. “Where is what?” she asked, confused. “Where is my gift? The remote-control car you promised me for Children’s Day. TODAY is Children’s Day!” My mother had clearly forgotten her promise, but I hadn’t. In that instance, she dealt with the issue head-on: “If I promised, I ‘unpromise’ now!”
I think I have blamed this incident for never having got a remote-control car and, more importantly for our purpose tonight, it might have led me to radically oppose the possibility of “unpromising” something, which is, to some extent, the purpose of the ritual we just experienced.
For nearly twelve centuries, this ritual cancelation of vows has been a source of profound conflict. [1] At its core, Kol Nidrei—“all vows”—is an Aramaic legal formula designed to annul oaths and promises made rashly or under duress. In the pre-modern world, a vow carried a cosmic weight. [2] Words had the power to alter reality. The impulse behind this ritual, likely born not in the great academies but among the common folk, was a deeply human one: to seek release from the promises we couldn’t keep. [3]
Yet this practice immediately drew the ire of the great rabbinic authorities of Babylonia, the Geonim. They saw it as a dangerous legal shortcut that undermined the sanctity of one’s word. Rav Amram Gaon dismissed it as a minhag shtut, a “foolish custom”, and demanded it be stopped. [4]
But the people refused to let it go.
This prayer, this formula, became a rebel. It survived because it spoke to a deep, popular need that outweighed the objections of the legal scholars. To save it from being completely outlawed, the rabbis had to find a way to make it work. It was Rabbenu Tam, the grandson of Rashi, who performed a brilliant act of legal jujitsu. If annulling past vows was impossible, he argued, let’s change the tense. Let’s have Kol Nidrei annul the vows we might make in the coming year. This clever shift from the past to the future allowed the ritual to survive and flourish in the Ashkenazi world. [5]
But it was the melody that truly cemented its place in our hearts. That melody, rising and falling like a human sigh, became the soul of the service. It gave voice to a history of pain and longing that Yom Kippur otherwise lacked. It became so powerful that we no longer came for the Day of Atonement service; we came for the Kol Nidrei service. [6]
The conflict, however, was far from over. As our Progressive movement emerged in nineteenth-century Europe, Kol Nidrei became a source of intense embarrassment. For centuries, this text had been used as antisemitic ammunition. This led to the humiliating practice of the more judaico oath, forcing Jews in court to take an additional, often degrading, oath swearing that their testimony was not subject to the Kol Nidrei annulment. [7] For the early reformers, who were desperate to prove their loyalty and ethical standing, the prayer was a moral and public relations disaster. In 1844, an assembly of progressive rabbis in Braunschweig, Germany, voted to remove it from the prayerbook. [8]
Across the Atlantic, the American Reform movement followed suit. Its Union Prayer Book omitted the text entirely. And then, in the 1940s, as a result of the great waves of Eastern European Jewish immigration to the United States, a strange thing happened. Many congregations longed for the emotional resonance of the tradition they had left behind. They wanted Kol Nidrei back. The committee revising the prayerbook was deeply divided. And then, in what seems like a story straight out of a novel, the traditional Aramaic text was accidentally included in the first printing of the new edition in 1945, a mistake attributed to the chaos of wartime printing.
Rabbi Samuel Cohon, a passionate opponent of the traditional text, was horrified. He demanded they stop the presses. But the response came back, dictated not by theology, but by cold hard economics. Scrapping the 30,000 copies already printed would cost tens of thousands of dollars. And so, in a moment of sublime irony, the binding machine defeated the theologians. Kol Nidrei had once again stubbornly refused to die. [9]
For the next printing, Cohon did something revolutionary. Instead of simply removing the text, he wrote an English substitute that was a complete inversion of the original. Where the ancient formula sought to annul our vows, Cohon’s prayer asked God for the strength to fulfil them. [10] It transformed a ritual of release into a moment of profound commitment.
Tonight, we are the heirs to this entire, messy, beautiful history. We are not here to find a spiritual loophole or to press a cosmic reset button that wipes our slate clean. We are here to do the opposite. We are here, in the spirit of Samuel Cohon’s radical inversion, to declare what truly matters to us. We are here to make commitments, not annul them.
The traditional Kol Nidrei annulled seven kinds of vows made between a person and God. [11] Tonight, we replace those annulments with seven sacred Jewish commitments. Seven affirmations that define who we are, what we value, and what we resolve to build in the year ahead. [12]
First Commitment: To Aspire
We commit to aim high. Kol Nidrei invites us to take promises seriously, not to avoid them. We name the ideals that shape a life of holiness, patience, compassion, justice, and honesty, and we reach for them with courage. Torah commands, “קְדֹשִׁים תִּהְיוּ, be holy,” [13] and the prophets distil this into walking humbly and doing what is right. [14] We affirm that holiness is within human reach. We will set a high bar for ourselves, believe that growth is possible, and keep choosing the better path even when it is hard.
Second Commitment: To Forgive
We commit to forgive. Aspiration guarantees that we will sometimes fall short. Forgiveness is the practice that keeps a community whole and a soul supple. Our tradition teaches the attributes of divine mercy, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and rich in kindness. [15] We will hold bold expectations and meet failure with gentleness, towards others and towards ourselves. This is not the refusal to name harm. It is the choice to repair trust, to make space for return, and to carry one another forward.
Third Commitment: Pride in Progressive Judaism
We commit to walk our Progressive path with confidence. We belong fully to Am Yisrael. Our Judaism is rooted in Torah and the wisdom of generations, informed by history and science, and accountable to human dignity. “אֵלּוּ וָאֵלּוּ דִּבְרֵי אֱלֹהִים חַיִּים, these and those are God’s living words,” [16] reminds us that principled disagreement can be sacred. We affirm gender equality and LGBTQ+ dignity. We honour tradition by engaging it honestly and letting it speak to the moral questions of our time. This is authentic Judaism, thoughtful, joyous, and alive.
Fourth Commitment: Communal Co-Creation
Drawing from one of my recent Shabbat drashot, we commit to co-create this community. The theological basis for this is the radical idea that the Torah is not in heaven, but “in your mouth and in your heart”, [17] empowering each of us with the agency to shape our Jewish lives. We are not religious consumers; we are builders. At this stage we have few committees and programmes, which is an invitation rather than a deficit. This year we will give better form to our care for one another, shaping teams that welcome, visit, sing, teach, organise, and serve, so that our shared home reflects the gifts and responsibilities of all who gather here.
Fifth Commitment: Lifelong Learning
We commit to taking Jewish learning seriously, for ourselves and for future generations. As we discussed in another recent Shabbat drashah, we reject the phenomenon known as “paediatric Judaism”, where Jewish knowledge ends at bar or bat-mitzvah. [18] The goal of adult Jewish learning is to become as sophisticated in our Jewish lives as we are in all other realms. [19] It is to realise that Judaism has relevant insights for the most crucial moments of our lives, not only for what happens inside the sanctuary. In 5786 we will work on an adult learning programme that fits our community, with spaces to question, to encounter classic texts, and to explore contemporary issues through a Jewish lens. What we learn ourselves can kindle others, and what we teach one another can steady us for the work ahead.
Sixth Commitment: Tikkun Olam, Repairing the World
We commit to act on our values. Tikkun Olam is not a slogan, it is the natural outcome of internalised Jewish ethics. Living in South Africa, a reality of extreme inequalities, our responsibility is undeniable. I am inspired by the words of our sister congregation, Beit Emanuel, which affirms that, “in this land we have experienced the best and worst of the human spirit. We have plumbed the depths of racism, violence, and injustice, and we have soared the heights of grace, reconciliation, and renewal.” [20] We will turn compassion into concrete practice, joining neighbours, learning from those already doing the work, and showing up reliably. Service and justice belong together. Meeting immediate need and addressing root causes are both part of our Jewish responsibility, here in Johannesburg and beyond.
Our Seventh Commitment: Sustaining Our Community
Finally, we commit to sustaining our community, grounded in the ancient wisdom of Pirkei Avot: “אִם אֵין קֶמַח, אֵין תּוֹרָה, If there is no flour, there is no Torah.” Prayer, learning, care, and service require time, skill, and financial support to endure. Bet David is blessed with rental income, but it is not enough. In some communities abroad, members contribute between 1% and 2.5% of their income as dues. [21] We are not there yet, but this is a conversation we want to start among ourselves. Tonight, we ask each of you to consider: What can you give? Not as a fee for services, but as an investment in the Jewish future. Our ancestors built the infrastructure of this community in much harder times. We commit to honouring their legacy by keeping this sanctuary alive and thriving—for ourselves, and for those yet to come.
This is our Kol Nidrei. Not an escape clause, but a covenant. Not an annulment of vows, but an affirmation of commitments. We stand here tonight, witnesses to our own shortcomings, but also to our deep and powerful desire to be better. The haunting melody that filled this room was not a song of release, but a call to commitment. [22]
The tools we need to flourish—the wisdom to choose, the capacity to act justly, and the power to co-create our sacred future—are not distant. The capacity for an ethical and vital Jewish life is right here. It is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, for you to do. [23]
May we have the courage to make these commitments, and the strength to live them.
Ken Yehi Ratzon. May this be God’s will.
Shanah Tovah! Gmar Chatimah Tovah!
[*] Unless otherwise noted, all the articles mentioned in the footnotes are from All These Vows: Kol Nidre, ed. Lawrence A. Hoffman (Jewish Lights Publishing, 2011).
[1] Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Kol Nidre: Anatomy of a Conflict".
[2] Jonathan Magonet, "What If Cleverness Is Foolishness and Righteousness an Illusion?". See also Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Morality, Meaning, and the Ritual Search for the Sacred".
[3] Tony Bayfield, "At Least Credit Me with Being Compassionate".
[4] Sandy Eisenberg Sasso, "The Kol Nidre Mirror to Our Soul". See also Eliezer Diamond, "Kol Nidre: A Halakhic History and Analysis".
[5] Eliezer Diamond, "Kol Nidre: A Halakhic History and Analysis". See also Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Kol Nidre from Union Prayer Book to Gates of Repentance".
[6] Ellen M. Umansky, "Ritualizing Kol Nidre: The Power of Three". See also Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Introduction".
[7] Andrew Goldstein, "Memories of the Past, Guidelines for the Future". See also Annette M. Boeckler, "The Magic of the Moment: Kol Nidre in Progressive Judaism”.
[8] Annette M. Boeckler, "The Magic of the Moment: Kol Nidre in Progressive Judaism”.
[9] Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Kol Nidre from Union Prayer Book to Gates of Repentance”.
[10] Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Kol Nidre from Union Prayer Book to Gates of Repentance".
[11] Rachel Nussbaum, "Over-Promise, Under-Deliver … and Then Forgive".
[12] Lawrence A. Hoffman, "Kol Nidre from Union Prayer Book to Gates of Repentance."
[13] Lev. 19:2.
[14] Micah 6:8.
[15] Ex. 34:6.
[16] Talmud Bavli, Eruvin 13b.
[17] Deut 30:14
[18] Jonathan Magonet, "What If Cleverness Is Foolishness and Righteousness an Illusion?".
[19] Ruth Durchslag, "Words Mean Everything, Words Mean Nothing—Both Are True”.
[20] Beit Emanuel’s Prayer for South Africa.
[21] https://ejewishphilanthropy.com/can-synagogues-live-by-dues-alone
[22] Jonathan P. Slater, "Release beyond Words: Kol Nidre Even on a Violin".
[23] Aaron Panken, "Courting Inversion: Kol Nidre as Legal Drama”.
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