by Rabbi Yisroel Rubin
based on the teachings of The Lubavitcher Rebbe, ZT"L

A high point of the High Holidays is the Avodah portion of the Musaf prayer on Yom Kippur. The Avodah recalls the awesome beauty and radiant splendor of the original Yom Kippur service as it was performed in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

Two thousand years later, in our synagogues, the chazzan and congregants use the words of the service to re-enact parts of the Avodah as it was performed by the kohen gadol (High Priest). During the rest of the year, any member of the priestly family was eligible to serve in the Temple. The responsibility of the Yom Kippur service, however, rested solely with the kohen gadol.

The garments of a common kohen included four linen garments: a pair of pants, a long shirt, a girdle, and a cap. The kohen gadol’s year-round attire was of greater quality and caliber. He wore eight garments, collectively called bigdei zahav, gold clothing. Unlike the common kohen’s simple dress of linen, some of the kohen gadol’s clothing was masterfully crafted from intertwined gold strands and threads of wool dyed blue, purple, and scarlet.

On his chest the kohen gadol wore the choshen, the breastplate, embracing a dazzling array of twelve precious stones, each engraved with one of the names of the tribes of Israel. Endowed with the spiritual power of guiding and instructing Israel, the choshen was attached by braided gold chains to the exquisite ephod, or apron.

Another exclusive garment was a regal cloak rimmed with elaborate gold bells and pomegranates. All this was topped off by a gold band, inscribed with G-d’s name, that the kohen gadol wore on his forehead.

However, on Yom Kippur, the kohen gadol wore special white linen garments (bigdei lavan) for the part of the service that involved entry into the Kodesh HaKodashim, the Holy of Holies. The Avodah describes the ritual immersions that were required each time he changed clothing, from gold to white and back to gold.

It seems ironic that to enter the Holy of Holies on the most solemn day of the year, the kohen gadol was forbidden to wear his special garments. He had to remove them and change into much more simple clothing, similar to that worn by the common kohen.

At the climax of the Temple service, at the one time of the year when the Holy of Holies was entered, the kohen gadol was shorn of his glory. What would we think today of a person coming to the synagogue on the High Holidays dressed in his everyday clothes? Isn’t it proper to dress up for the occasion, to act respectably by wearing our very best and finest in honor of the holiday? The simple reason for this is a negative, historical one. It concerns the sin committed by the Israelites with gold, that is, the sin of the Golden Calf. At the time when we seek forgiveness for our sins, we want to avoid all allusion to this gravest of national sins. That event reflected on the negligence of the first kohen gadol, Aaron, who failed to prevent the Israelites from engaging in idolatrous behavior. It is the last event we would want to recall on Yom Kippur. This is why the kohen gadol removed his gold clothing.

Chassidic thought gives us a different insight into the kohen’s change of clothing, one that relates to each of us in a positive way. This insight touches on the essence of our special relationship with G-d on Yom Kippur.

All year long, we serve G-d by perfecting our personal talents and raising the level of our accomplishments. The more endowed we are with spiritual qualities, and the richer we are intellectually and emotionally, the better we can appreciate the depth and beauty of the Torah and the mitzvos.

But on Yom Kippur, at the moment of truth, when each of us enters his own spiritual “holy of holies,” we leave behind all our external trappings. We approach G-d with utter humility and the negation of all our personal accomplishments. Indeed, our intellectual sophistication and emotional adornments, rather than benefiting us, may be a hindrance and handicap on this day. We want our pure essence to shine through at this most intimate time. We let the innermost aspects of our soul, not colored or embellished by personal gain or grandeur, unite with G-d. At this innermost level, as we enter our heart of hearts, we do not pull rank and we do not fall back on status. Whether we are big or small, rich or poor, scholars or simpletons, we all stand equally before G-d.

Yet let us not misconstrue this plainness and simplicity. It does not reflect a descent by us to a lower level. To the contrary: this simplicity is a very sophisticated and elevated level, one that transcends human talent and achievement.

Yom Kippur changes us, raising us to such a lofty state of union with G-d that it renders all our sins and shortcomings meaningless. This explains the dynamics of Yom Kippur’s amazing power to effect atonement and forgiveness.

When we arrive at this high level, our relationship with G-d is not based on mere merit or achievement. It is rather a deeper, intrinsic bond of boundless love that exceeds all definition. A lost son need not justify his search for his father by submitting an impressive resume listing his titles and degrees, credentials and achievements. The inner bond of father and son surpasses all rationalization.

In the same way, on Yom Kippur the very essence of a Jew below connects with G-d above. Anything more is unnecessary, redundant, out of place. Our inherent Jewish connection with G-d makes any external “garments” superfluous.

This explains the Talmudic statement (Rosh Hashanah 25) that the mitzvah of blowing the shofar corresponds to the level of the kohen gadol as he enters the Holy of Holies. The blowing of the shofar is an unspoken cry. It emanates from the depths of our soul, uniting us in a most basic and intimate way with G-d, just as the kohen gadol achieved this basic connection with G-d in the Kodesh HaKodashim on Yom Kippur.

“I wave to the ship’s captain, and he sounds the ship’s horn just for me.”

“Foolish child,” scoffed the man. “Do you really think that the big ship’s captain cares about a little boy?”

“Yes, sir,” said the child. “The captain of the big ship is my daddy.”

Copyright by Rabbi Yisroel Rubin, Director, Chabad Outreach Centers, Albany, NY.