Wresting with the words of belief

But what is exclusive to this piyyut is the two-part structure of each verse. First there is a statement, “The One who…” and then there is an affirmation, “And all believe…”. For example, here are the first two verses:

“The One who holds in His hand the trait of judgment.

And all believe that He is a faithful God.

The One who examines and scrutinises the hidden stores.

And all believe that He examines the conscience of all.”

When I first noticed this cycle of statement-affirmation, statement-affirmation, it was quite off-putting. It felt a little like what I imagine happens at a fundamentalist revival concert, where everyone rises up and proclaims their unwavering commitment to God: “We all believe!”

The problem is that sometimes I find it hard to fully relate to God in all the 22 ways mentioned in this poem. My relationship with God is complicated and ever-changing, not straightforward and resolute. And I even feel justified in my assessment, based on a later verse within the piyyut itself:

“The One who dwells concealed in His holy shade.

And all believe that He alone is God.”

If God is hidden, then how can we be sure and steadfast in our relationship with Him? And what’s more, I know of many Jews who have much bigger problems with faith. They are not even sure of God’s existence and struggle with many of the prayers.

Even so, I know that most of them will still try to pray this year and to sing Vechol Ma’aminim. Does that make them hypocrites? Is it phoney to affirm when you have doubts?

When I was a teenager, I had a good friend who missed out a bunch of the long list of Al Chets (“For the sin we have committed by…”) that we constantly repeat on Yom Kippur. “Rafi,” he said, “I’m just not sure that I regret some of these!’ Was he being more honest than the rest of us?

I would like to suggest a way of reframing this piyyut that might be helpful. The problem is in the translation of a particular Hebrew word, she’hu. The affirmation in each verse always begins with the phrase Vechol ma’aminim she’hu, which is usually translated as “And all believe that He…”. But “believe that He” is a bad translation.

I think “believe in Him to be” is much better. When someone says, “I believe in you’, they are not confirming your existence, they are telling you that they trust you. The Hebrew root-word here is emunah, which is much more to do with trust and faithfulness than abstract belief.

Vechol Ma’aminim is not a poem about affirmation (“believe that”), it is about affiliation (“believe in”). In each verse we are not making a statement about God and then affirming it to be objectively and verifiably true.

What we are doing is declaring our affiliation to the Jewish nation who traditionally relate to God in this way, whether we personally do or not. This approach is very liberating. It focuses on community rather than theology.

When we recite Vechol Ma’aminim, whether at home or together in shul, we are renewing our shared values as a people. We are recommitting to a faith in which God is the eternal embodiment of all knowledge and truth, and who stands for justice, fairness, patience and compassion. Those ideas and ethics are at the very heart of Judaism. We can rally around them.

Says the Talmud, “Every person thinks different, just as every person looks different” (Berachot 58a). Behind every unique face is a unique view of God, but what we all share is our affiliation to Judaism. We have different personal beliefs, but we have one shared collective faith. And faith, trust and hope are what we need right now.

I do not know everything will work out right and I cannot be sure of the future. But I can trust and I can have hope. The rousing recital of Vechol Ma’aminim is there to help me, to help us, rededicate ourselves to what we collectively hold dear.

In this vein, the poem’s very last line aptly transfers the focus fully on to us. “And all believe that His works are perfect and complete.” Those “works” refer to all of existence, the centrepiece of which is us and all humanity. We might be in pain and we may feel we have insurmountable challenges, but God made us whole. We are not broken. We have the capacity to heal and live self-fulfilling lives.

I interpret this last verse to be saying, “And we all believe in God who believes in us, who made us whole.” The piyyut thus concludes with us reassuring ourselves. We are capable, we are not victims, we can improve. Wellness and resilience are with our grasp. Yannai’s poem is a gift to each one of us to calm our fears and reset our moral compass.

Yes, I need to repent, but with this mindset, I am looking forward to doing so. If we let them, the prayers of Rosh Hashanah can open us up. They can refresh our faith, reconnect us with community and reassure us that we have what it takes to change and improve. And that is a promising start.

After all, we all need something to believe in…

Rabbi Dr Zarum is dean of the London School of Jewish Studies