Yom Kippur 2: on fasting

So, in the spirit of admitting my imperfections (see Yom Kippur 1 post), I feel the need to admit that I cheated on my Yom Kippur fast. A little bit. I ate my entire dinner after the fast had officially begun (at sunset) because, well, that's the way it worked out. So I didn't really fast for the whole 25 hours. And I had a few crackers with my morning medicines to keep them from upsetting my stomach. And I had a cup of coffee in the morning because, well, I had to go teach.

Why this long list of fast-related mea culpa's? I'm not really feeling guilty about it at all. I fasted. It was bloody uncomfortable. The point was made.

Or was it?

I have been told that there are a lot of "benefits" or "reasons" for fasting on Yom Kippur.

For instance, fasting is supposed to make us more aware of the plight of the poor, who miss meals all the time for reasons beyond their choosing -- the hunger we feel for a day, some feel every day. Students at my mother’s school get their school-provided breakfast and lunch during the school year, but there may not be a dinner at home for them after school. And some of us say we can’t miss a meal or two for Yom Kippur? Talk about a first-world problem!

But did I spend my day pondering the plight of the poor? I packed up a bag of food from our pantry to give to the food bank, but other than that - no, I'm afraid that I didn't.

Fasting is supposed to make us more aware of our dependence on God, who feeds us spiritually to get us through times of physical or metaphorical famine. A fast is supposed to remind us, for one short day, that we are souls first and foremost, not bodies. Did I feel a closer connection between my soul and God yesterday because of the rumbling in the pit of my stomach? Can't really say that I did.

Or they say that fasting is to focus our attention on the odd blend of frailty and durability that is human existence: how just a tinge of un-usual pain and suffering can make us feel like the end is coming, at the same time that we find ourselves built hardy enough to last through what we need to. Was I more aware of the human condition this Yom Kippur? Maybe a little, but mostly I was aware that my body wanted food.

Or maybe our fast is meant to show God how serious we are about feeling sorry for the myriad ways in which we have let God down over the past year: failing to love our neighbor, staying silent in the face of injustice, eating bacon-wrapped ham-and-cheese lobster rolls. Did I make the point to God that I was, in fact, seriously contrite by skipping two meals and being largely unable to focus on the final prayer service of Yom Kippur as a result of low blood sugar? I'm not entirely certain that I did.

So, why in God's holy name did I fast? What was the point?

I think a fourth "point" of fasting on Yom Kippur doesn't get made enough: social solidarity. It is something that the whole community of Jews world-wide does together. It is something that all of the adults in the particular synagogue community I prayed with yesterday afternoon were experiencing together. It takes the tremendous history of involuntary suffering that the Jewish people have experienced over millenia of being hated for their nonconformity and expresses it in a concrete and, frankly, pretty powerful way. It empowers a whole congregation who typically takes their time tripping and stumbling over Hebrew pronunciation to speed-read the last couple of prayers that stood between us and food. It made us feel like we were all in this thing together.

And isn't being in this life together, when it comes down to it, the point?