As a relatively-observant-sometimes-observant-observant-in-my-own-way type of Jewish man, I love it when people tell me to have a “Happy Yom Kippur.” And that’s because of all the gazillions of holidays celebrated by all the thousands of religions in all reaches of the planet (even Orlando), Yom Kippur ranks #1 in the most miserable category. Nothing else comes close.
It’s not happy. It’s not merry. It’s not joyful. It’s not Hallmark-worthy.
No one in their right mind looks forward to Yom Kippur.
No presents, no glowing candles, no dancing, no festive (and often tacky) decorations and (even tackier) sweaters.
AND NO FOOD OR DRINK FOR 24 HOURS (although I think you’re allowed some water to take with your anti-anxiety meds).
And all of this is on purpose. We’re supposed to wallow in despair as we contemplate our lives, ask forgiveness from those we’ve wronged, atone to you-know-who for our sins, and make a last-ditch effort to be sealed in the “Book of Life” for yet another year.
Even though you may have had a good track record up til now, Yom Kippur marks a new playing field, and everything is up for grabs.
A tall order, indeed.
Inasmuch as I would prefer to focus on the choice between vintage and new construction condos, crazy scenarios when buying and selling, bad decorating choices, and the merits of staging with just a bit more than the ubiquitous white orchid in the entry hall, I’m afraid I’ve got to focus on the weighty crap at hand.
So, if you can figure out a way to pronounce it, do your best to say "G'mar chatima tovah," which sorta means have a good final sealing. Otherwise, it’s totally cool to say “Have an easy fast.” Even though we all know it will be anything but.
On that note, I forgive, I atone, and, of course, I wish you a great weekend!
Best,
Brad
