Confessing: The Rambam writes that the essence of Viduy can be summarized in three short words: Aval Anachnu Chatanu. ‘But We sinned.” There seems to be an extra word: Aval. Shouldn’t Anachnu Chatanu suffice to convey the essence of confession? “We sinned”- what more needs to be said? Rabbi Norman Lamm suggested that Aval is necessary because Aval itself is a sin: the sin of justifying, rationalizing and excusing ourselves and our mistakes. The first step towards achieving a level of honesty that we need in our lives, and especially on Yom Kippur, is to appreciate and be wary of the sin of Aval. Our formulation of Viduy with the word Aval may be based on a similar expression said by the brothers of Yosef, recorded in Parshat Miketz. When the viceroy demands that Binyamin be brought down to Egypt, the brothers realize that they are being punished for their earlier actions towards Yosef and proclaim, “Aval Asheimim Anachnu- indeed we are guilty!” No more excuses or justifications. In many editions of the Viduy we find an additional word in the preface: Aval Anachnu VaAVOTEINU Chatanu. We and our ancestors have sinned. Why do we mention our ancestors in our confession? Rabbi Chaim Friedlander explained that on Yom Kippur we must evaluate ourselves on two different planes and admit to failings in both: Anachnu Chatanu: each of us has been endowed with unique strengths and talents. There are things that we can do and accomplish that no one else can or will. On Yom Kippur we confront the ways in which we squandered those talents and did not live up to our potential. But the picture is incomplete without a mention of Avoteinu. Each of us have parents, grandparents from whom we should have learned. We learn from their accomplishments. And we may be able to learn from their shortcomings too. We are called upon to apply the values and lessons from our past in order to pave the way to a brighter future.
Forgiving: Once on the evening before Yom Kippur, Reb Elimelech of Lizhensk was asked the proper way to observe the custom of kaparot. "You want to see an extraordinary kaparot?" replied Reb Elimelech. "Go observe how Moshe the tavern-keeper does kaparot.” The chassid located Moshe's tavern at a crossroads several miles outside of Lizhensk and asked to stay the night. "O.K.," said Moshe. "We'll be closing up shortly, and then you can get some sleep." Later that night Moshe herded his clientele of drunken peasants out the door. The chairs and tables were stacked in a corner, and the room, which also served as the tavern-keeper's living quarters, was readied for night. Before dawn, Moshe rose from his bed, washed his hands and recited the morning blessings. "Time for kaparot!" he called quietly to his wife, taking care not to wake his guest. "Yentel, please bring me the notebook -- it's on the shelf above the cupboard."Moshe sat himself on a small stool, lit a candle, and began reading from the notebook, unaware that his guest was wide awake and straining to hear every word. The notebook was a diary of all the misdeeds and transgressions the tavern-keeper had committed in the course of the year, along with the date, time and circumstance of each. His sins were quite ordinary: a word of gossip one day, oversleeping on another, neglecting to give his daily coin to charity on a third. But by the time Moshe had read through the first few pages, his face was bathed in tears. For more than an hour Moshe read and wept, until the last page had been turned."Yentel," he called to his wife, "Now bring me the other notebook." This, too, was a diary: of all the troubles and misfortunes that had befallen Moshe in the course of the past year. On this day Moshe was beaten by a gang of peasants, on that day his child fell ill. In the dead of winter the family had frozen for several nights for lack of firewood. Another time their cow had died, and there was no milk until enough rubles had been saved to buy another.When he had finished reading the second notebook, the tavern-keeper lifted his eyes heavenward and said: "So you see, dear Father in Heaven, I have sinned against You. Last year I repented and promised to fulfill Your commandments, but I repeatedly succumbed to my evil inclination. But last year I also prayed and begged You for a year of health and prosperity, and I trusted in You that it would indeed be this way.
"Dear Father, today is the eve of Yom Kippur, when everyone forgives and is forgiven. Let us put the past behind us. I'll accept my troubles as atonement for my sins, and You, in Your great mercy, shall do the same." Moshe took the two notebooks in his hands, raised them aloft, circled them three times above his head, and said: "This is my exchange, this is in my stead, this is my atonement." He then threw the notebooks into the fireplace, where the smoldering coals soon turned the tear-stained pages into ashes.
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