Yom Kippur Tradition

It is a longstanding tradition at our shul in East Hampton to have a prominent local poet, Philip Schultz, read some of his work to the congregation during the High Holiday service. 

I have always enjoyed his readings, but this year (5787 by the Hebrew calendar), during the recitation of one of his poems, I heard him say the words “the big shul on Rauber Street.” There was a shul on Rauber Street where I grew up in Rochester. I learned later our East Hampton poet is originally from my hometown and connected to the same place of worship my late wife, Judie, attended in her youth. Rauber Street was considered the heart of the Orthodox Jewish community. It was a thriving neighborhood from the late 1800s through the 1960s, with a kosher butcher, Britker’s Bakery, the fish market, and small grocery stores, all supported by the local residents. In the 1950s, newly licensed teenagers would cruise the numerous shuls on the high holidays to meet up with each other. The landline telephones at home were always in use, working out when and where to meet up in the afternoons as shul broke for recess. 

The shul is gone now and so is the Jewish community on Rauber Street. The kosher delis and butcher shop and bakery were hollowed out by city urban renewal plans that redefined the area in the 1960s. The Jewish neighborhood subsequently centered itself around Joseph Avenue, which was the main artery from Main Street to the edge of the city. 

Of the several poems Schultz recited this year, his poem entitled “Yom Kippur” was especially moving. Following are some passages from it, with a universal message of forgiveness and renewal:

You are asked to stand and bow your head,

consider the harm you’ve caused,

the respect you’ve withheld,

the anger misspent, the fear spread,

the earnestness displayed

in the service of prestige and sensibility,

all the callous, cruel, stubborn, joyless sins

in your alphabet of woe

so that you might be forgiven.

...

You are asked to forgive the past

and remember the dead, to gaze

across the desert in your heart

toward Jerusalem. To separate

the sacred from the profane

and be as numerous as the sands

and the stars of heaven.

To believe that no matter what

you have done to yourself and others

morning will come and the mountain

of night will fade. To believe,

for these few precious moments,

in the utter sweetness of your life.

…