Welcome to Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day with me, Josh Feigelson.
I’m grateful you’re here, and I hope you benefit from our time together.
I have a friend who’s a physician and one of the world experts on traumatic brain injuries. He, like, literally wrote the book on the subject. One time a few years ago we were on a conference call together. I was in a hurry and, when the time for introductions came around, I shared that I was joining the call from my car. At this, my friend spoke up and said, “Josh, I’m speaking to you as a world expert on traumatic brian injury. You should not be on this call while you’re driving. Either pull over and join the call or hang up. It’s dangerous to do both.”
Now I will confess that I didn’t take his advice at the moment—I kept driving and stayed on the call. But unquestionably that moment caused me to be more mindful about something I really hadn’t thought about much before, and it helped me develop a kavvana, an intention, to do better.
The basic lesson here is not only that it’s dangerous to operate a motor vehicle while you’re doing something else. It’s also that, in our world of multitasking and divided attention, we so rarely focus on the thing we’re actually doing. Kids do homework while watching TV and snapchatting on their phones. Grownups walk their dogs while also checking their email and listening to a podcast (yes, even a podcast about mindfulness). We make dinner while we’re reading social media, and we can do our banking while we’re sitting on the toilet. This is the age of distraction.
If you’ve ever driven on the highway in Israel near sunset, you may have seen a counterexample to this. Sometimes, as the sun is getting lower in the sky, you’ll see a car pulled over to the side of the road and someone standing there reciting the afternoon prayers while there’s still daylight. No multitasking here: This person has decided that you can’t pray and drive at the same time. (Hopefully they feel the same way about a conference call.)
What that person is doing is actually something that was talked about explicitly in the Talmud two thousand years ago. The Mishnah says that if you were riding on a donkey (the ancient equivalent of a slow but reliable vehicle) and it was time to recite the daily prayers, ideally you should dismount and daven. If you can’t do that, the Mishnah says, you should turn your body towards Jerusalem. And if you can’t even do that, it says yichaven et libo k’neged beit kodesh hakodashim: You should direct your heart to be opposite the Holy of Holies, the most sanctified part of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem.
I’ve always loved this teaching. It explains why synagogues in America face east, towards Jerusalem. But more than that, it’s telling us something deep about what we’re trying to do when we pray. The whole point of facing east, or dismounting from the donkey, or getting out of the car, is, first, to help us not be distracted, and second, to open up our hearts to the holiest spot on earth. I like to imagine we’re creating this kind of wormhole, this direct connection between our hearts and the spot where our tradition believes the Divine presence came to rest.
While this teaching applies every day of the year, it takes on special significance on Yom Kippur. Why? Because Yom Kippur was the one day when, in ancient times, the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, would actually enter the Holy of Holies. He wouldn’t just stand outside, he would go in. The holiest person on the holiest day going into the holiest place.
And so on Yom Kippur, I like to imagine that our hearts aren’t just standing outside the Holy of Holies, but that they’re actually going inside too. Our hearts are extra open. We try to go extra deep. On Yom Kippur we have a chance to be even more honest with ourselves and one another, to be even more compassionate, even more loving, even more open-hearted. Yom Kippur is a day for really going inside—the Holy of Holies, which is also the human heart.
Maybe that’s why so many of us spend time on this day knocking on our hearts. Yes, it might look like pounding to some. But I like to imagine that it’s something more like a gentle knock, as if we’re asking ourselves, “Hey, I’m at the door of the heart, the door to the Holy of Holies. Can I come in today?” Rather than pounding on that door, I’m giving in a tap—because I want to come home, in the deepest sense.
So how do we give that gentle knock? How do we stop driving, step off the donkey, and actually step inside the Holy of Holies of our own heart?
I want to invite you into a practice of The Gentle Knock.
If you are walking or driving right now—and I say this with full love and encouragement from my brain doctor friend—this might be a great moment to pull over, or simply hold this practice in your mind to do when you land.
If it feels safe, place your hand over your chest—right over your heart.
Feel the physical warmth of your palm against your shirt. Feel the steady, automatic rise and fall of your chest. This heart has been beating for you every single second of your life without you ever having to ask it to.
Take a deep, slow breath in… and let it go.
In traditional Yom Kippur services, we beat our chests during the confession, the Vidui, the confessional prayer. But right now, I want you to gently tap your heart with your fingers or the palm of your hand.
Just a light, steady rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Imagine you are standing at the threshold of the Holy of Holies. You aren’t trying to break the door down with judgment, guilt, or harshness. You are just knocking gently on your own door, saying: “I’m here. I’m paying attention now.”
As you hold your hand there, think of one place in your life where your attention has been fractured—where you’ve been driving while on the call, rushing past your own life or the people you love.
Don’t beat yourself up for it. Just notice it.
With your next breath, direct your heart toward that space.
As you breathe in: I open the door. As you breathe out: I come inside.
For the next few moments of silence, just feel that direct wormhole between your hand, your breath, and the quiet center of who you are. You don’t need to fix anything right now. You just need to be in the room.
On this Yom Kippur, may we all have the courage to pull over to the side of the road, to step off our busy donkeys, and to knock gently on the doors of our own hearts. May you be met there not with judgment, but with an open door and a profound welcome home.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you. And gmar chatimah tovah—may we all be sealed for a good and year ahead.
Thank you for joining us for Soulful Jewish Living: Mindful Practices for Every Day, a production of Unpacked, a brand of OpenDor Media, and the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. This episode is sponsored by Jonathan and Kori Kalafer and the Somerset Patriots: The Bridgewater, NJ-based AA Affiliate of the New York Yankees. If you like this show, subscribe, share this episode with a friend, give us five stars on Apple Podcasts. Check out our website, unpacked.media for everything Unpacked-related, and subscribe to our other podcasts, and check out the Institute for Jewish Spirituality. Most importantly, be in touch–about what you heard today, what you’d like to hear more about, or to dedicate an episode. Write to me at josh@unpacked.media.
This episode was hosted by me, Rabbi Josh Feigelson. Audio was edited by Rob Pera and we’re produced by Rivky Stern. Thanks for joining us.