On this holiest of days, the Kohein Gadol entered the holiest of places — and changed worlds
Chananel’s brow wrinkled in confusion as he studied the neatly pressed garments waiting for his father. Something was different…
He couldn’t put his finger on it until he saw his father by the door, about to leave to complete his service in the Beis Hamikdash; he hadn’t even heard him getting ready to leave — that was it! It was too quiet!
Normally the hems of his father’s clothing were trimmed with bells and pomegranates, and their delicate tinkling announced his entrance. His father had explained to him that the chiming of the bells was a form of requesting permission before going into the Kodesh, for one cannot enter the King’s palace unannounced.
“Abba! The bells!” Chananel cried in alarm. His father smiled down at him. “Chananel, my dear, I’m going out now to practice the Avodas Yom HaKippurim. I’m wearing pure white garments. I don’t need bells.”
“But Abba, you once told me that the bells, which make noise that can be heard from far, represent the empty people of our nation!” Chananel tugged at his father’s hand. “And you said that when you wear them, it means you’re bringing all of Am Yisrael with you. Not just the zekeinim and gedolim, but the simple people, too. How can you leave them out on Yom Kippur?” There were tears in Chananel’s eyes.
His father crouched down and took both of Chananel’s hands in his. “Chananel, my son, on Yom Kippur, we are like malachim. Even the simple people are close to Hashem. They don’t need bells to bring them in.”
He stood up and gestured at his clothing. “On Yom Kippur, before going into the Kodesh Hakodoshim, I wear special white clothing. There are no bells and no noise. I’ll do the entire Avodah in complete silence. In the holiest place in the world, the place closest to Hashem, there’s no place for the noise and distractions of this world.
“It’s just the opposite — there’s a thin, still sound: complete concentration. It’s only the Presence of Hashem that fills the entire world. Do you understand?”
Chananel nodded. His father kissed his forehead.
“Chananel, I’m going now to the Lishkas Parhedrin, to practice the Avodah with my brothers, the Kohanim. I’ll stay there for seven days.
“I’ll also go to Lishkas Beis Avtinas — the chamber of the family in charge of making the Ketores. They’ll teach me the Avodah related to the Ketores. Don’t worry — you’ll go to the Mikdash with Uncle Yaakov, and im yirtzeh Hashem, we’ll meet when Yom Kippur is over.”
Chananel followed his father out the door and stood by the fence surrounding their courtyard. The street near his home was filled with people. Why was it so crowded?
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