On Yom Kippur we confess a long list of sins. It would be surprising for any person to have managed to commit all of the sins on that list in a single year, and few commit them all in a single lifetime, so why do we confess them all each year? Some might say that the list is to cover all of the sins of the community and that we do not have to confess these things with the kavvanah (intention) that we ourselves have done these things. However, I would argue that a confession that one recites with the kavvanah of "I didn't really do this," is no confession at all.

One approach to this prayer is to confess each sin with deep kavvanah as one who committed that act, while allowing your mind to search for how this might be true metaphorically if not literally.

Another way to approach the confession is with the kavvana that you are responsible not only for your own actions, but for the sins of others that you did not appropriately address. Perhaps you covered for others, looked the other way when they caused harm.

Maybe you didn't do it because the person was family. Maybe you looked away because it was scary to speak up. You feared social or other repercussions of standing up against a powerful or popular person. That's understandable, and perhaps on another day we might say, "You did your best,"

but on this one day a year we do not say that. Instead we say, "How could I have done better?" Perhaps in that instance you could not stand up against the powerful, but next time maybe you can.

There is yet another way to confess these sins, and that is to consider the ways in which you have contributed to the environment in which people felt the need to do these sins.

Hurt people hurt people, or as Hosea puts it, "Crime follows upon crime." How have your choices cursed others? How have your your actions been dishonest? Did you make money at the expense of the impoverishment of another? Did you you shrug at bureaucratic injustices that led to injury or death?

On every other day we might say, "Hey, I know, you are just one person and you can't turn the whole ship on your own." Or, "Remember, this isn't a marathon, it's a relay race!" And those things are both true. But today we come together as a community and each of our confessions are united. Today we are not single grains of sand shaking our fists at the tide. Today our voices are united as a mighty stone cliff holding the sea back from the land. As you hear the voices of the people confessing around you, think about how your personal acts of chesed combined with those of all the people around you could make this whole community better, healthier, happier, and more just.

We are responsible for one another, and this confession is an opportunity for us all. It's an opportunity to seek inside our own hearts to find the places where we must be transformed so that we can transform the world around us.

Tomorrow you will not need to beat your chest about this guilt. That's the work for today. But tomorrow you will remember that you have made teshuva and turned your face in a new direction. Tomorrow you will walk on that path.

This, my friends, is not some massive list of commandments encoded in books that only scholars have time to study. This is the true meaning of halacha: This is the Way in which you Walk. As a Jew. As a human in community. Not perfect, but with a map that you've written on your heart in prayerful recitation and deep intention, each confession a little note to yourself to help with navigation.