A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

Every year on Yom Kippur, we list our mistakes and deficiencies and determine to be better. But we know that however hard we pray, and even if we intend to do better, we are unlikely to change very much at all.

The religious bigot is going to stay a bigot. The Chasid will not turn into a Litvak. The hardliner will not become soft, nor will the man who always says “no” change his tune. The crook will not willingly hand back his ill-gotten gains. The political in-fighting and hatred will not cease. The day after Yom Kippur, almost all of the instruments will continue to play the same tune.

Sometimes I wonder if the answer might lie in the old antisemitic joke, “What is the difference between a Christian and a Jew approaching the Pearly Gates of Heaven when they die? The Christian expects to be found guilty and sentenced to suffer for an eternity in the hell fires of perdition. The Jew, on the other hand, expects to be let off, with costs.”

It’s the “with costs,” of course, that is antisemitic. But the attitude with which the pious Jew (and the not so pious) approaches his or her Maker is indeed one of confidence. We do, rather confidently, expect God to forgive us. That’s our excuse and, in my view, it is a much healthier response than guilt and depression.

And that is why we can remain confident and hopeful. People can and do turn over another leaf, even if most do not. Despite my cynicism, many of us do change, some more and some less. But what gets us to change is usually some crisis, like the present one where it seems we are back in the times of the Blood Libel. Or the loss of someone we love, surviving an accident, or any other major upheaval in our life.

All the time there are forces beyond our control influencing our lives. We never know what might happen tomorrow. This is why so many are superstitious. It is their only way of pretending they can protect themselves from the unknown.

If something has gone wrong, in our lives or the world, it is action that is required, not sentiment.

What, then, is the purpose of Yom Kippur? The God of the Bible asks us to follow the commands (which will, hopefully, keep us on the straight and narrow). We read last week about our obligation to return to God. The word we translate as repentance, Teshuva, literally means to come back. And then God comes back to us.

Familiarity dulls the impact, and routine loses excitement. Which is why having a special day, 25 hours, has its own impact. Atmosphere and awesomeness. We do like to imagine that we are being judged by a heavenly court. Our intentions are good but our determination flags.

Yom Kippur reminds us of value, trying to live a more meaningful life. Outward observance does not guarantee being a good person, but observance provides a handy template if one choose to try it. Much of our characters and natures are influenced by family, friends, education, and circumstance. Change is indeed difficult and that is why our tradition keeps on hammering away at it but stops short of pushing guilt, which is of no use to anyone. We have failed too often. So we must try to do better next year. Get back on track.

Yom Kippur is an opportunity to assess and reassess our lives. A day of different experiences. A realization of how vulnerable we are and fragile. That we might be gone at any minute. Having a whole day to think about it surely can’t do any harm, even it is all too fleeting.

May you all have a much better year!

The author is a writer and rabbi, currently based in New York.