There are not many things out of place in the familiar ritual of counting off the kinds of sin we ask for forgiveness on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. One, unexpected almost disaster was when one of the Torahs dressed in white was brought out and instead of being successfully handed to a chosen recipient, it was almost dropped onto the person intended to hold it for that portion of the service.  “Almost” is a lot better than actually occurring and while I lowered my head so I wouldn’t see the disaster I was pleased to look up to see it hadn’t happened.

Checking off the sins that one needs to be rid of is one of the high points of the service where chests are thumped to show the reality that we are indeed vessels for sin and we have the obligation of going through a new year without this baggage. The haunting melodies of Kol Nidre played on a cello and sung by a choir while we stood facing the Ark, The white attired Torahs and white gowned Rabbis and Cantor addressed the “People of the Book” with our copies of that “Book”.  The service is not that long, although it follows our last meal until sundown the next day.  For some of us it is a struggle to sit and then rise to sit again throughout the ritual filled service.

At one point I held my prayer book (special High Holy Day Siddur) on my lap and was looking at the massed Torahs on the Bimah when a man sitting to my right reached over and pointed to an unexpected visitor I had on my open book.  There was a slowly creeping “worm” or caterpillar that had dropped down from the high ceiling of the Temple and suddenly was there.  I was bemused to see it and wondered briefly if my shower and shampoo had failed and I had not rid myself of the sins of just the day before I went out to join all those others who filled the Temple on Yom Kippur evening. The man held out a tissue and I accepted it and tried to gather the creature in the paper and finally managed to enfold it and held it there.  Despite urging from others to crush it I decided to hold it in its paper prison until the end of the service and take it outside and release it.

So the service went on and I was again nudged to see that the “worm” had escaped its prison and relentlessly returned to continue to explore the page I was on.  This time I was at a loss as to how to handle the determined worm and when trying to pick it up in the tissue I inadvertently flicked it off the page onto the floor.  The man who pointed it out to me reached for the tissue, bent down and picked it up.  He then took the paper and the worm and eased out of the pew and walked back out the door to the outside.  I asked by finger walking if he let it go and he nodded yes. Mr. Worm had no idea about thoughts of sin and redemption filling the hall in which he had entered via my prayer book. Why and where he came from in our Sanctuary, I have no idea - but he was much better off outside.