Innies & outies: Yom Kippur Morning 5786

In the Emmy Award-winning Apple TV show "Severance," employees at the mysterious Lumon Industries undergo a procedure that splits their consciousness. 

Their work self, 

called an "innie"

knows nothing about their personal life,

and their personal self, 

the "outie,"

knows nothing about their work self. 

They exist as two completely separate entities sharing one body, 

each living in total isolation from the other, operating in separate realms.

The show explores what happens when one's inner world and one’s outer world are completely severed from each other. 

The innie feels and experiences things at work, but has no way to communicate those experiences to the outside world. 

The outie makes decisions and lives a life that the innie can never access or understand. 

Neither can live authentically because they're cut off from half of who they are.

It's science fiction, but it captures a spiritual truth about how we often live.

Split, 

fragmented, 

severed,

with our inner convictions and outer actions existing in isolation. 

But it doesn't have to be that way. 

Rather, our tradition teaches us that we ought to integrate our inner convictions, 

the values that exist in our hearts, 

with our outer actions, 

the words that come out of our mouths.

We read in our Torah this morning of Moses, 

on the day of his death, 

standing before the Israelites. 

He looks at them, 

this motley, imperfect crew, 

and what does he choose to say? 

He tells them that this Torah, 

this instruction, 

this way of living that God desires, 

is not some impossible standard set beyond their reach.

He says: "It is not in the heavens, nor is it beyond the sea."

But rather,

Moses specifies that this thing,

this Torah,

the way we are supposed to live, is קָר֥וֹב אֵלֶ֛יךָ

He says, 'It is close to you.'

He continues explaining: הַדָּבָ֖ר מְאֹ֑ד בְּפִ֥יךָ וּבִֽלְבָבְךָ֖ לַעֲשֹׂתֽוֹ

He says that this dvar, this thing, this Torah,

is truly in both your mouth and in your heart so that you may do it.

According to the 12th-century French commentator R. Yosef Bekhor Shor, this verse tells us that both the mouth and the heart are specified because each alone is insufficient for authentic living. 

In other words, Moses specifies that Torah must exist in both our mouths and our hearts: our inner realm and our outer realm. We need the integration of both. Simply, existing in one realm or another is not enough.

The Bekhor Shor explains what happens when we live in only one realm. 

When something is בְּפֶה וְלֹא בַלֵּב, "in the mouth but not in the heart", he says it becomes meaningless. 

This means that words we say or actions we do out in the world, which do not stem from convictions internalized in our hearts, are mere empty, hollow performances. 

We live in an age where we see this everywhere, 

especially in our social media culture. 

We can instantly reshare infographics and information about causes we don't actually know or care about.

On social media, the right hashtag can signal virtue without requiring any genuine commitment.

And yet when something is בַלֵּב וְלֹא בַפֶּה, 

"in the heart but not in the mouth”, 

it remains merely an internal thought that we hold,

A thought that never comes to any outward expression or action.

How many of us carry deep gratitude we never express? 

How many of us claim to value justice or compassion, but that value never translates into concrete action?

How many feel called to speak truth in difficult moments but remain silent? 

Our hearts may be in the right place, but if our inner feelings never find expression in the outside world, they remain what Bekhor Shor called "not worth so much."

On Yom Kippur, we engage in the work of Cheshbon HaNefesh, the accounting of our souls. 

This work sets us on the path of reintegration. 

We take stock of our lives and see where we have become severed, misaligned, fragmented, and broken. 

We must look honestly at the places where our hearts and mouths have become disconnected, and where we have strayed from living authentically and with integrity.

But in order to embark on this process of reintegration, and discern how we want to act, we first need to examine our hearts. 

This inner work involves getting curious about all our internal parts, including those that seem to contradict one another. 

This idea is rooted in a model from the field of psychotherapy known as Internal Family Systems Theory, also referred to as "parts work" or "parts" theory. 

The idea is that we each contain an entire ecosystem of different parts within us. 

Sometimes these parts work in harmony, 

and sometimes, they pull us in opposite directions. 

Our job then is to reflect on and examine these parts, questioning them and analyzing them. 

We do this by first finding and naming parts of ourselves. 

For example, one part of us might be the universal part. 

This part is concerned with universal human dignity. It believes that all people are created B'tzelem Elohim, in the divine image. 

This part cares about all suffering, and advocating for justice here in the United States, in Israel, in Gaza, and around the world.

And it might, for example, coexist alongside our particularly Jewish part. 

Our particular part knows that we as Jews have a specific history and responsibilities to our own community. 

This part remembers that we have been targeted for who we are, it remembers October 7th, and that we have obligations to ensure Jewish safety, security, and survival here in the United States, in Israel, and around the world.

We hold each of these tenderly 

and then,

for each part, 

we turn our attention to it, 

asking ourselves, 

What does this feel like in our bodies? 

When we think about attacks on Jews, in the US, Israel, and around the world, does our throat tighten up? 

Does our chest feel heavy when we witness the suffering of others? 

Then we consider how we feel about that part of ourselves. 

Do we feel sorry for it? Do we want it to disappear? 

Then we ask 

What is this part trying to tell us or get us to notice in this moment? What does this part actually want for us? 

For example, does my particular Jewish part want me to feel and be safe? 

Does my universal part want me to be angry? 

And then we ask 

what is this part trying to get us to actually do? 

The answers will be different for each of us because we all have different parts. 

But at some point, we must decide what action feels right and what is in our best interest. 

Through this reflective and therapeutic process, we can become more in control of our actions, leaning into certain parts when necessary and quieting others. 

We can decide which parts of our heart will serve us best at different times, 

And we can determine which inner parts we ought to bring into that outward realm of action and when to bring them. 

One of my favorite Hasidic stories illustrates this beautifully:

It is said that Reb Simcha Bunem carried two slips of paper with him, one in each pocket. 

On one, he wrote: "Bishvili nivra ha-olam" "For my sake the world was created." 

On the other he wrote: "V'anokhi afar v'efer" "I am but dust and ashes." 

He would take out each slip of paper as necessary. 

He would embrace confidence, 

reading "For my sake the world was created" when insecurity and excessive humility threatened to paralyze him. 

And he would read "I am but dust and ashes," 

and embrace humility when arrogance taunted him.

He recognized that both of those contradictory parts existed within him, and rather than choosing one over the other, he used each to inform and balance his actions. 

The internal contradictions that existed in the realm of his heart didn't paralyze him. 

They became a tool he used to do the work of reintegration, bringing his inner values into appropriate and authentic action. 

He used these parts of himself to balance himself, make himself whole, and help him navigate the world. 

This is why I have those two quotes, "For my sake the world was created," and "I am but dust and ashes," inscribed on the back of my tallit. 

However, on my tallit, they exist not in two separate pockets but in one singular sentence. 

These words rest gently on my shoulders, reminding me when I lead or pray, that I am human, complex, and that inside me exist all these parts. 

I am reminded that it is my sacred task to reflect on the values that my tradition has instilled in me and figure out how to live them,

even when they sit in holy complexity and contradiction.

As Jews, 

we are taught to pursue justice, 

that all jews are responsible for one another, 

to love our neighbors as ourselves, 

to care for the stranger because we were once strangers in Egypt, 

to honor our families, 

to pray, 

to speak kindly, 

to study Torah, 

to practice gratitude, 

to pursue peace 

and so much more. 

And this is our charge. 

We are to take to heart these instructions, and then we are to act on them. 

We are to recite them when we are at home and when we are away, 

when we lie down and when we rise up. 

We are to bring them from the innie world to the outie world, 

binding them as a sign upon our hands and letting them serve as a symbol between our eyes. 

We are to inscribe them on the doorpost of our house and on our gates. 

We are called to do teshuvah,

to return, 

בְּכָל֯־לְ֯בָבְ֒ךָ וּבְכָל־נַפְשְׁ֒ךָ, 

with all our heart and with all our soul 

to a place where we are not living as fragmented parts, 

but instead living as unified wholes who aspire to holiness and walking in the ways of God.

And so on this Yom Kippur, 

as we stand before the Holy One, just as the Israelites stood before Moses, 

we are called to examine not just our actions, but the alignment between our deepest convictions and our lived reality.

The work of teshuvah is not just about returning to God, 

it's about returning to ourselves, 

to wholeness, 

to complexity, 

to the integration of heart and mouth that makes us fully human and fully alive.

May this be the year that we stop living as fragmented beings, virtue signaling without conviction, or carrying conviction without the courage to act. 

May this be the year we learn to hold our internal contradictions with grace. 

May this be the year that we understand that Torah is indeed close to us and 

May it exist in both our hearts and our mouths, aligned in truth and ready to be lived.