The Mystery and Power of Kol Nidrei

On the eve of Yom Kippur, as darkness settles and the congregation gathers, the haunting melody of Kol Nidrei fills the synagogue. Few prayers in our tradition carry such emotional weight. And yet, when we look at its actual content, it seems puzzling: a legal formula for the annulment of vows. Why should this be the emotional centerpiece of Yom Kippur, the holiest night of the year? Rabbi Paul Bloom offers an impactful explanation.

If the formula we sing on Kol Nidrei seems strange, even stranger is the ritual that accompanies it. We open the Aron HaKodesh, remove the Torah scrolls, walk around with them—and then return them without reading a single word. Nowhere else in the year do we take out the Torah without fulfilling the mitzvah of Keriyat HaTorah. Clearly, something deeper is happening here.

Re-enacting the Forgiveness of Sinai

Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his sefer אוזניים לתורה, offers a profound perspective. He reminds us that Yom Kippur is the anniversary of the day Moshe Rabbeinu descended from Mount Sinai with the second set of Luchot, carrying with them Hashem’s forgiveness for the sin of the Golden Calf.

The Torah describes this as follows (שמות ל״ד:כ״ט):

וַיְהִי בְּרֶדֶת מֹשֶׁה מֵהַר סִינַי וּשְׁנֵי לֻחֹת הָעֵדֻת בְּיַד מֹשֶׁה בְּרִדְתּוֹ מִן־הָהָר וּמֹשֶׁה לֹא־יָדַע כִּי קָרַן עוֹר פָּנָיו בְּדַבְּרוֹ אִתּו  

Moshe’s face shone with a radiant light so intense that the people could not look at him directly:  וַיִּירְאוּ מִגֶּשֶׁת אֵלָיו  (שמות ל״ד:ל). This is the meaning of the verse in Tehillim  (תהילים צ״ז:י״א): אוֹר זָרוּעַ לַצַּדִּיק וּלְיִשְׁרֵי־לֵב שִׂמְחָה.

When we open the Aron HaKodesh on Kol Nidrei night, we symbolically open the Sha’arei Shamayim, the gates of Heaven. When we remove the Torah and walk with it, we reenact Moshe descending from Sinai with the Luchot, shining with Divine light. The procession with the Torah is not a formality—it is a renewal of our covenant, a reenactment of the moment when Hashem forgave our nation and gave us His Torah anew.

Kol Nidrei and the Power of Annulment

But why, at this moment, do we annul vows? Here Rav Sorotzkin points to a remarkable Midrash on parashat Ki Tisa. When Hashem threatened to destroy Israel for the sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe pleaded (שמות ל״ב:י״א): לָמָה יְהוָה יֶחֱרֶה אַפְּךָ בְּעַמֶּך. 

The Midrash (שמות רבה מ״ג) explains that Hashem responded: “But I already swore that idolaters will be destroyed”—a reference to the verse (שמות כ״ב:י״ט):  זֹבֵחַ לָאֱלֹהִים יָחֳרָם בִּלְתִּי לַיהוָה לְבַדּוֹ.  Moshe replied that Hashem Himself had given the Torah’s laws of הַתָּרַת נְדָרִים. If a vow can be annulled by a sage, then surely Hashem’s oath can be released as well. 

The Midrash uses the verse from the laws of vows (במדבר ל׳:ג): לֹא יַחֵל דְּבָרוֹ כְּכָל־הַיֹּצֵא מִפִּיו יַעֲשֶׂה. The word יַחֵל is understood by Chazal not only as “he shall not profane his word,” but also as “he shall release” (יַתִּיר) his word. Thus, Moshe declared: “I will serve as the חכם who annuls Your vow.” And in that moment, Hashem forgave Israel.

The Heart of Yom Kippur

Kol Nidrei, then, is not about the dry legalities of vows. It is about memory, covenant, and forgiveness. It is about reopening the gates of Sinai, carrying the Torah anew into our lives, and recognizing that even when we fall, Hashem has given us a path back.

Each Yom Kippur, as we hear the trembling notes of Kol Nidrei, we relive Moshe’s role as מליץ יושר—the great defender of Israel. We feel anew the light of Torah descending into the world. And we remind ourselves that the gates of forgiveness, like the Aron HaKodesh itself, are never truly closed.

May this Kol Nidrei open for us a year of אוֹר, of blessing, of גאולה, and of שפע טוב.

Stiffening one's resolve

This week's erev Shabbat post on Pirkei Avot returns to Perek 3.

At Avot 3:17 Rabbi Akiva, having cautioned about the slippery slope leading from jest and frivolity down to sexual impropriety, promotes the efficacy of four “fences” in protecting higher values. He says:

מַסֹּֽרֶת סְיָג לַתּוֹרָה, מַעְשְׂרוֹת סְיָג לָעֹֽשֶׁר, נְדָרִים סְיָג לַפְּרִישׁוּת, סְיָג לַחָכְמָה שְׁתִיקָה

Tradition is a fence to Torah, tithing is a fence to wealth, vows are a fence for abstinence; a fence for wisdom is silence.

To the practising Jew of today’s world, the importance and practical utility of Torah, wealth and wisdom need neither explanation or justification. But what do we make of vows and abstinence? These are not part of our daily vocabulary. We no longer make the sort of vows that feature in the Torah, and abstinence is an unfashionable concept in any open society where self-indulgence, and indeed overindulgence, have become the norm. But if a teaching from Avot does not offer us an immediately relevant meaning, we do not jettison it or consign it to the museum of religious curiosities. We must look more closely at it and understand it more fully.

All of us make resolutions from time to time. These are not formal vows or oaths made in God’s name, and they usually relate to things that are either unregulated by the Torah or which are so prevalent that it is hard to avoid them. Typical examples might be resolving to limit one’s intake of alcohol at meals or parties, not to eat a second piece of cake at the shul’s kiddush, to get to bed by midnight or to try to avoid speaking about one’s friends behind their backs. If we mean these resolutions and take them seriously, we feel annoyed with ourselves if we break them—but it doesn’t cost us anything if we do and we do not incur any liability for which we would be obliged to offer a Temple sacrifice, a major deterrent to breaking one’s vows.

R' Yisroel Miller cites an idea expressed by R’ Yehoshua Heller in his Divrei Yehoshua that offers a simple way to apply our mishnah in the context of our own lives. He writes:

“Rather than vowing to keep to your resolution, vow that each time you break it you will give a certain amount of money to tzedakah (enough to hurt, but not enough to bankrupt you). A modified version of this is not to make an actual vow but merely a commitment to give the money each time you break your resolution. This sensitizes us and heightens our awareness of our actions, reinforcing our resolve”.

This creates a sort of win-win situation. If we keep our resolutions, we have money in our pockets and the satisfaction of demonstrating that we are strong because our self-discipline is in working order (see Avot 4:1). But if we fail, we are credited with the mitzvah of tzedakah and one or more charitable causes will be fortunate to benefit from it.