Fasting on Yom Kippur is more than just skipping meals. It’s not some trendy intermittent fast or a token act of self-denial. It’s a deep, spiritual confrontation with the very core of who we are, what we believe, and the sins we've committed. If you think it’s just about food, you’ve missed the point entirely. Yom Kippur isn't designed to make us feel hungry; it’s designed to make us feel uncomfortable—uncomfortable with our actions, our complacency, and, above all, our need for atonement.
The fast isn't an easy ticket to forgiveness. Some people think, “I’ll fast, feel the hunger, and boom—sins erased, all good for the year ahead.” Sorry, it doesn’t work like that. The fast is a vehicle, not the destination. It’s about spiritual recalibration and a confrontation with the Almighty.
Fasting as Self-Denial
On Yom Kippur, we stop eating, we stop drinking, we refrain from earthly pleasures like bathing or wearing leather shoes. Why? Because we’re supposed to strip ourselves down to the basics—just our souls, standing before God, acknowledging our frailty and our dependence on Him. It's a moment where we have to ask: What’s important? What’s real? The Torah says in Leviticus 23:27, “It shall be a sacred assembly for you; you shall afflict your souls.” The “affliction” isn’t punishment. It's an acknowledgment of our humanness and our need to repent.
Yom Kippur isn't about making you feel like garbage either. It’s about shaking you out of your routine. We’re addicted to comfort, aren’t we? We snack when we’re bored, we sip coffee because it’s 3 p.m., we’re obsessed with our own physical satisfaction. The fast reminds us that our physical cravings often blind us to the real hunger—the hunger of the soul.
What You’re Really Confronting
It’s not just food you’re fasting from; you’re fasting from your ego. You’re fasting from your excuses. Yom Kippur asks you to face the worst parts of yourself and reflect: the half-truths you’ve told, the jealousy you might harbor, the times you chose selfishness over generosity. Fasting puts you in a state of discomfort so that you can't hide behind distractions. There's no food to occupy your time, no drink to dull the headache of truth staring you in the face.
Remember Jonah? The prophet tried to run away from God’s command to go to Nineveh and tell them to repent. He boarded a ship, thought he could escape his divine mission. We all know how that turned out—swallowed by a fish, stuck in the belly of darkness until he came to terms with himself. Yom Kippur is our belly-of-the-fish moment. You can’t escape your sins; you can’t run away from God. The fast forces you to sit and have a moment to think deeply about your life - and to be honest, with how busy we are during the whole year - it's a golden opportunity to disconnect and focus on God.
The True Atonement
And yet, the fast is just the beginning. Fasting without repentance is like washing the outside of a cup while the inside is filled with filth. Yom Kippur, at its core, is about 'teshuva'—repentance. It's about turning back to God, humbling yourself, and admitting that you’ve gone astray. Think about the prayer we recite over and over on this day: “Al chet shechatanu”—for the sin we have committed. We confess our sins not to be stuck in guilt, but to let it lead to a change of heart.
The Talmud teaches that Yom Kippur atones only for sins between man and God. If you wronged your neighbor, fasting won’t fix that. If you lied, cheated, or stole from someone else, Yom Kippur can't wipe that away. You’ve got to make it right with that person first. The fast is personal, but it’s not private. It's between you and God, yes, but it also demands that you fix what’s broken between you and your fellow man.
The True Meaning of Affliction
When the Bible commands us to "afflict our souls" on Yom Kippur (Leviticus 23:27), it's not just talking about hunger. The concept of affliction goes much deeper. Throughout Scripture, affliction is a powerful tool for repentance, self-reflection, and returning to God. It’s not about punishing the body; it’s about shaking the spirit awake. Fasting is the most obvious form of affliction because it directly challenges our most basic human need. But the point of fasting is to strip away the comforts and distractions that normally keep us from truly facing ourselves.
This idea isn’t exclusive to Judaism—it resonates strongly within Christianity as well. In the New Testament, Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights in the wilderness, a powerful demonstration of self-denial and reliance on God’s strength (Matthew 4:1-11). Christians understand fasting as a way to humble oneself before God, to push aside earthly desires, and to focus fully on the spiritual battle within.
Yom Kippur is a full-body experience. You can't just say a prayer and go about your day. You need to feel the hunger pangs, the thirst, the absence of your usual comforts. Your body reminds you that you're human and that you're vulnerable. But it also reminds you that your soul is what matters most. The prophet Isaiah delivers a stunning rebuke to those who fast in a superficial way: “Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for people to humble themselves?… Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice… to set the oppressed free?" (Isaiah 58:5-6). The fast is meant to lead to action, to kindness, to justice. It's not just a ritual; it's a call to live better.
Fasting with Purpose
So, why fast on Yom Kippur? Because you need it. I need it. We all do. We need the fast to break our dependence on our physical selves and confront the sins we’ve accumulated throughout the year. But most importantly, we need the fast to remind us of our deep spiritual hunger—a hunger that food can never satisfy. This is our chance to stand before God, stripped of distractions, vulnerable, and real.
When Yom Kippur ends, when the fast is over, the question isn’t, "How long did I last without food?" The question is, "How much closer am I to God? How much better am I as a person?" That’s what fasting on Yom Kippur is really about. It's not about the empty stomach. It's about filling the soul.
At the end of the day, after you’ve endured the discomfort and faced yourself, there’s a moment of hope. The shofar blows, and we are reminded that God is merciful. His arms are open, waiting for us to return. Because in His infinite kindness, He doesn’t want to leave us in the darkness. The fast is over, and we emerge, cleansed, forgiven, and free.
This isn’t about food. This is about your soul.
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