Na’aseh V’nishma

This is the sermon I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on Kol Nidre, 2025.

There’s a story told about a rabbi who once traveled from village to village, sharing words of Torah. In one small town, he asked the people why they came to synagogue.

“To pray,” they answered.
“To listen to the cantor,” said another.
“To learn Torah,” said a third.

The rabbi shook his head. “No. You come to synagogue to learn how to listen. To listen to the sound of your own soul. To listen to the pain of your neighbor. To listen for the still small voice of God.”

The people protested: “But surely action matters more than listening?”

The rabbi replied, “True. But if you do not first learn to listen, how will you know what action is required?”

This folktale gets to the heart of why we’re here. Kol Nidre begins our most solemn day not with action, but with listening. Listening to haunting melodies. Listening to words that dissolve the weight of rash vows. Listening for God’s presence. But there’s a second part; the liturgy also insists that we do something with what we hear. Kol Nidre reminds us: teshuvah is both hearing and doing, reflection and action, silence and resolve.

This year our congregational theme is taken from Exodus 24. After Moses recounts God’s words, the people respond with one voice: Kol asher diber Adonai na’aseh — “All that God has spoken we will do.”

Moses writes the words, builds an altar, and offers sacrifices. Then he reads from the Book of the Covenant, and the people answer again: Kol asher diber Adonai na’aseh v’nishma — “All that God has spoken we will do and we will listen.”

That phrase — na’aseh v’nishma — has puzzled commentators for centuries. “We will do and listen.” Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Don’t you listen first, and then do?

But our ancestors flipped the order. They placed action before understanding, but they knew both were critical. They trusted that doing would lead them toward hearing more deeply. At Sinai, Israel pledged not only obedience but relationship: to step into covenant first and allow insight to follow.

The medieval text Sefer HaChinuch explains why this matters: “A person is influenced by their actions, and the heart and thoughts follow the acts, whether good or bad… Even if one begins by acting without pure intent, the actions themselves will draw the heart toward the good. For after the actions, the heart is pulled.”

It’s a radical claim, in a way. We often assume that the heart guides the deed — that belief shapes behavior. But Sefer HaChinuch insists the opposite: behavior shapes belief.

We might not feel ready for mitzvot. We might not feel like forgiving or apologizing or showing up for someone else. But if we act, or at the very least try to act, our hearts will follow. Did you think “fake it till you make it” was a modern cliché? It’s Torah! And it’s psychology. It’s the way human beings are wired.

And believe it or not, Yom Kippur is about “fake it till you make it.” We don’t wait until we feel holy in order to live as though we are holy. We practice holiness through action. We fast, we pray, we confess, we bow, we abstain, and in the doing, the listening opens. The heart softens.

Kol Nidre itself expresses this dynamic. It’s listening through doing. We recall the vows we spoke, the promises we failed to keep, the words that still bind us.

But how do we actually experience Kol Nidre, this legal declaration of annulment? With the physical. We hear the music. We feel the tears. We stand together and sit together and knock on our hearts together. You likely knew the tunes we hear tonight before you knew the words.

The heart is challenged and changed first by what we do, then by what we allow ourselves to hear. Kol Nidre is a covenant of listening through doing and sometimes vice versa. Throughout Yom Kippur, our prayers swing between these poles of action and listening, and they go both directions.

In Al Chet, we strike our chests. Action. Yet we also listen to the litany of sins — some personal, some communal. Listening.
In the Avodah service, we recall the high priest performing elaborate rituals in the Temple. Action. Today, we replace those deeds with words — we listen to the story, and we imagine ourselves entering the Holy of Holies.
In Unetaneh Tokef, we listen to terrifying imagery: “Who shall live, and who shall die.” But we are not left paralyzed. We are called to act: u’teshuvah, u’tefillah, u’tzedakah ma’avirin et roa hagezeirah — “repentance, prayer, and righteous giving temper the severity of the decree.” In this case, listening compels doing.

Jewish liturgy refuses to let us stay in one mode. It demands a certain rhythm: doing and hearing, embodying and reflecting, enacting and listening.

What is so special about that balance this year? Our world is dangerously tilted.

We live in a culture drowning in words. Tweets, posts, headlines, slogans. Promises made and broken before the ink dries. Kol Nidre resonates because it reminds us that hollow words are not enough.

At the same time, we live in a culture addicted to action — instant responses, immediate judgments, performative outrage. Do something, anything, now. And often without listening first. Kol Nidre resonates because it reminds us that empty actions are not enough.

Yom Kippur interrupts these cycles. It tells us words matter, actions matter, and the covenant requires both: na’aseh v’nishma. Act and listen. Do and understand.

Think again of Exodus 24. The people did not simply say na’aseh v’nishma once. They first said na’aseh — “we will do.” Moses wrote the words, built an altar, offered sacrifices. Only then, after hearing the Book of the Covenant read aloud, did they add nishma — “we will listen.”

The order is important. They acted first. They listened second. And in doing so, they discovered the secret of Jewish life: that deeds lead to understanding, that covenant is not about waiting until we feel ready but about stepping forward together, trusting that meaning will follow.

Sefer HaChinuch puts it simply: acharei hape’ulot nimshachim halevavot — after the actions, the hearts are drawn.

The rabbi in the folktale told his people: “You come to synagogue to learn how to listen.” On Kol Nidre, that becomes our truth.

We listen to the pain we have caused and the pain we carry.
We listen to the weight of broken promises and the yearning for repair.
We listen for God’s forgiving presence, whispered between the notes.

So tonight, as we enter these sacred hours together, I offer this charge:

Practice na’aseh v’nishma v’na’aseh. This covenant is more than a “first this, then this.” It’s a cycle in which we embrace action in order to learn through listening, and then practice what we’ve learned.

When you rise for the Amidah, yes, do the reciting of it, but also listen for the one phrase that catches your soul, and then act on it.

When you beat your chest during Al Chet, yes do the motions of it, but also listen for the sin that is yours, then commit to one step of change.

When you sit in silence tomorrow afternoon, don’t rush to fill it; listen for what arises within you, then carry it into the year ahead.

We don’t have to feel ready for teshuvah in order to begin it. We just have to act. And if we act, our hearts will follow.

May this Yom Kippur be for us a day of deeds that draw our hearts closer.
A day of listening that moves us into covenant.
A day when we stand together, with one voice, and say again:
Na’aseh v’nishma.
We will do, and we will listen.

And in doing and listening, may we be sealed for a year of forgiveness, of courage, of compassion, and of return.