Last month at the end of my study leave, my wife Andrea and I headed in direction and in time to the Old Wild West. I came to Minnesota 26 years ago but regrettably had never visited the Black Hills of South Dakota. Andrea had already been there when she was a young girl, but I convinced her to go back with me by explaining that in the years since she was a child they had added a couple more presidents to Mt. Rushmore.

Our trip turned out to be a Patriotic Pilgrimage. We Jews are used to making pilgrimages. In ancient days our ancestors went to Jerusalem on the festivals of Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot. We still go to Israel on pilgrimages today. And many American Jews have also made a journey to Eastern Europe and Germany to make a different kind of pilgrimage to a place of horror, the Holocaust, which also shaped who we are as Jews. But should we not also consider the possibility of American pilgrimages right here in the United States. That is exactly what our trip to the Black Hills turned out to be.

I have been on other so-called Patriotic Pilgrimages to Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Washington, DC, and discovered that they also had Jewish associations and meaning that enriched the trips even more.

But what could be Jewish about the Black Hills? You would be surprised as I was to learn that many Jews were involved in the Wild West. In fact, the first elected mayor of Deadwood, South Dakota, was a Jew named Sol Star. There may not have been a lot of Jews among the prospectors and miners, but if you wanted to buy a pair of shoes, chances are you had to buy them from one of our landsmen. Jews were the purveyors of dry goods, tools and equipment, providing others with what they needed to survive.

I try to see the world through Jewish eyes and what I witnessed and learned in the Black Hills is no exception. Besides the fact that the name of the Deadwood cemetery, Mt. Moriah, is what we call the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, there is quite an impressive Jewish section in that famous graveyard, more popularly known as Boot Hill. Not far from Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane you can find the graves of the Franklins, Baers, Goldbergs, Jacobs, Colmans, Wertheimers and Schwarzwalds, among others along Jerusalem Street and King David Row. In the museum and even on a street corner there are historical displays explaining the significant role that American Jews played in the development of the Black Hills in the Gold Rush era.

However, beyond this significant Jewish physical presence, there was for me a deeper philosophical Jewish spiritual connection as well. The most Jewish part of the journey was what I realized about the people who came to that part of the Wild West. The most essential part of human nature led them there, and I believe it is that same human essence that brings us here each year on these Days of Awe. Our Yom Kippur may not be one of the three Jewish pilgrimage festivals, but it certainly is a pilgrimage of the soul.

It is clear to me that this is a basic part of human nature. In March of 1876 there was practically nothing of the white man in the Black Hills. Three months later in June, there were 10,000 people in Deadwood. On Shabbat we have nice but modest crowds at our Shabbat services. On Yom Kippur we open the walls to accommodate the myriads that are drawn by the power of this day.  

People who were in some ways like us came to the Black Hills with their shtick, their sometimes annoying and irritating, even repulsive human behavior that made each of them unique. Every human has their flaws and defects, not just Jews. They brought their strengths and weaknesses. Most were seeking a fresh start, a new beginning. They wanted to clear the slate. Many came with their reputations and many came to erase them and create a new reputation. Many people come to Deadwood with regrets, thinking, “If only I did this or did not do that. Here is another chance. Nobody knows me here. I can start fresh.”

Some kids choose a college where nobody else from their high school is going.  They decide that they don’t have to be the person they were in High School. Some think they can even begin to be a student! Some humans discover that some things they can change, but others come with them. Our reputation may change but our character is something else.

The Black Hills was not officially part of the United States and belonged to the Sioux, the land and the gold. Although the United States tried to purchase the Black Hills from the Native Americans, agreement was never reached. A treaty had been signed by the United States with the Sioux that forbid any white man from trespassing. But in spite of it many went to find their fortunes, to strike it rich.

Many were merely doing what they felt they had to do to survive. People do what they need to do to survive and to provide for their loved ones. That is human nature. Sometimes, more often than we care to admit, it is done at the expense of others. This is one form of sin, as we Jews understand it. Usually not intentional but committed in the process of pursuing other things, not giving the proper consideration of the consequences of our actions, or in some cases having to overlook it in order to get what we need. This admission is what each of us should bring on our spiritual pilgrimage during these Days of Awe. To deny that we commit these human errors is to take the same detour that many took in going to the Black Hills.

Some people were so out of luck they went to the Black Hills to die. Odds were that would happen there. Death was such a frequent part of life in the Black Hills. Wild Bill Hickok is a perfect example.  Here was a man who had made his reputation as a great gunslinger. Hickok was losing his vision and it was only a matter of time before he would meet his fate. He chose to go to the Black Hills and knew that he would soon die. In fact, in his last letter to his wife, a kind of viddui, like the confessional we recite here, he intimated as much. His pilgrimage was one that brought him face to face with his mortality.

Deadwood, as its name indicates, was a place where death was pervasive. The name itself comes from the dead trees standing after the many fires that occur there as a matter of natural course. But more than that, human death was overwhelming there. Besides the plagues of disease from the filth and poor health conditions, shooting and killing often settled disputes. It was a lawless town in the middle of nowhere with nobody looking.

It took a while for people to discover that it cannot be every man for himself. That is not how civilization is maintained. Sometimes we get frustrated with the news and real life incidents, and think that only might makes right. Creating community and living within its boundaries is clearly the purpose of Yom Kippur and Jewish community. Community implies following certain laws and customs, giving up some of our own demands to live with others as we do in all successful relationships.

There is great power and wisdom in what we do here by reciting the al chet together. Not only are we acknowledging our own sins, but also taking responsibility for the sins of the community.  In the Black Hills, most people came concerned only for their own reputations, their own new fresh start.  What they discovered was their need for and desire for community. In the end they became civilized, creating a law-abiding community. Some came to understand that it was not about reputation, but character instead.

Like Wild Bill Hickok we face our mortality on Yom Kippur, knowing that we will die someday. Yom Kippur reminds us to get things right before that day approaches, because we truly do not know when it will come.

And that was the trigger, so to speak, that made me realize the similarities and differences between their pilgrimage then and ours on this the most holy day of our liturgical calendar.

Yom Kippur is, if nothing else, a rehearsal for death, a reminder that we are mortals and that finitude, as we age, becomes the most powerful pervasive aspect of our lives. On this day we have the status of corpses: no food or drink, no physical needs are addressed. This is a day of the spirit. We have limited time on this earth and many choices to make in that span. How we make those choices determines not our reputation but more importantly, our character. This is why we are fortunate that we do not have to go to Deadwood. We have Yom Kippur and Jewish tradition.

Jewish identity is not just about the Holocaust and Israel. We have a rich spiritual tradition that guides us through life. It helps us acknowledge that we are humans, not angels. We sin, and make mistakes, mostly not too damaging, but sometimes grievous. Our tradition assures us that there are ways to redeem ourselves, to create harmony with others, ourselves and with God. This is what the word atonement can mean: At-One-Ment.

Like those who went to the Black Hills, we too want to do something about our past, the errors we make, and the damage we have done. Let us consider the essence of the following excerpt from a prayerbook written by Rabbi Sherwin Wine: "The past is unchangeable. What happened yesterday is beyond our control. We can cry and shout. We can scream and complain. But the events of just a moment ago are as far from our reach as the farthest star. The fool never forgives the past. He devotes every present moment to worrying about it; scolding it, and wishing it were different. The wise person releases the past. He does not need to assault what cannot be altered. He simply accepts what he is not able to change. Since the future is open to human decision, he turns his energies forward and chooses to create rather than to regret...People of self-respect do not dwell on helplessness. They do not arrange to be impotent. Since the past is dead, they bury it and turn to the living."

I believe this is true, but I also think that how we bury that past determines who we are as humans. Many of the people who went to the Black Hills did so because there was no law there. They went there to escape who they were. For us, one of the most natural questions we ask someone when we meet them is “where are you from?”  To ask that in the Black Hills would be an invitation to be shot. That’s the last question many wanted to answer. On Yom Kippur we ask ourselves where have we come from this last year. We know that we must answer in order to know where we are heading.

Apparently many went to the Black Hills, a place of anonymity, a kind of sanctuary to escape who they were and avoid punishment for their crimes. We come to our sanctuary to seek forgiveness, not to deny or escape our sins but to face them.

Many people went to the Black Hills to erase the slate, to try to change who they were, to be someone else. This many found was impossible. A perfect example is Seth Bullock, a US Marshal. He left Montana to come with his friend Sol Star and go into business. He went to change who he was – from lawman to entrepreneur. But he found that he was a lawman deep inside and could not avoid being just that. And he excelled at it in this new environment. Eventually he became one of Teddy Roosevelt’s closest friends

Coming to Yom Kippur we cannot expect to change suddenly into something we are not. We can make changes in our behavior and through that accomplish gradual changes in our character.

Many people who went to the Black Hills, like many of us, were seeking the wrong things. They thought that gold would solve their problems. They thought that by running away, they could erase their past. They went to the Dead Wood.  We are fortunate to have as our guideline the opposite of Dead Wood. It is the etz chayim, the tree of life, the Torah. Our redemption is found by making Torah our destination

We come to Yom Kippur to live.  To live life more fully, with a greater understanding of the real riches not found in “the gold in them thar hills”, not outside of our reach, but right here within our grasp.  As the Torah reading tomorrow morning reminds us: It is not too hard for you, nor too remote. It is not in heaven…nor is it beyond the sea…it is very near to you, in your mouth, and in you heart, and you can do it.”

We come to understand through this process that it is not about finding gold or material things, but instead about the richness of human relationships. And the best way to create, develop, repair and preserve those relationships is through an honest confrontation with our soul, our neshamah, keeping it clear, and righting the wrongs: developing good moral habits and behavior. Through our Days of Awe we come to understand that our goal is not to get away from law but to embrace it.

Jews have been making pilgrimages ever since the days of the Bible. While the nature and destinations have changed over the centuries, we still have the need to make them, and we understand today that the spiritual journeys are as significant as the physical ones.

Exploring our history and identity as Jews is still nourished by journeys to Jerusalem and Eastern Europe, but the pilgrimage we make on the Days of Awe is the most difficult one of all. Though the physical geography we traverse to get there is as close as Minnetonka, the miles of exploration of our souls can be challenging.  But the rewards are beyond measure. The Days of Awe must be for us the frontier of the soul, which awaits our exploration and conquest. We do not need to escape our human nature. We cannot. We need to acknowledge it and seek some repair and forgiveness, and perhaps a little rachmanut, compassion from and for those around us.

The human souls who made their way to the Black Hills were motivated by the same human instincts we all have. But we must discover as many of them did, that the way to grow and fulfill our destiny is not to try to live on the reputation we bring with us or to try to find a magic way to change that reputation. We should concentrate instead on our character, which I believe is exactly what our liturgy and tradition have so artfully outlined for us.

Like these words from the pen of W. Hersey Davis say:

Reputation vs. Character 

The circumstances amid which you live determines your reputation,
The truth you believe determines your character. 

Reputation is what you are supposed to be,
Character is what you are. 

Reputation is the photograph,
Character is the face.

 Reputation comes over one from without,
Character grows up from within. 

Reputation is what you have when you come to a new community,
Character is what you have when you go away. 

Your reputation is learned in an hour.
Your character does not come to light for years or many summers. 

Reputation is made in a moment,
Character is built in a lifetime. 

Reputation grows like a mushroom,
Character grows like an oak. 

A single newspaper report gives you your reputation,
A life of toil gives you your character. 

Reputation makes you rich or makes you poor,
Character makes you happy or makes you sad. 

Reputation is what men say about you on your tombstone,
Character is what angels say about you before God.