Every year in Israel, life comes to a complete halt for one day. Shops close. Roads empty. Even the noise of ordinary existence falls silent. For twenty-four hours, an entire nation stops—not as individuals in isolation, but together. Whether religious Jew or secular, citizen or outsider, everyone is caught up in the same collective pause. This is because Yom Kippur (Yom=day, Kippur=Atonement) was never meant to be a private spiritual exercise. It has always been a national day of repentance—a communal reckoning, shared in stillness, restraint, and return.

To truly understand Yom Kippur—Israel’s national day of repentance and atonement—we must first grasp the biblical concept of repentance. That requires shedding the modern Western lens of hyper-individualism, which distorts the communal, covenantal, and restorative vision that permeates Scripture.

The ancient world—especially the Hebrew worldview of Scripture—was covenantal, communal, and collective. God did not call Moses out of Egypt; He called Israel. He did not redeem one family; He brought out an entire nation.

Likewise, repentance (teshuvah) was never a private or inward-only affair. Ancient Israel had no confession booths, no isolated rituals where individuals whispered sins in order to escape hell. Repentance was about a national return—people turning back to their original vocation, reorienting themselves toward God so they might be healed, restored, and blessed. It was a communal movement back into covenantal faithfulness, not an individual attempt to flee an imagined afterlife incinerator.

Biblical Repentance—Communal in Essence

In the Torah, sin defiled not just the sinner, but the whole camp. One person’s wrongdoing could impact the nation’s standing, while the representative repentance of one—the high priest—would ripple outward to bring blessing to the whole community. The priest did not enter the Holy of Holies just for himself or for a handful of pious saints, but for the nation as a whole. This is why the Day of Atonement—Yom Kippur—was not a private confession ritual, but a national day of repentance and purification; covering the sins of the entire nation of Israel.

In English, it can be difficult to know whether “you” refers to one person or several because the same word is used for both. In Hebrew, however, the verbs for repentance—teshuvah—consistently use the plural form (e.g., Ezekiel 18:30-31, Jeremiah 25:5, Joel 2:12-13, 2 Chronicles 7:14, Zechariah 1:3, Hosea 14:1-2). God wasn’t saying, “You, the individual, must change your private beliefs.” He was saying, “Return, O Israel.” Repentance was about God healing and preserving His people so His presence could remain among them.

The New Testament continues this collective emphasis, systematically using “repentance” in the plural form (e.g., Matthew 4:17; Luke 13:3, 5; Luke 17:3; Luke 15:7, 10), emphasizing a national call rather than merely individualistic. When John the Baptist declared, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 3:2), he wasn’t addressing isolated individuals concerned about their afterlife destinies—he was speaking to the nation of Israel about her moral and spiritual direction.

Jesus, as the long-awaited Jewish Messiah, likewise called Israel to repentance—not to save people from metaphysical torture, but to restore the nation to God and help it avoid the devastating consequences of rejecting Him. He even warned Israel’s leaders that rejecting Him is an unforgivable sin (Mark 3:29). That warning tragically came to pass with the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE.

The modern Western emphasis on individual salvation as a passport out of hell is alien to the biblical imagination. In Scripture, repentance was not about obsessing over internal guilt or earning forgiveness through sorrow. It was about reorientation—turning from destructive paths, false gods, and unjust systems, and returning to the God who desires mercy, not sacrifice. And just as with ancient Israel, the consequences of failing to repent were not framed as afterlife torment, but as national collapse, exile, and spiritual ruin (see Luke 19:41-44, Matthew 24:1-2).

Repentance, then, was less about individuals avoiding postmortem torment in hellfire and more about a national healing, restoration, and a return to the flourishing life God intended for His people together. To reduce it to a private transaction between “me and God” is not only theologically inaccurate—it flattens the depth of the biblical narrative which is communal in nature and focus.

Faith and repentance are not price tags for forgiveness, but awakenings to what already is. Faith doesn’t unlock God’s forgiveness—it opens our eyes to its presence. Repentance doesn’t pacify God’s wrath; it moves us from resistance and opposition to restoration and blessing.

Repentance is not us performing some act to make God change His mind about us; it is us changing our mind about God. It is the reorientation of our lives toward His will—not an attempt to manipulate Him into becoming something other than He already is.

When Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do” (Luke 23:34), it was not because His executioners had suddenly offered repentance, confession, or faith. Yet Christ extended forgiveness anyway. This is not an exception but the very revelation of divine nature: forgiveness given before we even ask. Again and again throughout His ministry—healing the paralytic (Mark 2:5), rescuing the woman caught in adultery (John 8:11), redeeming Zacchaeus (Luke 19:9)—Jesus demonstrates that grace precedes faith and repentance. Transformation follows, but grace leads.

The cross, then, must not be seen as a cold legal exchange. It is the marriage bed of heaven and earth, the consummation of divine love. When Jesus whispered, “It is finished” (John 19:30), the perfect passive tense He used meant the action was completed, with ongoing effects forever. Faith does not complete what Christ began; faith is to participate in what Christ has done.

Thus, faith is not a transaction that triggers forgiveness; it is the joyous discovery of a love that was always there. Forgiveness is not unlocked by belief. It is believed because it is already true. We are called not to preach a conditional gospel—”if you repent, God might forgive you”—but to proclaim: “You were forgiven before you knew to ask. Now come home, live in the freedom of that truth, and let love transform your life.”

With that in mind, let’s discuss Israel’s Day of Atonement.

Yom Kippur—Atonement as a Collective Reality

In the story of Israel, no day is more sacred, more intimately tied to sin, or more deeply woven into the national soul than Yom Kippur—Israel’s national Day of Atonement. It is not only a ritual; it is theology enacted. It is not only remembrance; it is prophetic expectation.

This was the day when Israel came face-to-face with its deepest need: cleansing, restoration, and nearness to God. But one aspect often lost in Christian theology is the communal and collective nature of this atonement. Yom Kippur was not about the isolated individual securing forgiveness for their private sins; it was about the entire covenant community of Israel being covered, purified, and reconciled as one.

And this pattern continues powerfully in the New Testament. Just as Yom Kippur‘s atonement covered Israel as a nation regardless of each individual’s private faith level, so too Jesus’s atonement is proclaimed universally in scope and coverage, taking away the sin of the world (John 1:29).

A Day of Purification, Not Punishment

In Leviticus 16, God established a yearly ceremony in which Israel’s sins would be covered, cleansed, and removed. But there is nothing in the ritual of Yom Kippur that resembles the violent logic of Penal Substitution Atonement. There is no wrath being poured out on animals. There is no divine punishment. There is no anger directed at the innocent.

Instead, there is cleansing. There is purification. There is restoration.

The day began with the high priest atoning for himself. Just like a surgeon needs to sanitize before stepping into the operating room, the high priest had to atone—cleansing himself of his own impurity—before entering the holy of holies to mediate for Israel (Leviticus 16:6-11). Only after his own purification could he act on behalf of Israel. This reinforces the idea that atonement was not about punishment but a cleansing ritual in preparation for presence.

The Two Goats: A Symbol of God’s Mercy

The climax—the very pinnacle—of Yom Kippur was the ritual of the two goats (Leviticus 16:7–22). One was sacrificed, and its blood was used to purify and cleanse the sanctuary, mercy seat, veil, and other sacred items, almost like a liquid detergent or sanitizer. The other, the Azazel goat, became the scapegoat dealing with Israel’s sins. However, the scapegoat was not killed for the sins of Israel but carried the sins of the people into the wilderness—out of sight and far away. Azazel is often described as a wild, chaotic desert spirit, and later traditions—especially the Book of Enoch—interpreted that figure as demonic and even Satan himself. It was as though, on a symbolic level, the Azazel spirit was being dismissed—its claim neutralized, its power cut off.

Israel was not appeasing the wrath of God, but confronting the claim of Azazel. The ritual was never about calming divine anger; it was about breaking an accusatory power and sending it away. In this imagination, God is not the one who needs to be paid off. The demonic is.

This echoes the profound theological instinct behind C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia, where the Witch—clearly a satanic figure—demands appeasement through Aslan’s life. Lewis’ genius shines in this: Aslan submits not to appease the Father’s wrath, but Satan’s, all while exposing and toppling the false logic of accusation and the power of death itself.

Yom Kippur was a stunning drama: one goat brought cleansing through its blood (life); the other symbolically carried away the sins of the nation.

God did not punish either goat with wrath. They were instruments of God’s mercy—signs of His desire to remove sin, not destroy sinners.

The logic of Yom Kippur is restoration, not retribution. In Eden, humanity was exiled from the Garden. In Israel’s communal life, individuals could be exiled from the camp for defiling acts. And Israel itself could be exiled from the Land for covenant unfaithfulness.

But Yom Kippur declares God’s heart: I will draw you back!

Jesus Himself became the perfect fulfillment of this. He was both “exiled” from His people, rejected and crucified outside the city (Hebrews 13:12), bearing the sin and shame of not just Israel but the entire world. His blood purified Israel (and the world) like the first goat, and in His crucifixion outside the camp, He symbolically carried away the sins of Israel (and the world) as the ultimate scapegoat. Yet He did not bear them in a drama of divine wrath, but in a mission of divine love—willingly entering our exile to bring us home.

He bore our sins to remove them forever. He died not to appease divine fury but to cleanse and heal—not just one nation but the entire world.

No Wrath on the Animals, No Wrath on Christ

Notably absent from the Yom Kippur rituals is any description of wrath being poured out on the goats. The animals were not tortured. They were not abused. Their blood was used because it represented life (Leviticus 17:11). The first goat’s death was necessary only to obtain the blood that purifies. The scapegoat didn’t even die—it was sent alive into the wilderness, symbolically carrying away the sins of Israel.

Jesus’ sacrifice, like Yom Kippur, was about cleansing, restoration, and reunion with God—not about God pouring out stored-up wrath on the innocent One.

Communal Atonement: The Pattern Continues

What is striking is that in Yom Kippur, atonement was granted to all Israel. The text does not demand that every individual must personally offer a sacrifice, hold to a specific doctrine, or understand every aspect of the ritual for it to be effective. The high priest’s actions universally covered the nation. The ritual was for the nation as a whole. This was covenantal, communal atonement.

And this is precisely the pattern the New Testament sees fulfilled in Jesus. His life, death, and resurrection are presented not as a limited private transaction for individual believers alone but as a cosmic act of universal reconciliation:

For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.

(Colossians 1:19-20)

Conclusion

The Day of Atonement in Israel’s story is the Day of Hope, not the Day of Punishment. It looked backward, acknowledging sin and defilement. It looked inward, inviting repentance and reflection. And it looked forward, proclaiming God’s promise to remove sin forever and dwell once again with His people.

Yom Kippur was not about fear of punishment but about confidence in restoration. And Jesus, our High Priest and perfect sacrifice, has fulfilled this ancient hope:

But now he has appeared once for all at the culmination of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself.

(Hebrews 9:26)

This is the gospel: God is not against us. He is for us. His heart is always to cleanse, to restore, and to bring His people home.

The Day of Atonement was never about wrath. It was always about love. And Jesus is the living proof.

This is an excerpt from my book The Gospel Before Christianity: A Jewish Perspective on Jesus’ Atonement, Sacrifice, and Redemption, where all footnotes and citations are provided in full.