Empty Stomach, Empty Hands: Why Simply Fasting Misses the Point (and What You Can Do Instead)
Fasting was meant to make us hungry for justice, not just for our next meal.
'Is this not the fast I have chosen: to loose the bonds of wickedness?'
-Isaiah 58:6
Isaiah rebukes those who “afflict their soul” through Yom Kippur fasting while ignoring the larger social implications of this command.
This command echoes from Leviticus across millennia—yet something crucial has been lost. It’s a perfect example of how ethical demands lose their power when reduced to mere religious rituals.
We've mastered debating the how, but we've forgotten the why.
The problem isn't fasting. It's believing God cares more about our empty stomachs than our empty hands extended to the hungry.
The Divine Disconnect
A devout man rises before dawn on Yom Kippur. His fast started an hour before sundown the night before. Today, he prays with intensity and avoids food and water. On his way to the Yom Kippur service, he passes a homeless woman outside his synagogue. He hurries past her—he must purify his soul before God through the service.
Sound familiar?
We've created a chasm between being right with God and our fellow humans. We've convinced ourselves these are separate domains rather than two dimensions of the same relationship.
This wasn't a modern innovation or clever theological sleight-of-hand. It was also ancient Israel's problem.
"Why have we fasted and you haven't seen? Why have we humbled ourselves and you don't notice? On your fast day, you find your own desire and drive your workers hard."
-Isaiah 58:3
The prophet's words hover over us like an indictment. We're still making the same error today—prioritizing ritual over relationship, theology over compassion, personal piety over collective justice.
But we need to flip the script.
The Psychology of Ritual Without Justice
Why do we prefer ritual observance over pursuing justice? The answer isn't just laziness or malice. It's hardwired into our psychology.
Ritual provides spirituality that can be quantified.
Did you fast for 24 hours? Check.
Did you attend services? Check.
Did you recite the correct prayers? Check.
Justice is messier.
How do you measure sufficient care for the poor?
Where's the checklist for dismantling oppression?
Ritual offers control without vulnerability. I can fast privately. It's between me and God.
Helping the marginalized requires entering their world, confronting my assumptions, and opening myself to their pain.
Which is more spiritually transformative: completing a ritual or sitting with someone's suffering?
Theological debates create belonging through boundary-setting.
Who has the right calendar?
Who correctly interprets the Torah?
These questions create tribalism instead of loving communities.
Not a path to transformation, but to comfortable division.
Yom Kippur: The Original Intent
Let's reframe Yom Kippur by recovering its revolutionary context.
The Hebrew term for "you shall afflict your souls" (תְּעַנּ֖וּ אֶת־נַפְשֹׁתֵיכֶ֑ם) in Leviticus 16:29 comes from the root anah (ענה)—a word used to describe violence against the vulnerable, including sexual violence. This isn't coincidental.
On Yom Kippur, we're not just fulfilling a ritual obligation. We're engaging in embodied empathy—physically experiencing a shadow of the suffering oppression creates.
Fasting wasn’t about impressing God; it was about identifying with the oppressed.
This connection becomes clear when we consider what happens every 50th year on Yom Kippur: the declaration of the Jubilee.
On the tenth day of the seventh month, you shall sound the loud trumpet. On the Day of Atonement, sound the trumpet throughout your land. Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants.
-Leviticus 25:9-10
On the same day we're commanded to fast, we're commanded to release debt slaves, return land to original owners, and create an economic reset. This isn't coincidence—it's coherence. God forgives our debts; we forgive others' debts.
Jesus made this principle clear in his demand:
If you’re offering your gift at the altar and remember your brother has something against you, leave your gift... First go and be reconciled.
-Matthew 5:23-24
The rabbinic tradition echoes this:
Transgressions between a person and God, Yom Kippur effects atonement; but transgressions against people, Yom Kippur effects atonement only after appeasing one's fellow.
-Mishnah, Yoma 8:9
The Psychology of Embodied Empathy
Modern psychology offers insights into why fasting as identification with the oppressed creates deeper moral transformation than abstract theological knowledge.
Research on embodied cognition reveals that physical experiences shape our understanding of abstract concepts.
Fasting activates neural pathways that simulate the experience of those who regularly go without food.
Psychologist Martin Hoffman found that empathy development requires both cognitive and affective components. Fasting integrates both by creating an emotional response (hunger) that connects to cognitive understanding (awareness of others' suffering).
This embodied empathy breaks through several psychological barriers:
Psychological numbing — We become numb to large-scale suffering. Fasting creates a personal, visceral experience that breaks through this numbing.
Fundamental attribution error — We attribute others' suffering to personal choices rather than systemic factors. Experiencing hunger helps us recognize how circumstances beyond control affect well-being.
Just-world hypothesis — People prefer believing the world is fair, leading to victim-blaming. Fasting disrupts this by making us physically experience undeserved suffering.
This distinguishes genuine spiritual practice from empty religion. One reinforces our biases; the other dismantles them.
What about those who can't fast due to health concerns? The principle extends beyond literal fasting. Any form of voluntary self-limitation—giving up comfort, convenience, or resources—can create empathy that connects us to others' suffering. The key is intentional vulnerability that opens us to others' experiences.
Jesus’ Embodiment of True Worship
Jesus didn't just teach these principles—he embodied them.
The Incarnation represents God's ultimate identification with human suffering. He came not as a noble, rich man, or conquering king—he came as a suffering servant. This wasn't accidental; it was essential to his mission.
Even on the cross, his cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" represents his solidarity with all who suffer.
He's identifying with anyone who has suffered before. If anyone had the right to question God's whereabouts, it was Jesus. Wrongly convicted in a sham court, crucified in the most painful, shameful way imaginable.
This parallels the Yom Kippur ritual—specifically the scapegoat ("for Azazel") that bears the people's sins and is sent into the wilderness. Unlike the first goat that's sacrificed, this goat escapes death while bearing away sin.
Sound familiar? Through resurrection, Jesus "escaped death" while bearing our sins.
"If Messiah hasn't been raised, your faith is worthless; you're still in your sins."
-1 Corinthians 15:17
This isn't just theological wordplay. It's the foundation for our mission today.
From Theology to Practice: Reconnecting Ritual and Justice
How do we reconnect ritual and justice in practical ways?
First, we need embodied theology. Don't just ask "What does 'afflict your soul' mean?" but "How does my soul-affliction connect me with others' affliction?"
Rituals should open us to relationships, not close us into religious performance.
Second, design experiential liturgy. Fasting should lead to feeding others. Prayer should lead to practical care.
Sometimes, it's not about teaching the right theology. Sometimes they're hungry. Telling them the right day to worship isn't what they need.
This doesn't diminish the value of ritual. It fulfills its purpose. The container shapes its contents. The form transforms.
Sometimes, the most profound theological statement you can make is giving someone a meal.
When someone's hungry, they don't care to argue theology. But once they've got food in their belly and see our community wants to care for people, that inspires them.
Third, establish community accountability around justice, not just ritual observance. If we hold each other accountable for Sabbath observance, we should equally hold each other accountable for treating the vulnerable.
Fourth, regularly engage in prophetic self-examination with questions like:
Does my fast lead me to share my bread with the hungry?
Have my religious practices made me more or less responsive to suffering?
Am I more concerned with my calendar’s accuracy than my heart’s alignment?
Practical Steps: Becoming a Community of Justice
Here are ways to reconnect ritual and justice:
Practice intentional embodiment — During any self-limitation ritual (fasting, simplicity, silence), connect your experience to a specific form of suffering in the world. Calculate the saved resources and donate them to address that suffering.
Create solidarity experiences — Organize community events that combine ritual observance with justice action. Follow Yom Kippur services with a community meal preparation for homeless shelters.
Practice confession that leads to correction — When confessing sins on Yom Kippur, include specific ways you've participated in systems of oppression and commit to actions to address them.
Redefine "affliction" — Expand your understanding of "afflicting your soul" to include not just fasting but deliberately exposing yourself to uncomfortable realities of oppression through relationships, education, and engaging with the marginalized.
Implement jubilee principles — Look for ways to implement jubilee principles in your community: debt forgiveness, resource distribution, and restoring dignity to the destitute.
What if our religious communities were known not for our theological precision but for our revolutionary compassion?
What if people said, "I don't understand their beliefs, but I know they help anyone in need"?
The Rhythm of Liberation
Every 7 years, your cells are completely replaced, making you a new person. This renewal points to a spiritual truth in the Shemitah year, demanding the release of the indebted or enslaved every 7 years. Every 50 years, on Yom Kippur, the Jubilee amplifies this to a complete economic reset.
This is the rhythm of divine justice: cycles of liberation, forgiveness, and restoration.
Fasting without justice is just religious theater. Pursuing justice without spiritual grounding leads to burnout or self-righteousness.
True worship integrates ritual that deepens our compassion and compassion that gives meaning to our ritual.
The prophet Isaiah promises what happens when we reconnect these dimensions:
If you remove the yoke among you, the finger-pointing and malicious speaking, and if you help the hungry and satisfy the afflicted, your light will shine in darkness, and your night will become like midday.
-Isaiah 58:9-10
Our light shines when we reflect our Creator's character and become image-bearers, not when we have the right theology figured out.
Let's be the kingdom our King desires—a kingdom that shares bread, cares for those in need, and shows compassion.
Reconnecting divine worship with human compassion changes us.
We change the world.
I appreciate the time you took to read this article. If you were inspired by it, do me a favor and share it with just one person you know.
This article is based on several video teachings I’ve done on the Day of Atonement. If you want to dig deeper into this subject and other great cultural insights from the Bible, you can do so by signing up for a membership with Faith of Messiah.
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