The Jewish holidays mark the greatest moments in our history. Passover marks the miracle of the Exodus, Shavuot marks the giving of the Torah, and Rosh Hashanah marks creation, and Chanukah and Purim mark times when our people were saved.

But Yom Kippur seems to stand alone. For most of us, it is a day unconnected to history, a day when we look inside ourselves, a moment when we realize that change is possible. With effort, with work, we can become better people, and we can change the trajectory of our lives.

But for the rabbis of old, Yom Kippur was connected with the most dramatic moment in our history. And they ritualized that moment by a tiny gesture – a gesture so small that we’ve long since forgotten it. N’ilah ends, and according to tradition, we take two small sticks from under our seats and we tie them together.

What event could be so earth shaking? And how is it that two small sticks could change the world?

The rabbis taught that the first of Elul was the day when Moses went up to Mt. Sinai to receive the second set of tablets. For forty days, the Israelites were alone, wondering whether Moses would ever return, wondering if God would forgive them.

The Israelites were alone in the camp, and they remembered the first time Moses left them – how they became afraid and built the Golden Calf. And they remembered how God became angry and killed thousands in a plague. What if it happened again? What if the fear became too much for them and they built another idol?

So they blew the shofar every morning, reminding each other to be strong. And on the fortieth day, they declared a fast, and they came together to make atonement.

The day wore on, and Moses still didn’t appear. And then finally, towards the end of the day, Moses came down from the mountain with the second set of tablets in his hands. And more importantly, Moses repeat God’s words to them – the most comforting words ever spoken, “I have forgiven you according to your words.”

These are the events that we reenact on Yom Kippur. And these are the words that we say at the end of N’ilah. ” I have forgiven you according to your words.”

But according to Rashi, the great medieval scholar, there’s even more to the story.

The great events of Mt. Sinai were over. The people had been forgiven. But there was still work to be done. Somehow, God had to teach us to build the great spiritual moments into the fabric of our day-to-day lives. So on the morning after Yom Kippur, God told us to build the Tabernacle. “They shall build me a holy place,” said God, “that I may dwell within them.”

Like the mystics before him, Rabbi Sacks noticed the odd Hebrew in that verse. It should have said, “I will dwell in it,” not “I will dwell in them.” Why that change in pronouns?

“The answer,” Sacks writes, “is that the Divine Presence lives not in a building but in its builders; not in a physical place but in the human heart. The essence of ‘the holy’ is that it is a place where we set aside all human devices and desires and enter a domain wholly set aside for God.”

This is the day-to-day work that God asked us to do – to make a place for Him in our hearts, to become builders of communities and builders of a better world. The work of returning, the work of creating a better world does not end on Yom Kippur. It continues every day, in the small acts of caring, in the small acts of community.

N’ilah ends, and Yom Kippur is over. But there’s still work to do. Sukkot is coming, and we need to build a sukkah – a tiny fragile structure where we can feel safe, not because the sukkah is strong, but because we have each other. So we reach under our seats and take out two sticks. And we begin the work of building a sukkah.

Yom Kippur is only beginning. The great spiritual moment is over. But now we have to do the work. We need to work together, day after day, to build communities where the Holy One can dwell.

May the Holy One continue to guide us as we do the work.