Rosh HaShana 5784
If you’re like me, Rosh HaShana comes with an extra helping of anxiety. We are being judged as human beings for life or death, but hey, pass the honey?
I am a grumpy introvert. I have terrible road rage. I have no filter, and blurt out opinions when silence would be more prudent. I constantly fall short of my own expectations - I can only imagine what God is thinking! I often cope with Rosh HaShana anxiety by pretending it is not happening. If I don’t think about it, maybe it will go away. Or I’ll wake up and it will be Sukkot and I’ll breathe a sigh of relief. (This is a little like how I dealt with the dread of impending child birth, but that is another story.)
As rising anti-Jewish hate impacts our children, our elders, and our communities, I sometimes think we take the same approach. Hope it will go away if we don’t look at it. Wait for the time of judgement to pass, and hope we will awaken to a time of joy.
But Rosh HaShana doesn’t allow us to turn away. In fact, it is a detailed accounting of our lives, and our choices - mostly our shortcomings. I sometimes feel like the prayers we say are the kitchen sink of every wrong thing that we as humans could do. On brand for the people of the Book; when we use words, we use a LOT of words! But when that’s done, we blast the shofar, the sound of which is associated with the cry of a grieving mother. It is in the blast of the shofar that I find some cause for optimism.
The truth is, I don’t do enough. To fight for the future I hope for, the causes I believe in. I can never say all the words, accomplish all the things, and sometimes this paralyzes me. Because I can’t do it all, I want to be exempt from trying. I think, “what do you want from ME, I’m just one person?!”
We are all just one person. But somehow, we are collectively powerful. I don’t understand it, really. There are times when change seems intractable, impossible. And then times when change seems unstoppable, inevitable. What separates those times when every incremental change is a pitched battle, from those times when radical change coalesces seemingly overnight?
Perhaps it is the cry of the shofar. After all the words, all the reflection, and argument, the cry of the shofar is pure emotion. Change happens when ideas and understanding are powered by collective will. The 100 blasts of the shofar represent our collective will. Emotion that pushes us forward. When we stand together on Rosh HaShana, we argue before God that we are worthy of another year of life, both because we understand what we need to do to grow, and because we have the raw will to do it. We examine our flaws unsparingly, and then we cry out with the voice of the shofar for another year, another chance at the gift of life.
This year, when we stand together on Rosh HaShana, let the shofar call us to action. Let us commit to a year of life in which we are awake to the opportunity of living in Jewish community. Fighting for our Jewish future. Being a little more than we were last year. I don’t know who said “the best way to fight antisemitism is to live a joyful, engaged Jewish life,” but I know the truth of these words. Let’s prove them right. Happy 5784!