Rosh HaShana 5785
We say the fate of all living things is written on Rosh HaShana. We spend the day in prayer, asking to be written in the Book of Life.
It’s hard to understand that what was written last year were the horrors of October 7th, the war that followed, and everything since. How could a loving God write such a fate?
In the liturgy, we ask “who will die and who will live?” Every year when we say these prayers, we know that at Rosh HaShana of the following year, not everyone now praying will still be with us. We ask “who will die in his time, and who not in his time?”
Last year’s answer to that question has been too devastating to hold in my heart.
As Rosh HaShana 5785 approaches, I’m trying to summon the courage to ask again.
There’s a rule for lawyers that they teach you in Trial Advocacy; never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. To that I might add; never ask a question you don’t want the answer to. I’m not sure I want the answer. I’m not sure I can stand it. If I truly knew, saw the big picture, understood what will happen, perhaps I couldn’t take it. Every precious soul lost, a whole world. Some things, perhaps only God can understand.
But time and shofar wait for no man. So here comes Rosh HaShana, and I’m trying to think about how I can get through the day. On the morning of October 4, 2024, a mere 3 days before the yahrtzeit (anniversary) of Black Shabbat, I will stand together with our people people and ask our Creator, “Who will live and who will die?”
And then I will live with not knowing the answer.
“Who in his time, and who not in his time?”
How many more kids, teenagers, young adults, any life cut short?
I will live with not knowing the answer.
Generations of our people have made lives, communities, legacies, in that uncertainty.
Am Yisrael Chai - the people of Israel live - always seemed such a milquetoast sentiment. We’re not dead yet? Really? It seemed like a post holocaust floor from which we needed to scrape ourselves off. One that had no place in the unlimited possibility of the post 1948 world of Jewish sovereignty.
After October 7, I think I understand a little better. Life, staying committed to life, asking for life in a constant state of uncertainty and vulnerability is its own revolution. When we enter the land of Israel in the book of Deuteronomy, we are given a choice. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your offspring would live” (Deut 30:19)
Turns out that is not a choice you make once, but a constant practice. One we do every day, every hour, and as a nation we do it together on Rosh HaShana. We choose life, we ask for life, and then we wait for the answer. Some years that is easier than others, and this year, at least for me, it will be hard.
We can’t know what will happen to any one person. So many Jewish lives ended shockingly, unexpectedly, mere days after Rosh HaShana last year. So many are still in the line of fire. But it is in the context of that unanswered question, that hope, fear, and uncertainty, that our choice is meaningful.
May we be written in the Book of Life this Rosh HaShana. For good, for peace.
Am Yisrael will live. I know that much.