Erev Rosh HaShana 5784
When faced with a challenging problem, the founder of Hasidism, the Baal Shem Tov, would go to a certain place in the woods, light a fire, and sing a prayer. In this way, he found insight into his dilemma. His successor, Rabbi Dov Ber, followed his example, went to the same place in the woods, and said, “The fire we can no longer light, but we can still sing the prayer.” And he, too, found what he needed. Another generation passed, and Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov went to the woods and said: “The fire we can no longer light, nor do we remember the place in the woods, but we know the prayer and sing it will have to suffice.” And it did. In the fourth generation, Rabbi Israel of Rishin stayed home and said, “The fire we can no longer light, nor do we remember the place in the woods, the words of the prayer we no longer know, but we remember the tune.” And that, too, proved sufficient.
This story speaks to our hearts this evening. In the past, we have learnt what Rosh ha Shana is about. It is a day to celebrate the Creation. And since God is the Creator and the Ruler of the Univers, it is also the day when God judges us. Today is a day for us to account for our actions.
The Rabbis teach that God opens the symbolic Book of Life on Rosh Hashanah. So, we humans become advocates for our personal inscription in the Book of Life. We review our choices over the past year, actions, and intentions as we evaluate ourselves honestly.
Many of us have forgotten this theology. It’s too complicated! We may admit the existence of God, but we do not believe in a God that rules the world. That’s the reasoning we accept: “If it were true that God is the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, the world would be a far better place!” Rosh Hashanah is nice; we like the melodies. But we have forgotten the rest — like the Hasidim who, along the generations, forgot the place, the wood, and the words of the prayer. So we come to synagogue on Rosh ha Shana out of habit — because of the melodies. We ignore the words. We do not think about judgment and being judged. We have seen too many evil-doers prosper and pious and good persons suffer.
Where’s the reward for good actions, we wonder. Where’s the punishment for those who did evil? Above all, where is God when human beings inflict so much pain on each other and on this planet, too?
Another reason we prefer not to think too much about Rosh ha Shanah. Because Rosh Hashanah is about change, spiritual change. This is the meaning of teshuvah: spiritual change, or -literally- return. Return to what? Return to a life shaped by our Jewish values, honesty, integrity, and care for the weak and the stranger.
We know that these values have not led our lives in the previous months. We know that we have not been consistent with the values of our Tradition. We have not lived up to the standards that our religion demands. We have transgressed. On Rosh ha Shana, we become aware of our transgressions, and we begin the process of introspection and self-examination, which leads to teshuvah, change and return. The liturgy lists transgressions, the Ashamnu, and the Al Chet (“For the sins we have committed…”). They help us look into our souls and focus on our mistakes, to amend and commit to change, to return, to do teshuvah.
Judaism loves teshuvah. Rabbinic literature is full of praises and admiration for those who change their life after transgressions and mistakes. Our greatest hero is King David, a man who in his life transgressed seriously and repented profoundly and sincerely. Nonetheless, the spiritual journey leading to the teshuva, to repentance and change, is difficult, especially in its first stages. No one likes to face his or her own failures and mistakes, let alone deal with the consequences.
We human beings have a natural tendency to find excuses or to blame others to minimise our responsibilities. So often, we point our fingers towards the other to avoid scrutinising ourselves. And it’s easy, so easy, to find someone less good than we think we are! This is why the Ashamnu and the Al Chet, the list of sins and transgressions we repeat over and over, are always in plural. We don’t say out loud, “I sinned” or “I transgressed”. Everything is plural: Ashamnu- WE have abused. Bagadnu, WE have betrayed, etc. When we admit to ourselves mistakes and failures, we know that someone else is doing the same. This helps us to focus on ourselves.
Besides the theological intricacies of the concept of teshuva and the challenges of the process, there is another reason why, on Rosh Hashana, we feel such a sense of detachment, like those Chasidim who could only remember the melodies and have forgotten the prayers and could not remember their path through the woods.
And the reason is shame. We feel shame. We are ashamed. We are ashamed for not doing enough to protect vulnerable members of our community. We are ashamed of the increasing social disparity in this Country and our inability to help. We are ashamed for not welcoming properly the refugees, who look so much like our ancestors, perhaps grandparents, when they arrived in this Country looking for shelter. We are ashamed because we do not support as we should those who, under the horrible rulers of China, Russia, or Iran, risk their lives to have freedom for themselves and a better future for their children.
In Iran, women and young girls are beaten in the streets and imprisoned for the crime of walking bareheaded, and we stay silent. We keep our mouths shut out of indifference or for the fear of being labelled “Islamophobic”. Our silence -the silence of too many Jewish leaders- is shameful.
We are ashamed because we know we waste time. Humans are the only creatures endowed with the freedom to choose what to do. And we waste our time in pointless arguments on social media: flames, they are called. What a joke. The sight of fire in a fireplace warms our hearts. The flame of a candle gives us a taste of spirituality. There is no spirituality in the pointless, endless discussions on social media, and no one feels heartwarming… How many of these arguments, in line and off line, are just a waste of time, ways to assert ourselves or to compensate for frustrations. Rather than doing good, volunteering, and reaching out to the weakest members of our communities, we waste time; we dissipate the unique gift we human beings are privileged to have received. It’s shameful.
We have many reasons to be ashamed and to feel shame. But on Rosh Hashanah and in the following days leading up to Yom Kippur, we have the opportunity not to escape from the feeling of shame. We are given the possibility to make this feeling of shame the turning point in our lives. We can begin the process of teshuva, of return.
We have gone astray. That’s true. That’s undeniable. Indeed, we do not deny it, so we feel shame. On Rosh Hashanah, we can begin to see our shame in a new way. We are aware that other people are engaged in a similar process; therefore, admitting our mistakes is not embarrassing. It does not make us weaker. On Rosh Hashana, we realise that shame is not forever, and that there is in front of us the path of return, the process of teshuva, which leads to reconciliation with our friends, family, and faith.
May all we find the strength to embark on such a journey.
I wish you all Shanah Tova uMetukha.