How should we feel on Rosh HaShanah? Is it a day of fear and trembling? A day of Judgement?  Or, is it a festival?

The answer is that it is both.  And this dialectic is expressed in the halakhik literature.

After discussing the criteria necessary for reciting the Hallel on a festival, the Talmud concludes that it is inappropriate to recite Hallel on  Rosh Hashanah:

The ministering angels asked the Holy One Blessed Be He, ‘Master of the World, why does Israel not sing praise before you on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur?’ He said to them, ‘Is it possible that the King sits on his Throne of Judgement and Israel should sing?’ (Arachin 10b; Rosh HaShanah 32b)

We are filled with uncertainty and doubt concerning our fate.  How can we sing Hallel? How can we even eat? 

Rabbeinu Asher, at the end of his commentary to Chap. 4 of Masechet Rosh HaShanah, discusses the custom that some Geonim record of fasting on Rosh HaShanah.  He cites other Geonim who offer a different approach and concludes that Rosh HaShanah is a festival and fasting is inappropriate. (See also Mordechai to Masechet Rosh HaShanah Chap. 1; Tur Orach Chayyim 597 & Beit Yosef, ad loc.; Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayyim 597:1 & Mishnah Brurah, ad loc.)

Many authorities point to a passage in Nehemiah, which seems to capture the appropriate attitude towards Rosh HaShanah.  The story goes as follows: On the 1^st of the Seventh Month (Rosh HaShanah), Ezra reads the Torah publicly for those who ascended from Bavel.  They are shaken when they realize just how foreign the words of the Torah are and how far they have strayed from it.  They begin to cry and mourn.  Ezra, Nechemiah and the Levites tell them:

‘Today is a holy day to Hashem your God; do not mourn and do not weep.’  For all of the people were weeping as they heard the words of the Torah.  He said to them, ‘Go eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks and send portions to those who have nothing prepared, for today is sacred to our God.  Do not be sad; the joy of Hashem is your strength.  (Nechemiah 8:9-10)

It would seem from this passage that Rosh HaShanah should be celebrated, like all festivals, with festive meals.  The prophet suggests in doing so, we provide Hashem with joy.

In the Torah, Rosh HaShanah is included together with all of the other festivals, and just like them considered a “holy convocation”(Vayikra, Chap. 23). It is even called a festival (Psalm 81:4; Rosh HaShanah 18a; Sukkah 55a; Arachin 10b; Sotah 41a).  In fact, some Geonim record the custom of incorporating the festival liturgy into the Rosh HaShanah amidah (See Rabbeinu Asher, loc cit).

In addition, the joy of Rosh HaShanah nullifies aveilut, the customs of mourning, just like any festival would (See Shulchan Aruch Yoreh Deah 399:6).

There is a beautiful passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi that expresses our confidence:

 …Who is like this Nation? The practice of the world is when one knows that he is awaiting judgement – he wears black, wraps himself in black, grows his beard – for he does not know what the verdict will be.  But Israel is not like that.  They wear white, wrap themselves in white, trim their beards, eat, drink and rejoice – for they know that the Holy One Blessed Be He will be merciful and forgive them.  (Rosh HaShanah 1:3)

But the potential for hubris is tempered.  While many authorities instruct us to “eat, drink and rejoice,” we are warned not to go overboard, as indulging too much doesn’t befit the seriousness of the day.  (Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayyim 597:1, citing the Agudah).  And while we wear our nice clothes, some suggest we should not wear our finest silk or embroidered clothing, settling instead for simple white garments (Turei Zahav to Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayyim 581).

The Psalmist captures the emotions of Rosh HaShanah when he instructs us to “rejoice with trembling” (Psalm 2:11).  How is that accomplished?  When one stands before Hashem there is tremendous fear, but also tremendous joy.  We relate to Hashem both as our king (malkeinu) and our father (avinu).

Rosh HaShanah is a day filled with uncertainty and doubt; fear and trembling.  But it is also a festival.  And in celebrating it as a festival, we express our confidence; our trust in God.

Reb Shlomo Carlebach once told the following story:

One day, a man was riding the subway on his way home from work.  Looking around the subway car, his eyes met the eyes of a woman and he was instantly smitten.  He knew that she was his “beshert,” the woman destined to be his bride.  This was fate.

Just as he summoned up the courage to approach her, the train stopped at 34^th Street, Herald Square. But before he could get to her, she exited and the doors closed on him.  He got off at the next stop and ran up the stairs, knocking over anyone in his way.  He pushed through the crowd and opened the door to a cab.  Ignoring the couple waiting to enter the cab, he yelled at the driver, “take me to 34^th Street now!”

As he entered the taxi, a police officer who had witnessed the commotion apprehended the man and began to question him.  He tried to explain what was happening, but the cop wouldn’t let him go.  The man tried to run off but soon found himself in the back of the squat car – arrested for public disturbance and resisting arrest.  He spent that night in jail kicking himself and wondering if he would ever see that woman from the subway.

The next morning, he had to appear before the judge.  He was devastated.  His name was called and he looked up at the judge.  Smiling back at him from behind the bench was the woman from the train.

Indeed, Rosh HaShanah is the Day of Judgement- but we know the judge.

Mishteh Shimshon 5770

It appears that we celebrate Sukkot as a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt. But if the reason for sitting in Sukkot is a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt, why not celebrate it in the month of Nissan, along with Pesach? Why not have a Seder in the Sukkah, with matzah, four cups of wine, four questions, etc?

R. Yaakov ben Asher (13th-14th C. Spain), in his code of Jewish law, the Arbah Turim, explains that we celebrate Sukkot in the fall so that it is clear to all that our residence outdoors is specifically for the performance of a mitzvah. If Sukkot was in the Spring or Summer, perhaps people would think we are just sitting outside to enjoy the warm weather. Instead, concludes the Tur, we celebrate Sukkot now, which is the beginning of the rain season here in the Land of Israel (Orach Chayyim 625).

This answer, however, is problematic. If it is supposed to be “recognizable” that we are sitting outside not to enjoy the nice weather but rather to perform a mitzvah, why not have Sukkot in the middle of December or January? Surely then it would be obvious that we are not sitting outside for our mere pleasure!

Perhaps there is a deeper reason why Sukkot is celebrated this time of year. It is no coincidence that Sukkot is celebrated in the month of Tishrei, immediately following the Yemai HaDin, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we stood before God in judgment. We prayed, struggled, and fasted to come close to God; to return to Him, His Torah and mitzvot. Sukkot is the manifestation of the closeness we achieved during the preceding days. It is only a few days after Yom Hakippurim, the day when are sins are atoned for and we are purified before God. All of a sudden we have to run around and put up a Sukkah and buy arbah minim. We are, all of a sudden, surrounded with many mitzvos to perform; a token of His benevolence; His closeness. On Sukkot, we carry our lulav through the streets, raised, like a banner, displaying our confidence that we were victorious in judgment. And we sit in the Sukkah, in His presence. God, so to speak, surrounds us.

While we are required to rejoice during every festival, Sukkot is especially joyous. (See Rambam’s Hilchot Lulav 5:12-15). In fact, in the liturgy, Sukkot is called the “time of our rejoicing.” It is the paradigm of joyful celebration. That joy is a result of closeness with God.

The connection between the Days of Judgement and Sukkot are deep and rooted in our historical experience. Our Sages teach the Sukkah represents real huts or God’s Clouds of Glory which protected the Jewish People in the Wilderness (See Talmud Bavli Sukkah 11b). After the Sin of the Golden Calf, God’s Clouds of Glory were removed from the Jewish People. On Yom Kippur, the Jewish People were forgiven for the Golden Calf, and the Clouds of Glory returned. According to the Vilna Gaon the holiday of Sukkot celebrates the return of God’s Clouds of Glory and with them, His presence.

In Chassidic thought, the Sukkah represents God’s love. The Sefat Emet, the great Gerrer Rebbe, compares the Sukkah to the chuppah, the wedding canopy. The canopy under which the Jewish Nation is wed to God.

Some compare the Sukkah to an embrace. To be a kosher Sukkah, the Sukkah must have at least two walls and a tefach, a handbreadth. The “two walls” and a “handbreadth” could appear like an arm providing a great big divine hug.

After going through the Days of Judgment, isn’t that all we need?

At its very essence, it is a message of teshuvah: The people of Nineveh are told that if they continue on their path, “In forty days Nineveh shall be overturned” (3:4). Their response? Fasting and repentance: Man and beast alike abstain from food and drink. The King of Nineveh himself rises from his throne, dons sackcloth and sits in ashes. G-d sees their sincerity and they are spared. In fact, the Talmud (Rosh HaShanah 16b) cites this story as a proof text that one can change their fate by changing their actions. Such is the power of teshuvah. We even use the approach of Nineveh to teach how we should behave on a public fast day. (See Mishnah Ta’anit 2:1)

But why the story of Yonah? Many narratives in our Tanakh express sincere repentance.

And why, on Yom HaKippurim do we read the story of Nineveh, a gentile community engaged in teshuvah? Are there no stories about the Jewish Nation engaged in teshuva that could serve as an inspiration and teach the power of teshuvah?

The Rav, Rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik believed that the story of Yonah teaches a profound lesson: Concern for humanity.

While the sailors of the storm tossed ship cry out to their gods in fear, Yonah, in the holds of the ship, descends into a deep sleep; an escape of sorts. He is criticized by the captain who asks, “‘How can you sleep so soundly? Arise, call to your G-d! Perhaps G-d will pay us mind and we will not perish!’” (1:6) The captain’s call is a wake up call to understand one’s role in the world; One’s responsibilities to his fellow man. Can we sleep soundly while others suffer? Do we remain silent?

In fact, Yonah’s flight was more than a rebellion against G-d. Yonah’s flight represents a rebellion against society. Yonah shakes off the burden of mankind when he shakes off the burden of prophecy. This is his sin.

Yonah’s lack of empathy is most clearly expressed at the end of the sefer. Yonah is grieved after the city of Nineveh repents and is saved from destruction. Our Sages explain that Yonah is upset because he knows that the backsliding Jewish Nation will suffer greatly if compared to the people of Nineveh and their teshuvah. This was, in fact, the reason for Yonah’s flight. Now Yonah sits alone in his sadness. G-d creates for him a kikayon tree. It provides him with shade and gives him much joy. The next day at dawn, a worm attacks the tree and the tree dies. A hot wind blows in from the East and the sun beats down upon Yonah’s head. He is now even more despondent. He wants to die and says, “‘…death is better than my life’” (4:8). The kikayon, of course, was a lesson for Yonah. Tragically he did not comprehend its symbolism; the message lost.

At the end of the sefer (4:10-11), God Himself condemns Yonah’s lack of concern for humankind and says:

‘You took pity on the kikayon for which you did not labor, nor did you make it grow; it lived one night and perished after one night. And I, shall I not take pity upon Nineveh, the great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and many animals as well?’

The Talmud teaches that empathy is central to the Jewish experience: When the People of Israel fought Amalek in Rephidim (Shemot 17:8-13), their success depended on the hands of Moshe being raised. (Of course it was not his hands but the realization of God above them, as Moshe’s hands pointed heavenward). The Torah describes how, “Moshe’s hands grew heavy, so they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it…” (v. 12) Our Sages ask, “Did Moshe not have a mattress or pillow upon which to sit?” and answer, “Rather, Moshe said ‘Since the Jewish People are in pain, I too shall be in pain.” The Gemara continues, and states “One who suffers with community will merit to witness the consolation of the community.” (Ta’anit 11a) Despite what Simon and Garfunkel might have you believe, no man is a rock and no man is an island. We have a responsibility to share in one another’s pain.

There is a story about a Chassid who had left the fold. He moved out of the shtetl, leaving his fellow Chassidim and beloved Rebbe for the big city in search of fame and fortune. After several years, he returned to visit his Rebbe. The former Chassid joined his Rebbe who was sitting by the fire. The Rebbe said nothing as time passed. As the two sat together quietly, the Rebbe took a piece of coal out of the fireplace with his cane and dragged it to the middle of the floor. They both sat silently watching as the single piece of coal began to sputter out. The message was clear: one needs community. We are social creatures. We have a responsibility to the community. As Hillel taught, “Do not separate yourself from the community.” (Mishnah Avot 2:4)

The liturgy of Un’taneh Tokef, the emotional climax of the Mussaf, reminds us that all inhabitants of the world pass before God like “members of the flock.” We express uncertainty and doubt over which nations are destined for “…sword and which for peace, which for famine and which for plenty.”

And while it is a day for reflection, Yom HaKippurim is not just about the individual. We have an obligation to pray for the entire world; to consider what we can do for our community and what we can contribute to society and to humanity. We must express our sincere concern for our fellow Jew, but also our fellow man, created in the image of God.

This Shabbat is called “Shabbat Shuvah – The Sabbath of Return,” because of the Haftorah that is read, which begins: “Return Israel to Hashem your G-d…”

The Haftorah beseeches us to return, with verses from the prophets Hoshea, Yoel, and Michah. The second verse of the Haftorah begins with the words: “K’chu imachem devarim – Take for yourself words.” The Prophet is charging us “k’chu- take!” Take this message with you! Internalize it! Take the inspiration you feel in the synagogue during the Yomim Noraim and let it transform you. Let it inspire your service of God for the rest of the year.

My Rebbe, Rav Moshe Dovid Tendler, once shared a beautiful insight from his maternal grandfather R. Shalom Baumrind, z’l, known to the world as the Boyaner Mohel. He expounded upon a verse in Shir Hashirim (7:2): “How lovely are your steps in sandals…” One of the prohibitions on Yom Kippur is ne’ilat hasandal, wearing leather sandals or shoes. On Yom Kippur we stand in our sneakers, slippers, or stockinged feet and pray fervently. Asked the Boyaner Mohel, how will you pray after Yom Kippur? How will you behave when your shoes are back on? It is easy to be inspired on Yom Kippur but how much more beautiful is it if you continue with the same enthusiasm when your leather shoes are back on- days, weeks, and months later. Then Hashem can really say, “How lovely are your steps in sandals.”

There is a beautiful, if challenging, custom to build one’s Sukkah immediately after Yom Kippur. The Rema (Rabbi Moshe Issreles, 1520-1572), records this minhag in two places in his glosses to the Shulchan Aruch. At the end of the Laws of Yom HaKippurim (Orach Chaim 624:5) he writes:

And the careful ones begin to to build the Sukkah immediately after Yom Kippur in order to go ‘from one mitzvah into another mitzvah.’

He repeats this at the very beginning of his comments to the Laws of the Sukkah (Orach Chaim 625:1), and writes:

And it is a mitzvah to build the Sukkah immediately after Yom Kippur for ‘when a mitzvah comes into your hand, you should not delay [lit. let it leaven].’

Any student of Jewish Law knows what a master editor the Rema was. His comments are concise and written with precision.

Why the repetition? And why place this custom in the Laws of Yom HaKippurim?

At first glance, the Rema himself gives two different reasons, two important values. Some suggest that perhaps the intention is that one start building right after the fast and then finish the following day. (See Magen Avraham, Be’er Heitev, Eshel Avraham and Mishnah Berurah ad loc.)

But perhaps the repetition suggests something deeper. Perhaps the Rema is reminding us to take the inspiration of Yom Kippur with us by transitioning from ‘one mitzvah into another mitzvah.’ That could explain why this practice is recorded at the end of the Laws of Yom HaKippurim.

Inspiration can fade away; these feelings are fleeting. This is the challenge of this season. The month of Tishrei is referred to as Yerech HaEitanim – the Month of Strength (Melachim I 8:2). With Rosh Hashanah, the ten days of Repentance, Yom Kippur, Succos, Hoshanah Rabbah, Shemini Atzeres and Simchat Torah, this month is jam packed. Perhaps one reason for the name is that these special days are to give “strength” to the rest of the year; to keep us inspired.

May we merit that this season inspires us but also transforms our service of God for the rest of the year. May we merit to always pray, study, and perform mitzvot with the same passion and intensity.

Even though the sounding of the shofar on Rosh HaShanah is a decree, it contains an allusion. As if to say, ‘Wake up you sleepers from your slumber and dreamers from your sleep. Inspect your deeds, repent and remember your Creator…
(Hilchot Teshuvah 3:4)

According to Rambam the sounding of the shofar is a spiritual alarm clock. Something we all could use.

The shofar is supposed to sound like wailing and groaning. The Talmud (TB Rosh HaShanah 33b), in describing this crying sound, cites a verse which describes the tears of the mother of Sisera, as found in the song of Devorah, the fifth chapter of the Book of Shoftim.

Sisera was the general of Yavin, a Canaanite king. When the Jewish People wage war against him, led by Barak and Devorah, Sisera flees. He takes refuge in the tent of Yael who lures him in with warm milk and a comfortable bed. He meets his fate as Yael drives a tent peg into his skull after he is lulled into a sleep.

What does this story have to do with Rosh HaShanah?

In fact, Tosafot (ad loc.), based on a passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi explains that our custom of blowing one hundred blasts is because of the one hundred tears shed by Sisera’s mother.

On our most holy day, why evoke the mother of the wicked Siserah?

You can imagine the scene: Siserah’s mother waiting by the window, filled with uncertainty. Wondering, asking herself: will he come home? Knowing quite well she will ever see him again.

The Rav, Rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik explained that when we hear the sound of the Shofar we awaken from spiritual complacency. Our illusions are “relentlessly shattered.” Everything we took for granted or assumed comes crashing down like a house of cards.

During one of his marathon five hour Teshuvah lectures, the Rav, Rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik shared something very personal to illustrate this point:

On the seventh day of Pesach, 5727 (1967) I awoke from a fitful sleep. A thunderstorm was raging outside, and the wind and rain blew angrily through the window of my room. Half awake, I quickly jumped to my feet and closed the window. I then thought to myself that my wife was sleeping downstairs in the sun room next to the parlor, and I remembered that the window was left open there as well. She could catch pneumonia, which in her weakened physical condition would be devastating.

I ran downstairs, rushed into her room, and slammed the window shut. I turned around to see whether she had awoken from the storm or if she was still sleeping. I found the room empty, the couch where she slept neatly covered.

In reality she had passed away the previous month.

The most tragic and frightening experience was the shock that Iencountered in that half second that I turned from the window to find the room empty. I was certain that a few hours earlier I had been speaking with her, and that at about 10 o’clock she said good night and retired to her room. I could not understand why the room was empty. I thought to myself, ‘I just spoke with her. I just said good night to her. Where is she?’
(Before Hashem You Shall Be Purified: Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik on the Days of Awe by Arnold Lustiger, p. 8-9)

The Rav explained that the shofar shakes us to our core:

We are jolted with the sudden awareness of the greivous extent to which our actions have alienated us from God…We find ourselves alone, bereft of our illusions, terrified and paralyzed before God. (ibid)

But the shofar is also a prayer.

Rav Soloveitchik taught of two different types of prayer: the articulated prayer and the un-articulated prayer. The music of the shofar is the un-articulated prayer. Some things can’t be expressed in words. Maybe I don’t know what to say or how to say it. The shofar’s song, like a child crying, is the most basic expression of need; beyond articulation.

My wife and I are blessed with three beautiful children. Sometimes my three year old cries when he wants something. Sometimes he cries because he wants me. When we blow the shofar on Yom Hadin we are calling out to our Father in Heaven, our Avinu Shebashomayim. We are saying, ‘Tateh, Father, I don’t know what I need. But I know I need You!’

After we blow the shofar, the chazzan and congregation recite three verses from psalm eighty nine responsively. We begin, “Fortunate is the people who knows the teruah…”
We don’t just hear or listen, we know. It is an intimate and deep understanding.

The call of the shofar is something beyond words. It speaks to us in a deep way and at the same time expresses what we cannot verbalize.

Eating apples with honey, along with other “simanei milta – significant omens,” is an age old custom rooted in a statement in the Talmud:

Abaye said, ‘Now, since you say that omens are significant, at the begining of the year [Rosh Hashanah] one should make it a custom of eating gourds, fenugreek, leeks, beets and dates.’ (TB Horiyot 12a, Keritot 6a)

An early source for eating apples dipped in honey is found in the work of the Maharil (Yaakov ben Moshe Moelin, 1365-1427), who collected and codified the customs of German Jewry. As we eat this symbolic sweet treat we ask Hashem to bless us with a happy and sweet new year.

Why apples and honey?

According to one tradition, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was an apple tree. By eating apples on Rosh HaShanah, we remind ourselves that we are here on earth to rectify the sin of Adam and Eve- to listen to Hashem and follow his Torah; living lives of dignity and purpose and restoring light to the world.

But why honey?

Well, it’s sweet of course. But perhaps there is a more profound significance. The Talmud questions whether honey should even be considered kosher. After all, it is made by bees, a non-kosher insect. The Mishnah (Bechorot 1:2) teaches: “all that emanates from the impure is impure.” The Talmud (TB Bechorot 7b) explains that honey isn’t actually made by the bee, rather, the pollen from the flower is merely stored inside of the bee.

At first glance honey appears tameh- impure. In reality it is tahor-pure, and permissible.
Life is about taking the impure and making it pure; engaging this world; elevating the mundane and lifting up the sparks of holiness therein.

Reb Shlomo Carlebach explained that honey is sweet, but you have to watch out for the bees. One must take the honey from the dangerous hive with skill and caution. So too in life, he said, one must learn how to bring out the sweetness without getting stung.

Eating apples and honey on Rosh HaShanah reminds us that we are here to learn, grow and squeeze the sweetness out of every moment.