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.

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.