A Message from the Rabbi: May this year bring new beginnings

We continue our collaboration with the Steinsaltz Center (Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsaltz Institute) and publish this specially prepared material for the member communities of the EAJC.

Dear readers, this article is published posthumously, following the passing of the great thinker of our generation, scholar and Hasid, Rabbi Steinsaltz, of blessed memory.  There is no doubt that we will continue to realize and discover the magnitude of this loss and the scale of his personality for many years to come. 

Leya Shvets – Head of the Russian-Language Department of the Steinsaltz Center

Rosh Hashanah marks the beginning of the year. The central event of this day is the blowing of the ram's horn — the shofar. The shofar is not and has never been a musical instrument. Broken blasts are succeeded by a long, drawn-out sound, as the horn cries, weeps, and Moans. Its call seems at times threatening, at times restless, and at times terrifying. In the words of Maimonides, the shofar seemingly proclaims: "Awake, O sleepers, from your sleep! Arise, O slumberers, from your slumber! Examine your deeds, return in repentance, and remember your Creator! Those of you who forget the truth in the vanity of the times and go astray all your years after vanity and emptiness which can neither profit nor save—look to your souls and improve your ways and your deeds!" (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance, 3:4). Therefore, the shofar must not be sweet-sounding. Its purpose is to awaken and shock, to shake us out of our slumber.

The sound of the shofar must disrupt the numbness into which routine has plunged us, and guide us onto the path of teshuvah — repentance — leading to G-d. This indeed constitutes the essence of repentance: awakening the capacity for renewal, awakening the desire to return to one's true self and to become oneself, rather than a copy of one's surroundings — a copy of an advertisement, a copy of the neighbors, or even a copy of one's own self in youth, when life was still lived more authentically. Here, of course, a question arises: are repentance and returning to faith truly the path to reviving one's authentic self? Does not Judaism, with its multitude of prohibitions and commandments, its thousands of detailed instructions, present a mere repetition of the selfsame, carrying within it the ultimate triumph of conformity?

In reality, there are two reasons why this does not happen. One must admit that prayers, commandments, and good deeds do indeed form a routine, but the resulting system is far from easy to fit into the template of everyday life. On the contrary, two distinct models are constantly clashing. The religious routine periodically erupts into the ordinary flow of life, interrupting its smooth glide: eating, drinking, working — and this disruption becomes a catalyst for change. In essence, it is precisely the "petty strictness" of the Halakha, its intervention in all spheres of life, that saves us from sinking into the mire of animal existence. Every action is followed by a pause. It calls upon us to halt this constant mundane race, if only for a few moments, and enter a different coordinate system, which is not born of the daily pattern and within which blessings, prayers, and the washing of hands are performed.

To this, another fundamentally important consideration must be added. No matter how deeply a person is immersed in the routine of commandments and details, they bear the duty to put their soul into what they do. Of course, we can mislead those around us, but the Creator cannot be deceived, and therefore no one should console themselves with the thought that nobody knows what lies in their heart.

In any other field, a person can perform mechanical work for years, and nothing more will be demanded of them, nor will they feel the need to develop any different, deeper approach. They may be a capable and efficient employee, an excellent educator, a spiritual leader, a faithful spouse, and a loving parent, but all of these will only be masks. Worse still, there is often no face behind the mask. In the world of Judaism, however, existing in this manner is impossible. Anyone who decides to live by routine in this realm as well will at least be unable to avoid the distinct feeling that they are acting incorrectly, unworthily, and living a lie. This need for depth and significance gives the religious person no peace. Therefore, no matter how small or insignificant they may be, they have a genuine opportunity at certain moments to experience anew the feeling of complete renewal, akin to the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. It is no coincidence that Rosh Hashanah is called the Day of Remembrance of the Creation of the World.

Year succeeds year, and "what has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done" (Ecclesiastes, 1:9). A person can spend their entire life mindlessly repeating the same mechanical actions. Each successive year becomes a continuation of the previous one; in essence, they live eternally in the old year. This is an endless sleep, a vicious circle from which no exit can be found. This is precisely why the call of the shofar resounds on the New Year. This wordless cry is unpleasant to the ear. For where can one find words that would suit everyone, in which different people would invest the exact same meaning? Therefore, the horn cries out, now weeping for the past and what has gone irretrievably, now warning that there is no limit to moral decline, and at times triumphantly proclaiming that change is attainable, and, despite the cycle of time, the coming year can become truly new.

The Steinsaltz Center congratulates the EAJC and all readers of this section on Rosh Hashanah and wishes everyone a good and successful year.

"May the year and its curses end, and may the year and its blessings begin!"