Elul Group, 2009

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

First off, I would like to say how proud and honored I am to be part of this outstanding group of women. Not only are the Divrei Torah inspirational, but it means so much to me to be able to be able to maintain my connection to so many Passaicers and former Passaicers this way.

Second of all, I would like to ask mechila from the entire group. I tried to say Tehillim everyday, but I must be honest that there were many times that I missed. (Ruthie very wisely placed me on the same day with another woman for Tehillim.)

Warning, the following is long. Actually, the following are two separate items that I wrote sitting here tonight. The second one is a little more personal, perhaps less inspirational to others, but I decided to attach it as an optional read in case it adds meaning to anyone elses’ life.

#1
Another year has come and gone. As with all years, we have had months of choices made, opportunities taken and opportunities missed. No one goes through a year without regrets...but it is what we do with our regrets that truly energizes the time of year known as the Yomim No’araim, the Days of Awe.

As we rest on the edge of another Yom Kippur, I look back and see the past with an all too honest eye. Where have I gotten to?

I remember my first Yom Kippur in an Orthodox shul. I was at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, 20 years old on my Junior year abroad. I had recently found my niche with a group of other students who were searching and moving and slowly becoming frum. Since I did not live on a "religious floor," I chose to stay with a friend in her dorm room. I don’t remember much of the details, but I remember we set an alarm and rose early enough to be in shul at the very beginning–and stayed there the entire day, without tiring. It was....wonderful. I felt so geshmacht. I had connected to something wonderful and powerful.

That was 15 years ago. Since then I became fully frum, graduated college and grad school, spent a year in seminary, lost my father (obm), dated, gotten married, had three children and am currently gestating #4. I’ve lived in Maryland, Jerusalem, Brooklyn, Passaic, Portland (Oregon) and now Montreal...and no experience has equaled the spiritual elation I felt that first Yom Kippur.

The first year that I had a child, I fought against the idea of not going to shul on Yom Kippur. How could I connect without the spiritual umph of the davening in shul? That year, at least, he let me daven. The next year, then a toddler, my son walked over and closed my machzor so I would stop and play with him.

My son is now 5, so its been a while since I’ve been to shul on Yom Kippur, and it’s something that I have come to terms with. I am not going into the Yom Tov expecting to daven, because then I would be angry with myself and, chas v’shalom, with my kids, if I didn’t get to. If I do get the opportunity, I will see it as a gift.

What I am taking with me into Yom Kippur this year is more humility. In the midst of a difficult time this year, someone handed me a book of stories to read. They were the usual inspirational, wow that really happened to someone (and why doesn’t any clear message like that happen to me) type of stories. But one of them hit home the message that sometimes we need to daven to Hashem to help us to daven. Sometimes, far more times than most people are willing to admit, we need to throw up our troubles and tell God that we are leaving it up to Him, really and truly. I did that, and I did it about a complex issue of bitachon and emunah, and truly did feel a sense of peace as I have not before experienced.

Writing this brought to mind a line from Avinue Malkeinu that my son has been singing over and over (although my husband and I didn’t realize this was what he was singing because his rebbe is chasidish and he was singing Uvaynee Malkaynee instead of Avinu Malkeinu!) Avinu Malkeinu patach Shaa’rei shamayim l’tifilateinue: Our Father, Our King, open the gates of heaven to our prayers.

Not just the gates of prayers or the gates of tears, but the wider gates of heaven themselves. Let me just get my foot in the door to begin the process of teshuva, let my prayers enter even the first courtyard of the heavenly court!

When we come into the Yamim No’arayim, we need to come in humble and yet prepared to ask for the grandest of gifts-teshuva itself. (The ability to do teshuva, the willingness of Hashem to accept our atonement, is immense!)

Wishing each and everyone of you a successful, meaningful and inspirational Yom Kippur.

#2
From the very beginning, I wanted to talk about Psalm 27 for my Dvar Torah. This is the one we add to davening twice a day from the beginning of Elul through Hoshana Rabba.

Before I get to Psalm 27, however, a diversion. Today I did something I haven’t had the time or energy to do of late, I went to the local women’s Shabbas shiur (with Rebbetzin Wenger for anyone familiar with the Montreal community). During the shiur, Rebbitzen Wenger discussed the following passage from I Melachim 19 (11-13):

...And, behold, Hashem passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before Hashem; but Hashem was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but Hashem was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire; but Hashem was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entrance of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said: ‘Why are you here, Elijah?’"

Rebbitzen Wenger pointed out that our chance to connect with the "still small voice" is during Vidui on Yom Kippur. Even among a crowd of worshipers (or a whirlwind of children), Vidui is a time for us to be alone with Hashem and to really talk to Him about the teshuva that we need to do.

It is in the time of this conversation that, in my head and heart, I would wish to scream out: Achat sha’alti ma’et Hashem, otah avakesh shivti b’vait Hashem kol yimei chayah lchazot b’noam Hashem u’lvaker b’haychalo (One thing have I asked of Hashem, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of Hashem all the days of my life, to behold the graciousness of Hashem, and to visit early in His temple. - Psalm 27:4).

And yet, somehow I never do. Why? This is my truest prayer...what does it mean, to me, to dwell in the house of Hashem, to behold the graciousness of Hashem? To me it means the comfort and security in a relationship–you know, that sense of ease when one is able to come into the house as if part of the family. And God is our ultimate Father, so it should be natural and easy to create that relationship. But for me, it is not.

Today I had a glimpse into one of the reasons that it is not. It all has to do with that "still small voice."

For many, many years, in different situations, people have been telling me not to "think so much." (For those of you who remember what I was like while dating David!!!) My response was always: "If I knew where the off-button was, I would!" You see, what I have learned in my lifetime thus far is that I am uncomfortable with silence, with being alone or even with finding inner-peace. (As David once said after I got a clean bill of health on something I was worried about–ok, now to find the next thing for you to worry about!) I do not believe that I am the only one who suffers from this unconscious fear, but I am aware of how it effects me.
Without silence within, how can I hear the still small voice? If I am busy looking for Hashem in the wind and the earthquake and the fire, I am blinded to all the nissim that are actually occurring silently within my life. In a busy life, it is hard to "stop and smell the roses," but if you don’t "stop to smell the roses" you won’t notice all the wonders of the world.

Tonight is erev Yom Kippur. I won’t be at shul this Yom Tov, and I can’t even guarantee that I will be able to say more than basic Shacharit. I will be looking after my wind, earthquake and fire (Avi, Shevi and Leah...all miracles of their own). But, please God, this year I will try to follow my heart’s lead and let Hashem know that I want to reach a place to hear that "still small voice," but I need His help to get there.

May each of you have a meaningful, inspiring Yom Kippur, and may we all soon gather to dwell in the house of Hashem and to visit His Temple.
 

Search Me!

When I was a small child, I was delighted when my school gave each of us a paper bag containing a feather, a candle and a wooden spoon. With these implements, we were armed to go home and help our parents search for chametz - only my parents didn’t. Along with the majority of children who attended the Jewish day school in our small community, I did not come from a home that actively practiced Jewish observance. We had no Shabbat dinners, we had no hesitations about ordering ‘pork lo mein’ at the local Chinese restaurant, and we certainly didn’t clean every nook and cranny of our house in preparation for Pesach.

Obviously, we were proud to be Jewish--after all, my parents had chosen to send their two children to the local Jewish day school. My mother was even a member of our synagogue a capella choir that sang at Friday night services. We were somewhat observant of the “major” Jewish holidays such as Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Chanukah and Pesach. We were aware of Sukkot and Purim and Shavuot, but not much more.

In my house, the idea of “turning over the kitchen” (as many say euphemistically to describe making the house kosher for Passover) was nonexistent. Looking back, I recall putting all of what we thought might be chametz into one cabinet and taping it closed, but we certainly didn’t search out bread crumbs and cookie pieces under the couch. So each year, my little paper bag with its white candle, wooden spoon and soft feather was put on the table and, eventually, thrown out unused.

It was in college that I became more observant, and, for several years after, I was a bit of a transient. I lived with family or friends, so I didn’t actually own a place to clean. More importantly, I always made plans for the entire week of the holiday so that I would not have to return to my abode, and therefore could simply sell my chametzy space.

Learning to clean for Pesach was something of a rite of passage --but one I was gently eased into. The first apartment that I was required to clean was one I shared with two other women. In the four years or so that we shared that apartment we developed a ritual of sorts. Each of us was responsible for her own room, but one Sunday close to Pesach was designated as group-cleaning-day during which we would divide up the kitchen. Our camaraderie made the work fun, and, at the end of the day, we rewarded ourselves with dinner at a local burger joint.

Now that I am the mother of three small children, I don’t expect the Pesach cleaning to be the work of camaraderie. My husband and I will most likely have to divide and conquer. His job will be to remove the children from the house. (Did I mention that my toddler has a fondness for sliced bread and could give Hansel and Gretel a run for their money on bread crumb trails?)

Let me take a moment to explain that I believe that some people are born with a predisposition to cleaning. They actually enjoy finding and destroying dirt. And I hope and pray to G-d that some of my children will soon feel this way, so I can off-load some cleaning on them!

I have never liked to clean, and at this point in my life I don’t expect that to change. But there is something different about Pesach cleaning. I feel a tremor in my heart when people start talking about Pesach cleaning, and surprisingly, it isn’t a tremor of fear!

The Jewish calendar is full of opportunities for one to start over. Rosh Hashana, the New Year, is a time of repentance. Purim is compared by the sages to Yom Kippur, as an opportunity for atonement, etc. Of course at those times I try to do Teshuva (repentance) and to inspire myself to be a better person in all ways. But, like cleaning, metaphysical soul-searching has never been one of my strengths--I am, without a doubt, a down-to-earth, pragmatic type of person who wants to do something.

Pesach cleaning gives me something to do to prepare. It gives me an activity through which to channel my spiritually focused mental energy.

The Passover cleaning is analogous to giving one’s self a thorough check-up. We check in every drawer, move the dresser to seek out crumbs, thumb through the well-used books and even rifle through coat pockets, just in case there are any tucked away bits of pretzels, cookies or even bread. And as we do these seemingly humdrum activities, we can think about how we have acted during the year, the tzedakah (charity) we did or did not give, the mitzvot that we might have overlooked. And, we look for these things not with the intention of beating ourselves up, but in order to make ourselves better.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? Sounds like I’m a real saint! Hardly. While I do look forward to this process of spiritual improvement, I still dislike the physical act of cleaning. Therefore, I have decided to take proactive steps that can help me on my cleaning mission.

1) To overcome laziness! Laziness, atzlanut, is so tempting at this time of year. It is so easy to just assume that no Cheerios could possibly have been overlooked in the living room...but then I recall the story I heard of a family discovering a child’s secret Cheerios stash when they turned on the air conditioner and the Cheerios came flying out!

2) To focus on Teshuva (repentance) and doing more to build my relationship with G-d. The Haggadah instructs us to have in mind that we too were redeemed from Egypt. At the time of their redemption, the Midrash explains, the spiritual level of the Children of Israel was less than stellar, but they cried out to G-d and He heard their cry. I too need to learn to cry out as they did, so that in the harried hustle and bustle I will remember who really runs the world.

3) To fight against my tendency toward anger. Anger is a symptom of arrogance, of thinking one is absolutely right without giving anyone else a chance to be judged favorably for their actions. In fact, Maimonides equates anger with idol worship because a person assumes that they know what should have been, even better than G-d does. At this time of year, with so much pressure to get everything done, it is hard to remain calm--especially when I find a three year old child sitting in a room that was just cleaned, innocently eating pretzels from a bag held slightly askew.

This year my children will bring home their own paper bags with a wooden spoon, a candle, and a feather. And perhaps I will look at that wooden spoon and think with joy of all the pleasure that others will savor from the delicious foods I will cook. And perhaps that candle will remind me that my own Pintele Yid (Jewish spark within) needs to be allowed to shine. And perhaps I will use that feather to tickle my children so that their laughter echoes through the house instead of the stern sounds of rebuke. This year, that bag will not go unused.

(Oh yes, the paper bag will be for me to use when hyperventilating when I think about the work I have yet to do!)

Grade 7 Moms

Dear Grade 7 mothers, 


A big thank you to all who were able to attend our meeting, as well as to those who couldn’t make it but expressed their interest before and after. It was proof once again that we all truly share the common goal of helping our daughters navigate this technological age in a healthy and Torah true way. 


Here is a summary of the comments and suggestions from the meeting and those who sent in their views. If anyone would like to add comments and/or suggestions before an official draft of an agreement is written and sent out, please feel free to reply to this email address before Thursday, February 28. Please note that our goal is to work toward a common consensus among the whole grade and every opinion is welcome and wanted. (The notes below reflect the opinions only of those mothers in attendance at the meeting this past Tuesday.)

1. There was a general consensus that we felt that it was a priority to respect each of the families’ differences and that the best way to do so is by hearing permission from the girl’s parents before allowing them access to any device in your home. (Use of any device requires the permission of both the parents of the home and of the guest.)

2. There was a general agreement that there is no reason for an internet capable device to be turned on in school, whether during school hours or during an extra-curricular activity. To this end, it was felt that it would be beneficial to suggest to the school that they could provide better access for the girls to a telephone in order to call home after hours.

3. It was agreed by all present that there was no need for there to be any form of social media chats among classmates, with a separate discussion on whether this included one on one or only group chats. Beyond the other dangers of online chat groups, those girls who are not connected will end up left out, which is not the sense of achdus and ahavas Yisrael that we hope to generate among our girls.


4. Along with parental oversight, there was a discussion of the importance of filters and parental controls on all home and personal devices. Mothers were reminded by those with more technical knowledge that the password on a router can and must be changed from the one that is printed on the router itself, that other children (and our own) can bring in devices that can be connected to your wifi if it does not have a secure password, and that all devices should have at minimum a password for access.


5. A separate, tangential discussion was offered concerning music and permitting non-Jewish(/secular) music at school. This again is an issue of respecting the boundaries of other families rather than prohibiting this type of music.


6. A general conversation was held about helping to teach our girls about respecting themselves and respecting others and about not judging or pressuring others who do or do not use technology.


7. It was agreed that no seventh grade student should have a personal social media account on any platform. 


This meeting was part of a larger initiative known as M.U.S.T., Mothers United to Stall Technology. While recognizing and accepting that many of our children already have some access to internet enabled electronics, the goal of this program is to slow down exposure and provide a responsible environment for the entire class.


If you have any comments or suggestions, please reply to this email no later than Thursday, February 28. The above, along with the comments received, will be used to create a class protocol that will be distributed to all lass parents. It will be requested that parents sign and return the protocols, so each families’ independent voice and opinion is very important. The protocols will be set for this school year and open for revision in Grade Eight.


Sincerely, Sarah Rochel Hewitt


P.S. Mrs. Cipi Schechter asked me to include a note that she will be giving a technology tutorial presentation on Tuesday, February 26, at 12:30 at the home of Sarala Schondorf.

You've Got To Give A Little

When I was five or six years old, my parents gave me a scarf for the eighth night of Chanukah. I can picture all of the candles alight on the kitchen table as my dad and brother went to the basement to shoot a game of pool and my mom followed shortly thereafter. Left alone in the kitchen, I sulked over the lousy final present. After all, shouldn’t the last night of Chanukah be the night reserved for the best present? I can honestly say, I don’t know exactly what I was thinking, but I do know that when my mom came upstairs a few minutes later she found me holding the box over the flames. Thank G-d, no damage was done to anything but the box (not even to the ugly scarf).

In our family, Chanukah was definitely about the presents. Blessed with generous parents, my brother and I received something on all eight nights. We waited anxiously for my father to return home from work so we could quickly eat dinner and begin our “Hot and Cold” search.

In hindsight, perhaps the best part of the Chanukah gift giving custom was the many lessons I learned from it.

Anticipation is often the best part of exchanging gifts -- something I discovered the hard way when I was probably around 10 years old. A few weeks before Chanukah, I stumbled across the place in the basement where my mother would stash the gifts. I knew what I had asked for and was delighted to see a wrapped box of just about the right size. Lo and behold, just my luck, a corner of the wrapping had come loose. Now what would you do? Of course I peeked. It was the Barbie Dream Van for which I had so fervently hoped. I was so happy, but I had no one with whom to share my excitement because no one could know that I knew. I certainly had great expectations of playing with it, but when I brought the large box to the table from its hiding spot that Chanukah, I felt something missing inside. There was no curiosity, no anticipation, no need to shake it to try and guess what was inside. I had spent my excitement before I even had the gift, and I am certain that my parents were well aware of my dampened level of excitement. I can honestly say that never again did I wish to peek at the presents ahead of time.

As we grew older, the family rules of Chanukah changed. Once we were in college, the “rule” became two presents for each person. And when my brother married, his wife was incorporated into the two-gift custom. Alas, I wish I could say that I was not, deep down, still that spoiled little girl who tried to burn her scarf. Truth be told, however, I was resentful of the fact that I now had to give gifts to four people, but was not receiving back as many as I gave. Married couples, of course, were allowed to give as one unit. So while I was buying two each for mom, dad, brother and sister-in-law, I was only receiving four, two from mom and dad and two from my brother and sister-in-law. (Now you do the math and tell me how that was fair!) Every year it was a struggle not to announce how cheated I felt on this deal.

By the time I graduated college, I had become more observant and had spent a year in Israel immersed in Jewish studies. Through my studies, I gained a new appreciation for the holiday of Chanukah. The word Chanukah shares the same root as the Hebrew word chinuch, education. The main mitzvah of Chanukah is to publicize the miracle. This is accomplished by lighting a menorah in a public area where others will see it. While I was not yet ready to forego exchanging gifts (Hey, I was a poor graduate student at the time!), I needed to incorporate my new understanding of Chanukah into the gift exchange. I therefore started my own personal custom of buying each person one book of Jewish content. Not only did giving Jewish books tie in to the real “theme” of Chanukah, but I also found myself excited at the prospect of choosing these presents.

It was only with the birth of my first niece that I can truly say that my inner gift giving spirit fully changed. There is nothing comparable to having a small child to spoil, especially when the toys then stay at someone else’s house. This change, however, was all encompassing. I began to thoroughly enjoy finding and giving gifts...and I worked at it. I tried to think about what each person would really want, not just what was cute or easy to find. On a highly limited budget, this was no easy task!

Judaism teaches us that if we wish to truly love someone, we must learn to give to them. This doesn’t mean that we should just bring them a cake or a bouquet of flowers, or do some random act of giving. In order to truly give to a person, you must really look at them and see what their needs and wants are. You need to try to understand them, an action that really connects you to them. Of course I already loved my family, but now I really feel in sync with them when I give them something I think they want.

Now I too am married and have my own children. My oldest child is 2 1/2 and quite old enough to be aware of receiving gifts. My husband and I are at a point in our lives where we must choose to establish our own family customs. Certainly we will continue the extended family gift exchange (which has now been modified to giving gifts just to the children). But what will we do in our own home? A gift each night? Probably not. But to take away all giving seems to me to be sacrificing a crucial element of childhood.

During my lifetime of Chanukahs, I have experienced a journey from selfish receiver to joyful giver. Indeed, now, I am often more excited to watch everyone else open their gifts than to open the gifts that I receive. And, because of that, I can now honestly apologize to my parents for ruining the surprise of my Barbie Dream Van.

Shavuot - Every Jew's Birthday

Five days before our wedding, my husband celebrated his third birthday. Really. From a Torah perspective, it had been three years since his conversion to Judaism, marking the birth of his Jewish soul.

Following the traditional Ashkenazi custom, D— and I did not see each other the week before our wedding, so I sent him a “birthday present” through a mutual friend. As I placed the “Happy Birthday You Are 3” card in the gift bag, cute cartoons and all, I was struck by how significant the day was. This man was my bashert, my divinely intended mate, and yet only three years prior, our marriage would have been impossible.

How had it all come to be? My husband’s story is really his to tell. I can only summarize that during a visit to Israel he felt a connection to something far greater than himself and realized that he wished to be part of the Jewish people. Returning to his hometown, D— first reassessed his intentions carefully, and, when he realized that he still wished to be Jewish, he sought out a rabbi to show him the way.

From my own perspective, it is astounding that we even went out in the first place. After all, on paper he did not come close to meeting my “qualifications.” I had been observant for nearly 10 years and had had the privilege of spending time studying in Israel. Modesty aside, in my circle I was considered to be quite knowledgeable, and more than one prospective partner had failed to meet my high-standards for learning. In my mind, the man I married would have been observant at least as long as I had been, and he would have far surpassed me in the area of Judaic studies. What is it they say? Man plans and G-d laughs.

G-d, as you may have realized, works in mysterious ways. Through my husband, I have learned many lessons in humility, and continue to do so. D— did not need all those years of experience that I expected him to need. Since deciding to become a “member of the tribe,” D— had undergone a grueling and intense educational regime.

For anyone who is unfamiliar with the process of converting to Judaism, it is a process not to be lightly undertaken. Indeed, when I was getting to know my husband, I spoke to a woman in his hometown community with whom he was close and asked if she thought, given the fact that he was so new, that he was truly dedicated. Having witnessed, at close range, his conversion process, she was shocked that the question could even be asked. Beyond completely turning over his life, giving up non-kosher restaurants, Friday nights at the pub and a host of other old personal pleasures, he was required to spend hours upon hours in Judaism classes. He was tested for knowledge and carefully observed to verify his sincerity. With every step he took closer to the Torah, his identity blurred, shifted and changed. And while D—’s commitment grew with every challenge that he faced, he also had to struggle to deal with the changes in the important relationships of his previous life that he wished to maintain in his new life. There were constant explanations necessary, as well as asking his many friends and family to accommodate his new lifestyle.

D—’s process, from decision to conversion, lasted close to 3 years. Much of what I had learned in my 29 years of existence, he had to learn in that short span of time. Holidays, life cycles, even vocabulary, things that had always been part of my existence, were all part of his learning process--a process we now continue together.

My husband’s “dip day,” as we jokingly refer to the day on which he went to the mikvah and ritually immersed himself to complete his conversion, was the 3rd of Sivan. Our wedding anniversary is the 8th of Sivan. In between those two dates is the holiday of Shavuot, the anniversary of the day G-d gave the Jewish people the Torah on Mount Sinai.

It is no coincidence, I realize, that these two days, so important in our personal lives, occur around Shavuot. The holiday of Shavuot is all about preparation for changing oneself completely. When the Children of Israel left Egypt (as celebrated on Passover), they were a fleeing assortment of ex-slaves connected primarily by bloodline. When they stood at Mount Sinai, only seven weeks later, they expressed with one heart the desire to accept the Torah from G-d and to dedicate their lives, and the lives of their children after them, to living the Torah’s ideal. Shavuot is often compared to a marriage, with G-d as the groom, the Torah as the wedding contract and the Children of Israel as the bride. It was the beginning of a beautiful, if sometimes turbulent, relationship.

Three thousand plus years later, just prior to Shavuot, D— joined the Jewish nation, accepting upon himself exactly what my own ancestors had accepted at Mount Sinai. And three years later, just after Shavuot, on our wedding day, we joined together and pledged to each other and to G-d that our lives and the lives of our children would be lived by these extraordinary ideals.

As Shavuot approaches, and I look forward to celebrating yet another “dip-day/birthday” with my husband, as well as our anniversary, I am once again awed by the gift that I have been given. Everyday, I have with me a source of inspiration. While I was born a Jew and have chosen to strive to live my life to the full extent of that birthright, my husband accepted the Torah upon himself freely and of his own accord. And while I may have had years of life experience and the gift of a Jewish day school background, my husband is constantly finding new and exciting insights that energize our home.

Thank you G-d, for all your mysterious ways and for opening me up to even consider saying hello to such a “little kid.”

Happy Birthday Ye Children of Adam!

The High Holiday services are once again upon us. I remember when I was a teenager, long before I became observant, a non-Jewish friend of mine expressed the opinion that she wished she was Jewish so she could also take the High Holidays off from school. I laughed and told her that was silly, after all, it wasn’t like I was sitting home watching TV; I had to spend the entire day in shul - BOOOOOORING!

As I said, that was many years ago and now I look forward to the services. In fact, my favorite places to daven on Yom Kippur are those that break between Mussaf and Mincha for only about half an hour, no more than that. And yet I can honestly admit that even on Rosh Hashana, as I enter into the Mussaf davening, my feet slightly cranky (because inevitably, I choose the wrong shoes to wear!) And my brain slightly drained, I find myself spaced out. There are parts of the Rosh Hashana service that take me by surprise every year - “Oh yeah, we say that here? Huh? Who knew?”

And then the blasts of the shofar wake me from my reverie. “Concentrate now,” I say to myself, “Those shofar notes must go through you like an arrow of sound! G-d is King, G-d is King!” I try with all my might to focus, and then it is over. The blasts dissolve from the air, and the people around me are rushing into the next prayer.

Today is the birth of the world, today all the creations of the world stand in judgement, if as children or if as servants. If as children, be merciful on us with the mercy of a father on his sons, and if as servants, our eyes are turned to You until You give us grace and issue our judgement like light, Awesome and Holy One.

I must admit, while I do rush saying the prayers n order to keep up with everyone, this is actually one of my favorite prayers; it speaks to me. Perhaps because it is such a simple use of language.  I can relate to being a child, and I can relate to being submissive to someone (maybe not as a servant, but at least as an employee).

“Hayom Harat Olam.” Today is the birthday of the world. Excellent. So 5,763 years ago, G-d created the earth - not exactly. Actually, the beginning of creation was 5,763 years and 6 days ago. Rosh Hashana is the anniversary of the sixth day of creation - the day on which Adam was created, and therein lies the critical information.

These are the ‘generations’ (products) of the heavens and the earth in creating them, in the day Hashem G-d made earth and heaven. And all the trees of the field were not yet on the ground, and all the herbs of the field had not yet sprouted because Hashem G-d did not send rain on the ground, and there was no man to work the ground (Genesis 2:4-5).

Okay, I know, this is not a great big chidush - we’ve all heard this drash. Before Adam was created, the world was in a state of pure potential. G-d created the potential for everything in the word - the potential, but not the actual. The seeds were planted for grass and eggs were laid for little chicks. But it was not until Hashem had created Adam, the first man, that the latent potential int eh world came to fruition. Why the delay? G-d wanted Adam to ask, to pray, for the world to blossom and grow.  Once Adam prayed for rain, the grass sprouted out of the earth, the little chicks hatched from their eggs, and G-d’s true splendor and glory were revealed on earth.

Why did G-d want Adam to pray? G-d wanted Adam to look into himself and recognize the need to seek His help in bringing the world to its full potential. Additionally, G-d wanted Adam to recognize his own powerful role in creation and the amazing potential within himself. There is no greater vehicle for finding one’s true potential then prayer. While we translate the Hebrew word “l’hitpallel” as to pray, the word is actually a reflexive verb meaning “to judge one’s self” or “to self-reflect.”

Chazal tell us that if someone kills another person, then they have destroyed an entire world. On Rosh Hashana, we are each the original Adam reflecting the entire world. That world is us, and that self is the potential we hold inside.

It’s hard, we all know that. Discovering how to bring our latent potential forward is one of the greatest challenges of mankind. Even harder than that is being able to look at one’s self with a critical eye (both for positive and negative traits). But think of Adam. He awoke into the world, looked around, scratched his head and thought, “Huh? What am supposed to do with this place? Kind of empty, no?” And he went to the only source available for the answers, the King of Kings.

And so do we. In the prayer Hayom Harat Olam we say: “Today all the creations of the world stand in judgement, if as children or if as servants. If as children, be merciful on us with the mercy of a father on his sons, and if as servants, our eyes are turned to You until You give us grace and issue our judgement like light, Awesome and Holy One.”  No matter how G-d sees us, as children or as servants, we are appealing to Him to help us discover that potential within. We are appealing to Hi rachamim, his mercy. The word rachamim, interestingly enough, shares the same root as the word rechem womb. From whence comes life? From the womb. From when comes life? From the mercy of Hashem.

We all know our basic earth science...rain (water) is necessary for life to flourish. When Adam prayed for rain, he was praying to Hashem, the G-d of rachamim, to let life flow forth freely on the planet. Rain is a beracha (something we all understand so well after this summer’s drought). The word beracha is related to the word b’reycha, a well spring or source - thus strengthening its connection with rachamimi (both are sources of life). Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (Deuteronomy 11:26) also relates it to the word berech, or knee. The knee is a unique joint because it is responsible for helping pull one forward. (Think of how difficult it is to walk without bending one’s knees.) R’ Hirsch thus concludes that a beracha is more than a source of blessing; it is “the condition of unhindered progressive movement forward.” Life can only be truly lived if we continue to move forward.

Hayom Harat Olam, Today is the birth of the world. Today, Rosh Hashana, we pray to G-d to give us life by answering our prayers, as he answered Adam HaRishon’s prayer - with a beracha. And that beracha is the ability to continue moving forward toward our potential. When we think of our prayer on the Day of Judgement in this light, we are already taking a step forward and becoming a newer, better person who is one step closer to fulfilling his/her tafkid. At the same time, we can begin to understand what t means when our Rabbis say that on Rosh Hashana G-d judges us for who we are at that very moment. We have taken a step forward and are no longer the same person we were just a moment before. We have been transformed, just as the earth was transformed by the flow of rain.

May we all find the strength this Rosh Hashana to make the most of our tefillah and to bring upon ourselves a blessing of great spiritual growth and ktiva v’chatima tova.

Elul in Trauma

Written August 16, 2021
The King is in the Field, this is the great philosophy of Elul. Hashem is right here, ready and waiting to hear our petitions.  But how do I petition Hashem when I feel as if I am trapped in a hole, in a hole that is like one of those traps you see in the movies where everything looks smooth and safe and then suddenly the floor beneath you gives out. I am caught in this pit, and I am trying to scream to the King, the beautiful king standing in the field, but the depths of the darkness makes it feel purposeless.

 

How did I get here? It’s the question of the hour, the week, the month…I had a beautiful garden, but I  can only surmise that I didn’t take care of it properly. The land rebelled against me, but not before my beautiful harvest that I will always keep close to me. I think of my harvest, of my five wonderous seedlings, and I am renewed in my vigor to call out once again, to beg the King to hear me.

 

But the walls of the pit are black stones, seemingly rounded and gentle but full of sharp, hurtful edges. It looks benign, even beautiful, but the rocks cut and the blackness absorbs my sobs. I know that there is a path up. I know I can make it with time and effort. But can I make it this year? Can I get out of this pit, this pit that took me so much by surprise in my very own garden, before the King leaves the field?

 

I reach out and grab upward. I try to shout the words I want to say, but they echo hollowly back at me. Can He hear me? Why does everything I say sound so garbled and unclear? What is it that I really want?