G’mar Tov.
 
The Torah reading on Yom Kippur recounts the service of Aharon, the High Priest, on the day of Yom Kippur.  The ritual involved casting out a goat into the wilderness – the original scapegoat – along with an elaborate procedure for lighting incense and the sacrifice of a second goat.  The service of the High Priest on Yom Kippur was fraught with great portent and peril.  The Torah states that a Kohen Gadol who failed to execute the service with exact precision, did so at the risk of death. 
 
Behind this storylies an even more difficult one.  The Torah portion is from the parsha “Acharei Mot” – which means, “after the death”.  G-d’s instructions to Aharon, and his carrying out of the Yom Kippur ritual, occurred directly after the tragic death of two of Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, who died after committing a tragic error while performing religious service.

It is impossible to read of the service of Aharon Hakohen without being stuck by compassion for what he was undertaking.  Still in grief for his two sons, still required to lead the worship of the Jewish people, Aharon undertakes to attain Hashem’s atonement to the people at his own danger.  It is perhaps no wonder that he became known and beloved as the Pursuer of Peace and Beloved Guide of the people.  Even more so than Moshe Rabbeinu his brother, Aharon epitomized chesed and rachamim – kindness and grace – for the Jewish people.


The  Priestly ritual on Yom Kippur was done in order “l’khaper”, to atone, for the Jewish people and their transgressions.  While the great responsibility lay with the High Priest to enact the atonement ritual, the responsibility for atonement lay with the entire people of Israel.  The people were instructed to cease all labours and “afflict their souls”, which according to the Sages signified fasting, among other deprivations.


For Aharon the Kohen Gadol, and indeed for the High Priest for generations to come, inscription in the Book of Life was not taken for granted.  The Yom Kippur ritual was fraught with danger, symbolizing the grave danger that hung over the Jewish people at this time of year.
 
Today, despite the gravity of the liturgy, we do not directly face the imminent presence of death on Yom Kippur.*  (*Note: This D’var Torah was written prior to the shooting of two people outside of a synagogue in Halle, Germany, during Yom Kippur services on October 9, 2019.)  Today, the 10th of Tishrei 5780, finds our community here in Calgary generally living in physical safety.  Our community is a prosperous one, where housing and food are available to us.  Despite our historical awareness of the threats of antisemitism, we do not encounter mortal danger in our daily lives as Jews.  Our issues are beyond those of mere survival.  We engage in activities for personal and communal prosperity; for spiritual engagement and fulfilment; for the strengthening of our health and safety; and for the pursuit of happiness.
 
Given these blessings, it may seem mere neurosis to occupy ourselves with troubles beyond the scope of our everyday lives, which can be challenging enough as is.  Nonetheless, this community takes on bigger challenges willingly.  We have people who are active in a range of social, political, health and economic causes, as well as strengthening the Jewish people and Israel.  We as Jews do not take our own or our society’s well-being for granted; we consider it a sacred charge to go beyond our own lives to help those of others.
 
In recent years, I personally have taken a great interest in matters related to climate change.  I appreciate that this is a cause that not everyone in this community aligns with.  My interest in environment and climate matters stems from my given scientific perspective, with a belief that scientific knowledge and pursuits can transcend political parties and polarization, and a faith in our capacity as humans to effect change.

I am aware that, especially in the time of a Canadian federal election, the prioritization of one cause over another can suggest partisan leanings.  Whether a person prioritizes economic growth, community safety, preservation of heritage, women’s rights, personal liberty, indigenous rights, or climate can in turn influence the political parties they align with.  I wish to emphasize that it is not my intention to favour one party or another.  There is no one cause that is sacrosanct above all others, and indeed we make our choices informed by a balance of interests.  I share my particular interest in climate, to illustrate lessons that apply across the broad variety of interests in which our congregation is engaged in.  These lessons apply as fully to matters regarding health, public safety, economy, human rights & Zionism.
 
Recently, in an argument with a friend about the validity of a particular article related to climate change, she shared with me a religious insight that helps inform my perspective.  She pointed out how in G-d’s covenant with Noah, Hashem promised not to destroy the world.  In this covenant, and later in the covenant with Avraham, G-d granted us to be fruitful and multiply, to populate the Earth, to live in and watch over it. 

A sceptic might scoff and reject the notion of a divine covenant as archaic.  Yet there is important insight to be gained.  Despite the fearful rhetoric around climate or other causes, there is no point in regarding our existence on this planet as doomed.  Humanity is meant to exist and proliferate. 
 
Fear is no reason to refrain from doing the work of growing our world.
 
On the afternoon of Yom Kippur, we read the Book of Jonah, the reluctant prophet.  Jonah warns the people of Nineveh that they will be destroyed by G-d – yet they repent, change their ways, and the divine wrath was averted.  When Jonah grew angry about this – how dare Hashem change their mind and save this once-wicked people? – Hashem reminds Jonah of the divine desire to preserve human and even animal life.  And more importantly, we learn about our capacity to effect dramatic change and turn around our society’s very fortune.

Another important religious learning from Yom Kippur that can be applied to our pursuit of important causes, is to refrain from despair. No matter how grave we perceive a situation, we believe Hashem’s presence is somewhere at hand, ready to sustain us, in compassion.  Rather than throw our hands up in defeat and despair, we as Jews choose somehow to discern meaning in the trials we face.  My memory is seared with the image and sound of the Jewish survivors of Bergen-Belsen, upon liberation by British troops, breaking spontaneously into the refrain of Hatikvah – the hope. 
 
There is a difference between anxiety, grief, and struggle on the one hand, and despair on the other.  There are times in our lives where we may find ourselves feeling broken.  In reference to the words of the Shema, The disciple asks the rebbe, “Why does Torah tell us to ‘place these words upon your hearts? Why does it not tell us to place these holy words in our hearts?”  The rebbe answers: “It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. So we place them on top of our hearts. And there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks, and the words fall in.”
 
Yom Kippur is a day that epitomizes that brokenness.  Sometimes our reality is shattered, and a new one emerges.  Yom Kippur reminds us that such shattering does not mean the end of hope – rather, the beginning of a new one.
And in this new light, we come back to the epitome of Yom Kippur.  As announced by Isaiah in the Haftarah for Yom Kippur morning, G-d does not seek merit in the suffering of our fasting.  Rather the prophet conveys the following message from G-d:  “No, this is the fast I desire: … It is to share your bread with the hungry, And to take the wretched poor into your home; When you see the naked, to clothe him, And not to ignore your own kin… If you banish oppression from your midst, and evil speech,  And you offer your compassion … Then you can seek the favor of the LORD. I will set you astride the heights of the earth, And let you enjoy the heritage of your father Jacob— For the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
 
Whatever it is that inspires and guides you in this world, may Yom Kippur be a time to access the very vulnerability that strengthens us.  May you find in Hashem the strength to sustain you above worldly challenges.  And may you be inspired by the ideals of Tefilah, Teshuva and Tzedakah to discover strength, hope and a happy, healthy New Year in the book of life in 5780.

 
G’mar Tov.
 
It’s surprising that Kol Nidrei serves as the highlight prayer of the Jewish Year.  After all, what is the prayer but a formalized retraction of oaths?  
 
“All vows, prohibitions, oaths, consecrations or equivalent terms that we may vow, swear or prohibit upon ourselves, from the date of this Yom Kippur to the following one… are to be considered abandoned, cancelled, null and void.”
 
This is the highlight of sacred worship?  A legal declaration?
 
Surprisingly, the idea is not as absurd as it seems.
 
Take, for example, a Jewish wedding.  Beyond the ritual elements, a Jewish marriage is consecrated… through a contract.  The ketubah, for all its beauty and florid prose, is ultimately a contractual arrangement between bride & groom.  
 
The notion of a covenant - or brit - is also a contractual agreement: In recognition or exchange for such-and-such, the counterparty promises to do x.  Such covenants in Torah may be person-to-person, nation-to-nation, or between humanity and G-d.  The nature of covenant extends beyond mere legal contract, however, to a deep, solemn, sacred alliance which may extend across generations, even to eternity.
 
So it’s not altogether absurd for Jews to rally together to make legal declarations!
 
Yet still, Kol Nidre itself remains problematic.  Why an annulment of oaths?  What is its great significance?
 

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One of the main anchorpoints of Judaism is halacha - Jewish law.  Our services, rituals, celebrations, prohibitions and ethical behaviour are fundamentally grounded in Jewish legality, including statutory, regulatory and case law from multiple jurists and jurisdictions, with careful note of minority opinions.  We do not believe that the analytic legalism of our religion need detract from our spirituality -- rather, it enhances our understanding of our religion, while guiding us with precision in our conduct.
 
There is something even more profound and fundamental than law: and that is the WORD, the spoken and written word.  Words have enormous power within Judaism.  The world was created through the Word of G-d.  Creation begins with, “And G-d said, “Let there be light” - and then there was light”.  Each aspect of Creation is preceded by G-d’s saying what will be created.  Words are the means through which Hashem enacts divine power on Earth.
 
Our human capacity for language is not trivial, it distinguishes humanity from the animal kingdom.  Hashem states that Humanity is created “b’tzelem elokim”, in the image of G-d.  What is that image if not the ability to reason & analyze, and communicate said reason through the capacity of language?
 
From that perspective, Kol Nidre is not merely a dry statement.  Our promises, our utterances are not mere sounds - our words have the capacity to create reality.  When we speak, we generate a reality.  When we lie or mislead, we use our words to distort that reality.  When we promise then fail to execute our promise, we create an imbalance in the world around us.  
 
Kol Nidre, and the process of teshuva more broadly, is about restoring that balance.  It is about humbly letting the air out of our balloon and saying, “We are likely to fall short of our words and promises.”  There is no such thing as humanity without failure.
 
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Yet the acknowledgement and awareness of our own human failings is not simple, and the process of teshuva is fraught with difficulty.  SImply saying, “I’m sorry” may not be enough.  A more elaborate articulation of the process of Teshuva is provided by Maimonides, who suggests the following elements of Teshuva:
 
a.             Awareness
b.             Stopping
c.             Communicating
d.             Resolution
 
These steps are not sequential, but can occur each at their own time, as we proceed in our emotional journeys.
 
Awareness involves recognition of our wrongdoing, and openness to regret. We can stop trying to pretend we’re perfect or flawless… because we’re not. Saying sorry is a start. It is even better to delve deeper and understand what we have done. If someone else is angry or critical of us, we can seek their feedback or clarification, to understand our role in a given situation, and what its impact may have been on others.  Yom Kippur gives us permission to look at ourselves honestly and acknowledge our accountability.
 
Next is stopping.  Before trying to make amends, or repair a situation, or hide it under the rug, we do ourselves a favour by simply stopping for a moment.  That stopping may mean simply sitting with the fears and emotions that are driving our behaviour.  It may mean we can gently remind ourselves of our choice not to engage in the negative behaviour.  Maybe we can put a stop to a bad situation, either gradually or immediately.  Or it may mean we stop the cycle of negativity and rumination in our head; stop trying to solve a problem that is unsolvable.  When we stop, we allow ourselves to recognize what may be compelling us towards doing things we later regret, and present a moment for compassion - rachamim - to enter.
 
Communicating is what we do on Yom Kippur.  We use our words to state openly that we have done wrong, individually and collectively.  At the very least, we use the formula of the Vidui prayer - the confession - to verbally acknowledge our failings. Even better is to seek out other people we may have wronged, and speak to them to resolve a difficult situation.  We can also use Yom Kippur as an opportunity to share our heartfelt thoughts and emotions with Hashem, knowing that G-d shows extraordinary, loving compassion on this day.  The opportunity to obtain forgiveness may give us the courage to open up and let ourselves be vulnerable.
 
Resolution occurs in a number of ways.  We can speak to someone we may have wronged and try to make things right.  Or we can face a difficult situation again, and choose to act differently this time.  Or we can prevent others from committing the same wrongdoing as us, or prevent others from being harmed the way we were.  Ultimately, rather than simply doing Vidui, it is the full process of teshuva including resolution that we aim for.
 
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Kol Nidre is part of a process in which recognize our humanity and vulnerability, where we open up our hearts to the possibility of our failings and the possibility of repairing these failings.
 
Before Kol Nidre, we say, “Anu Matirin lehitpalel im ha’avaryanim” - we hereby grant permission for our congregation to pray and reflect in the presence of transgressors.  Yom Kippur is not targeted towards the holiest and most sacred.  It is targeted towards the very worst in us and among us - the very human, very fallible, lowliest aspects which we may conceal in shame or deny even exist.  We bring the weeds of our soul out into the sunlight - where they can grow into the flowers they’re meant to become.
 
Our words and ideas have the capacity to create and destroy.  The power of Bracha and Kelalah, blessing and curse, signify that what we think and say can save life or erase life.  Kol Nidre is about the recognition of that deep power.  May we use it for healing ourselves and the worlds around us, in the year to come.
 
G’mar Hatimah Tovah.
 

Shana Tova, everyone.
 
This is a very, very, very special YEAR.  We enter into 5780, the turn of the decade, with hope and aspiration for renewal and a better year ahead of us.
 
I’d like to start by sharing with you a concept from R. Shimon Apisdorf, the author of the “Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur Survival Kit”.  He comments about how we may have heard that Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are the time of judgment:
 
…You have probably heard is either that [Rosh Hashanah]… is the Day of Judgment. [This concept is] very misunderstood. Let’s consider the notion of judgment. The truth is, the prospect of judgment is very uncomfortable and nobody likes to be judged. We don’t like to be judged by a boss, a teacher, and certainly not by our peers.
 
At the same time, there is a very beautiful dimension to judgment. Think about parents and children. Parents are concerned about, and judge, a whole range of items related to their children: … their grades in school, what kind of lunch they have, what kinds of friends they associate with… and a lot more. From the child’s perspective, this can seem intrusive, but the truth is, there is only one reason why parents are so interested in virtually every detail of their children’s lives: it’s because they deeply love their children.
 
Let’s think about that:  judgment as a manifestation of love & caring.  Admittedly, judgment can sometimes be a manifestation of anger or disdain.  When it comes to those we love and respect, we do not want such judgment imposed from a place of dominance and ego.  However, employed carefully (judiciously?), judgment can be an important corrective measure that can help ourselves or someone else. 
 
There are times in our lives when we judge others; think about a situation recently where you had to evaluate someone else’s (or even your own) activities & behaviour.  How do we apply judgment constructively?  We set standards, and encourage others to reach them.  We speak honestly and show clearly the improvements we seek from one another. We share our values and concerns.  We tell stories.  And we validate the person being evaluated.
 
All of a sudden, judgment is no longer so harsh or terrible: it’s an opportunity for feedback and improvement.  I know that I have benefited greatly from helpful evaluations and constructive criticisms from mentors, leaders and loved ones. 
 
Yet there is one critical factor that makes such judgment effective: Trust.  We need trusting relationships with the people we judge, or the ones judging us, in order for our outcomes to be positive.


The Challenges of Trust
Our relationships with one another are infused with challenges of trust and distrust.  As we build deeper trust, our bonds grow closer – as friends, lovers, spouses, colleagues.  When trust is violated, we pull back, we judge more critically, perhaps separate ourselves… we may even feel like a piece of us has been taken away.
Yet no relationship is flawless.  We engage in a dance with those whom we are close with: seeking to build rapport, often succeeding, sometimes failing.  Yet If we refrained from relationships with anyone who ever disappointed us in some way, we would rapidly become isolated.  An absolutely flawless, perfect person is not a person; it’s an unattainable ideal. The question is, how do we negotiate the dance of trust?
How do we do it with one another, and how do we do it with G-d?

Trust and compassion
There is one inevitable certainty:  We will screw up.  We will screw up in not doing things we’ve been asked to do, or doing something we shouldn’t have.  We misunderstand, we make bad decisions, we say or do things we regret. 
When we recognize our own fallibility, and that of the other person, that is the place where compassion can enter.  We have the choice to frame our understanding.  We can allow ourselves to say, “I screwed up.” Or “Yeah, you screwed up.”  Sometimes such incidents can be forgiven; in extreme cases, maybe not.  Yet here too, we can reframe our thinking:

• Yes, I did wrong.  I accept accountability for my actions.  I cannot control how other people will react to what I did.  Maybe the relationship can be repaired; maybe it cannot. Yet I acknowledge my own humanity and failing, and do whatever I reasonably can, to repair the situation and do better in future.

 

• Yes, a wrong was done me.  I feel angry, hurt, regretful, or perhaps ashamed.  Yet I can’t change what has happened.  Perhaps I can assert and negotiate change in this relationship.  Maybe I had a role in this which I might do different.  Maybe what was done me is unforgivable, and all I can do is learn from it and perhaps prevent its recurrence.  But ultimately, I acknowledge my own vulnerability, and will show compassion to myself and towards this situation.

Through a lens of compassion and fallibility, we can regenerate and negotiate the trust we have for others, for ourselves, and for positive change and adaptation.
 
Complexity of Love
And in our most powerful relationships, we negotiate this constantly.  Love is complex.  The Western society cliché of “falling in love” is an anomaly in Judaism.  Love is not passive, it’s not a thing you “fall into”.  It’s something we commit to, and build, and strengthen within our reasonable abilities.
As relationships evolve, they become complex.  We give and take, we share and strengthen, and sometimes – perhaps often – we do wrong & experience wrongdoing.  That’s when we’re challenged to discover how to move beyond an overwhelming sense of grief or disempowerment, and renegotiate our own strength, and connections.

Trust in G-d


Trust in G-d  can be all the more challenging.
 
For those who are full believers, there is no problem: a believer trusts in G-d implicitly in all aspects of their lives.  Even when something bad happens, a full believer will say, “Gam zu livrachah” – if this is what has been divinely ordained for me, it must be good.


For non-believers, trust in an other-worldly divine being may seem absurd.  Such people may say, “What do you mean?  Things in the world just happen. We live, we die, and there’s no meaning to it.”  I hesitate to bring up such heretical philosophies in shul, Secular society often embodies the notion of “let din v’let dayan”, that the universe is without justice or meaning, and that there is no divine hand to guide this.  And we face the ever-present temptation to turn there to make sense of or rationalize injustice.
 
The vast majority of us, I believe, lie somewhere in the middle.  We sense something transcendent in our lives, the notion of a Creator and Creation, of a universe greater than us, and a sense that there is meaning to be sought in our day-to-day lives.  Yet this faith is challenged when we witness suffering, injustice, pain, struggle.  How could these things happen, we ask, what kind of G-d would allow such grief in their world?
 
At such times, our trust in the Divine is challenged, perhaps weakened.  If we believe in a G-d that is truly all-benevolent, then why do we witness and experience suffering and grief in our world?
 
Some turn to the notion of Process Theology, which suggests that our relationship with G-d is itself an evolving one, and that the Power and Perfection we attribute to G-d is a matter of our own choice in the relationship.  Maybe it is more meaningful and helpful for us to conceive of G-d as fallible or imperfect in their relationship with us.  If so, then we are challenged to discover how to find strength and meaning in such an evolving relationship.
On the other hand, if we prefer the strength of knowing and believing in G-d’s perfection, then we may sometimes have to reframe our own understanding.  If we believe in G-d as an ever-loving parent who cares for us, according to the Maggid of Mezeritch, then we are meant to understand that a parent sometimes changes their behaviour and communication to adapt to the child.  A parent may speak differently to a child, or present certain opportunities for choice or restrict the child’s choice, in order to guide them.  Perhaps the challenges we experience are those of a larger-scale, loving learning.

Breaking down barriers
The Slonimer Rav would recount a parable in which a beloved Ruler was inside a palace surrounded by countless walls, huge and insurmountable.  A brokenhearted person who desperately needed the monarch’s help, had no way to get through these walls to reach the Ruler directly – so they chose to do the only thing that could allow them to be heard:  they blew the Shofar.  At that instant, all the walls between the subject and Ruler crumbled down, like the walls of Jericho – and the person could then enter to directly present their request to the beloved sovereign.

Once the person was actually inside with the monarch, they discovered something amazing: There were no actual walls there to begin with.
The High Holidays are a time in which we break down the imagined barriers between us and Heaven.
 
A loving relationship with G-d
 
If we believe in a G-d of love, how do we enable that love to manifest itself in our Jewish lives?  How do we imbue our lives with the presence of a caring G-d? 
 
If love is complex, the manner in which we access it is not.  We give. The loving message of Rosh Hashanah is this: give of yourself.  The Hebrew word for love, “Ahavah”, contains the word “hav” - to give. 

Give love to your families and dear ones.  Give what you have to those in need.  Provide for the stranger, the widow and the orphan.  Give of your time and energy.  Love your friends and neighbours.  Welcome others into your home.  Visit the sick.  Honour parents and elders.  Speak truth.  Learn, and learn some more.
 
When we imbue our lives with love and giving – when we surround ourselves with those who both give and accept gifts graciously – we invite the trusting, caring relationship with G-d to be made manifest in our lives.  When we are safe and open to it, the Universe may tell us what to do.  May 5780 be a time to explore this deep knowledge, to witness the benefits of the judgments that Hashem provides in our lives, and to love and give unconditionally.
 
Shana Tova!
 

​ 
Shana Tova, everyone.

The mitzvah of Rosh Hashana is outlined as follows in the Torah (Vayikra 23:24-25): 
דַּבֵּ֛ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר בַּחֹ֨דֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֜י בְּאֶחָ֣ד לַחֹ֗דֶשׁ יִהְיֶ֤ה לָכֶם֙ שַׁבָּת֔וֹן זִכְר֥וֹן תְּרוּעָ֖ה מִקְרָא־קֹֽדֶשׁ׃ כָּל־מְלֶ֥אכֶת עֲבֹדָ֖ה לֹ֣א תַעֲשׂ֑וּ וְהִקְרַבְתֶּ֥ם אִשֶּׁ֖ה לה':

The term used to desrcibe Rosh Hashanah in Torah is “Shabbaton Zichron Teruah Mikra Kodesh”:“Shabbaton”: a (time) of pause…

• “Zichron”: …of remembrance…
• “Teruah”: …of sounding the horns…
• “Mikra Kodesh”: …a sacred occasion…
• “Kol Melechet Avoda Lo Ta’asu”: …a time to refrain from labour.

 
The wording is somewhat peculiar: what kind of pause? If the pause is simply from doing labour, then the extra word “Shabbaton” is unnecessary.  If it is Yom Zikaron, a day of remembrance, what are we remembering?  And what does sounding horns have to do with this remembrance?
 
According to the most well-known interpretation, that of Rashi, what we remember on this day is the Akedah - Avraham’s binding of his son Yitzchak (on Har Hamoriah), to show their willing submission to G-d.  The shofar reminds us of G-d’s intervention, by substituting a ram for the sacrifice instead of the son.  This story, however, leaves unanswered and troubling questions about faith, submission, destiny.


A different interpretation is suggested by Haamek Davar. 
 
There are three other occasions in the Torah when the shofar is blown, or where horns (Chatzotzrot) are sounded. 
 
One is at the time of a festive holiday celebrations - kind of like the noise made in a parade procession.  Rosh Hashanah is a time of celebration - of apples and honey, of family and community coming together, of marking a renewal in our lives and in our connection to G-d.
 
A second time, interestingly, is at the coronation of a new monarch.  The Tanakh describes the blowing of the Shofar at the coronation of the kings Avshalom and Yehu among others.  Here, the symbolism is apt: Rosh Hashanah is the day when we voluntarily commit to G-d’s leadership. And who are the people doing the coronation?  You are! (I’ve heard it described as the coronation being done by Berel the tailor and Shmuel the water-carrier.  In our modern times, the people doing the coronation are Susan the office worker, Anna the retiree, etc.  We set aside this time to enact Malkhuyot: royalty.
 
Perhaps most significantly, according to Haamek Davar, there is another occasion in Torah when horns are sounded - on the outset of war.  In the book of Bemidbar, Chapter 10 verse 9, we read: 
 
וכי תבֹאו מלחמה בארצכם על הצר הצֹרר אתכם, והרעֹתם בחצֹצרֹת, ונזכרתם לפני ה' א-לֹהיכם, ונושעתם מאֹיביכם:
 
“When you are at war in your land against an aggressor who attacks you, you shall sound Teruot on the trumpets, that you may be remembered before the LORD your God and be delivered from your enemies.”  The blowing of the shofar is a call for Hashem’s strength and deliverance in the face of grave danger.  The Chachamim point out that, in the event of battle, in the time of distress, we can attain G-d’s support and accompaniment - provided that we, the people, call out for that aid.


The shofar calls, the Teruot and the Tekiot, serve us just as they do in time of warfare - to call upon G-d to strengthen us, that we not despair of hope and deliverance, in the battles we face in our own lives. 


The Torah’s words “Zichron Teruah” therefore signify that the very object of the Zikaron, or remembering, which we do on Rosh Hashanah, is to remember the Teruah - the calling out. 

We recall, in our minds and hearts, the impact of the Shofar call.  Whether in times of strength or distress, we ask for help, from Hashem and from those we trust, to sustain and strengthen us.  Our responsibility, the first step in any engagement, is to call for the help and support we need.
 
The “Shabbaton” or pause which we take today is best described by the spiritual concept of mindfulness.  For at least this one time of year, we take a momentary pause, to shift our mind’s eye away from all the preoccupations and distractions in our lives, to focus and be present.  This Shabbaton pause can be perhaps as little as one hour’s time, according to Haamek Davar, to just sit and be with ourselves and the others around us.
To remember to call out,
to seek the help and support we need. 
To accept our limitations.
To remember there is no shame in our vulnerability and need. 
To remember that we are not alone.