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.
 
************
 
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.

Hayom Harat Olam
“This is the day of the world’s birth. This day all creatures stand before You, whether
as children or as servants. If we be children, show us a parent’s compassion; if we be
servants, we look to You for mercy, until you render our judgment as pure as light, O
awesome and Holy G-d.”
 
What does it mean when we say that today is the world’s birth?  Rosh Hashanah does not in fact commemorate the first day of Creation, of Bereshit Bara Elokim et Hashamayim v’et Ha’aretz, when G-d created heaven and earth.  No, Rosh Hashanah commemorates the sixth day of creation – when Adam and Eve were brought into existence, and G-d’s creative labour was done.  The stage was set for the world to unfold.
In the Talmud, it states that man was created alone in order to demonstrate that
"Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if they destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if they saved an entire world."
If a single soul contains the potentiality for an entire universe, then perhaps to understand the world’s birth, we must think about the birth of a child.  A child’s birth represents a miracle, and opens our eyes and hearts to the unbounded, limitless potential of life.
Our Torah and Haftarah readings are indeed about miraculous births.  Rosh Hashanah was the day on which Hashem remembered Sarah and decreed the birth of Yitzhak Avinu, our forefather Isaac. Rosh Hashanah was also the day on which G-d answered Hannah’s call, as she became mother to the prophet Shmuel.  A newborn baby comes into the world innocent and helpless.  A baby depends entirely upon the power and benevolence of its parents and caregivers to provide the nourishment, protection and love it needs to survive and grow in this world. 
On Rosh Hashanah, we all become newborn.  Just as a baby is vulnerable, so too do we become vulnerable.  Just as a baby depends upon parental love, we too depend upon Hashem’s love, nourishment and sustanance in our lives.  We say in the prayer Avinu Malkeinu,
אבינו מלכנו חננו ועננו כי אין בנו מעשים
Our loving parent and sovereign, be gracious to us and answer our plea, for we are bereft of all deeds.  In other words, we have no powers or achievements to proffer before you, G-d, simply our selves.  Like a child.
Throughout our lives growing up and as adults, we seek mastery – mastery of our lives, relationships and careers; we seek control over our homes, our finances, our fitness, our daily ventures; we may even seek, in vain, to control the ones we love.
Rosh Hashanah is the time to delicately unwind that control and come at our world anew.  What would it be like if we had as little control over our day to day lives as an innocent newborn?  How would that change our perspective?  Would we look differently at the world around us and all the strange and marvelous things in it?  If we depended upon others for all our needs, with what wonder would we regard them?
It is a fearful thing to be helpless and vulnerable.  Yet that is what Rosh Hashanah asks of us – to recognize our utter deficit in the presence of G-d… to learn to be helpless.
 
And still – we are not newborns.   We are not innocent and pure.  We have lived lives, achieved significant things, built relationships, made decisions, made mistakes.  And we are asked with the arrival of the New Year, to recognize our merits and deficits honestly. 
This is why Rosh Hashana is also known as Yom Hadin – the day of True Judgment.  Our souls stand open before Heaven.  מה אנו?  מה חיינו? What are we?  What are our lives?  What are our merits?  What are our shortcomings?
 
These are enormous questions which may not be readily answered in one day.  That is why Rosh Hashana is in fact part of a process that extends until Yom Kippur, and even afterwards, to do “Cheshbon Nefesh” – an accounting of our active souls.  Yet to make this more than just an abstract exercise, I ask you to focus on ONE THING: Choose one aspect of you life that you wish to evaluate and improve. (PAUSE) Think about it.  Be conscious and honest with yourself about it.  What are you doing well?  Where do you struggle?  Where do you need the help of others?  Where do you need help, support, strengthening from Hashem?
We are on a journey of the soul.  Each of our souls has its own individual journey.  But on Rosh Hashanah, you do not stand alone.  You have the company of friends, community, loved ones, and simply fellow Jews around who are sharing in this process of atonement and transformation. We stand together as one, joining in a stream of spiritual consciousness extending back thousands of years of our history.
It is told in the Midrash of King David beseeching G-d.  He foresaw the day that the Beit Hamikdash would be destroyed.  David cried out to G-d saying, Hashem, how can you allows this to happen?  Your Temple will be demolished, and the people, G-d, the people will have nowhere to atone for their misdeeds!  And Hashem answered him – David, in times of trouble, let the people stand before Me as one.  They shall make confession and say Selichot – and I will answer them.
During our High Holiday prayers, we chant prayers that sometimes may seem distant and abstract to us.  The exquisite wording of the Piyyutim, the many liturgical poems recited on this day, may prove either inspiring to us or seem hard to relate to.  This is why I encourage you to reflect on your own life, on that which you wish to change or simply reframe perspective.  The words and melodies of the prayers are simply an avenue, and not the only one, to your own process of discovery.
Use the time of the Holidays, and the prayers, to help you.  When we pray, we call out for fulfilment, in full recognition of our humanity.  To be human is to be imperfect.  Our Rosh Hashanah prayer is intended as an expression of our incompleteness.   We come together to recognize our own humanity, our present and potential goodness, our longing to fulfill our own potential. 
I invite you today, and for the next ten days, to focus on perhaps just that one thing, that one aspect of your life which you wish to evaluate, improve or even transform...  Let us use this time together – this time of prayer, of reflection, of heartfelt honesty, to map our journeys.  We’ll let our hearts become a little more open to Heaven and to one another, a little bit more vulnerable, a little readier to achieve our true potential.
The Gates of Heaven are open.  Our destiny is being determined as we speak.  Let us use these High Holidays, this Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, to truly look at ourselves, recognize who we truly are – for better, for worse – and invite Hashem into our life to help transform it – to help us realize our human potential in this world.
 

Tonight we bring in the New Year – Shana Tova U’metuka – may it be a happy and sweet New Year for us all.
The themes of Rosh Hashana prayer service, however, are not sweetness and light.  Rosh Hashanah is Yom Hadin – the Day of Judgment.  How are we meant to respond to this?  How can a day of judgment be a day of celebration as well?  When we call out to G-d in our prayers, what exactly are calling for?
The notion of their being ultimate Judgment – a balancing of the scales – reminds us of the awesome implication of consequences: No action in our lives is inconsequential, no moment is trivial.  There is unavoidable meaning to our actions, inescapable significance to our moments. 
We pray and believe that Judgment is not arbitrary.  Consequences are given their existence by our own actions and choices. 
During the Musaf service of Rosh Hashana morning, we have 3 sections of prayer known as Malkhuyot, Zikhronot and Shofarot.  They allude to the mentality we assume during our Tefilah, and our connection to Hashem at this time of Year.
Malkhuyot refers to Kingship – the Lord’s sovereignty over the world.  Why is this so crucial as to be emphasized on Rosh Hashana?  It serves to remind us that, for the purposes of transformation and Teshuva, we depend upon something greater than our mere selves.  Hashem’s governance over this world may be difficult for us to comprehend, yet we discern the incredible forces that underlie our daily living… the miracle of our very neshamot, the breath and spirit that infuses our life; the miracle of there being a world around us which sustains us and provides a source for our life.  As we recall the Creation of the world being renewed every year upon Rosh Hashana, we are reminded of a Universe which encompasses our lives and those of the generations before and after us. 
(Elokeinu melekh ha-olam – G-d, ruler of time and space)
G-d is the Ineffable, in Herschel’s terms, and on Rosh Hashana at the start of the New Year we  approach that ineffability, that which transcends us… and marvel at it.  Our gaze skyward is meant to inspire us to our utmost potential.
Zichronot refers to Remembrances.  We cannot move forward unless we understand our past.  Zichronot entails the great Remembrances uttered in Torah – and Hashem’s remembering of his People.  Our lives as Jews are connected across millennia of generations, from time immemorial to now, and even on into our future.  The New Year is a time to appreciate time itself – its passing, its transformations, and our transformations through it.  As we remember the great occurrences of our people, so too do we remember the occurrences of our own lives as individuals.  We look back with keen eyes in honest judgment of our very selves, what has brought us to this very day, how we too intend to transform and change.  By remembering and understanding that which we have experienced, we open our minds and hearts to the possibility of different and new ways of being.
And Shofarot refers to the very sound of the Shofar itself.  The blast of the Shofar calls us to pay heed with our very senses to the awakening of our souls, to the wonderment of our lives, to the potentiality of our experience.  As we sound the Shofar blasts on Rosh Hashana and at the end of Yom Kippur, we reenact once again the gatherings of our people across the ages to hear its blasts, and to celebrate New Years and coming together.  The Shofar reminds us of so much:  creation, the Torah at Mount Sinai, the admonitions of our prophets to repent, the anticipated and foretold ingathering of the exiles to our Holy Land… and in particular, it signals the solemnity and significance of this Day of Judgment.  We believe that the cries of the Shofar also arouse G-d’s mercy to recall the good deeds that we have done, and to enable us to live to our full potential.
The process of Atonement which we undergo this time of year is a necessary process.  Each year, we are given the opportunity to back away from the Busy-ness of our lives in oreder to consider what it’s all about.  We are given free rein to recognize our eminent humanity, vulnerability, mortality – and we do so amid the comfort of friends and community.  As Rashi says on Talmud Sanhedrin, “Hashem desires the heart”.  This is our time of year to be open-hearted.
And if we are together, let us be there for one another.  Chazal say that “Anyone who seeks Divine mercy for his friends, and is in need of the same thing, will be answered even before their friend.”  And Rabbi Eli Spitz points out that we can forgive others on our own.  But we turn to Hashem because we cannot easily forgive ourselves.  G-d is the ultimate source of forgiveness.  Our work is to find compasssion for ourselves, for others, for Israel.
 
If Rosh Hashana is Yom Hadin - a day of Judgment - it is one where we anticipate G-d’s favour and compassion in our judgment.  And this is why we celebrate – we celebrate our own humanity, our potential for change.  May we all us this coming Year to become, more and more, the people we are meant to be.
 

Each Pesach we observe the mitzvah of "bedikat chametz" - the cleaning out of chametz, i.e., leavened foods, from our property.

The source of this commandment is from the Torah "lo yira'eh lekha chametz" - which translates literally to, there shall be no chametz to be seen/found/present by you. The terminology is pretty exacting - not simply you shall not eat chametz, but that no chametz shall be detected amid you (and your property). It is the extremity of the wording in the Torah which is the source of the intensity of the laws of Chametz.

A strict observance of Torah would have precluded keeping ANY chametz - not only food but any items which could harbor chametz. The rabbis and sages in fact made the mitzvah more manageable through the institution of selling chametz. While some rabbis take a stringent position requiring extreme cleansing of one's property, many chachamim -- who focus on the commandment to observe Yom Tov (holidays) with joy -- say that Pesach cleaning should not be so severe or compulsive as to detract from one's enjoyment of the holiday.

So why does the Torah use such extreme phrasing regarding the elimination of chametz at Pesach time? A meaningful interpretation from the chasidic tradition is that chametz is symbolic of that which causes us to become "puffed up" - i.e. prideful, or overfilled. The mitzvah of chametz is reminds us to restore humility - to remember our origins as a slave people - and simplicity in our lives. The comprehensive nature of the Torah commandment thus makes sense; it reminds us how easily we can get lost in the clutter of life, and how wonderful it can be to rid ourselves of that which we don't need, and come back to the sacred essence of our (Jewish) existence.

 

by Rabbi Leonard Cohen
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This past week, the United Nations passed a resolution condemning the areas of Judea and Samaria, as well as that of East Jerusalem, as “occupied territory”.  The implication of this resolution is that the Western Wall – the most coveted, sacred place of gathering for the Jewish people today – is a place to which Jews are no longer entitled.  Similarly, the ancient Israelite cities of Shechem (aka Nablus) and Hebron mentioned in this past week’s Torah reading, Vayeshev, are denied as part of Israel’s heritage or sovereignty.

In a dreadful reversal of their established practice, the United States refused to exercise their veto to this hateful resolution.  The resolution potentially opens the way to international sanctions against Israel.

This past week’s Torah portion, Vayeshev, provides important insight to guide us as Jews in our response to these current events.

When the patriarch Jacob shows special attention to his then-youngest son Joseph, it arouses the jealousy of the Joseph’s brothers, who take exception to this unfair treatment.  The Torah says, “v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom” – they could not speak peaceably, or towards peace with him.  The word l’shalom is also related to the word “shalem”, which means complete or whole.  Joseph’s brothers were so engaged in their rage and envy that they could not even talk with Joseph to make things whole.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks quotes Rabbi Yonatan Eybeshutz in elaborating the idea that dialogue can lead to reconciliation, while the breakdown of speech can lead to violent conflict.  This is a repeated theme in the book of Bereshit/Genesis. Yet Bereshit also presents the important counternarrative of reconciliation – where brothers and families come back together, address their most difficult issues, and discover ways to make themselves whole once again.

Parashat Vayeshev contains one subtle detail that inspires hope.  Bereshit/Genesis 37:25 says of the traders who purchased Joseph as a slave, “a caravan of Ishmaelites was coming from Gilead, and their camels were carrying spices, balm, and lotus, going to take [it] down to Egypt.”  What is the relevance of the traders’ cargo?  Rashi comments that such a caravan, which could have borne foul-smelling items like tar and resin, instead carried spices to impart a sweet smell to Joseph’s journey to Egypt.

What a remarkable and strange detail!  A young man is nearly killed and then sold into slavery, and we are concerned about the aroma?  Yet here, too, the Torah provides great insight: that Joseph found encouragement, and chose to see G-d’s handiwork, even beneficience, amid despair.

After Joseph’s brothers fabricate the report of his death, their father Jacob is inconsolable: “And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted; and he said: 'Nay, but I will go down to the grave to my son mourning.' And his father wept for him” (Bereshit/Genesis 37:35).  Normally such a consistent refusal to be comforted goes against Jewish principle.

There is one exception where grieving remains continual.  As Rashi explains, “A person does not accept consolation for a living person who is suspected but not proven to be dead, for only with regard to the dead did G-d decree that the loss be forgotten by the heart, but it is not so decreed with regard to the living.”  Thus Jacob’s grief over Joseph remains constant as long as faint hope of return persists.  Rabbi Shlomo Kluger, chief Dayyan (rabbinic judge) of Brody, Galicia in the 1800’s, commented:

“Similarly, the fact that we, the Jewish People, have never reconciled ourselves to our exile is a sign that it is not our true state and that we will eventually return from the exile… Rabbi Levi said: Wherever a verse says, ‘Ain la’ / ‘She did not have,’ [i.e. when Sarai and Chana did not have children] she eventually did have… Similarly, it says (Yirmiyah 30:17), ‘She is Zion – Doreish ain la / she has no one who seeks her,’ and eventually she will have, as is written (Yeshayah 59:20), ‘A redeemer will come to Zion.’ ” (Kohelet Yaakov: Aseret Yemei Teshuvah p.275)

Jacob’s longing for his son Joseph is likened to the Jewish people’s longing for the land of Israel, while the return of the Jewish people to Zion is likened to a parent rediscovering a long-lost child.
The Hanukkah holiday we celebrate each year serves to remind us of the miracles of our people’s existence, and the lights of the Menorah remind us of our heritage and history, including sovereignty over a Jewish homeland.  We describe these miracles as occurring “bayamim hahem bazman hazeh” – in those days, just as in this time.

Rambam (Maimonides) says that Hanukkah celebrates the restoration of Jewish sovereignty and “return to Israel for more than 200 years” (Mishneh Torah, Megilah v’Chanuka, 3:1).  This is in spite of the fact that the period of Jewish leadership following the Maccabees was a time of corruption and evil.  Nonethelss, Rambam and the Jewish sages declared Hanukkah, and the continuance of Jewish rulership over the land, worthy of commemoration and celebration for Jews across the ages.

Today’s Israel is not a Messianic ideal.  It is a real democratic country, home to millions of Jews from across the world, with a revived Hebrew language spoken on its streets and in its courts and parliament.  Israel is both a triumph of and an ongoing challenge to the Jewish people: to strive to bring ourselves, our land and world bring it closer to the ideals G-d imparted.

The contentious UN resolution stands as a confrontation to Israel and Jews today.  Yet we hold fast to our intent to overcome these challenges, and to attain return and reconciliation.  Like Joseph, we see the hand of G-d even in the challenges that lie before us, and use all that which is sweet in our lives to inspire us through our trials.

May this Hanukkah season continue to inspire us to greatness and bring the light of kedusha – sacredness – into our lives.