October 9, 2008
ON THE HIGH Holy Days we do something really scary: We contemplate our own mortality. Who will live and who will die, we ponder in the Unetaneh Tokef. Could there be a scarier concept? Could there be a subject that leaves us more depressed? Well, no, there couldn’t be. And yet….
As part of the Musaf service on Yom Kippur, we read, “Remember for us the covenant of our fathers, as you said: I will remember my covenant with Jacob, and even my covenant with Isaac, and even my covenant with Abraham I will remember and the land I will remember.”
This biblical quotation comes from B’hukotai and more particularly from the Toheha, the long list of curses that we say quietly and as fast as possible. In the Toheha, God warns the people that if they do not heed the mitzvot (and especially if they do not respect the Land and observe the Shmita year), unimaginably bad things will happen and the Land will lie forsaken for every Shmita year that was not observed. If, however, the people confess their sins and the sins of their fathers, then God will remember God’s covenant with those fathers.
God promises us that even in our worst despair we will be remembered if only we repent. By remembering this promise now, we reassure ourselves that in a time not of deep despair but of greatest introspection, when we are making our strongest effort to approach God, God will not forsake us.
Rabbi Simon Rosenbach
Ahavas Sholom, Newark
“CHANGE” IS a major High Holy Day theme, something everyone wants. But it is so scary and involves great risk; we have to rock our own boats. “I’ll watch my diet, stop snapping at my family members, stop smoking, start exercising.” We promise ourselves that this year, we will change for the better, become more in charge of our lives, healthier, happier. Politicians, too, say they will institute new ways to solve our problems — but then don’t. Why?
Consider a trapeze performer. She swings back and forth and then encounters another trapeze bar swinging toward her. She has to decide to hang onto her present bar or let go and grasp the new one.
She can’t do both! If she chooses to let go, she will be suspended for a moment in mid-air. She will be vulnerable and at risk. But she has to take that risk to move forward.
Life is like that. Sometimes you have to let go of something if you want to latch onto something new. Maybe you will need to let go of an old job in order to take a new one. Or let go of an old relationship before fitting a new one into your life.
For a while you may feel suspended in mid-air.
“Letting go” of the old before we grasp the new and swing forward involves risk, insecurity, the unknown.
So how de we manage to let go of the old bar and grasp the new? Either the old becomes so painful that we have no choice but to let go or, after serious consideration, we let go before we get hurt by holding on too long.
This is what a “leap of faith” is: “letting go” and “grabbing onto.” Let’s use these High Holy Days to “leap” into the new year and make changes that bring blessing to us and the entire world.
Rabbi Stanley Asekoff
B’nai Shalom, West Orange
THIS NEW YEAR, 5769, ushers in a new seven-year cycle with considerable fanfare. The first year of the cycle is designated in our Torah as a Year of Hachel (gathering).
In the times of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, men, women, and children would gather on the Temple Mount and listen to the king of Israel, the foremost spiritual leader of the Jewish people, read the Torah in a ceremony at the holiest place on earth. This event took place during Sukkot, but the theme of hachel continued throughout the year, which was referred to as Shnat Hachel, a year of spiritual gathering. The inspiration of this awesome event left an indelible impression meant to last until the next Shnat Hachel, seven years later.
Although the Holy Temple was destroyed over 1,900 years ago, the hachel directive still pertains to every one of us. The Year of Gathering emphasizes a divine mandate and potential to unite with our people, effected through the bonding of one soul to another. When we jointly study the teachings of our Torah, we access our common and innermost spiritual core. This facilitates an unparalleled connection with each other — and our inner selves.
The sacred Year of Hachel carries with it a unique spiritual potential that enables the implementation of this lofty ideal to its fullest.
Please consider the following: Invite friends to a class held at your home or office. Even a social gathering can be turned into a hachel event, where words of Torah are shared and experienced. You can fulfill this Torah dictum and spiritually energize the lives of your family and friends.
Together we can live, absorb and share these spiritual ideals.
Warmest wishes for a happy, healthy, and sweet New Year.
Rabbi Asher Herson
Chabad Center of Northwest NJ, Rockaway
REB NACHMAN of Breslov teaches us, “All beginnings require that you unlock new doors. The key is giving and doing. Give charity and do kindness.” I have nothing to add to this teaching except that I pray we have patience and do not despair when the key seems rusty and the door does not open immediately. May we have the courage to persevere, in the face of obstacles, and open our doors into a world we have helped make better. A sweet and blessed New Year to all.
Rabbi Ruth Gais
Chavurat Lamdeinu, Madison
IT IS INAPPROPRIATE for a congregational rabbi to endorse a particular candidate or party. It is important, however, to consider Jewish values in assessing the candidates’ views. Most of all, go to the polls and vote your conscience as a proud American Jew!
Hakarat hatov — reciprocating kindness. America has been unbelievably good to American Jews. We must respond by voting — and encouraging others to vote — which demonstrates our gratitude to our country.
Ahavat Yisrael — concern for issues facing all Jews. Sen. “Scoop” Jackson once said to a Jewish aide eating a sandwich on Passover in the presence of Natan Sharansky: “Be a good Jew. America benefits by having its citizens authentically preserve his or her heritage….” Keep alert as to each candidate’s views on Israel and other Jewish concerns.
Betzelem elokeem — all humans are made in “God’s image.” Jewish values prohibit discrimination against an office-seeker on the basis of race, gender, or sexual orientation.
Mahloket leshem shamayim — let personal religious debates thrive while separation of church and state is preserved. Jews should express alarm when the Rev. Rick Warren interviews the candidates and asks them to affirm their faith in “Jesus as your personal messiah.”
Shomrei adamah — stewards of the Earth. The Torah mandates “bal tashchit” — don’t pollute or waste God’s bounty of nature. We should be ecologically responsible.
Tzedek tzedek tirdof — pursue social justice. Jewish tradition mandates concern for the vulnerable in our society. We should advocate a safety net and push to enable everyone to become self-sufficient.
Ahavat hager — love for the stranger. We were abused as strangers in Pharaoh’s Egypt; we should welcome legal immigrants and advocate a viable path for refugees and new candidates for immigration.
Rabbi Alan Silverstein
Congregation Agudath Israel of West Essex, Caldwell
A U.S. PRESIDENT has four years between elections, a congressman needs to renew his mandate every two years, while dictators stay in office for as long as they can keep their generals happy (or terrified). But God is up for reelection every year.
Every Rosh Hashana, we crown God king. According to the kabalists, without this annual coronation, God’s “kingship” would not be renewed.
How does God prepare for His annual reelection? Does He just sit there in His “palace” trusting in our good sense to proclaim Him king once again? Does He go after the vote, mingling with the masses, pressing the flesh, kissing babies? Here’s how hasidic master Rebbe Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), describes the month of Elul, which precedes the divine coronation on Rosh Hashana:
“It is like a king who, before he enters the city, the people go out to greet him in the field. There, everyone who so desires is permitted to meet him; he receives them all with a cheerful countenance and shows a smiling face to all. And when he goes to the city, they follow him. Later, however, after he enters his royal palace, none can enter into his presence except by appointment, only special people and select individuals. So, too, by analogy, the month of Elul is when we meet God in the field.”
While this description bears some resemblance to a politician running for office in a modern democracy, there are, of course, some significant differences. A “campaign promise” by God is far more likely to be fulfilled than one made by your typical office-seeker.
Wishing you and all your loved ones a year full of health, joy, nachat, and sustenance. Shana tova.
Rabbi Mendel Solomon
Congregation Ahavath Torah at Short Hills, Chabad at Short Hills
AS I WRITE this on the morning of the great Lehman debacle, I am reminded of this story:
A high-level Spanish-Jewish minister was envied by his peers, who accused him of embezzling public funds. The king asked him how much he was “worth” financially. The minister thought a while and quoted a sum that was, as it turned out, one 10th of his real worth. His wealth was then confiscated and he was imprisoned.
Given a chance to defend himself, he said: “I couldn’t state my worth in terms of my known financial assets, as today I have them but tomorrow they can be confiscated by the king or I can lose them through bad business dealings. What I quoted, therefore, was the 10th of my assets that I have already given to charity. That sum is secure and no one can take that from me.”
Our real assets of absolute, lasting value are the mitzvot we perform. To quote from Tanya, the classic Chabad text: “This is a wonderful union” between the soul and God, generated by the absorption of Torah knowledge and the performance of God’s commandments, the mitzvot — “like which there is no other, and which has no parallel anywhere in the material world, whereby complete oneness and unity, from every side and angle, could be attained.”
We live in such an unstable world, so let us connect and cling to the lasting, absolute inheritance we possess, the Torah and its commandments. By virtue of this connection, we can more easily rely on the One with whom we are connecting, to maintain stability within the world, and expect Him to intervene in the affairs of man on our behalf — as He has done at so many historical junctures. Let these holidays usher in a year of stability, tranquility, and prosperity — and the final redemption through Moshiach!
Rabbi Yeheskel Lebovic
Congregation Ahavath Zion, Maplewood
I WAS RECENTLY on a family vacation, and it was truly an experience like none before. I could still remember my father, z”l, selecting his maps and using them readily so that we could find our destination on our family vacations when I was a child. I reflected on how times had changed and that my children would indeed have a different experience. You see, I had my GPS and with that “toy” there was no problem finding where I needed to go. I was able to wander around a foreign city as if I grew up there, getting to and from my destinations with relative ease.
There was a great lesson, however, that I learned from my GPS, and it wasn’t about going in the right direction. Each time one misses a turn or exit, the GPS goes into a panic mode and says “recalculating.” I thought: How amazing! Where would we be without the GPS? The answer is, completely lost in a foreign place!
The same is true when it comes to this most special period that we are now celebrating. Often in life we find ourselves on a road that may be leading us away from our desired destination. Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur serve as our GPS, urging us to recalculate the path we have taken and ensuring that we are not lost. It is this special period of reflection and prayer that allows us to correct our ways and change our course so that we ultimately can reach our true goals and destination in life.
As we recalculate our relationship with our Creator and our religion, let us merit to truly be blessed with a healthy, sweet, and happy New Year. Ketiva v’hatima tova.
Rabbi Eliezer Zwickler
Congregation Ahawas Achim B’nai Jacob and David, West Orange
THIS NEW YEAR, let us ask ourselves important questions. Why are we Jewish? Why is it so special to be Jewish? What can we do in the upcoming year to grow as Jews?
I am a Jew not because of my birth but because of my life.
I am a Jew because of what I have been taught and the values that I have been given as life guides.
I am a Jew because of the commitments that I have made to live a life guided by Torah and mitzvot, inspired by God’s calling, committed to something greater than humanity’s grasp.
I am a Jew because of the demands made by my Judaism to live a life of meaning and mission — to be a holy nation, a light to the nations, to repair the world so that God’s greatness is manifest in every act of creation.
I am a Jew because I choose to place myself within a community that embraces life and honors death. Because I choose to make my lot with a people that sees sanctity and greatness in every human being, each created in God’s image.
I am a Jew because I want my children to be Jews. Because I want to give my children and the generations to come the wealth of spiritual resources that Jewish tradition provides to navigate the world.
I am a Jew because the world needs Jews to shine God’s light in the darkness.
Why are you?
Rabbi Francine Roston
Congregation Beth El, South Orange
EACH YEAR as we approach the Yamim Nora’im (Days of Awe), we are given the blessed opportunity to look deep inside ourselves to honestly assess the ways that we can turn our direction — do teshuva — to become an even better person.
This year, in this season of change, we face critical decisions embodying our hopes for how our beloved country will best be served and led. We are hearing the word “change” used as a banner across all partisan lines in this election season. This is a heightened time of turning, of teshuva. A unifying theme of this election and this time of “turning” is a sense of urgency to chart a new course as a nation.
Let us pray that this shared vision may indeed lead us to work together. May we eschew all rancor and enmity in this election season and instead embrace a vision of a better world together where we will work for the good of our nation and the entire world.
May these days of awe usher in a New Year that is filled with peace, harmony, and wholeness. May it be so for each of us as individuals, for our people, for our beloved Israel, for our great nation, and for the world.
Rabbi Amy Joy Small
Congregation Beth Hatikvah, Summit
A FEW WINTERS ago, when the first snow fell, the nursery school children went out to play. Hearing their joyous voices, I stepped out of my office, and the first thing I saw was a young Israeli child who had just arrived in the States. He was shy and frightened to be in a new school with a new language. But there he stood in glee when he saw me: “Rabbi Matt, Eizeh sheleg! — What incredible snow!”
In this beautiful child, I was reminded of the awesome and miraculous essence of nature. Children at age three are literally closer to the ground than we. They are becoming aware of leaves and rainbows or the ways in which their bodies function. Everything to them is a miracle.
As we celebrate the anniversary of the essence of creation, maybe we can learn something from our precious children. Once in a while, we might want to notice the never-ending cycle of waves at the ocean or a finely sculpted mountaintop. We are drawn to reports when hurricanes hit or tornadoes touch down, knowing we have no control over nature. It is awe-inspiring and can take our breath away for a moment or forever.
As the great Abraham Joshua Heschel taught, if you’re not sure about the existence of a Being bigger than yourself, just take a long walk through the woods and observe how you become radically amazed by the miracle of nature.
By sharing the amazement of children, we can acquire a spiritual tool that can help us peel layers of excessive pride and ego, disguises that keep us from being who we were born to be. Let us be committed to tending to our precious world, taking care of a gift that in return may help us stay grounded as we make our way.
Rabbi Matthew D. Gewirtz
Congregation B’nai Jeshurun, Short Hills
AT THE OPENING of the 5,769th year of the Jewish people, our congregation is preparing to celebrate our 10th anniversary. From a two-family, living-room group we have grown steadily in membership and programming. It is fitting at this time for us to examine and renew our commitment to the values of these High Holidays articulated by our foreparents many thousands of years ago: teshuva, tefilla, and tzedaka.
Teshuva, return. For the past 10 years, the Congregation for Humanistic Judaism has provided a community in which our members are able to return to Jewish values, ideals, and experiences. Our cooperative provides ritual and programs deeply rooted in our shared ancient past, but vibrantly relevant in the modern world and to modern sensibilities.
Tefilla, self-reflection. Our High Holiday services speak to us about our human imperfections as well as our highest ideals. Created by our members from traditional and nontraditional sources and spoken primarily in English, these ceremonies encourage frank understanding of ourselves and assessment of our capabilities.
Tzedaka, right action. The coming year will be filled with stimulating experiences for everyone in our congregation. From the parent-led Sunday School and b’nei mitzva program to expanding adult seminars, social action projects, and visits by leaders in the movement for secular Judaism and members of affiliated congregations, the year 5769 will be a “10” for the Congregation for Humanistic Judaism of Morris County.
L’shana tova!
Ceremonial leader Rob Agree
The Congregation for Humanistic Judaism of Morris County, Chester
MY MOST MEMORABLE Yom Kippur experience took place when I was only seven.
A dying Chicago shul had relocated to a nursing home three miles from our home. My father, may he live and be well, was one of the last members of the shul and had volunteered to lead services there every Shabbos and on the High Holy Days. I was allowed to join him on Yom Kippur.
As Kol Nidrei approached, the shul filled up with the elderly nursing home residents; some came with walkers, many were in wheelchairs, and a few couldn’t even sit up in a chair.
I noticed numbers tattooed on several arms, and I knew what they meant.
My father opened the ark to distribute the two Torah scrolls before Kol Nidrei. He looked around and realized that no one in the room had the strength to hold them.
No one but me.
My father took the smaller scroll, gave it to me, and took the larger for himself.
I stood by his side as he chanted Kol Nidrei and felt like the most important person in the world.
I remember walking home with him that night, so proud to be Jewish, so proud to have been at shul. And so proud of my father.
I realized I was needed in shul, that my presence really mattered. I knew that the old and frail men and women were counting on me to keep our tradition alive.
Today, almost 25 years later, my father still leads services at the same nursing home. And I, his seven-year-old assistant, now lead services as rabbi of my own congregation.
Every year, as the ark opens for Kol Nidrei, I think about the Jewish children of today and pray that we can inspire them to be proud of our faith, to be the Jewish leaders of tomorrow.
Rabbi Shalom D. Lubin
Rabbi, Congregation Shaya Ahavat Torah, Parsippany; director, Chabad of Southeast Morris County
YIDDISH IS EXPERIENCING a mild revival. This is a welcome development, since it was the language of Ashkenazi Jews for close to a thousand years and a vast repository of Jewish culture. However, even in English translation, Yiddish literature is not widely known or appreciated. Sholem Aleichem and I.B. Singer are the only exceptions.
The most influential Yiddish writer was actually I.L. Peretz (1851-1915), a Polish Jew who lived most of his life in Warsaw and mentored an entire generation of younger Yiddish writers. Although secular in outlook, he drew on hasidic folktales for many of his stories. One that is particularly appropriate for this season is “If Not Higher.”
Set just before Rosh Hashana, it relates an encounter between a Litvak (a Jew from the area around Lithuania, where Hasidism was scorned as irrational) and a hasidic rebbe. It seems that the rebbe disappears every year just before Rosh Hashana and his disciples are convinced he ascends to heaven to intercede with God on behalf of the townspeople. The Litvak, who happens be visiting, scoffs at this belief and is determined to find out the truth. So he hides under the rebbe’s bed and when the rebbe leaves in the morning, he tracks him. As it turns out, the rebbe, disguised as a peasant, chops wood, gives it to a poor, sick Jewish woman, and kindles it for her to warm her shack. As the rebbe places the wood in her stove and lights it, he whispers the Selichot (penitential) prayers.
The Litvak, who witnesses the entire incident, becomes a hasid — a disciple of the rebbe. “And ever after, when another disciple tells how the Rabbi of Nemirov ascends to heaven at the time of the Penitential Prayers, the Litvak does not laugh. He only adds quietly, ‘If not higher.’”
May we all approach the New Year in this spirit.
Bennett Muraskin
Jewish Cultural School & Society, West Orange
ROSH HASHANA is not Yom Kippur. Technically, it is not about repentance. We don’t bang our chests for sins we have committed. It’s a yom tov, a day of joy and celebration, and, actually, so is Yom Kippur.
The Ninth of Av is also, in essence, a day of joy, the day that the spies came back with their evil report, that the generation of the Golden Calf died, that both Temples were destroyed — of suffering throughout our history. But it is also the birthday of Moshiach — so that in the “saddest” day of the year, we sow the seeds of redemption.
The introspection during the Three Weeks culminating on the Ninth of Av allows us to dig deep, to discover the part of God that is literally in each of us. We strive to better the relationship we have with our Creator. In fact, each holiday is a gift from God, a new light that brings us closer to Him and our ultimate purpose. Since no “bad” comes from God, it is up to us to discover and appreciate the opportunities He affords us. It’s not easy, but it is how we grow in our relationships.
So we come to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, some with trepidation and fear. Will the gates close and leave us out? What kind of year is in store for our families and friends? Hasidic philosophy teaches that we come before the King on Rosh Hashana and blow the shofar to proclaim him King, and this is the essence of the day, more so than repentance. But He loves us like a parent loves a child, and there is no greater love. And when the gates close on Yom Kippur, they close around us like an arm embracing us. In fact, when you pray to the highest level of your soul on Yom Kippur, you must experience joy, not trepidation.
Rabbi Boruch Klar
Lubavitch Outreach Center, West Orange
ONCE UPON a time, there was a poor woman who had many children. Her children were always hungry, forever begging their mother for food. One day, she found an egg.
She called her children together and said, “Children, you have nothing to worry about any more. I have found this egg. Being a careful woman, I will ask my neighbor for his hen so that this egg will be hatched. When the egg hatches a chick, though, we’ll wait for it to grow up so it can lay more eggs. But we still won’t eat the eggs. I will sell them to buy a nice cow. But we won’t eat the cow, for I shall sell the cow to buy a large field, and then we won’t need anything anymore!”
Suddenly, the egg fell out of the woman’s hand and broke.
Each Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we come to the synagogue. We see the familiar faces. We recite the familiar prayers. We dream the familiar dreams. We make the familiar promises. The question we must ask, though, is whether the goals we have set for this coming year are attainable or are they merely lofty ambitions?
As we sit and pray together this High Holy Day season, let us all imagine the wonderful things that we might be able to do over the coming year. Then, let us all do the hard work of establishing a plan by which we can actually accomplish our goals and dreams. L’shana tova!
Rabbi Avi Friedman
Summit Jewish Community Center
THE MIRROR IMAGE of the suicide bombers so current in the world today and so publicized by Al Qaida and other radical Islamic terrorist organizations can be found in the Book of Jonah, which is the haftara of Yom Kippur afternoon. Islamic terrorists believe that they are obeying the word of Allah (God) when they offer their lives in an attempt to kill as many innocent “non-believers,” “infidels,” and “enemies.” Jonah believed that he was following the words of his God when he went to Nineveh (begrudgingly) to save the lives of an entire people who were not Jewish and whom he did not know or care about.
The acts of those radical Islamic terrorists speak of a theology that is not based upon the ideas of the sanctity of life or the reality of a true peace in the world. Jonah, however, is commanded by God to save the lives of people just because they are people. Jonah rebels against God’s command, but the Almighty makes clear that all life is precious. That very idea is at the heart of Jewish theology. We hold that our God is a God of peace. We hold that our obligation is to bring peace in the world. We hold that all life — the life of plants, of animals, and, of course, of man — is sacred.
On these High Holy Days we should take time to consider the theological demands of our faith and recognize that in the multicultural world in which we live, they are not universal. Indeed, our tradition teaches us to act in a manner that is not common to all faiths and certainly not to the faith of the Islamic radical.
Rabbi Aaron Kriegel
Temple Beth Ahm of West Essex, Verona
WE ARE ALL the embodiments of books. When we are born, we are like newly bound volumes with blank pages. As the years go by, we fill our memoirs with narrative. This is the imagery of the Unetaneh Tokef: “You open the Book of Remembrance, and it speaks for itself, for every man has signed it with his deeds.”
But God does not appraise our worth in the manner of the bibliophile. He does not look for pristine pages or immaculate typeface. God looks for a volume that is well-used to call dear, a life that has many stains and marginal glosses. God seeks a text that reflects laughter and tears, success and failure, one that has lines of dignity and courage interspersed with humility and grace.
Most of all, God cherishes a book that opens easily, not one whose spine is so stiff that the cover snaps shut when released.
As we make our way through the eddies and shoals of life, this is what happens to us. The blessed byproduct of our foibles is that through them we often become softer. Just as the cracked spine of a book keeps the volume open, a life weathered by experience enables us to remain sympathetic and caring.
In this New Year, let us open the pages of our hearts in friendship and compassion. As we read the lines and phrases on each other’s faces, let us be grateful that what a book purveyor rejects, God considers most precious.
Rabbi Geoffrey A. Spector
Temple Beth Shalom, Livingston
WHEN WE LOOK at Adam and Eve and their frolics in Eden, we generally focus on their disobedience of God. God says, “Don’t eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.” Thanks to the snake they do, their eyes are opened, and their eyes — and ours — have remained open ever since. Jewish tradition vilifies the snake as evil, doomed, the Torah teaches, to a legless eternity as punishment for tricking the gullible humans into doing something God specifically told them not to do.
But is that necessarily the case? I find it hard to believe God genuinely wanted the first couple to remain as utterly naive as they were when He created them. Perhaps He really wanted Adam and Eve to become knowledgeable, to know that they were mortal, to understand the difference between good and evil. But perhaps He wanted the acquisition of that knowledge to be something that came through an action, an effort of theirs, so that they and we would see knowledge as something that came by an active act of acquisition, and not by sitting back and passively accepting just as much enlightenment as God was willing to plant within us.
Maybe we’ve been unfair to the snake. Surely, once Adam and Eve started to learn things and acquire more and more knowledge, they must have realized, hey, this is good, I like this, and now they never would be content merely blithely to sit, beneath a lotus tree, contemplating their navels.
So if Adam and Eve got it, how come so many of us, their heirs who know their story well, who live in times that so desperately need us to be engaged — how did we end up in a world where it daily appears that knowledge itself is less and less something of value?
Rabbi Clifford M. Kulwin
Temple B’nai Abraham, Livingston
WATCHING THE OLYMPICS always reminds me how much we can learn from each other and how broad and rich our world is. Too often, our efforts for repentance and change are blocked by stated obstacles: time, energy, our job, our family, our age, our circumstance, and many more as reasons that we can’t succeed in bettering ourselves. Yet those are merely the excuses we have established. The ability to change can begin only within.
Learning from the wider world, this Sufi tale reminds us where to start our process of starting new ways in a new year.
Shibli was asked: Who guided you in the Way?
He replied: A dog. The dog was thirsty, sitting by the river.
The dog looked at its reflection in the water.
It became frightened and ran away, thinking it was another dog.
Finally, the dog took coverage, put fear aside, and jumped into the water.
Immediately the other dog vanished.
As it turned out, the dog had been the barrier keeping himself from what he had desired.
Aha! I thought. Then I understood that I myself was the barrier, and the barrier disappeared.
To a new year — in which we challenge the real barriers in our lives — ourselves.
Shana tova!
Rabbi Mark Kaiserman
Temple Emanu-El of West Essex, Livingston
ONE OF THE central aspects of the Holy Day experience is the confession of sins in the Al Het prayer.
As Rabbi Hillel Silverman points out, the Al Het contains 44 sins, yet not one of these sins deals with major crimes like murder, robbery, blasphemy, or idolatry. Neither do they enumerate violations of ritual law, such as kashrut and observing Shabbat.
As Rabbi Silverman writes, “The Al Het is concerned with the sins of good people. These sins are not punished in courts of law. These sins are subtle and intangible…. These are not major crimes perpetrated by master criminals. These are sins and transgressions of good people, but by no means minor.” (See High Holiday Highlights, pgs. 126-127)
The High Holy Days are such a powerful experience precisely because they compel us to come to terms with the type of behavior we are prone to display in the normal course of our daily lives: such behaviors as gossip, holding parents in contempt, bearing a grudge, being insensitive, and the like.
When our day-to-day conduct and attitudes change for the better, we will know we have done teshuva. God does not want us to fail; instead, God wants us to be the best we are capable of.
God is waiting for us to return to the best within ourselves. With sincere effort, we can all make 5769 a year of return to God and to our true selves.
Rabbi Laurence W. Groffman
Temple Sholom of West Essex, Cedar Grove
GROWING UP, one of my favorite TV programs was the game show Jeopardy. I loved teasing my brain for the answers, phrased in the form of a question. What does this have to do with the High Holy Days, you ask?
The 20th-century Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote in his book God in Search of Man, “The Hebrew word for repentance, teshuva, means, return. Yet it also means answer. Return to God is an answer to Him. For God is not silent.”
If our mission of achieving teshuva during the Tishrei Days of Awe is to answer, then what is the question? God asks Abraham, in one of the Torah readings for Rosh Hashana, “Abraham, Abraham,” as if to say, “Where are you?” His answer: “Here I am.”
Our presence on the High Holy Days, our ability to say “Here I am,” is powerful, but I am troubled by Heschel’s statement that God is not silent. For many of us, we do not hear God, and therefore we need to formulate both the question and the answer, or better yet, the answer phrased in the form of a question.
What is that Jeopardy-style answer that will bring us closer to God and closer to true repentance? For each person it will be different, but the thought must come from within us.
As we listen to the stirring music and words of the High Holy Days, may we find the questions and answers we seek that will lead us back to God.
Rabbi Benjamin J. Adler
White Meadow Temple, Rockaway
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