29 Elul-1 Tishrei

Rabbi Nancy Rita Myers

We are now at the end of the Hebrew month of Elul, and the time of preparing for our High Holy Days ends tonight. Preparation will be over, and the work of forgiveness begins. Forgiving and asking for forgiveness are essential themes of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Maimonides, a great sage who lived in the Middle Ages, wrote “It is forbidden for a person to be cruel and refuse to be appeased. Rather, he should be easily pacified, but hard to anger. When the person who wronged him asks for forgiveness, he should forgive him with a complete heart and a willing spirit. Even if he aggravated and wronged him severely, he should not seek revenge or bear a grudge.”

Maimonides teaches the importance of forgiveness.  However, letting go of our disappointment, anger, hurt, and pain can at times feel impossible.  I have struggled with it for years.  On my mother’s side of the family, people keep grudges for decades. Yikes!  I have found though if I can understand the other person’s pain, grief, insecurity, and fear; it is much easier to let things roll off my back.  I ask myself what challenges is the other person facing? Could they be having a hard time at work, in school, with their family, or significant other?  When I’m able to see the person as one who is also struggling, I’m less likely to be offended or wounded by their words or actions.  I’ve found that with compassion, it is easier to be appeased.

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On behalf of all of us who participated in Elul Thoughts 5780, we wish you and yours a Shanah Tovah Umetukah! May the New Year be good and sweet for you and your loved ones!

 

As we move from 5780 to 5781, we want to thank those of you who have been reading our Elul Thoughts, especially if you have been reading them for eight years. One of the great High Holy Day texts reminds us that T’shuvah, T’filah, and Tzedakah help nullify judgment’s severe decree. We hope we have put you on the road toward T’shuvah (repentance) with these daily messages. That is surely our goal. We also hope to have gotten you in the mood for T’filah (prayer) of the High Holy Days. If you have appreciated these messages, we also hope you will consider a gift of Tzeddakah to one or all of the synagogues represented by these daily Elul thoughts. Your gifts help keep us inspired to bring messages of renewal to our congregations.

 

Thank you, and Shanah Tovah!

Rabbi Heidi Cohen, Hanefesh, Orange County, CA

Rabbi Matthew Cohen, Congregation B’nai Israel, Galveston, TX

Rabbi Benjamin David, Adath Emanu-El, Mount Laurel, NJ

Rabbi Brad Levenberg, Temple Sinai, Atlanta, GA

Rabbi Eric Linder, Congregation Children of Israel, Athens, GA

Rabbi Alan E. Litwak, Temple Sinai, North Miami Beach, FL

Rabbi Larry Malinger, Temple Shalom, Aberdeen, NJ 

Rabbi Nancy Rita Myers, Temple Beth David, Westminster, CA

Rabbi Harry Rosenfeld, Congregation Albert, Albuquerque, NM

Rabbi Benjamin Sharff, The Reform Temple of Rockland, Upper Nyack, NY

Rabbi Michael Sommer, Har-Shalom Synagogue, Northbrook, IL

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker, Congregation Beth Israel, Colleyville, TX

Rabbi Michael Weinstein, Temple Israel, Tulsa, OK

Rabbi David N. Young, Congregation B’nai Tzedek, Fountain Valley, CA

28 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Larry Malinger

Letting Go

Many of us are burdened by unresolved anger and hostility – at so many people and places that we interact in our lives. Frequently we turn this anger inward against ourselves. We burden ourselves with guilt – some real, but mostly imagined. “I should have said this,” “or not said this,” or, “I could have done (or not done) that,” or, “coulda, shoulda, woulda . . .” – the most corrosive words in the English language because they can destroy personality and make people live their lives in a self-created fantasy of their past.

It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to let go of all of the cares and troubles and concerns and rationalizations that we carry with us. Somehow we think that we are so important, that our cares and our perspectives are so vital, that we can’t possibly put them down. As we enter a new year, it occurs to me that this is a good time to reflect on what we are carrying into the year ahead, and what, perhaps, we might be able to let go? 

This season calls upon us to let go of anger, hostility, and guilt and to forgive ourselves. Forgiveness is the key to understanding this season and to unlocking our own hearts. Forgiveness of others for their slights, wrongs and for inflicting pain, whether by word or deed, whether intentionally or accidentally, only works when we muster the strength to let go of our own accumulated destructive feelings and forgive ourselves.

27 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Michael Sommer

You are only given one day at a time. Each day, take a deep breath and make what you can of that day. God always appreciates the thought you put into your every moment. 

26 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Benjamin Sharff

In a fantastical story found in the Babylonian Talmud, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his son hid in a cave to avoid the Roman authorities. They remained isolated there for twelve years. During this time God provided them with water and a carob tree. They demonstrated their devotion to God by praying and studying every day. Only when informed of the death of the emperor by Elijah, did they finally leave the cave. They were ordered back to the cave by the Bat Kol, the voice of God, where they remained for another twelve months. 

According to tradition and legend, it was during this time that Shimon bar Yochai wrote the Zohar, the great text of Jewish mysticism.

Eventually Shimon bar Yochai and his son left the cave. There they encountered a world different from the one where they had left. Jews were still engaged in Torah study, but its expression had transformed due to the oppressive rule of the Romans. 

Our tradition tends to view asceticism and isolation with apprehension. Judaism is based on the principles of community, interaction, and engagement. Yet, here in the Talmud, we do find lessons of inspiration that can come out of isolation. What great mystical works are we working on for ourselves during this challenging time? Where are we finding substance from the wellspring of holiness? What rituals can we employ to keep our souls aloft? 

When we come out of this, the world will be different. Will we be prepared to encounter it? Or will we wish to return to our caves?

25 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Eric Linder

On Yom Kippur, we read a beautiful section toward the end of Deuteronomy. It is Moses’ last speech to the Israelites, as he reminds them who they are:

You are standing before God in order to enter into the Covenant of God and take the oath that God makes with you, so that God may fulfill God’s promise to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. It is not with you alone, but with those who are here and those who are not here that God makes this Covenant and oath.

Typically, each of us are able to look around the sanctuaries and see the faces of our congregation as these words are read. We are able to see that indeed, Atem Nitzavim, all of us are indeed here.

Many of our synagogues will be (mostly) empty during the High Holidays, but the portion still retains its power. Physically, it doesn’t matter if we are standing under Mount Sinai, in our gorgeous sanctuaries, or in the privacy of our homes. We are Jews and we continue to reaffirm our commitment to Jewish life. And so I think that this year, this portion will be even more powerful: Yes, we are physically distanced. Yes, we are missing the intimacy and warmth of our holy spaces. And even so, Atem Nitzavim. We will stand together.

24 Elul, 5780

Rabbi David N. Young

One thing we need a lot of lately is levity. This pandemic has been difficult for a great many of us, so to lighten the mood a little, I would like to share a story I learned from my friend and colleague Rabbi Fred Guttman.

There were three rabbis on a boat during the month of Elul. 

The discussion quickly turned to what the greatest sin that each had committed and what each individual rabbi wanted to work on during this month. 

One rabbi said “You know I love to go out occasionally and have a lobster. I do it in a town far away from my congregation where no one in the congregation will see me. That is my biggest sin.”

The second rabbi said “My biggest sin that I'm a cheater. No, I do not cheat on my spouse but I do cheat on my taxes.”

They look at the third rabbi who absolutely refused to talk. They begged him, "Tell us what is your biggest sin?" 

The rabbi refused to tell them. 

Eventually, with a little more coercing, the rabbi finally said the following. “My biggest sin is a sin of gossiping and I really must admit I can hardly wait to get off of this boat!"

May we continue to laugh with each other, and at the same time remember to always watch what we say.

22-23 Elul, 5780

 On Fridays, we give you a double portion of our Elul Thoughts so that we can all take a rest from our electronics on Shabbat. Enjoy!

Rabbi Matt Cohen

Shifting Our Focus

How many of us have celebrated a major life milestone since the onset of Covid-19? It goes without saying that a socially distanced, masked-up, 15-minute drive-by birthday or anniversary celebration leaves us feeling less-than totally satisfied. Even with the thoughtful gesture of our family and friends, it is still a painful reminder of the complete lack of normalcy during this difficult time in our lives. It reminds us that we simply cannot celebrate the monumental moments the proper way they should be done. While major milestones only happen once-a-year or in some cases, even once-in-a-lifetime, perhaps our focus needs to be on the more frequent, seemingly smaller, moments which allow us to recognize and celebrate the true blessings in our lives. 

How many of us woke up this morning and took in that first conscious breath? Did you thank God for restoring your soul in mercy and trust? Were you grateful for the gift of life, full of opportunities to add more holiness to your life and the world around you? Every new day is a Divine gift that should not be taken for granted. Our tradition calls us to recognize and celebrate the moments that occur more frequently, the ones that are, indeed, not so small or insignificant. As we enter this sacred time of year, let us be grateful for the gift of another day. Let us be conscious of that first breath which will enable us to recognize the myriad blessings in our daily lives, especially those on our electronic devices to whom we will soon wish, “Shabbat Shalom and Gut Yuntiff!”  

Rabbi Harry Rosenfeld

Each week we transition from Shabbat, to the "ordinary" with Havdalah. As part of the ritual, we smell sweet spice to help us remember the shabbesdik feeling until the following Shabbat. We return to work, school, shopping; that is we return to the life we had so we need that extra reminder to carry us through the week.

At the end of Yom Kippur we also observe Havdalah but, without blessing spices. Is it that we do not want to remember our holy day season? Perhaps we know that the smell of the spices will not trigger enough memory to carry us through until next year's  Elul, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

For me, we omit the blessing over the spices because we hope that the transformation we have committed to with our Teshuvah is so profound, we do not need the aroma of the spices to solidify the change within us.

21 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Bradley G. Levenberg

During the early days of quarantine, one reading made the rounds which many of us found inspirational. Instead of describing the empty roads and parks and businesses as a blight, the author wrote that our efforts were, “the most remarkable act of global solidarity we may ever witness.” How incredible that after spending countless hours discussing and debating what we need to do to truly help those in need, how we need to share our resources and use our privilege, when it came down to it, all that we really needed to do was to stay at home.

 

What a profound moral lesson and doubly important to recall during these days when we feel the pull to forgo isolation and when our own interests begin to take priority over the needs of others. We have learned that when we recognize uncertainty about the future, we have come to realize that we may be able to influence outcomes – alone or in concert with others. Hope is the embrace of the unknown and the unknowable, an alternative to certainty. It’s the belief that what we do matters – even though how and when it may matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand. Our behavior matters, our choices influence and impact others. The hope is that, even in an age of competing interests, we can seize the sacred in these days and place the needs of others ahead of our own. We may not want to wear a mask or stay at home…but we should do it anyway. And hope that, in some small way, our actions will make a huge difference.

20 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Michael Weinstein

The Ritual of Elul

Are you ready?  Our Tradition asks.  

Have you gotten it right?  Our Tradition asks.

 

On Yom Kippur, we practice our death.  Upon your deathbed, are you confident in taking your last breath?  Have you done the work in this life of repair, kindness, and good?  At the end of the day, can you say “God, take me away?”  Or are there things left undone?  Who have we wronged?  With whom have we been short? Each year, we ask these questions.  

We approach this time in trepidation, not because we necessarily believe in a physical ‘Book of Life,’ but rather, we understand the metaphorical implications.

 

We spend this time of Elul readying our hearts and souls for the work of Return.  We make our amends, and we ask for forgiveness.  Be reflective.  Separate yourself from that which distracts and diverts.  Be careful of the evil tongue.  Tzedakah is a means to betterment for the bearer more so than the recipient.  Find your way to a spiritual place of Shalem, wholeness and completeness.

 

As our hearts are broken, our souls mend in truth.  May this be God’s will as we return in love and favor.

19 Elul 5780

 Rabbi Nancy Rita Myers

Forgiveness is hard but so necessary

A rabbi delivered a sermon one morning about the importance of forgiving one’s enemy.  Immediately afterwards, he asked, “How many of you are willing to forgive your enemies?” About half held up their hands.  Not satisfied, he repeated his question.  This time, he received a response of about 80 percent. Still unconvinced, he asked again. With all thoughts now on lunch, everyone raised their hands except one elderly lady in the rear. "Mrs. Cohen, are you not willing to forgive your enemies?" the rabbi wearily inquired.

"I don't have any," she replied.  "Mrs. Cohen, that is very unusual. How old are you?" "Ninety three," she asserted.  "Mrs. Cohen, please come down in front and tell the congregation how a person can live to be ninety-three, and not have an enemy in the world." The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, very slowly turned around, and said, "It's easy, I just outlived the bastards."

So if your rabbi were to ask you, “How many of you are willing to forgive your enemies?”  How would you respond?  Maybe we can consider it for the sake of our health, wellbeing, family, and friendship circle.  Selicha, forgiveness, is hard.  It’s hard to let go but often we have to.  We can’t wait to outlive our adversaries, instead we can try to live and let live.  With an open heart, an openness for selicha, we can move on to a new stage of relating to others and living our lives fully.

18 Elul, 5780

 Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker

Chaskel Tydor was imprisoned in Buchenwald in 1939 and was sent to Auschwitz III in October 1942. As an older prisoner with experience in the camps, he was designated a block secretary, responsible for assigning work details. Around Rosh Hashanah, 1944, he arranged to send a group of religious prisoners on a work detail apart from others so they could pray as a minyan. When they returned, he learned that they had sounded a shofar. 

Mr. Tydor didn’t know how it was smuggled in. He never saw it until January 1945, when the Germans abandoned Auschwitz and forced the survivors on a 30-mile march. Another prisoner came up to him and pressed the shofar, wrapped in a rag, into his hand. “I’m going to die on this march. If you live, take this shofar. Tell them we blew the shofar at Auschwitz.”

Mr. Tydor survived the march and was liberated by the American Army on April 11, 1945. Later that year, he made it to the Land of Israel and off the coast of Haifa on Rosh Hashanah 1945, he blew the shofar. Original Story Here.

We blow the shofar to realize what we often forget – we are not the center of the universe. The shofar brings humility and appreciation of all that’s beyond our control. And in spite of it all, they blew shofar at Auschwitz. That reminds us that as powerless as we can feel, we choose how to live.

17 Elul, 5780

Rabbi Benjamin Sharff

At the writing of this post, my region of the country is recovering from the after-effects of Hurricane Isaias. Given that we are still struggling with the impact of Covid-19, one cannot help but feel an overwhelming loss of control.

As we learn from the story of Elijah in I Kings 19:11-12, “There was a great and mighty wind, splitting mountains and shattering rocks by the power of God; but God was not in the wind. After the wind – an earthquake; but God was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake – fire; but God was not in the fire. And after the fire – a still small voice.”

At times of great turmoil, it is easy to be overwhelmed and give into despair. But we learn from this story of Elijah that there is hope, we may just need to look for it in a different way. Instead of trying to find meaning in the devastation we can find God in those choosing to face the harsh realities of life and not be deterred.

The desire to change and transform comes from not a place of despair, but instead from a place of hope. A hope that one day soon, a new day will dawn. All we need to do is be ready to hear that still small voice, for it is calling us, just as it has called so many in previous times of great challenge. Are we ready to listen?

15-16 Elul, 5780

 On Fridays, we give you a double portion of our Elul Thoughts so that we can all take a rest from our electronics on Shabbat. Enjoy!

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker

Did you ever hear the one about the person who found just the right balance between work and family and friends and volunteering and they were never stressed about anything? Yeah… neither have I.

During this time of reflection, it’s important to think about the decisions we make that impact other people. It is just as important to think about how our decisions impact our ability to care for ourselves – especially when we are living through a stress inducing pandemic.

Proverbs (12:25) teaches, “if there is anxiety in a person’s heart, they should yashḥena – which literally means, “suppress it.” Many people try – suppress and move on. But the Talmud (Yoma 75a) offers a different explanation. Instead of the word yashḥena, the same letters with different vowels can be pronounced yesiḥena, which means “to talk it out.” The idea is that if you’re stressed or anxious or annoyed or not satisfied or tearing your hair out – you should talk it out. 

Having a safe place to talk about our problems or frustrations is an important way to take care of ourselves. Often, sharing with family or friends is just what we need. And many times, it could be a little more serious or we need something a little more private, which is what therapy is for. In that situation, it’s possible that you might need to try a few therapists before you find the right one for you. Know this and know that self-care and your mental health is worth it.

Rabbi Eric Linder

I love the movie, Indian Summer. (As an aside, if you spent any amount of time at a summer camp growing up, you must watch this movie!) There’s a beautiful scene in the movie where Lou, the camp director, is telling some camp alumni about the camp and its future. He is thinking of selling the camp. At one point he says, “The camp is nothing but a bunch of old buildings.”

Our recent pandemic continues to remind me that the amazing power of our communities is not in our synagogues (“old buildings”), but in our communities. As I’ve told my congregation throughout these difficult months, our synagogue may be closed, but our community is wide open. 

I’m sure that we all are longing for the days when we can re-enter our houses of worship. But it may be helpful to know that this pandemic should not weaken our connection to each other, to God, or to our communities. In fact, it’s possible that some connections have been strengthened! 

As we approach these High Holidays and engage in this sacred time of introspection during Elul, let us remember that like the Gates of Repentance, our connections to our communities are wide open.

14 Elul, 5780

Rabbi David N. Young

Back in March when we started our stay at home, we thought it was fun. At first it was a unique time to hang out with the family, make cute videos, and hang out in pajamas. As the weeks went on we realized we needed to take this a little more seriously. We learned that the month or two we originally expected to sequester was not going to work unless everyone was doing it. Not everyone was doing it. (Though it varies by demographic, on average only 44% of people wear a mask all the time when they are in public, according to a poll from mid-July.) Then camps were cancelled, going to the beach was risky, travel was only possible by RV, and our emotions went from excited to intrigued to scared. 

However we deal with the realities of 2020, it brings comfort knowing that we are all dealing with this together. We are learning that physical distance does not need to mean social distance. Exactly like dealing with grief, we can find that our friends, family, and community are present for us. Even though we cannot give them a hug, we can give them a proverbial shoulder to cry on. They cannot hold our hand, but they can be a support to lean on. 

We may be distant, but we are here for each other.

13 Elul, 5780

 Rabbi Larry Malinger

Preparing our Journey with Others

As we prepare for the beginning of the New Year, our prayers are directed towards God, in our desire to reconnect with the Divine Presence in our lives. It is my hope that the following will help us along the way.

Philosopher John Stuart Mill (1806-1873) once wrote: “One person with a belief is equal to ninety-nine who have only interests.” A teaching from a Chassidic story during the Shoah – One cold night in a concentration camp, the prisoners were marched to a large field where there were two huge pits. The S.S. Commander barked, “Each one of you dogs who values life must jump the pits and land on the other side.” Among the Jews on the field was Rabbi Yisrael Spira, together with a freethinker, with whom he had developed a deep friendship. The freethinker argued that it could not be done. “Let us sit in the pit and wait for the bullets,” he said.

The Rebbe said, “We are jumping.” When they opened their eyes, they were alive on the safe side. The freethinker yelled, “Rebbe, we are here; we are alive. There must be a God in heaven. Tell me, Rebbe, how did you do it?” To which he responded, “I held on to my ancestral coattails. But how did you reach the other side? The freethinker said, “I was holding onto you.”

What we all need as we begin this New Year is an overwhelming faith that can carry us over the pits of life.

12 Elul, 5780

 Rabbi Benjamin Sharff

I am always searching for new metaphors to add to my arsenal in preparation for the Yamim Noraim. During the time of Covid, this endeavor has required more creativity as there are fewer physical places to explore. Hence, to my surprise and delight, I found inspiration from my refrigerator of all places.

Now bear with me, it is not so much what is inside the refrigerator, but an external indicator light. That light goes from green to yellow to red informing me that the water filter needs to be changed. The purpose of this filter is to separate out all of the undesirable particulates that can be found in the water supply. 

In this way, the water filter can serve as a metaphor for our souls. We start off during the New Year through the rigorous process of prayer and introspection to purify ourselves thus creating a ‘green’ soul, if you will. Over time, as we live our daily lives, schmutz begins to cloud our souls moving it from ‘green’ to ‘yellow’ and ultimately, to ‘red.’ Once again reminding us of the need to begin the process of purification all over again.

Yes, I know the metaphor is a little silly in part because we can’t just take out an old soul and replace it with a new one. The work is much harder than that, and it should be a daily activity not just an annual one. 

But as we spend less time out in the world, and more time at home with our loved ones and away from our places and people of inspiration; one can’t help but ask, where and how can we find the metaphors that will help prepare ourselves during this challenging time? 

11 Elul, 5780

 Rabbi Ben David

This summer I read Lost City of the Monkey God by Douglas Preston, which tells of a mission to uncover a previously unexplored section of the Honduran rainforest. It was long believed that there once existed a village deep in the jungle, occupied by a curious and cultic people, a robust infrastructure, and well-defined hierarchy. Preston, a writer for National Geographic, alongside a team of archeologists, historians, and photographers ultimately succeed in finding the mysterious place. They were bowled over by its grandeur and beauty.

Preston had me thinking about empty places. During COVID so many spaces remained uninhabited: schools, office buildings, and national parks. Nature started to overtake otherwise developed land. Wild animals wandered empty city streets in packs.

Among the places that remained empty throughout the quarantine were our synagogues. Classrooms sat quiet. Offices were silent. Sanctuaries were illuminated only by the glimmer of an Eternal Light.

We prayed from home. We saw our clergy virtually. In time we remembered that God can be found anywhere, even in the glow of Zoom, or a quiet walk with our kids. Like those early Israelites who, from distant shores, longed to return to their Homeland, we could only dream of our familiar and comforting sanctuaries. When we finally return to those beloved pews, we will do so with an even deeper appreciation for a benevolent God above and within, and greater love of those precious spaces that warm the heart.

10 Elul, 5780

 Rabbi Bradley G. Levenberg

Thinking about the year coming to a close is an opportunity to consider the role that faith has played in our lives. Sure, we may have turned in to our faith…and we may have turned away. We may have witnessed scenes that challenge our belief in a good and caring God…and we may have witnessed acts that renew our understanding that we are indeed God’s instruments for good in this world.

 

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. As we feel our way along this unexpected journey, may we help one another hold onto our faith—our faith in God, in one another, in the world God created and called good. Abraham and Sarah stepped out into the invisible future, and so do we, every day. May the vision of a world we have heard in our sacred text, practiced in our rituals and shared with each other—a world in which everyone’s humanity is reverenced and cherished, in which we all take responsibility for the common good—be the contagion that spreads and keeps spreading.

8-9 Elul, 5780

 On Fridays, we give you a double portion of our Elul Thoughts so that we can all take a rest from our electronics on Shabbat. Enjoy!

Rabbi Heidi Cohen

Rabbi Richard Levy, of blessed memory, in his “Songs Ascending: The Book Of Psalms In A New Translation With Textual And Spiritual Commentary” published in 2017 was almost prophetic. Psalm 23, in Rabbi Levy’s translation says, “I shall abide in God's house for long days, long, long days.” What does that house look like today? It is not the Temple in Jerusalem and even now, it is not our sanctuaries. Rabbi Levy challenges us with, “How would we need to renovate our homes to turn them into God's house - a house where we would know always that we were in the presence of God?”

Whether Rabbi Levy knew that the day would come when we would not be able to be in common sanctuaries, he encouraged us to consider how it is that our homes can be and are God’s house. 

How will we prepare our space at home to be a sacred space so that we can engage with and in our High Holy Day liturgy and practice? This year is not going to be like any other year, and we know that while it has been months now, the future is going to look and be different. Different is not bad, it just requires us to recognize that it will take more work on all of our parts to ensure that the High Holy Days are just that, holy. We cannot just walk into a space, sit down and expect someone else to do it for us, we are in this together, and together, we are building God’s house wherever it is we are.

Rabbi Nancy Rita Myers

The blast of the ram’s horn: Sounds of sadness and hope

How do you feel when you hear the shofar sounded at Rosh Hashanah?  One one hand, it is joyously primal.  Seeing a man or woman standing in front of a crowded sanctuary, blowing the ram’s horn, feels exciting.  However, when its screech pierces the sanctuary, everyone falls silent.  

The New Year is a celebration of new beginnings, it is also very solemn.  The Talmud describes that the sounding of the shofar mimics the sounds of crying.  Debating whether the Teruah is a whimpering or Teruah is a moaning sound, our ancient text imbues a seriousness to these blasts.  We know that Rosh Hashanah is a time of judgement on the past year, and we are called to account for our acts, words, and the choices we have made.  Some of our decisions were good ones but others maybe not.  And even if we have done everything to the best of our ability, there can still be hardships, challenges, and sadness.  

Have you experienced loss this past year?  Did your bodies show signs of age or illness?  Did loved ones disappoint you?  Has someone you love fallen victim to COVID-19?  None of us gets to escape hard times and even as we hope that these are as fleeting as the sound of the shofar, we still feel the painful echo within us.  

The shofar is never blown in isolation but is meant to be heard.  As Jews, we are never alone.  We are part of a community.  We are part of history. Whether we hear the shofar in joy or in sadness, in our living rooms or elsewhere, may this year be a good one, a better one, and one filled with meaning.