On Rosh Hashana we look back at our actions over the previous year to see how we can improve ourselves and decide to be better.
Good morning. Now for a quick Devar Torah.
Today is Erev Rosh Hashanah, the day before what is commonly called the Jewish New Year.
But Rosh Hashanah is not really the anniversary of the creation of the Jewish people. According to our tradition, it marks the creation of Adam, the first human being. In that sense, Rosh Hashanah is universal. It is about humanity and the purpose and responsibility that come with being human.
The Torah teaches us that human beings have a unique role in creation. We have the ability—and therefore the responsibility—to give moral purpose to the world. We can make the world better, or, God forbid, we can make it worse.
And how do we make it better?
Usually not through some enormous act that changes the entire world overnight. We begin much closer to home. How do I treat my spouse? How do I treat my children, my friends, my neighbors, my coworkers, and even the stranger I encounter during the day?
Am I honest? Am I compassionate? Do I pay what I owe on time? Do I refrain from gossip? Do I help someone who needs help? Do I treat another person’s dignity as seriously as I treat my own?
This is an important way of understanding tikkun olam—repairing the world. Before I demand that somebody else repair the world, I have to ask what I am doing to repair my little corner of it.
Judaism does not separate making the world better from our obligations. The Torah gives us commandments between human beings and God, but it also gives us commandments between one human being and another. Both are part of living a Torah life.
And that brings us to Rosh Hashanah.
Rosh Hashanah asks us to stop and examine the year that has passed. Where did I succeed? Where did I fail? Whom did I hurt, knowingly or unknowingly? What can I correct? And, perhaps most importantly, what can I do differently in the coming year?
Throughout the month of Elul, we have sounded the shofar every morning. The shofar is an alarm clock for the soul. It tells us: Wake up! Rosh Hashanah is approaching. Yom Kippur is approaching. Pay attention to how you are living your life.
And then comes Erev Rosh Hashanah—and suddenly there is no shofar.
After a month of sound, there is silence.
There are traditional reasons for not blowing the shofar today, but perhaps there is also a lesson we can take from that silence.
Sometimes we need to stop talking and start listening.
Listen to our spouse. Listen to our children. Listen to our friends and neighbors. Listen to the person who may be struggling but hasn’t quite been able to say so. And listen to that quiet voice within ourselves asking whether we are really becoming the people we are capable of becoming.
Instead of always asking, “What should the government do?” or “What should society do?” Rosh Hashanah challenges us with a much more difficult question:
What can I do?
What can I do today to help another person? What can I do to repair a relationship? What can I do to fulfill one more mitzvah? What can I do to become a little more honest, patient, generous, and compassionate?
Perhaps that is the message of Erev Rosh Hashanah.
For an entire month, the shofar has been calling to us.
Today it becomes silent.
And now it is our turn to listen.
May we all be written and sealed for a good year—a year of health, prosperity, peace, and, above all, a year in which each of us does our part to make ourselves, our communities, and our world a little better.
Shanah Tovah U’Metukah.
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