Rosh Hashanah, a Yom Tov measured not by how much time we spend in shul, but by how much we allowed Hashem’s light to shine in us and through us
Most of us go through stages in our relationship with Rosh Hashanah.
When you’re very little, it’s about the physical self. There’s your new dress — you love how it flares when twirl. There’s special food — plump raisin challos, strange simanim, roast, sticky tzimmes, honey cake. On that first night, you eagerly wait for your father to come home, so you can recite the carefully memorized “l’shanah tovah tikasev.”
You get older, learn more, go to shul for a few hours. You begin to hear the whispers of your soul. You picture Hashem as King, envision Him rising from the throne of din and moving to the throne of rachamim as the baal tokeah blows blast after haunting blast. You do surreptitiously check out your friends’ outfits and calculate how many pages are left in the machzor until davening is over (it always seems to be hundreds), but you carefully read the piyutim, and when everyone sings “Hashem Melech,” something floods your chest, and you think of that word you recently learned: eternity.
More years, more shiurim. Rosh Hashanah is “t’chilas maasechah,” the blueprint upon which the rest of your year will be built. There’s an undercurrent of trepidation; you help your mother more, refrain from insulting your brother, try to rein in your wandering mind during davening. Your spiritual self is more and more present, particularly that year you’re in Eretz Yisrael, where azure sky touches golden stones, and the heavens seem closer.
Create a free account to keep reading.
