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Monday, September 29
Elul 29, Erev Rosh Hashana
THE BALANCED LEDGER
A Chassidic rebbe once sent his students to observe a local innkeeper as part of their preparation work for Rosh Hashana.
The students dutifully checked into the inn, but the first day observed nothing remarkable. They went to sleep, only to be awakened at midnight by someone praying loudly.
They tip-toed out of their rooms to find the innkeeper fervently reciting Psalms. When he finished, he opened up a cabinet and removed two big ledgers.
From one ledger he proceeded to read all his sins of the past year: he confessed that he was insensitive to his wife, that he didn't fulfill all his obligation to his community, that he didn't study enough Torah, he once came late to prayers, etc.
Then he opened the second ledger, saying to G-d,
"These are my failings, now here's what You didn't do... I asked for a better living wage this year and you didn't give it to me. My wife is still ill. My children need shoes..."
In the end he concluded, "Look, I didn't live up to my obligations and You didn't live up to Yours. So let's call it even. I'll close my book, You'll close Your book, and we'll start a new year again with a clean slate."
We learn from this story that the relationship between us and G-d is a partnership. When G-d created human beings in His image, He invested something Divine in us. There is a partnership between us and Him to perfect the world.
It is as if He founded a business, and said to us: "I am the investor, but you stand behind the counter."
Partners are accountable to each other. In the month of Elul, we take out our ledgers and make sure our accounts are in order. Rosh Hashana is audit day. G-d checks the books to see how we took care of His investment in us.
In so doing He doesn't look for perfection. He didn't create imperfect human beings to ask, "Why weren't you perfect?" He asks us only, "Why aren't you as much as you could have been?"
But that's a tough question and tonight each individual must know how to answer it.
THE DAY OF REMEMBERING
When we usher in Rosh Hashana, just before sunset tonight, we light candles and we say a blessing:
"Blessed Are You, O G-d, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to light the flame of the day of remembering."
Rosh Hashana is a "day of remembering" because it's a day when G-d reviews our ledgers for the past year and remembers why He sent us to earth. But since G-d doesn't need to be told to remember anything, this means more than that. In effect, this is a day when we ask G-d, "Please remember me, and through doing that, remind me of my mission on earth so that I may never forget it."
When we arrive at the synagogue, the usual afternoon prayers—Mincha—are recited just before Rosh Hashana formally begins. While these prayers are being said, a very special thing begins to happen. Jewish mystics explain that as the sun goes down before Rosh Hashana, the universe goes into a comatose state. A slumber descends on all existence, everything comes to stands still in cosmic silence, in apprehension of its contract being renewed.
Then, as Rosh Hashana begins, the awakening starts. It begins slowly until the full awakening the next morning, when the ram's horn known as the shofar is blown.
The shofar is like an "alarm clock" that wakes up the universe and us from this cosmic sleep. We needed this sleep to wake up refreshed—it holds the secret to our renewal. It is rather like exhaling in order to inhale. And this is, in fact, exactly what happens on Rosh Hashana. As the year ends, there is a cosmic exhaling and then a cosmic inhaling of fresh air.
As Rosh Hashana begins, take a deep breath! Now you are ready to recite the unique words of the key Rosh Hashana prayer, which asks G-d to remember why He sent us to this earth and that our mission here is not yet completed:
"Remember us for life, King Who desires life, inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, O Living G-d."
Tuesday, September 30
Tishrei 1, First Day of Rosh Hashana
THE DAY THE WORLD TREMBLES,
THE DAY THE WORLD IS BORN
The two meanings of the Rosh Hashana prayer, Hayom harat olam, communicate succinctly the essence of the day: "Today the world trembles/ Today the world is born."
We feel this message most acutely when the shofar is blown. On the anniversary of the day on which the first human being possessing a Divine soul was created, we blow the shofar which mirrors the cry of that soul—our soul.
On this day G-d breathed the soul of life into man. And now every Rosh Hashana man blows his breath—the breath that G-d breathed into him—through a ram's horn in order to hear the sound of his soul reverberate.
The ram, a male sheep (the animal that Abraham offered in sacrifice in place of his son Isaac), is the most gentle and innocent of creatures, untainted by the aggressive nature of other animals. The ram reminds us that our soul is that part of ourselves that is gentle and innocent, untainted by the aggressive, manipulative world we inhabit. And the ram's horn is the simplest of instruments—not carved, molded or strung like other instruments which testify to the ingenuity of man—and it produces the haunting, resonating, piercing cry that most closely approximates the pure sound of the soul.
The prayer that we recite before the blowing of the shofar further unlocks its secret: "From my narrow place, from my depths and constraints, I call to You, and You respond to me from Your expansive place."
The pressures and challenges of life that force us into a "narrow place"—a place of difficulty, pain, frustration, regret, or sorrow—are meant to be catalysts that compel us to cry out to G-d for something more than our earthbound materialistic reality.
This prayer assures us that when we cry from our "narrow place," the response flows from G-d's most expansive generosity. In fact, the shape of the shofar—narrow at one end and wide at the other—mirrors this experience.
The purest cry that is emitted from the constraints of our lives reaches the purest place in heaven and opens up the channel of all blessings.
Wednesday, October 1
Tishrei 2, Second Day of Rosh Hashana
THE DAY OF CORONATION
The idea of Rosh Hashana as the day when we "coronate" G-d as the King of the Universe, may be one of the strangest and hardest to accept for those of us raised in modern, democratic societies. To us kings are corrupt despots at worst, and characters out of fairy tales at best.
Yet this idea is essential to the observance of Rosh Hashana, because in the language of Judaism a king is a metaphor for absolute authority. On Rosh Hashana we accept upon ourselves G-d as the one and only absolute authority who rules over every aspect of our lives, and we submit to His judgment, which we believe will be merciful because our King is also our Father.
When we accept G-d's absolute authority over us, we do not annihilate our own individuality. On the contrary, we only empower it. When we acknowledge G-d as our King, we simultaneously recognize the nobility in ourselves—the dignity and majesty of having been created in the Divine image.
This idea fills us with unbridled joy and points up the paradox of Rosh Hashana, because Rosh Hashana is a day when we stand before the Supreme King and tremulously accept the "burden of His sovereignty," but it is also a festival, which we celebrate amid much feasting and rejoicing.
Such is the nature of a coronation: it is an event that combines trepidation and joy, awe and celebration. For true kingship, as opposed to mere rulership, derives from the willful submission of a people to their sovereign. So the coronation of a king includes a display of reverence and awe on the part of the people, conveying their submission to the king, as well as the joy which affirms that their submission is something they whole-heartedly desire.
The joy and celebration of Rosh Hashana is called v'gilu b'roadah, "celebration wrapped in trembling."
When we stand before the king, we feel such joy that we want to dance, but we cannot in respect of the king. So the joy must be packaged in a more appropriate expression. Only after we leave the palace (on Sukkot) can we begin celebrating with unbridled expression.
Elul 29, Erev Rosh Hashana
THE BALANCED LEDGER
A Chassidic rebbe once sent his students to observe a local innkeeper as part of their preparation work for Rosh Hashana.
The students dutifully checked into the inn, but the first day observed nothing remarkable. They went to sleep, only to be awakened at midnight by someone praying loudly.
They tip-toed out of their rooms to find the innkeeper fervently reciting Psalms. When he finished, he opened up a cabinet and removed two big ledgers.
From one ledger he proceeded to read all his sins of the past year: he confessed that he was insensitive to his wife, that he didn't fulfill all his obligation to his community, that he didn't study enough Torah, he once came late to prayers, etc.
Then he opened the second ledger, saying to G-d,
"These are my failings, now here's what You didn't do... I asked for a better living wage this year and you didn't give it to me. My wife is still ill. My children need shoes..."
In the end he concluded, "Look, I didn't live up to my obligations and You didn't live up to Yours. So let's call it even. I'll close my book, You'll close Your book, and we'll start a new year again with a clean slate."
We learn from this story that the relationship between us and G-d is a partnership. When G-d created human beings in His image, He invested something Divine in us. There is a partnership between us and Him to perfect the world.
It is as if He founded a business, and said to us: "I am the investor, but you stand behind the counter."
Partners are accountable to each other. In the month of Elul, we take out our ledgers and make sure our accounts are in order. Rosh Hashana is audit day. G-d checks the books to see how we took care of His investment in us.
In so doing He doesn't look for perfection. He didn't create imperfect human beings to ask, "Why weren't you perfect?" He asks us only, "Why aren't you as much as you could have been?"
But that's a tough question and tonight each individual must know how to answer it.
THE DAY OF REMEMBERING
When we usher in Rosh Hashana, just before sunset tonight, we light candles and we say a blessing:
"Blessed Are You, O G-d, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to light the flame of the day of remembering."
Rosh Hashana is a "day of remembering" because it's a day when G-d reviews our ledgers for the past year and remembers why He sent us to earth. But since G-d doesn't need to be told to remember anything, this means more than that. In effect, this is a day when we ask G-d, "Please remember me, and through doing that, remind me of my mission on earth so that I may never forget it."
When we arrive at the synagogue, the usual afternoon prayers—Mincha—are recited just before Rosh Hashana formally begins. While these prayers are being said, a very special thing begins to happen. Jewish mystics explain that as the sun goes down before Rosh Hashana, the universe goes into a comatose state. A slumber descends on all existence, everything comes to stands still in cosmic silence, in apprehension of its contract being renewed.
Then, as Rosh Hashana begins, the awakening starts. It begins slowly until the full awakening the next morning, when the ram's horn known as the shofar is blown.
The shofar is like an "alarm clock" that wakes up the universe and us from this cosmic sleep. We needed this sleep to wake up refreshed—it holds the secret to our renewal. It is rather like exhaling in order to inhale. And this is, in fact, exactly what happens on Rosh Hashana. As the year ends, there is a cosmic exhaling and then a cosmic inhaling of fresh air.
As Rosh Hashana begins, take a deep breath! Now you are ready to recite the unique words of the key Rosh Hashana prayer, which asks G-d to remember why He sent us to this earth and that our mission here is not yet completed:
"Remember us for life, King Who desires life, inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, O Living G-d."
Tuesday, September 30
Tishrei 1, First Day of Rosh Hashana
THE DAY THE WORLD TREMBLES,
THE DAY THE WORLD IS BORN
The two meanings of the Rosh Hashana prayer, Hayom harat olam, communicate succinctly the essence of the day: "Today the world trembles/ Today the world is born."
We feel this message most acutely when the shofar is blown. On the anniversary of the day on which the first human being possessing a Divine soul was created, we blow the shofar which mirrors the cry of that soul—our soul.
On this day G-d breathed the soul of life into man. And now every Rosh Hashana man blows his breath—the breath that G-d breathed into him—through a ram's horn in order to hear the sound of his soul reverberate.
The ram, a male sheep (the animal that Abraham offered in sacrifice in place of his son Isaac), is the most gentle and innocent of creatures, untainted by the aggressive nature of other animals. The ram reminds us that our soul is that part of ourselves that is gentle and innocent, untainted by the aggressive, manipulative world we inhabit. And the ram's horn is the simplest of instruments—not carved, molded or strung like other instruments which testify to the ingenuity of man—and it produces the haunting, resonating, piercing cry that most closely approximates the pure sound of the soul.
The prayer that we recite before the blowing of the shofar further unlocks its secret: "From my narrow place, from my depths and constraints, I call to You, and You respond to me from Your expansive place."
The pressures and challenges of life that force us into a "narrow place"—a place of difficulty, pain, frustration, regret, or sorrow—are meant to be catalysts that compel us to cry out to G-d for something more than our earthbound materialistic reality.
This prayer assures us that when we cry from our "narrow place," the response flows from G-d's most expansive generosity. In fact, the shape of the shofar—narrow at one end and wide at the other—mirrors this experience.
The purest cry that is emitted from the constraints of our lives reaches the purest place in heaven and opens up the channel of all blessings.
Wednesday, October 1
Tishrei 2, Second Day of Rosh Hashana
THE DAY OF CORONATION
The idea of Rosh Hashana as the day when we "coronate" G-d as the King of the Universe, may be one of the strangest and hardest to accept for those of us raised in modern, democratic societies. To us kings are corrupt despots at worst, and characters out of fairy tales at best.
Yet this idea is essential to the observance of Rosh Hashana, because in the language of Judaism a king is a metaphor for absolute authority. On Rosh Hashana we accept upon ourselves G-d as the one and only absolute authority who rules over every aspect of our lives, and we submit to His judgment, which we believe will be merciful because our King is also our Father.
When we accept G-d's absolute authority over us, we do not annihilate our own individuality. On the contrary, we only empower it. When we acknowledge G-d as our King, we simultaneously recognize the nobility in ourselves—the dignity and majesty of having been created in the Divine image.
This idea fills us with unbridled joy and points up the paradox of Rosh Hashana, because Rosh Hashana is a day when we stand before the Supreme King and tremulously accept the "burden of His sovereignty," but it is also a festival, which we celebrate amid much feasting and rejoicing.
Such is the nature of a coronation: it is an event that combines trepidation and joy, awe and celebration. For true kingship, as opposed to mere rulership, derives from the willful submission of a people to their sovereign. So the coronation of a king includes a display of reverence and awe on the part of the people, conveying their submission to the king, as well as the joy which affirms that their submission is something they whole-heartedly desire.
The joy and celebration of Rosh Hashana is called v'gilu b'roadah, "celebration wrapped in trembling."
When we stand before the king, we feel such joy that we want to dance, but we cannot in respect of the king. So the joy must be packaged in a more appropriate expression. Only after we leave the palace (on Sukkot) can we begin celebrating with unbridled expression.
posted by kurtiskabbalah at 1:21:00 PM
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