Parshat Ki Teze  13 Ellul 5761, 1 September 2001

By Shlomo Riskin

Efrat, Israel - What is the real significance of the Jewish New Year? We must examine the main sources of the Bible, Talmud and Prayer Book to discover the answer.

Rosh Hashanah is defined by the Bible as "the day of the Shofar sound" (Numbers 29:1), and the Mishnah records that the shofar (ram's horn) is to be sounded after each of the three central and unique blessings of the New Year Mussaf Amidah (Additional Standing Prayer): Kingships (Malchuyot), Remembrances (Zichronot), and Ram's Horns (Shofarot). Obviously, the shofar is related to each of these three motifs by which our liturgy defines the special quality of our New Year Festival: on the anniversary of the day of the Creation of the world we first declare G-d as our "King" as well as our faith that the world will eventually be perfected in the Kingship of G-d when everyone accepts ethical monotheism; we then affirm the importance of history and the unique function of the nation of Israel and every individual, as G-d remembers and takes note of all our thoughts and deeds; and finally we acclaim our commitment to the Torah revealed by G-d which is the prescription through which a more perfect society will eventually be formed.

We sound the ram's horn after Kingships because royalty was proclaimed with the shofar sound; we sound the ram's horn after Remembrances because G-d saved Isaac's life - symbolic of the ultimate salvation and eternity of the children of Israel - when He substituted a ram for the son of Abraham on the sacrificial altar; and we sound the ram's horn after Shofarot because G-d revealed His Torah at Sinai amidst the sounds of the ram's horn. As you can readily see, the traditional liturgy takes advantage of the New Year, the anniversary of the birth of the world, to remind every Jew that his/her obligation to the world is to attempt to bring it closer to perfection by means of the G-d given Torah which is his/her birthright. The Jewish New Year's not an excuse for revelry; it is rather a reminder of responsibility!

There is, however, one strange feature of the liturgy which deserves comment. The blowing of the shofar is a shrill and piercing sound, that is haunting in its intensity. It consists of sounding a sharp, straight blast (tekiyah) followed by three or nine staccato, broken segments (shevarim - t'ruah) and concluded with another firm, searing and soaring short (tekiyah). As previously explained, these shofar sounds are sounded in the very midst of our poetical prayers - in some congregations, even during the Silent Prayer (Amidah). Does such an intrusion not constitute an interruption of the Prayer, a foreign and jarring element which can only serve to upset the serious congregant's concentration and introspection? Why would our Sages choose to link the cacophonous shofar sounds to the more sedate prayer experience?

Two stories, the first a personal experience. More than three decades ago, when my Lincoln Square Synagogue was housed in a first floor apartment, a distraught young mother asked me to pray for her baby daughter who was dying of leukemia. Of course I agreed, but I asked the mother to pray as well. When she explained that she did not know how to pray, that this was the first time she had even entered the portals of a synagogue. I took her into the "living room - Sanctuary," pushed aside the curtains of the Holy Ark revealing the Torah Scrolls, and placed a Hebrew - English prayer book in her hands opened to the page of the Shema. After having left her alone for about 25 minutes, she returned to my office - her cheeks wet with tears - and thankfully returned the Prayer Book. "But it didn't work," she said as she was leaving. "I still couldn't pray." "But what did you do for close to 30 minutes?" I asked. "I wept," she replied. I gently explained that the most profound prayer was a mother's tears.

The Talmud describes the short staccato sounds of the shofar as sighing (shevarim) and sobbing (teruah sounds); we pray with words and we pray with sounds, we communicate with G-d through poetry-prose as well as through tears. After all, G-d is King but we have not always recognized Him; G-d remembers and bestows individual functions which we have not always performed with proper precision and grace; G-d gave us a recipe for the right way to live and we have often neglected to accept the Divine advice. And the world - and often our personal lives - is in a mess. No wonder that we sigh and sob.

A Hassidic story is told that the great Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov laughed three times one Friday evening - once after the Kiddush (Sanctification over the wine), once after his main dish, and once during the Grace After Meals. When his disciples questioned this strange conduct, he explained that a few miles away there lived a poor tailor who had no money for Sabbath food. Just a few hours before sunset, his wife found the golden buttons on her wedding dress - which she gave to a goldsmith for more than enough Sabbath provisions. The tailor was thrilled - but was so ignorant that he could not even express his thanksgiving to G-d in prayer. However, in his joy, he laughed; once after his cup of wine, again after his main dish, and finally at the conclusion of the meal. "With his first laugh," said the great Rabbi, "the heavens opened; with his second laugh, the angels laughed, with his third laugh, the Holy One laughed together with him."

We pray with sobs - and we pray with exultant shouts. We have a King who forgives - and so we sound the straight shofar shout of joy; we have a G-d who remembers and loves - and so we joyously shout again; and we have a Torah which is always ready to give another chance - and so we conclude in exultation. And there are two straight, joyous shouts for every broken, sad cry. In the final analysis, the G-d of the Jewish New Year is a G-d of love and compassion who yearly provides new opportunities for renewal and eventual redemption.

Shana Tovah.

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