Rosh Hashanah 5786

Shana Tova. 

To borrow (and slightly alter) a phrase from the Haggadah and with apologies to Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, I stand here today as a woman of 70 years of age who never understood the meaning of the words: oo Teshuvah, oo Tefillah, ooTzedakah ma’averim et Roah Ha gezera. 

So I want to thank the Ritual committee chair, aka my husband, for inviting me to speak today as this helped me gain a deeper understanding of this iconic phrase. 

Rosh Hashana is perhaps the most spiritually and psychologically demanding holiday in the Jewish calendar. It requires us to both look back to consider the year that is ending while simultaneously looking forward to the New Year that is unfolding. We are commanded to look back in order to repent and atone for our sins. We must look forward because our commitment to repentance and atonement can only be realized by our actions and deeds in the coming year.

Looking forward can be exciting as you contemplate new opportunities, but it can also evoke fear of failure and anxiety. Looking back may evoke happy memories of joyous events, of professional or personal accomplishments, and of meaningful moments and experiences. But it also often evokes regret or sadness at missed opportunities, words or deeds we regret, loss of friends, family, dreams, possessions, jobs; or deterioration of physical or mental health. 

When I look back on the year that is ending, I see one of the worst years of my life. In early January I developed optic neuritis which led to a loss of sight in my right eye. As I was undergoing treatment, my 25 year old nephew Arthur was hospitalized in Boston for recurrence of the bone cancer he had been fighting for 2 years. He died in March. At the same time I learned that Arthur’s father, my younger brother, Sam, had developed Alzheimer's disease. Shortly thereafter I experienced debilitating hip pain, likely from the high dose steroids required to treat my eye. This ultimately led to a total hip replacement. On top of all this a lot of scary things were happening in our country and the world. To quote Queen Elizabeth II, it was an “annus horribilis.” 

To help me get through this I was incredibly fortunate to have a wonderful husband, and a tremendously supportive family, circle of friends and community… and good health insurance. Thank you all.

As we entered Elul I began to think about what meaning I could find from a year mostly defined by pain, anxiety, isolation, dependency, and sadness. The ancient and haunting prayer that kept coming into my mind was the Unetana tokef piyut we recite on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

Legend has it that the poem was written by Rabbi Amnon of Mainz in the 11th century. After being tortured for refusing to convert to Christianity, he allegedly recited this poem before he died. But modern scholarly consensus points to a much earlier origin, perhaps as early as the 6th century CE. 

The poem consists of a series of statements and questions that build in intensity and culminate in a plea for divine mercy. It highlights the fragility, uncertainty and randomness of life. Whatever we have today may be gone tomorrow. Including our sense of self. As Rabbi Amy Eilberg commented: “Unetana tokef invites the whole community into the truth in which sick and grieving people live everyday…All of us are reminded of the uncertainty of life.”

The poem has three sections. The first phrase “Unetnah tokef kedushat hayom” translates as “Let us declare the might of this day’s holiness.” It then goes on to describe the glory of God who is sitting in judgment, the book in which all our deeds are recorded, the angels who are scurrying around, the sound of the blast of the shofar and finally the sound of the “kol demamah dakka,” the still small voice.

The phrase “kol demamah dakka” first appears in the book of Kings. The people of Israel are, as usual, worshiping idols, Elijah is pleading with them, to no avail, to return to Hashem. In his despair he begs God to end his life. Instead he is told to climb Mount Horeb where he has a vision of God passing behind a great powerful wind smashing rocks, but he is told “God is not in the wind” “lo be’ruach hashem”, and then there is an earthquake and then a fire and God is in neither of those. After the fire he hears a still small voice, and he understands that this is where God is. God is patient with sinners and will wait for their repentance. 

The second section of Unetana tokef recounts in graphic detail all the horrible ways in which we might meet misfortune in the year to come. Not going there right now.

And finally the piyut ends by suggesting ways by which we can ameliorate or at least find meaning from the suffering, tragedy, and pain that some of us experienced in the past year and that, unfortunately, will befall some of us in the coming year. Specifically, Teshuva, Tefilla, and tzedakah. 

Teshuva– is about our relationship with ourselves. It is often translated as repentance. We are asked to consider all the ways in which we sinned or failed to live a moral life, to seek forgiveness from people we have mistreated or from God, and to commit to doing better in the year to come. I am here to tell you that people who have had a horrible year through no fault of their own may not be in the mood or have the mindset for any of that. Maybe next year. 

For me, this year, I found it more useful to consider the literal meaning of Teshuvah: returning. Returning to my true self, my best self, my whole self. When we experience extreme or unremitting adversity we are shaken to our core, our sense of self may be shattered. We lose confidence in ourselves. It painfully reminds us how little control we have, and that's not an easy pill to swallow, especially if you're a control freak like me. 

But at some point, people who have experienced suffering or grief must begin to rebuild their lives and their sense of self. The first step is to stop asking the unanswerable question, Why did this happen to me? And instead start asking: How am I going to live with this and find meaning from my new reality? 

The Israeli therapist Rona Ramon describes this as moving from the question pronounced la-mah (why) to those three letters pronounced Le-mah – For what purpose have I suffered? How can I transform feelings of hopelessness, helplessness and anger to support renewal, purpose, and hope?

This change in perspective does not come easily. It takes time to get there, to work through your anger and mourn your losses. You may become stuck, and need professional help. I believe that being surrounded by a supportive community in a sacred space, welcoming in a New Year is a perfect time to begin the mental transition from why me to what now?

Tefilla – which translates as prayer, focuses on our relationship with God. Prayer is meant to connect us to God and to our community and to cultivate gratitude. It is a form of spirituality, a concept that is difficult to define. Some consider spirituality as a connection to God, to something larger than yourself that gives meaning to your life. Rav Kook defines it as seeing all life as infused with holiness, and for Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, it is radical amazement, being in awe of the beauty of the world.

When I come to shul to daven, I like to stand in the front row so the only thing I see is a blank wall and in my peripheral vision the aron kodesh. This allows me to relax, clear my mind and avoid the temptation to chat with friends. 

I am trying to hear “the still small voice”, which some commentators interpret not as the voice of God, but as our inner voice, which we can only hear if we shut out all the other noise and distraction. As Elijah learned, and as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel reminds us, “God is not found in thunder or spectacle but in the subtle moments of awe and inward listening.”

In her book, “To Begin Again,” Rabbi Naomi Levy writes, “Prayer can be an outlet for expressing your pain, seeking consolation, and articulating what you need from God, from the universe and from your friends, family and community to help you feel whole again.”

Sometimes you may want to create your own prayer. Here is an example from her book. “I am hurting, Hashem, I feel lost, helpless and alone… Help me to embrace what I cannot understand, to find meaning in my suffering. Remind me that though I am powerless to choose my fate, I hold the power to choose my response to it. May my sorrow lead to strength, wisdom, compassion and to you.

Tzedaka is about our relationship with other people, often mistranslated as charity. More broadly, though, it encompasses giving to others: whether money, food, time, kind words, or compassionate listening. Giving to others is a profound way to find meaning in your life. According to one study cited in the WSJ a few weeks ago, “of the 90 different stress reduction strategies tested (which included many so-called “self help” remedies such as massage, meditation and breathing exercises), only one consistently mitigated the effects of stress: serving others. “Instead of turning inward with bespoke wellness practices, we do best when we turn outward, towards the needs of others” (Rebecca Heiss, WSJ, August 30/31, 2025) 

I certainly discovered that to be the case. I found meaning in supporting my brother and sister-in-law as they went through the horrible ordeal of losing a child, and from reaching out, on a regular basis, to several friends who were dealing with intractable health issues. 

Who have you thought about this year? Have you reached out? If not, why? If you are hesitating because you don't know what to say I learned this year that listening was all I needed to do. And as one who was also on the receiving end this year, I want to thank the many people in the Darchei Noam community who reached out to me with kind words. 

The final phrase of the piyut, is that teshuvah, tefillah, and Tzsedka ma’avarim et roah hagzera: “can lessen the severity of the decree.” It doesn’t say that tragedy and suffering won’t happen. We don’t know what misfortune will occur and we don’t know who will bear the brunt of it, but we do know that it will come in some form to someone. And we can hope that reflecting on the lessons of teshuvah, tefillah and tzedaka will help them cope with, and find meaning from their suffering, and ultimately regain a sense of peace and the ability to experience joy again. 

G’mar chatima Tovah.