Mixed Emotions – Yomim Noraim

The shofar blasts echoed throughout klal yisroel not so long ago. 

The days of Elul, and Awe, are upon us once again. Every year we run into the same cycle: school starts, schedules feel hectic, and before we realize it, it’s a blur of yomim tovim and the season is over. What do we have from it as a result? 

It’s very easy to get lost into the busyness of the season and lose track of time. With all of our obligations as citizens of a country, and our own communal roles, we barely have enough time to adequately prepare for, must less invest in, the season. We have jobs that have us spinning wheels, carpooling, meals to make, beds to fluff, laundry to wash in advance. Then there’s finding the right esrog, lulav, myrtle, etc. Building a sukkah, checking it twice, and crafting invitations that look so nice. 

Despite all this busyness, we cannot afford to lose sight of the meaning of the season: HaShem is here. 

We all know the song, “HaShem is here, HaShem is there, HaShem is truly everywhere.” So what’s so special about saying HaShem is here this time? 

Each season represents a different part of our exile and redemption. The month of Elul is a period of reflection and repentance. On Rosh Hashanah we are judged, individually and collectively. The Days of Awe give us time to stack the deck, as it were, for sentencing. On Yom Kippur, sentencing is issued. We then have a few precious moments until Sukkos, in which we busy ourselves preparing for the holiday. On each day of Sukkos, a different nation brings their offerings. On Hoshanah Rabbah, a decree of sentencing is given. The last day, Shemini Atzeres / Simchas Torah (two days outside of eretz yisroel) is a time when the nations have left and we have some solo time with HaShem before the festival is over. And that decree? There’s still time to petition for a more favorable sentence by following through with the promises of increased learning, committed mitzvos, and more heartfelt davening. 

Then it’s over. 

And what do we have to show for it? 

Are we any better than before? 

Any closer to G-d? 

Any holier? 

That’s the intent and hope, but the reality is that we need a running start. 

One cannot merely walk through Rosh Hashanah and reach the highest levels. 

One can’t let the yomim tovim unravel around them and have an inner growth that carries them onward. 

One cannot expect HaShem to raise them up without any desire or effort on their part. 

We need to have hishtadlus (personal effort) to grow in ruchniyus (spirituality). But let’s not be mistaken and assume we need to do everything, everywhere, and struggle in every endeavor. The most proper path of serving HaShem is the one that is a relationship. HaShem, our Tatti (father), wants us to succeed and grow close. So what is the appropriate effort on our end? Heartfelt prayer. That’s it. Anything more than that is wasted effort to try to do G-d’s work for Him. This inner work changes everything, and leads us down a better path.

During this season of shofar blasts, we can look to the Bas Ayin to see a simple approach that makes all the difference. When you hear the shofar sound, a sound combining awe and fear, understand what it truly is…a cry of the heart. Of your heart. 

A cry of genuine sorrow.

A cry of genuine repentance. 

A cry of genuine gratitude. 

A chassidic tradition during the chasunah is the mitzvah tantz. Tradition holds that when the Rebbe performs this spiritual act, he dances with his ancestors, who were brought out of Gan Eden for the event. If you witness this event, you can feel this occurring. On the way to a chuppah ceremony, I asked the Grand Rebbe of Hornosteipel, HaRav Michel Twerski, what it was like to dance with his ancestors that have passed on. With a deep reflection, he said it was mixed emotions – like when your mother in law drives your brand new cadillac over the cliff with her. For him, there was a deep shame, a humiliation, of how great the prior generations were compared to him when they are present with him. There is also a deep simcha, being with his family once again. 

When we listen to the shofar, when we recite selichos, when we come before HaShem on the coronation day of Rosh Hashanah…it should be with mixed emotions. The humiliation of who we are and how feeble we are, but the deep longing and joy to be in front of our Tatti and being judged by the one whom we love and commit our lives (and if we’re lucky, our deaths) to. 

Then, when we dance the Torah on Simchas Torah…our own mitzvah tantz, we can be lifted up by the generations before us and see how much we can grow and be.

But how do we get there? We start with a broken heart…one that is the cry of the shofar. Perhaps, if we do that, it won’t be yet another year of harried schlepping to miss it all, but one of deep, heartfelt connection that merits the coming of Moshiach, speedily and in our days.