“A person can imagine he is on some high plane of sanctity and actually just be puffed up with pride”

Wednesday, September 29th, 2010

 

Rabbi Elimelech ordered his Chasidim to refrain from wine and liquor during the latter part of Succot and especially on Simchat Torah—and this precisely because Simchat Torah is a special time for joy in the Torah. 

According to Rabbi Elimelech, if the joy of Simchat Torah is mixed with half a bottle of vodka, there may be some difficulty in distinguishing it, because the sensations are similar. 

As one of the Sages remarked, a person who takes pleasure in good food on a feast day is often enjoying his belly and not the holiness of the occasion. 

Thus the feeling of joy in some outer spiritual circumstance will have its parallel in a physical source. 

Because the physical sensation can be the same for both, there is a lot of room for imagination and error. 

A person can imagine he is on some high plane of sanctity and actually just be puffed up with pride. 

The sensation of spiritual achievement may very well be no more than an enhanced appreciation of one's ego. 

To be sure, there are instances when the distinction is so grossly obvious that a person has to be cunningly able to deceive himself to get away with the fraud. 

But there are also cases when the differences are very subtle indeed, and there are no objective standards to measure oneself by. 

The purely subjective pleasure stands by itself in the midst of a question:
 
Where am I?
 
What is the source of my joy? 

Let us take as an illustration the case of a man studying Torah. 

He becomes elated at having found something new and interesting, a "chidush" (innovation). 

And indeed the Torah may very well have revealed something marvelous to him and his joy may be a genuine intellectual elation unrelated to his ego. 

Or it may be a feeling of exultation at having gotten the better of someone else, of showing himself to be more clever, more successful than others. 

That is to say, it can be a joy of spiritual experience or it can be a joy of the shell. 

This person can continue to study Torah and keep enjoying the occupation with Holy Scripture while all the time be involved in idolatrous worship of himself. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz 
 
 
From In the Beginning, p. 217, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Joyful, grateful acknowledgement of the gift of the Torah”

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

 

The name Shemini Atzeret is derived from the verse "On the eighth [Shemini] day you shall have a solemn assembly [Atzeret]" (Numbers 2.9:35). 

It is defined by the sages as "a festival in itself" (Sukkah 47a), so even though it comes immediately after Sukkot, it is a separate festival in its own right, and its laws and prayers are not related to those of Sukkot.

Our sages see this festival as a private celebration between God and Israel. 

On the festival of Sukkot, we pray on behalf of the entire world, whereas Shemini Atzeret is like a "small banquet made by the King for His beloved" (Rashi" on Numbers 2.8:35). 

This festival also marks the beginning of the winter season, for on it we begin to pray for the rains of the coming year.

Perhaps because of this special significance, it was decided to connect this festival with the ceremony for completing the yearly cycle of Torah readings and with the festivities for Simhat Torah-"the Rejoicing in the Law." 

Both in Israel, where Shemini Atzeret and Simhat Torah are celebrated on one and the same day, and in the Diaspora, where Shemini Atzeret is celebrated on one day and Simhat Torah on the next, there is a growing tendency (in customs as well as inward feeling) to have the aspect of Simhat Torah override the aspect of Shemini Atzeret.

Simhat Torah is an expression of Israel's joy in having the merit to complete the Torah readings, and of gratitude for having received the gift of the Torah. 

It is true that we celebrate the Giving of the Torah on the Shavu'ot festival; however, on that occasion the emphasis is on the great event of Divine revelation and its awesome and sublime significance.

On Simhat Torah, there is greater stress on joyful, grateful acknowledgment of the gift of the Torah, and for having merited to receive it and live by it. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From A Guide to Jewish Prayer, p.173, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Everything in the world is connected to everything else”

Monday, September 27th, 2010

 

“With one action, a person changes only a small part of reality.

When he waves the lulav and etrog, he cannot transform all of the etrogim in the world into etrogim used for a mitzvah.

Nor, when he writes a Torah scroll, can he transform all of the animal hides in the world into holy parchment.

But there is no need for him to do so.

Everything in the world is connected to everything else.

Every detail is intermeshed with other details.

Every action has an ongoing ripple effect.

When a person changes just one particular, he improves the entire world.

The purpose of a mitzvah is ultimately to elevate the entire world, to completely change the essential meaning of existence in general.”

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From Understanding the Tanya, p.155-156, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The lulav, in itself, is a branch and not a mitzvah.”

Sunday, September 26th, 2010

 

"What does it mean to bless God?" (Because all our prayers assert: Blessed art Thou, Lord our God.) 

It is as though I, the one who prays, am giving something to God, as though I were wishing Him well and offering a blessing. 

But the question is: How is this at all possible?

What does God need that I can supply with words of benediction?

The meaning of the blessing and of the mitzvah that follows it lies in the wholeness of the sanctification, in the necessary inclusion of oneself, the Torah commandment, and the outward action. 

There is an inner connection between the ner mitzvah–the candle of the mitzvah–and the candle of God, which is the soul of man. 

For as we have said, the soul of man becomes the instrument for the mitzvah; he is the lamp or vessel containing the components of light. 

For the mitzvah has no significance other than as light-giving reality, and the soul of man is where this takes
place.

One may thus view the human being as nothing more than a vehicle, a means for the mitzvah or Divinely inspired
action to occur. 

Or one can see the mitzvah as an essence in itself, a potential reality that receives life when man touches it. 

What is the primary, what is secondary? 

The combination is one that is necessary, as we have said, and neither of the factors stand alone. 

The question is, Where is the light? 

What is the oil and the wick? 

For example one can take the lulav and recognize that, in itself, it is a branch and not a mitzvah. 

It becomes a mitzvah when a Jew waves it within a certain set of circumstances. 

All the components are essential–as with every mitzvah.

The mitzvah is thus a commandment from God; it is also an idea that can become a reality, given the right combination of factors, and then it is manifested as the light of Divine revelation. 

This makes it preferable to heavenly bliss, and one can declare with the Sages, "Better one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world than all the life in the next world."

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
 
From The Candle of God, p.346, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“A total manifestation of joy”

Wednesday, September 22nd, 2010

 

The three festivals Pesach, Shavu'ot, and Sukkot are called the pilgrimage festivals because, while the Temple stood, all Jewish men were commanded to go up to Jerusalem to celebrate the festivals there, and to offer special sacrifices, and the public Musaf" ("additional") sacrifices for each of these festive days.

These three festivals are days of exceptional joy that have a special positive commandment, "and you shall rejoice on your festivals" (Deuteronomy 16:14). 

In a more spiritual sense, they are celebrations of God's Divine manifestation to His people in the Temple.

The festivals were, in this sense, "appointments" between God and Israel, as it is written, "all your males shall appear before the Lord God" (Exodus 23:17).

The order of these three festivals in the Torah is always Pesach, Shavu'ot, and Sukkot. 

Besides the fact that this is in accordance with the calendar year beginning with Nisan (which also applies to various laws concerning the festivals), there is also an inner significance to this order. 

On one hand, there is a triad of attributes: Mercy, Strength, and Glory. 

Mercy is for the Pesach festival, which concerns redemption. 

Strength is for the Giving of the Torah, which prescribes the laws and edicts. 

Glory is for Sukkot, which is a total manifestation of joy. 

In addition, there is the historical significance of the festivals: 

On Pesach–the first formation of nationhood in the exodus from Egypt.

On Shavu'ot–the granting of true meaning and purpose for the redemption by the Giving of the Law.

On Sukkot–completion and repose.

There is also the order of the seasons in the year: 

Pesach is the festival of spring, the time of flowering, when the grain begins to ripen.

Shavu'ot is the time when the grain is already harvested, the fruits begin to ripen, and the grape harvest starts. 

Sukkot is the festival of gathering in and storing all the produce of the fields, when the annual agricultural growth has ended, and there is time to enjoy the fruits of the past year before beginning to plant for the next year. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From A Guide to Jewish Prayer,p.147, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The Seven Shepherds we invite to the sukkah are in fact none other than ourselves”

Tuesday, September 21st, 2010

 

Why are Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph and David called Shepherds?

Some were indeed shepherds, and this was, at times, the primary reason they were chosen to lead.

This is particularly true of Moses.

The Midrash tells us that just before God appeared to Moses in the burning bush, Moses was chasing a lost sheep, and God said to him: “You will lead Israel because you have mercy over a flock.” (Midrash, Exodus Rabbah 2).

In the Song of Songs, the Shepherd (God) says to the shepherdess (Israel): “My sister, my friend, my dove, my innocent one.” (Song of Songs 5:2). “My friend” should be translated as “my shepherdess, my source of nourishment.”

These examples from the Midrash confirm the saying that Israel feeds God.

A definition of food helps to make this statement less anthropomorphic.

Taking nourishment unites body and soul.

By nourishing the human body, I enabled the soul to reside there.

Assuming, as we do, that God is the soul of the universe, then behaving in such a way that God will be present in the world is metaphorical “nourishment.”

Individuals who conduct their lives in such a way that God will remain in the world, and not disengage Himself from it, can thus be called the shepherds of God, His nourishers.

The relationship is reciprocal.

The Psalms often refer to God as the Shepherd of Israel, as in “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

There is no better way to say that God ensures us sustenance and life.

And we ensure His Presence on earth by “nourishing” Him.

This is why He calls us “my friends.”

A friend is one who nourishes.

The Sages draw on this concept to make a somewhat audacious interpretation of the verse in Isaiah, “So you are my witnesses, declares that Lord, and I am God,” (Isaiah 43:10) which they reformulate as “If you are my witnesses, I am God.” (Talmud, Hagigah.16b)

The idea is that God is saying, “As long as you are my witnesses, I am God. If not, I am no longer God.”

Without us, without our efforts, if we do not serve Him, God certainly exists, but He is not present or visible in the world.

This is the true definition of a witness.

A witness is not only someone who is present at an event.

It is also someone who can provide an account of it.

This is one of the functions of Sukkot.

In the sukkah we live in the shadow of God, in the palm of His hand, embraced by His arm, as it is said “And I sheltered you with My hand.” (Isaiah 51:16)

The Seven Shepherds we invite to the sukkah are in fact none other than ourselves.

We become the Shepherds of God; we discover our own ideal selves in the Patriarchs.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From “The Three Pilgrim Festivals” p. 272-277, in The Seven Lights by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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The Seven Shepherds do not roam the fields; they roam our souls.

Monday, September 20th, 2010

 

The Seven Shepherds mentioned by the Prophet are seven eminent figures in our history. 

Of course, they are also much more than that. 

They are personalities who continue to lead the Children of Israel, even in our times, in an invisible fashion. 

We invite them to our sukkah because we really feel that they are present among us and are not figments of the past. 

Men fall into two categories. 

The first is composed of men who act at one point in history. 

They belong to the past and their actions have come to a close. 

The Seven Shepherds, however, belong to the second category of men: those who have a permanent impact on the Jewish soul, an impact that has lasted up to this very day. 

First, these Shepherds are more than archetypal figures.

A more fitting description is that we, as their descendants, have undergone their influence and have integrated part of their personalities. 

The Seven Shepherds are not figures or role models, but rather seven facets, or seven fundamental features of our identity. 

These Shepherds do not roam the fields; they roam our souls. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 

From The Seven Lights, p. 270, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Wait a couple of days for the first day of Succot”

Sunday, September 19th, 2010

It is written that the first day of Succot (Feast of Tabernacles) is sometimes called the first day of forgiveness. 


Why is this so? 

Rabbi Yitzhak of Wurka, a Chasidic rabbi of some standing, is said to have given the following answer from his own experience: 

"I used to be a treasurer for a large estate and once, as I was closing the books for the year, it appeared that it had been a relatively bad year.
 
I simply delayed the final statement for a couple of weeks, knowing that a particularly profitable deal was going to change the final reckoning." 

So, too, if we were to make our accounts with the Lord in the month of Elul, we would most likely be at a disadvantage. 

If, however, we postpone closing the ledger for a few weeks until after Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we repent and atone for our sins, and then wait a couple of days for the first day of Succot, during which time we have little occasion for anything but the performance of mitzvot, then we have that much more chance of showing a profitable year. 

We can then begin a new account for the next year."  

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From "The Protective Power of Prayer," In the Beginning by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The Days of Awe are related to a man’s private life.”

Friday, September 17th, 2010

 

For generations, Rosh Hashanah, the New Year festival, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, have been called the Days of Awe. 

The word "awe" is used here, as in numerous places in the Bible, to express a sense of the sublime, which generates feelings of reverence for God's majesty. 

Our Patriarch Jacob, in describing the place where he had his vision of the ladder to Heaven, says, "How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of Heaven" (Genesis 28:17). 

The word is also mentioned in the Writings, "God is of awesome majesty" (Job 37:22), and in the Song of the Sea, after the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, "Who is like unto You … awesome in praises, doing wonders?" (Exodus 15:11).

Though Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur differ from each other in liturgy and law, and even in their character and content, they do share many common aspects. 

Unlike other festival days, which are times of joy and commemoration of the miraculous deeds and gracious favor bestowed on the nation of Israel since its beginning, the Days of Awe are related to the essential nature of man in the present, to his private life and immediate concerns. 

The Days of Awe are not associated with historical events or agricultural production. 

On these days, each Jew stands alone, though within a congregation, among other people facing the Creator. 

On the Days of Awe, one must stand before the Lord God, before the Divine throne of judgment, the seat of justice and mercy. 

Throughout all the emotional changes that occur during these days, the one constant feeling is the awareness of standing before the "King, Lord of Hosts" (Isaiah 6:5), "the great, mighty, and awesome" (Deuteronomy 10:17).

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From A Guide to Jewish Prayer, p. 177 by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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The atonement obtained on this Day of Atonement does not result from one’s repentance and self-purification but from its nature as a day of pardon and Divine revelation, emanating from God Himself”

Thursday, September 16th, 2010

The Talmud tractate that is entirely devoted to the laws for Yom Kippur is called Yoma, which means "the Day." 


Even among simple folk, it is known as "the Holy Day."

As indicated in the Torah, and expressed in prayer, this day is essentially one of atonement and purification from sin. 

The atonement obtained on this Day of Atonement does not result from one's repentance and self-purification but from its nature as a day of pardon and Divine revelation, emanating from God Himself. 

The very notion of pardon and atonement contains a conception of reality that transcends the bounds of common rationality. 

The recognition that there is pardon for sins means that, in some way, the past can be changed, that acts which were done, which existed in reality, may be considered as not having occurred at all.

Furthermore, the concept of crime and punishment is primarily based upon the assumption that they have a cause-and-effect relationship, and that, as the biblical verse says, "Evil shall slay the wicked" (Psalm 34:21). 

Forgiveness, therefore, is not only a change or reversal of the Supreme Law that defines good and evil but a violation of the laws of causality, an elimination and cancellation of the past. 

As it is said, "I have carried away your transgressions like a thick cloud, and your sins as a mist" (Isaiah 44:22). 

The pardoning of sins is not like removing a stain, which leaves a faint mark, but like a wind dispersing the clouds, leaving no sign of their having been there before.

Forgiveness becomes, then, the actual creation of a new temporal order in which it is as if the sin never existed. 

Moreover, it is as though by the very power of repentance "sins have become merits" (Yoma 86b), and the past is rewritten according to another scale of values.

The sages say that repentance preceded the creation of the world, which means that repentance transports a person above and beyond the realities of the created world, with its order of time, forming, as it were, a new creation. 

And since Yom Kippur is the day of Divine pardon and forgiveness, it is the revelation of a Supreme Essence that transcends the limits of the whole world. 

The commentary on the verse "I, alone, am He who wipes away your transgression for My sake" (Isaiah 43:25) places the words "I, alone" on a higher level than the "I" with which the Ten Commandments begin (Exodus 20:2). 

This revelation, which transcends and cuts through the boundaries of the world, is the essence of this day, and its power is defined in the words of the sages as "the very day itself atones" (Yoma 87a).

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz 
 
From A Guide to Jewish Prayer by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The performance of any mitzvah is a joy, whether it be a likable task or a disagreeable one”

Wednesday, September 15th, 2010

 

A Chasidic story relates that once a certain rabbi was visited by the Ba'al Shem Tov,  the great leader of the movement, on the Day of Atonement , Yom Kippur. 

To his astonishment, the Ba'al Shem Tov kept singing the awesome prayer of repentance, "Al Chet," in a clearly happy melody, more like a marching tune than a recital of guilt and remorse, indeed, reflecting the liveliness of transgression more than the sorrow of contrition. 

The rabbi could not help asking the meaning of such impious singing, and he received the reply: 

"Anyone who is a genuinely devoted servant of the King will sing whenever he is carrying out the King's orders, whether he comes as a victor in battle, or whether he is cleaning out the filth from the homes.
 
Since the King's instructions for this day are to do repentance, to clean out the filth, I sing as I would at any opportunity to do His Will." 

That is to say, the performance of any mitzvah is a joy, whether it be a likeable task or a disagreeable one, a significant act or something relatively trivial.

And all the mitzvot together form a symphonic whole, a single command, a collective summoning of our response.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From "Hidden Aspects of Shabbat," p. 30, in The Candle of God by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“God’s embrace”

Tuesday, September 14th, 2010

 

“The classic metaphor used to describe the Tishrei festivals comes from a verse in the Song of Songs:

‘His left hand under my head, his right arm embraces me.’ (2:6)

The customary explanation is that the left-hand, which is a symbol of rigor and judgment, designates Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

On Sukkot we are supported by God’s right, the symbol of love.

God’s two “arms” correspond to the architecture of the sukkah.

The law requires that the sukkah have at least two walls, plus the beginning of the third.

This is exactly the form of an embrace.

It is God’s embrace.”

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
 
From “The Three Pilgrim Festivals” p. 254, in The Seven Lights by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz 

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“Our inner freedom is curtailed by psychological patterns and inner constraints”

Monday, September 13th, 2010

 

Yom Kippur is wholly a day of purification, in which God removes the burden of our sins accumulated over the past year.

Corresponding to that, we below make a parallel movement of confessing our sins openly and casting them off.

Most of the vows made by a person during the year have little to do with holiness and spiritual elevation; usually they are angry reactions, or attempts to provoke someone. 

Life is full of aggravated expressions such as "If you do not do this I shall never speak to you again!" or "I shall never set foot in this house again!" 

Often, such statements are halakhically binding vows. 

The absolution of vows, and the inner resolution to annul them forever, not only removes obstacles from interpersonal relations but also relieves the spirit of unnecessary burdens, which should be thrown aside, together with all other sins and transgressions.

The phrase "vows and prohibitions" has an even broader meaning.

Our inner freedom is curtailed not only by external factors but even more so by psychological patterns and inner constraints, such as wishes or plans that we build up, and "vows" that we make, so to speak, to ourselves, until we become enslaved by them. 

The release from all vows is therefore a ceremonial act of freeing oneself from these chains and granting one's soul the liberty to stand before God without this cumbersome burden. 

The Kol Nidrei ceremony, then, has a deep and spiritual meaning that gives the worshipper a feeling of elevation of soul and freedom of spirit in preparation for the day of pardon and forgiveness.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From A Guide to Jewish Prayer, p. 200, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Our prayers for mercy”

Sunday, September 12th, 2010

 

All of our prayers for mercy on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are captured in the phrase: 

"Our Father our King, be gracious to us and answer us though we have no merits. Deal charitably and kindly with us and save us."(Avinu Malkenu)

I possess nothing.

I have nothing to give in exchange. 

We are not equal.

And this is why I appeal to Your mercy.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From The Seven Lights, p.257, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz 

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“Our self-examinations and personal soul-searching are not for Rosh Hashanah”

Wednesday, September 8th, 2010

 

“On Rosh Hashanah we plead with God to go on running the world’s business and be our King.

Our little self-examinations and personal soul-searching are not for Rosh Hashanah.

We have the whole month of Elul, which comes before Rosh Hashanah, to devote to repentance and to return to God.

Rosh Hashanah involves something else.

Having finished the world’s annual stock taking, we are ready, through forgetting and remembrance, to start a new page of history and welcome God.

This is why most of the holiday rituals, including the shofar blasts, are designed to solemnly proclaim the arrival of the King and make way for Him.

This is the meaning of Psalm 24, which is recited often on Rosh Hashanah:

‘O gate, lift up your heads! Up high you everlasting doors, so that the King of glory may come in.’

This is exactly what we do on Rosh Hashanah.

We open the gates of the year, so that God may enter.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
 
 
From “The Days of Awe,” p. 30-31, in The Seven Lights on the Major Jewish Festivals by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Why is the New Year period called the ‘Days of Awe,’ when it has nothing to do with fear?”

Tuesday, September 7th, 2010

Why is the New Year period called the "Days of Awe," when it has nothing to do with fear? 

The concept of "awe" refers to Divine transcendence, which is the true meaning of what is usually called "fear of God." 
 
"Fearing" God means being conscious of His transcendence. 

This explains why Jews go to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah without quite knowing why. 

Divine transcendence, Kingship, is not always a conscious matter.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From The Seven Lights, p.19, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The fundamental problems of life today are the same as those of three thousand years ago”

Monday, September 6th, 2010

 

Many of the Jews who come to the synagogue on the holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are not regular worshipers; they don't attend prayer services during the rest of the year. 

And no less than these are the many who would like to come but who do not have the heart to do so. 

Both of these kinds of Jews wonder whether it is at all possible for a contemporary person to pray. 

How can a modern man do such a thing?

Of course, this question is usually asked surreptitiously, being the sort of question a person puts only to himself. 

At times it belongs to the unspoken queries of the heart that never emerge at all but assume a certain urgency at this season of the year.

The truth is that this question has a considerable degree of naiveté about it. 

And naiveté does not necessarily belong only to the innocent or the unlearned. 

There is another kind of naiveté, that of the intellectual (both the genuine and the make-believe). 

A person can be very well educated, sharp and discerning in many fields, and at the same time display surprising innocence in other areas of life, especially those with which he has had little contact.

It is generally believed that in our generation, when "spiritual" persons show themselves to be sharp and clever about their financial affairs, and when sex is a commonplace and tedious subject of conversation, there is not much room for innocence and simplicity. 

But it is not so. 

Our contemporary society, which may be bringing to light areas of life that were once kept hidden, is still concealing from it self many critical aspects of mind and heart. 

In our time, when the mention of God's name or even thinking of Him is intellectually out of bounds for so many people, this entire realm is obscured in a mantle of secrecy and kept discreetly out of the framework of decent conversation. 

It is therefore hardly surprising if certain individuals seek their satisfac¬tion elsewhere and get themselves involved with strange cults and faiths.

With all the changes and differences, the achievements, sins, and distortions of modern man (and so few are really new), he has still not transcended the basic limitations of his humanity. 

The fundamental problems of life today are the same as those of one thousand and three thousand years ago. 

There is the same wretchedness and suffering of the heart as ever. 

The only difference is that many people keep God out of bounds–even when they are really looking for Him everywhere.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From On Being Free, p.90, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“Again I feel that I am short of so much time”

Sunday, September 5th, 2010

 

"The day is short, and the work is great…" (Mishna : Pirkei Avot 2:15)

That "the day is short" is a discovery which I make daily. 

I wake up in the morning, and within a very short time I discover that it is midnight or 2:00 A.M. 

And I wonder: What has happened to this day? 

Where did it evaporate to? 

Every Rosh Hashanah I regret that there is no double leap year, with a second month of Elul. 

Had there been a second Elul, I might have been able to finish something before Rosh Hashanah. 

But there is no second Elul, and again I feel that I am short of so much time. 

The day is short, amazingly short, and it ends in tremendous speed; and thus go by weeks and months and years.

"And the work is great," and for some reason it does not seem to diminish as I keep working at it. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From Pebbles of Wisdom from Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz 

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“Rosh Hashanah is both the last gasp of agony and the trauma of birth”

Friday, September 3rd, 2010

When the Sages say that a man's star sees what escapes man's notice, they mean that if our souls were sensitive to everything that takes place in the universe or could perceive the immense range of phenomena around us, they would sense that the year is dying. 


Rosh Hashanah is both the last gasp of agony and the trauma of birth.

It seems to me that what motivates so many Jews to go to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah is the uncanny, ill-defined feeling of experiencing the death-birth of time, and hence Divine Presence. 

This is why they can proclaim Divine Kingship on Rosh Hashanah. 

It is a spontaneous, unplanned gesture, like so many kinds of human behavior.

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From The Seven Lights, p. 20, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“We have the privileges of children”

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010

 

Our real privilege is that we are both sons and servants.

We are permitted to "stray" a little from God, an idea woven into the Rosh Hashanah prayers. 

When the observant Jew and the individual who is satisfied simply to pray on Rosh Hashanah stand in judgment before the King of Kings, they are both in the same situation and share the same degree of anxiety. 

Both are before God and say to Him: "Be my King." 

What did they do to deserve it?

Rabbi Aaron of Karlin was preparing for the morning service on Rosh Hashanah, which begins with the words, "0 King." 

When he spoke these words, Rabbi Aaron fainted.

When he regained consciousness, his followers asked him, "Why did you faint?" 

Rabbi Aaron replied, "Just as I was saying '0 King,' I remembered an anecdote. 

A rabbi came to Vespasian before the latter was made Emperor and greeted him with '0 Emperor!' 

To this Vespasian said, 'If you knew that I am the Emperor, why did you not come to see me sooner?"

The Emperor's question provides a good clue as to why these ten days are called the "Days of Awe."

What could cause you to feel more riddled with anxiety than to hear your king ask:
 
"Where have you been all this time? 

Where were you?

Why didn't you come to see me sooner?"

This is how we feel as servants. 

As sons, however, we have the privileges of children. 

Regardless of what children do, even if they leave home for the whole year, they are still children. 

This is our only excuse. 

For in our position as servants, what could we say for ourselves on Rosh Hashanah?

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From The Seven Lights, p. 23, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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“The ‘program’ of the year is conceptualized and stored in memory on Rosh Hashanah”

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010

Time is like a plant. 


The year only refines and develops the seed that is born on Rosh Hashanah and that will grow over the entire year. 

To borrow a metaphor from computer science, we could say that the "program" of the year is conceptualized and stored in memory on Rosh Hashanah and that the 364 other days of the year are simply spent running the program. 

–Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
 
From The Seven Lghts, p. 14, by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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