High Holiday Thoughts

The rational side of me, normally dominant, concedes that the other part exists, especially at this time of year. As I write it’s the 27th of Elul, the penitential month preceding the High Holy Days. Each day in shul the normally staid services are punctuated with the shofar’s blast. Tekiah! Teruah! Tekiah-Gedola! “Wake up, you sleepers, from your sleeping, and those of you who are in deep slumber, arouse yourselves from your slumber. And Return to Hashem!” The rational side of me says I’m not sleeping, I’m fully awake, aware, curious about my surroundings, exploring possibilities, but the other side, the normally dormant one looks forward to the opportunity to stop being rational. Do I really believe in my heart of hearts that there is a beneficent though awe-inspiring grandfatherly figure in Heaven, sitting on his throne of thrones, a huge book in His hand, staring down to earth, to Providence, within the actual walls of my synagogue at me, judging me, gauging my sincerity of repentance, deciding whether to write my name in his Book of Life? Me, of all people?

Let me tell you of another irrational part of my being. I have a lucky number. I know, I know, how stupid can I get? (The answer, apparently, is “quite.”) Today is my luck number, 27. I was born on the 27th; my street address growing up in a loving household was 27-09; my father’s office address was 207; I was married on my 27th birthday, therefore on the 27th. And all this month of Elul in shul we’ve been reading the 27th psalm. Surely this can not be coincidence. Let us parse (partially).

“The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?” I like that, don’t you? It’s like the closing words of the Adon Olam hymn, “Adoni li, v’lo ee’rah.” “God is with me, I fear no evil.” It’s a comforting thought as we wend our way through life’s intricacies, facing challenges and whether true or not, the irrationalist in me wants to believe it, so I do. Then after elaborations on that theme we come to: “Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me.” That gives pause. My mother died 13 years ago, my father this past February. They did not forsake me, I know that; they did not betray me, I know that; if they could have stayed and continued their loving guidance, they would have, but death which strikes without rhyme or reason which blindsides us all took them; I know that, or the rational person in me, the usually dominant one knows that—but today we’re concerned with the irrational half of our psyche, what Jung called the anima. And so, yes, I feel betrayed, but I don’t know by whom—by them for leaving me, by nature for designing us to expire? But though they have left, though their deaths have suddenly made me an adult, it’s comforting on the irrational level to think that there is another father/parent who is there to guide me. And finally there is this: “Wait for the LORD; be strong and resolute!” I particularly like that last verse. It’s a take-off on Moses’ instruction to his successor whose name I bear. Joshua is told to be strong and resolute, so in my self-centered view of the universe at this time of the year, I’m convinced the words apply to me, and through me to those I love—my family, my friends, my students and my teachers.

So, when I sit and stand in shul on Rosh Hashanah, which begins today, and when I repeat the exercise ten days later on Yom Kippur, do I really, really do I really believe in my heart of hearts that there is a beneficent though awe-inspiring grandfatherly figure in Heaven, sitting on his throne of thrones, a huge book in His hand, staring down to earth, to Providence, within the actual walls of my synagogue at me, judging me, gauging my sincerity of repentance, deciding whether to write my name in his Book of Life? Me, of all people? You better believe I do. On those days, anyway.

Shana Tova, Haverim. I hope I’ve not offended any of you this year; if I have, I beg your forgiveness.