Rosh Hashana

[cellio]

I went to the early services Wednesday night and Thursday morning. (We have double services and they're stylistically different. I get a better spiritual experience from the early ones, with less-formal music, cantor but no choir, and more congregational participation. The only down side is that the rabbis shorten the sermons at the early services -- but in a month or so they'll post the full texts on the web site, so I can see what I missed then.)

Wednesday night the associate rabbi spoke, with the refrain being "what does it mean to walk Jewishly [reference to halacha] in America today?". He said lots of good things, including that the ethical mitzvot aren't enough. I don't remember the details very well, so I'm looking forward to reading this one.

It struck me that the Israeli associate rabbi has gotten quite proficient in English in the year he's been with us. I've been seeing him improve week to week, of course, but hearing this sermon and thinking back to last year's, well, what a difference. He knew the language then, of course, but there's a difference between knowledge and comfort. This year he looked relaxed and confident. (I'm impressed by any adult who can master a second language like that, since I have found this so elusive myself.)

Thursday morning we were supposed to have students for all the torah reading, but we only had one (of the four readers). I'm told the late service had all students. So one of the regular lay torah readers read one aliya and each rabbi read one. Had I known, I would have offered to do one that I already know, though I presume the rabbis also already know them.

Thursday morning my rabbi spoke about the akeidah (the binding of Isaac), starting with an interesting midrash (source unknown to me; haven't gone looking yet). Yitzchak (Isaac) and Rivka had separated, each taking one son, and as our story opens the two sons are at Yitzchak's bedside asking why he and mom separated. Yitzchak tells the story of the akeidah from his perspective, with the addition that Avraham didn't stop; rather, the tears of the angels watching this unfold melted the knife. This led into the main part of the sermon, where my rabbi talked about tears that can be strong enough to change the world. Again, I can't do it justice. There was a coda: Ya'akov ("the smart one") said "but you didn't answer my question -- why did you and mom separate?" and Yitzchak says "so that I could never do that to both of you".

An interpretation my rabbi brought out when he read the torah passage: as they climb the mountain Yitzchak asks Avraham where the animal is for the sacrifice, and Avraham says "God will provide the lamb, my son". That "my son" can be read two different ways. The torah (with no punctuation) is nicely ambiguous, so you are free to read it either way. (As you might conclude from the fact that I'm talking about this, my rabbi read it as the one with overtones.)

Last year for the first time we had a service on the second morning. The second day was a Sunday and we got a decent turnout (60 people, maybe?). The service was less formal -- shorter, some "creative" English readings, no sermon, no cantor, guitar music. We got lots of positive feedback and decided it was a success.

This year the second day was on a weekday, and this is a community where many people don't take off work for the festivals, so I wondered what kind of a turnout we would get. (Will people who don't come on Sukkot morning come on the second day of Rosh Hashana?) Well, they did -- the chapel was full, probably 100 people. Even if people have to get friendly and we bring in some folding chairs, I'm going to lobby strongly that we keep the service in the chapel next year too. The intimacy of the chapel contributes to the mood of the service, so until we're in the violating-fire-codes range, let's keep that.

Two other regular lay readers and I did the torah reading. I had to abandon my attempts to memorize the special high-holy-day trope, but the regular trope worked fine. (And the other two read rather than chanting, because they didn't get the portions far enough in advance to do otherwise. Bummer.) We read the first creation story; I read the first three days, pretty well in my opinion. (Interesting compliment: someone came up to me afterwards and said "that was very good, but I really wanted to hear you read the Akeidah because when you did that last year I got chills". Actually, I did that two years ago; it's gratifying to know I made a lasting impression on someone. I told her I didn't get to choose the parts, but I didn't object if she wanted to place a request with the rabbi.)

Thinking about the day of the week for the second-day service led to some broader wonderings about the calendar.

By rabbinic decree Yom Kippur is not permitted to fall on Friday or Sunday because the fast would either impede, or be impeded by, Shabbat. So, first question: how is calendar manipulation justified halachically? That is, there are going to be some years when the new moon falls such that Yom Kippur would be on the "wrong" day so everything gets moved; how is that done (and justified)?

Given those forbidden days, Rosh Hashana (first day) can never be on a Wednesday or a Friday. I know it can be on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Shabbat. That leaves Sunday as the only day not spoken for. I suspect, but do not know, that this day is off limits too -- because Sukkot is the same day of the week as Rosh Hashana, and the seventh day of Sukkot (which would then be Shabbat) involves certain ritual actions that would be forbidden on Shabbat (beating the willows). I wonder if that's right. If so, I wonder how far out this kind of reasoning can go. A first Pesach seder on Saturday night poses some complications too, yet that can happen. It all makes me realize that the details of our calendar are kind of a mystery to me. I wonder what I should read to change that.

One more calendar mystery (perhaps easier for someone to answer). When we have a two-day Rosh Chodesh (first day of the month), the dates are the 30th of the old month and the first of the new month. Two-day Rosh Chodesh results from uncertainty. Rosh Hashana (new year) is two days also because of uncertainty, and they are... the first and second of Tishrei, not the 30th of Elul and the first of Tishrei. Um, why? (All two-day holidays share this property -- Pesach in the diaspora is the 15th and 16th of Nissan, not the 14th and 15th, and so on.)

A new issue of Reform Judaism came a few weeks ago, but I hadn't gotten around to reading it until this past week. Many of the articles are on the web (I don't know how long this will be true); I found particularly interesting their take on rebuke. I also enjoyed reading this article about the music for Kol Nidre. There's other stuff too, including articles about damaged relationships and about shopping for colleges, that might interest some of my readers.

Finally, a small comment about music. During the high holy days (every day, not just Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur), there are some different musical motifs (nusach) that show up in the service. (Also text changes.) I find that these changes do something to reach deep inside me and emphasize the themes of the season. I'm not sure why that works for me, since it's a learned association and not something that goes all the way back to childhood, but it does work.

Comments

[cellio]

I've seen Pesach on Sunday and Shavuot on both Friday and Sunday. Those were the ones I was thinking of (not Sukkot, which has to be the same day as RH).

Thanks for the mnemonic!