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There are several ways the תורה/Torah is divided, and the systems we use today developed over time. The most familiar is the division into chapters and verses, which were introduced long after the Torah was composed. Torah scrolls preserve an older system of textual divisions, including paragraphs and sections, without the chapter and verse numbering we use today.

Another way of organizing the Torah is through the פרשיות/Parshiot, the portions read publicly in the synagogue. Historically, two principal systems of Torah reading developed: an annual cycle, traditionally associated with the Jewish communities of Babylonia, and a triennial cycle, associated with the Land of ישראל/Yisrael/Israel. The annual cycle, consisting of 54 portions, eventually became the dominant practice throughout the Jewish world. The longer Jerusalem tradition is often described as comprising 154 sections, although historical practice was more complex than a simple geographical division.

This history reminds us that even the ways we organize and read our sacred texts reflect centuries of Jewish tradition. It also raises an interesting question: how do the boundaries between our weekly portions shape the way we understand the Torah?

This week, we read פרשת נח/Parshat Noach, which begins at Genesis 6:9. Why does the portion begin in the middle of a chapter, when the story of Noah and the flood has already begun in the preceding verses?

The answer may lie in the connection between this week’s portion and last week’s. The flood does not begin with God’s decision to destroy the world. To understand that decision, we must first confront the grief and disappointment expressed at the end of last week’s portion:

When humankind began to increase on earth and daughters were born to them, the divine beings saw how pleasing the human women were and took wives from among those who delighted them. GOD said, “My breath shall not abide in humankind forever, since it too is flesh; let the days allowed them be one hundred and twenty years.” It was then, and later too, that the Nephilim appeared on earth—when divine beings cohabited with the human women, who bore them offspring. Such were the heroes of old, the men of renown. GOD saw how great was human wickedness on earth—how every plan devised by the human mind was nothing but evil all the time. And GOD regretted having made humankind on earth. With a sorrowful heart, GOD said, “I will blot out from the earth humankind whom I created—humans together with animals, creeping things, and birds of the sky; for I regret that I made them.” But Noah found favor with GOD. (בראשית ו:א–ח / Genesis 6:1–8)

These verses connect the flood to the story of creation itself. God does not simply observe humanity’s wickedness; God experiences regret and sorrow. The world that began with such promise has become corrupted. Before we can understand the flood, we must understand the heartbreak that precedes it.

In exploring this passage, I turned to the commentary of רש״י/Rashi and found a powerful teaching about the nature of God’s grief.

Commenting on the words “And GOD regretted having made humankind on earth. With a sorrowful heart,” Rashi explains that God mourned the failure of His handiwork. He then cites a teaching from מדרש רבה/Midrash Rabbah:

A gentile once asked Rabbi Joshua, the son of Korcha, “Do you not admit that the Holy One, blessed be He, knows what is to happen in the future?” He replied, “Yes.” The gentile retorted, “But is it not written, ‘and He was grieved in His heart’?” The rabbi asked him, “Have you ever had a son born to you?” The man replied, “Yes.” “And what did you do?” “I rejoiced and I made others rejoice also.” “But did you not know that he must die?” The man replied, “At the time of joy, let there be joy; at the time of mourning, let there be mourning.” The rabbi then said, “Such, too, is the way of the Holy One, blessed be He: although it was clear to Him that in the end men would sin and would be destroyed, He did not refrain from creating them for the sake of the righteous men who were to issue from them.” (Genesis Rabbah 27:4, as quoted by Rashi)

I find this teaching particularly powerful because it reframes the question. If God knew humanity would eventually fail, why create humanity at all? The Midrash answers with a question of its own: should the possibility of future pain prevent us from embracing the possibility of love?
A parent knows that a child will experience suffering, make mistakes, and eventually face death. Yet that knowledge does not diminish the joy of a child’s birth. The possibility of heartbreak does not erase the value of love.

So it is, the Midrash teaches, with God. Despite knowing that humanity would sin, God created the world for the sake of the goodness that would emerge from it. There would be righteous people, acts of kindness, and lives that made creation worthwhile.

Seen in this light, God’s grief becomes even more poignant. God is not simply disappointed in a failed creation but mourning the corruption of something precious. The sorrow reflects the investment of a creator who made a world filled with possibility and sees that possibility being squandered.

And yet, even in the midst of that grief, there is hope.

The final verse of last week’s portion tells us, almost quietly, that “Noah found favor with GOD.” After the sweeping condemnation of humanity, this small statement changes everything. Evil is not the whole story. Even when the world seems broken, goodness has not disappeared. Noah represents the possibility of a new beginning.

This is why the boundary between the two Torah portions matters. By beginning Parshat Noach at Genesis 6:9, we might miss the emotional foundation of the flood story if we do not look back. We must first encounter God’s grief to understand the destruction and recognize the possibility of goodness to understand the renewal that follows.

The story of Noah is not simply a story of punishment. It’s also a story about the pain of a relationship gone wrong, the persistence of goodness amid corruption, and the possibility of beginning again after devastating loss.

The Midrash invites us to see something deeply human in the divine: the willingness to love despite knowing love can lead to sorrow. Grief and hope are not opposites. Sometimes grief is evidence of how much something matters.

As we read Parshat Noach, we are invited to look beyond the floodwaters and consider the heart of the story. God mourns what has been lost, yet the story continues. Noah finds favor. Life begins again.

Perhaps this is one of the Torah’s most enduring lessons: the possibility that something can go wrong does not mean it was wrong to begin. Love remains worthwhile, goodness remains worth pursuing, and hope remains possible even after heartbreak. The story of creation does not end with God’s grief. It continues with the possibility of renewal.

It’s so hard to imagine that it’s been three years since October 7, 2023 and the terror our people faced that day. And the hatred and terror haven’t ended, either in Israel and here in the Diaspora. In thinking about the פרשה/Parasha/Portion of this week, בראשית/Bereshit, I’m reminded of God creating the world in seven days and that each and every person is a whole world themselves. The death of one person is the destruction of an entire world. On October 7, 2023 more than 1200 worlds were destroyed. Each of those worlds was linked to other worlds that have forever been irreparably damaged and can and will never look the way they looked before. We mourn the world, and worlds, we have lost. We mourn the innocence stolen from us. We mourn the hatred that the world continues to show towards our people. We mourn. We will speak more about this at services and beyond. For this week, Ayelet has written a דבר תורה/dvar torah for us to read. She was asked to write for a national newsletter for the organization Hadar and I’m happy to share her words here for all of us to learn from.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Hearshen

From Guest Writer – Ayelet Hearshen:

Have you ever heard the phrase, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”? It’s very minimizing, isn’t it? Words do matter. Think about the scars and memories left behind by cruel words of another, versus the scars and memories of a physical injury. Which is still lasting? Which still keeps you up at night? If you’re like me, the emotional hurt from the words lasts much longer than the physical.

In the first parsha, the Torah hides words from us. In chapter four, verse eight, “ויאמר קין אל-הבל אחיו” (“and Cain said to Abel, his brother…”), and right after that, Cain kills Abel. It’s all in the same verse. What did Cain say? Did he express his love? His hatred? Did he apologize or say goodbye? Why don’t we know? The absence of an answer leaves it up to our interpretations and imaginations to figure out.

After reading the previous verses, I’d like to share my thoughts on what Cain said. We learn that it was Cain’s idea to bring an offering to G-d, “fruit of the land,” and Abel brings an offering as well, just after him, “fat portions from the firstborn of his flock.” It was Cain’s idea, but it was Abel who received the favor from G-d. Cain was jealous; his little brother had stolen his spotlight and his idea, and had done it better.

I believe Cain said something like this to his brother: “How dare you copy my idea? I am older; I thought of it; I should be the one to receive the praise. I hate you.” The two of them fought and argued, with Cain looking for every way to insult Abel. But the argument didn’t soothe the older brother’s anger; instead, as arguments often do, it stoked the fire. The fight led to violence and then to murder. That’s why it’s all one passuk.

This brings me to the theme of this Dvar Torah: words matter. The first homicide is directly linked to words. Clearly, sticks and stones do break bones, but words will always impact just as much, if not more.

In fact, words are so important they were used to create the world through ten statements (Pirkei Avot 5:1). This is remembered every morning when we say Baruch Sheamar, where we talk about how G-d spoke and the world came into existence. In a world where we’re constantly surrounded by words, texts, gossip, and social media, we need to remember to use our words to create good, like G-d did, and not bad, like Cain. Never forget that while words do hurt, they can also heal.

Shabbat Shalom,
​​​​​​​Ayelet

In the משנה תורה/Mishneh Torah, in הלכות שופר וסוכה ולולב/Hilchot Shofar, Sukkah, and Lulav/Laws of Shofar, Sukkah, and Lulav, the רמב”ם/Rambam addresses these three ritual objects in precisely this order: 1) שופר 2) סוכה 3) לולב.

As I have been thinking about why these three are grouped together, and why they appear in this particular order, it seems clear that the entire month of תשרי/Tishrei—the month we are in—is a sacred month, and that the holidays within it are deeply connected, sharing a common thread.

Perhaps the order reflects the order in which these mitzvot are used, or even acquired. We begin the month with the שופר during ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana, and we concludeיום כיפור/Yom Kippur with the שופר as well. As soon as Yom Kippur ends, we are called upon to turn our attention toward סוכות/Sukkot, beginning with the preparation and construction of the סוכה. Once the סוכה is built, we busy ourselves with preparing for the holiday by acquiring a לולב and אתרוג/Etrog.

Perhaps the order also reflects the way these mitzvot are actually experienced. Clearly, the שופר is used first. But what about the סוכה and לולב?

The סוכה is the very first ritual element of Sukkot we encounter. At nightfall on the first night of the holiday, we begin the mitzvah of eating and dwelling in the סוכה. We do not use a לולב at night, nor do we use it on שבת/Shabbat—as is the case this year. And so, the לולב becomes the third of these three mitzvot to enter into our observance.

The eighth chapter of הלכות שופר וסוכה ולולב begins with a well-known law from the תלמוד/Talmud: we may not fulfill the mitzvah of לולב with a stolen לולב.

At first, this law seems almost unnecessary. It is difficult to imagine that anyone would think it appropriate to fulfill a sacred obligation by doing something wrong. And yet, the rabbis deliberately teach this principle because it allows them to convey a profound value: מִצְוָה הַבָּאָה בַּעֲבֵירָה/Mitzvah HaBa’ah B’Aveirah/A mitzvah fulfilled through a transgression.

The lesson of the stolen לולב is that we cannot fulfill a מצוה through negative means—through sinning, through violating another law, or through causing harm. We must be concerned not only with whether we have fulfilled the commandment, but also with how we have fulfilled it.

There is a positive dimension to this idea that connects with my sermon from כל נדרי/Kal Nidre. In fulfilling the קבע/Keva—the fixed requirements of Jewish law—we must also bring proper כוונה/Kavanah/intention. We should see the observance of every מצוה as an opportunity to bring sparks of the Divine into the world. But we must bring those sparks into the world in a way that honors the Divine and honors our world at the same time.

We have been on a sacred journey that began with ראש השנה, continued through יום כיפור, and now brings us to סוכות. Each step of this journey has been undertaken with intention and sanctity.

Our values matter. Our intentions matter. And the way in which we carry out our obligations matters.

If we are to build a better world—a world in which God can dwell—then we must be conscious not only of fulfilling our obligations, but of the way in which we fulfill them.

 

Yom Kippur (יום כיפור) is one of the most—if not the most—ritualized days of the Jewish year. In the days of the Beit HaMikdash (בית המקדש / The Temple), the day was filled with deeply planned and choreographed rituals led by the Kohenim (כהנים / Priests), and primarily by the Kohen Gadol (כהן גדול / High Priest). Today, we strive to give these rituals modern meaning despite having had to alter them significantly in the absence of the Temple and its sacrificial worship system.

The Mishnah (משנה) dedicates an entire ten-chapter tractate to Yom Kippur, titled Yoma (יומא). Nine of these chapters focus exclusively on the service in the Beit HaMikdash and the numerous responsibilities of the Kohen Gadol on that day. This intense focus on ritual is mirrored in our contemporary worship: the Musaf (מוסף) service on Yom Kippur features a large section called the Seder Avodah (סדר עבודה / Order of the Service), in which we review and recall the day’s historical temple practice in detail.

It’s remarkable that the rabbis apportioned nine-tenths of this tractate to rituals that were already extinct—as the Mishnah was compiled nearly 130 years after the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. Why include this in such a foundational work of Jewish law?

Part of the answer lies in the hope of one day returning to Temple worship, preserving the record of these practices so they could eventually be restored. However, the other major value was the need to keep the Jewish people rooted in their history, story, and practices. By devoting so much attention to a bygone practice, the rabbis laid the groundwork for a people firmly anchored in the past yet prepared for the future.

So, what is in the tenth and final chapter?

This is where the rabbis shifted their focus from national, historic observances to the individual Jew and the local community. The final chapter establishes the forbidden behaviors on Yom Kippur, addresses exceptions to the rules of fasting, and outlines how to handle life-threatening situations.

With just two Mishnayot (משניות) remaining, the rabbis finally turned their attention to sin and Teshuvah (תשובה / Repentance). They examined how forgiveness is earned, concluding that while answers varied, all hinged on the essential presence of genuine remorse and behavioral change.

The rabbis were explicit on one key point: offenses committed against other human beings are not erased until the offender has appeased the aggrieved party. While offenses against God are largely forgiven through the prayers and rituals of Yom Kippur, there is one major exception: the person who repents with the intention of returning to their wicked ways. For this person, there is no path to forgiveness until they truly change their heart and mind.

The entire tractate concludes with a famous teaching from Rabbi Akiva (רבי עקיבא):

“Happy are you, Israel! Before whom do you purify yourselves, and who purifies you? Your Father in Heaven.”

This quote captures the central purpose of the tractate: to remind us that Yom Kippur is a sacred opportunity to receive Divine forgiveness—provided we do the necessary work. It underscores that forgiveness is a sacred, Godly act, not something to be taken lightly.

Repenting is one step, but forgiving others is another matter altogether. As these days of repentance draw to a close, may we each draw from our inherited tradition to unlock the Godliness within us—finding the grace to forgive those around us who are trying so hard to do and be better in a chaotic world.

We’re just about there. The year is coming to a close and a new one is beginning in its place. As Jews, the New Year is indeed a time for revelry and celebration, but it’s also an intense time of reflection and prayer. We look to the past in order to look toward the future.

Just yesterday, I was sitting in my car listening to a podcast called Wondering Jews (Rabbi Biton’s daughter, Mijal, is one of the co-hosts). The subject was a deceptively simple question: Why is it so hard for us to admit when we’re wrong?

They discussed at length the many obstacles that stand in our way when it comes to admitting fault. Ego, fear, and so much more can make it difficult, if not impossible, for us to confront the reality that we can be wrong at times. But if we’re able to look more closely at our lives with the understanding that it’s okay to be wrong, then we can begin to see that we all have work to do—and, importantly, that it’s work we can do.

One source cited in this conversation came from Baruch Spinoza, a descendant of Spanish Portuguese Jews who fled the Inquisition and eventually settled in Amsterdam. Spinoza lived in the 1600s, and his behaviors and views ultimately led to his excommunication from the Jewish community. You can read more about Spinoza here.

They quoted something profound that Spinoza wrote in The Ethics (IV): “Repentance is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason; instead, he who repents what he has done is twice wretched, or lacking in power…For first he suffers himself to be conquered by an evil desire, and then by sadness.”

I had never encountered this source before, and it gave me great pause.

How sad.

How sad it is that someone could believe that we have no ability to regret, to change, and to make amends. How sad it is to live in such a way that the past does not matter and making peace with it is impossible.

What Spinoza got wrong is that the impact of our words and deeds matters. What he got wrong is that while we cannot change the past, we can change the future. What he got wrong is that we make peace with the past for the sake of the future.

Spinoza did not understand the basic principle of תשובה/Teshuva/Repentance as taught by the רמב”ם/Rambam: that real תשובה means being confronted with the same circumstances and opportunities and choosing to do differently.

It is through recognizing the errors of our past that we can set ourselves up to build a better future. This is the reality of a person of faith. This is the reality of a person of hope. This is the Jewish vision of תשובה—and it’s at the heart of the moment when we change from one year to the next, looking backward and forward at the same time.

I look forward to seeing all of you this weekend for ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana.

On the first day, we will observe a memorial marking the 25th anniversary of 9/11. It’s so hard to believe that it’s already been 25 years.

As a reminder, there will be no שופר/Shofar on day one because it’s שבת/Shabbat. The שופר will be sounded on the second day, and we cannot wait to hear its beautiful blasts.

Carrie, Ayelet, and Galit join me in wishing a Happy New Year from our family to yours.

 

שנה טובה/Shanah Tovah,

Rabbi Hearshen

 

Last week I wrote about the שופר/Shofar, its shape, and the animal it comes from. I mentioned that we will not sound the שופר this year on the first day of ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana because it falls on שבת/Shabbat. What I forgot to explain was the reasoning behind this rule. Why don’t we sound the שופר when ראש השנה falls on שבת?

The answer comes from the תלמוד/Talmud, where the rabbis discuss what happens whenראש השנה occurs on שבת. They explain that in the בית המקדש/Beit HaMikdash/The Temple, the שופר was sounded on שבת. After the destruction of the Temple, however, a rule was put in place prohibiting the sounding of the שופר on שבת.

The reason they gave was a concern that a person might take a שופר from one domain to another on שבת and thereby violate the prohibition against carrying. The laws of carrying do not apply in the same way on an ordinary יום טוב/Yom Tov, which is why we are permitted to carry a שופר on ראש השנה when it does not coincide with שבת.

This is a very technical answer, and a difficult one to understand or relate to. The rabbis’ concern was that perhaps the person tasked with sounding the שופר for the community did not know how to do it properly. They might therefore take their שופר with them on שבת, go out, and find someone who was an expert to teach them, help them, or allow them to practice.

Again, this is very technical and seems so obscure you might reasonably ask why we’re still adhering to this rule today. I don’t know of anyone who has been assigned the role of sounding the שופר who has not practiced or prepared for this enormous responsibility and honor. At the same time, it’s clear that many people who sound the שופר have their own שופר, which they bring with them to services each year. In that situation, they are essentially carrying because the community needs them to have their שופר with them and to be ready to sound it.

Some may also be familiar with the laws of carrying on שבת and know that there’s a well-established workaround, an ערוב/Eruv, that allows people living within its boundaries to carry on שבת. In Atlanta, we have at least four different ערובs. Shouldn’t the people who live in those communities be exempted from this prohibition?

Well, what would it be like to live in a world where people in one neighborhood were able to experience the holiday in one way while those living outside that neighborhood were required to experience it differently? There needs to be one law for all of us to follow. And so, the law remains: we are prohibited from sounding the שופר when ראש השנה and שבת fall together.

In the תלמוד, the rabbis also debate where this prohibition comes from. One explanation they offer is based on an apparent inconsistency between two verses in the תורה/Torah.

דַּבֵּ֛ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר בַּחֹ֨דֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֜י בְּאֶחָ֣ד לַחֹ֗דֶשׁ יִהְיֶ֤ה לָכֶם֙ שַׁבָּת֔וֹן זִכְר֥וֹן תְּרוּעָ֖ה מִקְרָא־קֹֽדֶשׁ׃

“Speak to the Israelite people thus: In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe complete rest, a sacred occasion commemorated with loud blasts.” (ויקרא/Leviticus 23:24)

And then:

וּבַחֹ֨דֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֜י בְּאֶחָ֣ד לַחֹ֗דֶשׁ מִֽקְרָא־קֹ֙דֶשׁ֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֔ם כׇּל־מְלֶ֥אכֶת עֲבֹדָ֖ה לֹ֣א תַעֲשׂ֑וּ י֥וֹם תְּרוּעָ֖ה יִהְיֶ֥ה לָכֶֽם׃

“In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a sacred occasion: you shall not work at your occupations. You shall observe it as a day when the horn is sounded.” (במדבר/Numbers 29:1)

For those reading the English translation, there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly peculiar or noteworthy. But when we look closely at the first verse, there’s a word that’s being translated in a particular way: זִכְרוֹן.

The word זִכְרוֹן means “remembrance.” That’s why the translation uses the word “commemorated.” But it can also be understood as “a remembrance of the sounding of the horn,” or, more specifically, a remembrance of the sounding of the שופר.

The rabbis suggested that perhaps this verse was teaching us that there are times when we only remember the sound of the שופר rather than actually sounding it. This explanation is ultimately rejected because, before the destruction of the Temple, the שופר was sounded there even on שבת. Nevertheless, I find it to be a beautiful way to understand our practice.

In the end, the rabbis seem to accept that our practices changed after the destruction of the Temple. One of the remnants of that change is that we no longer sound the שופר whenראש השנה falls on שבת. Perhaps we can understand this as one small way of remembering that our people and our religious tradition are incomplete and altered because of the loss of theבית המקדש/Beit HaMikdash.

This year, we will sound the שופר on the second day of ראש השנה, and we hope you will be able to join us and take part in this incredible ritual—one that awakens us to examine our lives, reflect on who we are, and find ways to make ourselves and our world better.

The שופר/Shofar is the essence of the holiday of ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana. Many of us can recall from childhood the moments when we watched and listened in amazement to the sounds of the שופר. The תלמוד/Talmud in tractate ראש השנה, teaches two very important lessons about the שופר and also about the concepts of the day, including תשובה/Teshuvah/Repentance. On pages 26a and 26b we find two disconnected ideas and two very important symbols of the day.

The first is a conversation about which animals’ horns we’re allowed to use to make a שופר. The conversation centers around not being allowed to use the horn of a bull. The rabbis ask all sorts of questions about this and eventually they come to the realization that the prosecutor cannot become the defender. That is their rationale. This sounds a bit obscure, but then they reference that the כהן גדול/Kohen Gadol/High Priest was forbidden to enter the קודש הקודשים/Kodesh HaKodeshim/The Holy of Holies on יום כיפור/Yom Kippur while wearing his gold clothes. The reason is the same as the cow horn – they are both reminders of our great sin as a people when we built and worshipped the עגל הזהב/Egel HaZahav/Golden Calf. The cow horn as a שופר and the gold clothes are both seen as reminders of what we’ve done wrong in the past and so we didn’t use those items on the day we were most intently praying for our ability to change and be forgiven.

A bit later in this passage we find a discussion about different שופרs, specifically the rabbis were debating ones that are bent and those that are straight. They asserted that we need to use bent ones on ראש השנה as we are bending our minds and our bodies to repent and to work on improving. We’re humbled at that moment and the שופר we use is meant to remind us of that humbleness. On יום כיפור we use a straight one so we can conclude the ten days of repentance and have our minds and posture straightened.

These two conversations about the physical שופר itself, paint a picture of the vision of doing תשובה: we need to confront the bad, but we cannot allow it to intrude on us now. We must leave it behind and in the past. To think of the cow as a reminder of the low point in Jewish history when we betrayed God and ourselves, is to remind us we’re not defined by the low points. We cannot judge ourselves, or others, based on their worst day.

The idea of utilizing a bent שופר to remind us of our posture on ראש השנה as being bent and humbled, is something to also remind us of the process of תשובה. When we accept that we’ve done wrong, we’re humble and recognize we have fixing to do. A person who’s ruled by pride is unable to fully see the person in the mirror and recognize places where they need to make changes. The person who’s ruled by ego does not begin to change because, in their eyes, you cannot change/fix perfection. The שופר and the act of תשובה push us in the opposite direction: to humbly recognize we all have work to do.

This year, ראש השנה falls on a weekend. This is a great opportunity for us to be more mindful of the two days of ראש השנה. For too many generations certain groups of Jews of the diaspora have wrongly asserted that ראש השנה is a one-day holiday since it is a one-day holiday in Israel. The problem with this assertion is it’s factually false: ראש השנה was established as a two-day celebration universally in Israel and in the diaspora. There’s no difference between the two. When ראש השנה falls on a שבת/Shabbat, we are unable to sound the שופר, which means we only sound it on the non שבת day – Sunday. This year, we’ll only be able to fulfill the commandment of the שופר on the second day of the holiday. I hope to be able to celebrate with even more of our congregants this year so we can fulfill this beautiful and sacred tradition together. For those of you who are curious about how often this has happened in your lifetime, our Ritual Team put together this website to calculate the number of times. Please click here to see how many times in your lifetime the שופר has been silenced by שבת. I hope you’ll come to OVS on the second day of Rosh Hashana this year to hear it.

The fifth chapter of the רמב”ם/Rambam’s laws of repentance, found in the משנה תורה/Mishneh Torah, opens with a profoundly necessary statement of reality: “permission is given to every person: if he wants to incline himself to the good path and be righteous – it is within his domain. And if he wants to incline himself to the bad path and be bad – it is within his domain.” The רמב”ם offers support for this from the תורה/Torah and the story of the creation of the world. Eating from the tree of knowledge of good and bad made humans unique in the world. As humans, we have the ability to make choices regarding our actions and can discern if they’re good or bad. All other creations act on animal instinct and don’t decide to do things because they are good or bad – humans alone have that ability. The רמב”ם goes on to make an even more powerful assertion in the second law of the fifth chapter: “Do not let it pass your thoughts this thing held by the fools of the nations and the undeveloped amongst the Jews that God decrees when a person is formed if the person will be righteous or wicked. This is not right, rather every single person is fit to be righteous or wicked, merciful or cruel… nobody (God included) compels a person to be anything but rather the person chooses which path they want to go on.”

There is a lot contained in that passage. The רמב”ם, with these key sentences, has just gone to battle with predetermination, destiny and so much more. What he’s doing most importantly is doing away with anyone’s ability to say they’re not responsible. We all bear responsibility for our actions, be they good or bad. We all must accept that we’re the ones making our choices and we’re the ones achieving or failing. At home, Galit will sometimes tell us that her legs made her do something wrong or made her say something. What does she mean by this? In her six-year-old language, she’s trying to assert a powerlessness she had in whatever happened. “The legs acted on their own.” But the legs didn’t and our actions and words don’t act on their own either. Each of us must step forward to accept that we’re responsible for good and bad. Each of us must make the hard decision to acknowledge that God made us with free will, and free will sometimes means we do things we’re not proud of. This also means each of us is constantly engaged in the hard process of determining which path is the right one to walk down. We’re constantly confronted with choices to make. We make those choices the best we can, and hope they’re the right ones.

In a world where we all too often feel powerless, it’s nice to know we can reclaim our power. In a world where we’re all too often led astray by external forces, it’s nice to know we have the power within ourselves to choose, to move away from those forces. In a world plagued by people who choose to do bad things, it’s nice to know we live in a world where the possibility and opportunity to repent and do תשובה/Teshuvah/Return exists so we change our ways in the future.

Today is ראש חודש/Rosh Chodesh, the day when the new month begins. This is a two-day ראש חודש which means today is actually the last day of the concluding month, אב/Av, while tomorrow is first day of the new month, אלול/Elul. אלול is the last month of the year and it’s one that’s set aside for deep introspection and preparation. It’s the beginning of the end of the year, which means we’re meant to spend time this month preparing for the new year.

The preparation we do during אלול isn’t merely meant for the holidays of ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana and יום כיפור/Yom Kippur – it’s meant to be for the year. When I work with couples as they prepare for their wedding, I spend a lot of time explaining why we shouldn’t be preparing for a one day ceremony so much as preparing for the rest of their lives… the marriage. That’s the purpose of preparing in אלול.

It’s not about the holidays so much as it’s about the year ahead. In order to prepare, it’s essential we look ahead while looking back. We need to reflect on the year that’s ending and make peace with the past. This process is called תשובה/Teshuva/repentance, but repentance is not the exact translation of the word, it actually means to return. This dual use of the word brings us to a deeper understanding of the idea of repenting. It means to return to who we were before making mistakes and to return to who we are naturally meant to be. We’re not sinful but we sin. We’re not bad but we do bad things. We’re not wrong but we do wrong things. If all these actions are aberrations, then we can look in the mirror and see the beautiful person looking back at us who’s trying to do their best while inevitably making mistakes.

Over the next month, I want to look at a variety of texts regarding the art of תשובה. For today, I want to begin with the most widely read source on תשובה, the writing of the רמב”ם/Rambam in his משנה תורה/Mishneh Torah, his code of Jewish Law. He opens his laws of תשובה with a statement that “all of the commandments in the תורה/Torah, whether they are positive or negative, if a person transgresses one of them, whether intentionally or unintentionally, when the person does תשובה and returns from their sin they are obligated to confess their sin before God”. It’s not enough to simply stop the sin or bad actions, it must be matched with a confession. We’re obligated to not merely improve, but to have intention in doing so. By this I mean we can all change and do better, and we need to spend time reflecting on and recognizing what we’ve done wrong and what we want to do better. By confessing and not just changing, we’re backing up our actions with words and our words with actions.

As we work our way through our תשובה, let us each take a moment to see where changes can and need to be made, and begin to make those changes, intentionally and with open hearts ready to embrace the new year ahead and a better future.

As summer is winding down and kids are heading back to school, it’s time to launch our next year. Every August we spend a lot of time getting ready for the next Jewish year and all we can look forward to doing together. Without a doubt, one of the highlights for this upcoming year will be the 50^th OVS Sisterhood Hanukkah Bazaar. It’s something I look forward to every year as we shine and enjoy our heritage and traditions. I’m also excited for the upcoming holidays and enjoying services with you. This year we are happy to announce we’ll be offering more at our weekly Shabbat morning services. We are looking forward to having our Kavanah services twice a month along with youth Shabbat services. Those will be on the first and third Shabbats each month unless something else, a holiday or a Bar/Bat Mitzvah, is happening. The other two Shabbats of the month will also be special. One of them will include a guest speaker at services and the other will be a themed Shabbat. The first is on August 29 and it will be a Jewish Summer Camp Shabbat service. If you’re a Jewish Summer Camp camper or an alumni, this Shabbat is for you.

Please contact me at rabbi.hearshen@orveshalom.org with the name of the camp and years you went there so we acknowledge it during the service. We’ll have a camp-style Shabbat lunch following services. We invite you to show your camp pride and wear your camp shirt.

Jewish Summer Camp has been transformational to the Jewish world of today. A largely disproportionate number of Jews who are engaged in Jewish life today trace their engagement back to their days at summer camp. The impact it makes on our Jewish world is something we should all celebrate.