The Hebrew calendar is a few days away from its year end. On Friday night, we finish 5780 תש״פ, and continue on to 5781 תשפ״א. We are an ancient people, after all, tied to ancient calendars & rituals, not to mention hills & valleys.
It’s my first Rosh Hashana in a pandemic.
Our.*
One of our ancient rituals is to hear the blast of the shofar. The idea is that we must take in this blast, its blare a kind of wake-up call: it’s a startling sound that makes you behold. It demands quiet in a crowd, and creates a moment in which we are to remember our links to the past, to God, and to one another. I imagine that this year, there will be people praying in groups outside, as well as the roving Chabad men tooting their shofar so that everyone can hear from any window or balcony.
The Yamma Ensemble has incorporated the shofar in a beautiful way. Enjoy.
Standing where we stand today, I don’t think we took in LAST YEAR’s shofar blasts, last year’s wake-up call, seriously enough. Maybe this year we will approach this moment and the moments after with far less hubris and far less indifference.
After a very hot stretch of summer in the Middle East, the lands are scorched dry. Yet the pomegranate trees bear their lush red fruit at summer’s end, making this is one of the customary foods for the New Year. A symbol of fertility, beauty, femininity…
