The Shofar as Sound and Symbol

Throughout the month of Elul the daily prayer service concludes with a single blast of the shofar. The shrill sound serves as a daily reminder that the New Year is coming and seeks to spur worshipers to engage in the difficult work of cheshbon hanefesh, personal accounting. With its raw, piercing cry, the shofar calls us back to find our authentic self.

Today I want to suggest that the message of the shofar extends beyond the sound. The shofar itself often has a smooth, shinyoutside. Shofars don’t come with such glossy exteriors naturally; rather it takes many hard, laborious hours of work to achieve such a polish. The inside of the shofar, however, is not polished. It remains rough and natural. This shiny exterior doesn’t affect the shofar’s sound. The natural, howling call shofar emerges from a coarse and unfinished place.

I believe we are all, in some ways, like the shofar. We devote much time and energy to creating smooth exteriors. Inside, however, we all have our course patches. In the year ahead let us not only hear the shofar’s call but also internalize its symbolism. Despite our roughness and unfinished interiors, we all have the power to send forth into the world our own powerful, authentic call. As we approach the New Year, may we all find our own voice and seek to share it with the world.

Who writes the Book of Life?

It seems as if our year unfolds to the panorama that is Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

We don our nicest clothes, hoping to look our best.  Hoping to sing our best.  

The High Holy Days is the "Super Bowl" for cantors.  There's no way around it.  

Each note and each measure of music reflecting something important: the text, the words, the liturgy of our Machzor.  The melodies and words range from familiar, comforting and wholesome to troubling, stark and obtuse.  We're reminded over and over that our prayers are important and that our future is somehow being written in the Book of Life.  

But what does that mean?  What book are we talking about here? What does it mean to be sealed?

For me, it's the book of my heart.  I am given the chance to reflect - the instruction to reflect.  I am given the opportunity to try to understand my place in the world, in the community, in relationships... And, I am given the chance - the instruction - to look inside myself. To attempt to reconcile my strengths, weaknesses, troubles and gifts within me. Then I can stand taller in the relationships, the community and world and I seek to understand.  

The prayers of the High Holy Days are meant to shake the dust off of our souls.  Some of the melodies are powerful and "in your face," while others are soothing and plaintive.  For me, the range of melodies reflect and mirror our range of emotions.  The words and music set the limits and boundaries for us to bounce between in our lives the rest of the year.  

Sometimes we need to be angry - our prayers reflect that.  Sometimes we need to be declarative - our prayers reflect that, too.  Sometimes we need to receive more than we give - our prayers help us strive for that balance. Sometimes we need to know the limits of our imbalance to feel any sense of balance at all.  Our prayers and our music reflect that struggle as much as they reflect the peace seems to slip through our fingers.  
We bring our best to the High Holy Days perhaps because when we look in the mirror, we can be just a little more like the person we wish to see. 

Cantor Seth Warner
4 Elul 5774

Tashlich

by Debra Solomon Baker

Last year, maybe I apologized for not having enough patience with my daughter, Sarah, when she’s slow to get dressed in the morning, for threatening to leave her home without a ride.  Maybe I apologized for complaining to my husband, Lorne, when he buys a super-sized bag of those dried mangoes from Costco that nobody ever eats, or to my son, Max, for the times when I was so consumed with grading papers that I didn’t listen when he spoke about the trades his beloved Redbirds had just made.  Maybe I apologized to the dog for not carving enough time to walk him, especially in wintertime.

I don’t remember the details of what we said.

But, every year, the four of us, with the mutt, head to Oak Knoll Park armed with bread to toss into the water.  I suppose that there is a “right” day to do Tashlich, this ritual casting away of our sins.   There are probably correct prayers to say and a correct day to assemble and even a correct type of body of water.  The Baker family just gathers whenever we can grab some time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  We head to Oak Knoll because that’s where we’ve always gone and we like to visit the ducks and the spot where we scattered the ashes of our dog, Desmond, years ago.  One by one, we name our specific wrongdoings, calling out our apologies and, with each one, we rip off a piece of bread, tossing it away.  Sometimes we erupt into silliness and even some giggling, as we remember our flawed moments.  Sometimes I cry. Usually we end up hugging and even saying thank you.

This unique brand of Tashlich is probably our best tradition as a family.  I always walk away feeling cleansed and grateful.    

Sitting here on a rainy Shabbat morning in August, a few weeks before the Jewish New Year, I am thinking about this ritual, playing a little What If game.

What if during Tashlich, we not only uttered apologies to each other, but to ourselves? What if we named specific moments where we treated ourselves unkindly, unfairly, unhealthily?  What if, in doing so, we urged ourselves to be less harsh in our self-criticism, to be gentler with our bodies, to push aside work without guilt, to meet friends for lunch, even to do yoga?

And what if, while standing out there by the water, we added our own environmental shortcomings to our list, apologizing to our planet?  What if we then made a silent pledge to be more aware, to plant flowers, to wash and recycle peanut butter jars even though it’s a nuisance to clean them? 

And what if we didn’t wait for Rosh Hashanah?  What if this year, part of our Shabbat ritual became an accounting of ways that we had fallen short?  How about candles, blessings, wine, challah, celebrations, apologies?  How might setting this intention help to nurture our families, to make us closer? 

And, finally, what if we organized Tashlich-esque gatherings in our schools and in our neighborhoods?  Imagine people of all races meeting in Ferguson not just for protest but with loaves and loaves of bread in our hands.  Imagine us standing there together, calling out apologies for our pathetic stereotypes, for our hurtful comments, for whatever each of us has done to contribute to a community where children and teenagers are not always safe.

Yes, I sit here on this Shabbat morning thinking about a world where we all arm ourselves with bread rather than with guns, where we kick blame in the shins, where we stand up and cheer for Team Apology to win the game.  I wish each of us a new year brimming with stories that uplift and with rituals that add meaning to our lives.  And may our relationships--with ourselves, with our loved ones, and with strangers--be mended through the quiet power of forgiveness.

Debra Solomon Baker has taught eighth grade Literacy at Wydown Middle School for nearly two decades and has been a member of Congregation Shaare Emeth for nine years. She has had writing published in several places, including the anthology, Winter Harvest: Jewish Writing in Saint Louis.  Most recently, Reform Judaism magazine included an essay that she wrote about her family’s volunteer commitment to Room at the Inn.  Debra blogs at http://debrasolomonbaker.wordpress.com/

Returning after returning after returning - a meditation for the 2nd day of Elul 5774

Time it was 
And what a time it was, it was 
A time of innocence 
A time of confidences

Long ago it must be 
I have a photograph 
Preserve your memories 
They're all that's left you.

This summer, I returned.  I returned to Prague, I walked the ancient ghettos streets where once my people dwelled.  I wandered through the chaos of the stones of ancient cemeteries, I sat in synagogues in Krakow where my ancestors prayed, I was silenced by the voices in my head as I walked through Auschwitz and Birkenau, remembering, dwarfed by the trees in the cemetery that is all that remains of my people in the ghetto of Warsaw.

This summer, I returned.  I returned home once again to Yerushalayim, City of Peace, a place of comfort and inspiration, where anger and vengeance now prevailed, where rockets flew overhead, where missiles returned in retaliation.

This summer, I returned.  An airport nearly paralyzed, flights cancelled, and then my feet touched down once again at home.   A home here in a town where I returned, it seemed to a time long ago, where racial tensions raged and anger flared, and fear swelled and hope diminished. I returned, to return, to return and then to return.

Time it was....and what a time it was, it was....a time of innocence....a time of confidences....to return again and again and again.

It is Elul....a time for returning. A time for reflection. A time for resolution. A time for action.  A time of hope.

Returning is never easy.  Things are never the same, we are never the same, and yet we return, again and again and again.  

As this month of Elul begins, we return.  We reflect.  We pray.  We hope.  We return. And then, we do it all again.  We read the words again, we pray the prayers again, we sing the songs again, we hope the hopes, dream the dreams, we return, again and again and again.

Maybe this time it will matter, this time it will change, this time we will change, this time we will make a difference....maybe this will be the year, the moment, when peace will prevail, when violence will stop, when we return to our innocence, to our confidence, to our hope, to our shalom.

Rabbi Jim Bennett
2 Elul 5774

Welcome

Welcome back to Shaare Emeth's Elul blog.  Last night at sundown we began the Hebrew month of Elul, which traditionally is a time to reflect on the year that has past and prepare for the upcoming High Holy Days. Traditional spiritual practices during the month of Elul include:

- hearing the shofar blown 
- reading Psalm 27
- visiting the graves of loved ones who have passed
- spending at least a small amount of time in silence each day
- granting and asking for forgiveness
- the practice of Cheshbon HaNefesh - making an honest and thoughtful accounting of our actions and intentions over this past year.  In doing this, we hope to observe the places where we may feel stuck, and try to find motivation for self-transformation.  Some people take this process quite literally, keeping a journal to record the insights they uncover during this period of time.  Others simply find time to reflect more internally.

I encourage you to commit to one spiritual practice during the month of Elul and see how that practice can deepen your awareness.  Your practice might simply be reading this blog each day.

This Elul, along with thoughts and ideas from Shaare Emeth's clergy, we have invited 12 members of the congregation to share their thoughts and ideas about this time of preparation as well.

The blog is meant to be interactive, so please feel free to ask questions and add positive comments and reflections of your own.

As we begin this month of spiritual reflection and preparation, may our community be blessed with moments of honesty, forgiveness and peace.

L'shalom,

Rabbi Andrea

The 2014 / 5774 Return of "Return"

Follow our daily blog for the Hebrew month of Elul (August 27-September 24, 2014) as our clergy--and new this year, some of our members--share their insights on preparing our souls for the High Holidays.

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