Who’s Being Judged?
First Steps on a Spiritual Journey
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5765
By Rabbi Mark B Greenspan

Accountants have March and April, retailers, November and December. And Rabbis have August through October. This is the “season.” Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are a rough time of year for most rabbis and cantors, but not for the reasons that you might think.

Rosh Hashanah is Yom HaDin; it’s the Day of Judgment. Sometimes, however, I think that the only people who really believe that they’re being judged at this time of year are Rabbis, on the quality of their sermons, and cantors on whether or not they hit all the right notes in their davening.

Of course, it shouldn’t be that way. All of us must come and stand before the Judge of all creation at this time of year. And that’s the crux of the problem. Exactly how do we do this?

I find that the other holidays in our calendar are easier to prepare for. They involve physical preparation. They focus more on the external aspects of our lives rather than on the interior of our being. On Sukkot we build a Sukkah. On Passover we must kosher our homes. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur demand that we take a journey inward, that we expose our kishkes to the uncomfortable truths of our lives; that we admit our errors, our weaknesses and faults. That makes most of us very uncomfortable.

By nature we’re not a very self-reflective society, so Rosh Hashanah does not come easily to us. We’d rather watch a football game or visit the mall than sit around reflecting on the nature of life or the purpose of our existence.

The key word for this season is “Teshuvah,” repentance or return. But what does it mean? The essence of Rosh Hashanah was captured in a movie a few years ago called “Liar, Liar” in which an attorney played by Jim Carey is forced to speak the truth no matter its implications. Most of the year, we can delude ourselves with illusions and half truths. Imagine having to stand up in front of a group of people and speak the truth. Imagine having to admit that you’re really a louse, that you have made dozens, maybe even hundreds of mistakes over the past year, some by accident and some on purpose. Imagine being exposed for who you really are, and not how you would like people to think of you.

I believe many of us share this waking nightmare: being found out. This is true particularly when we’re young and afraid that our co-workers will find out that we are not nearly as capable as they think we are. We wonder, “What will I do if they find out the truth about me?” The High Holy Days threaten to expose us. We come to synagogue but we don’t like what this season really represents. It scares us.

There’s nothing more uncomfortable in the world. If we take the Yamim Noraim seriously than we have to make a journey inward, we have to look at our lives, we have to admit that we are broken and in need of repair. But most of all, we have to be honest with ourselves and with others.

Of course, if a person doesn’t believe that God judges us or that God cares about us then this is not so bad. But the High Holy Days lose their meaning and their purpose as well. The Yamim Noraim are founded on the concept of Yirat Hashamayim – of having a sense of awe in the presence of God. And that’s something with which all of us struggle, especially rabbis.

So I stand on the pulpit on the High Holy Days like a conductor worrying about whether services are running on time, whether the people who are suppose to open the ark have come forward, and whether the congregation is on the right page. That’s my job. But that’s not what the holidays are about, is it? And I watch the constant stream of people in and out of services all morning as people warmly greet one another while others are trying to daven. I wonder when I will have time for my own neshamah, time to reflect and think about my life.

Sometimes I feel as though there is un-climbable wall around my heart at this time of year that makes it hard to really access the feelings that are so much a part of this season. Our ancestors in offering a path to Teshuvah speak about regret and sorrow, humility and guilt, but these emotions don’t come easily to any of us. There are so many distractions, so many other things to worry about that it’s hard to walk the path through this holy season. We’re asleep and the sound of the Shofar is meant to wake us from our lethargy.

I have this fantasy, of getting up one year when it’s time to give my Rosh Hashanah sermon, and saying, “Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know today is Rosh Hashanah. It’s a time of self-reflection and a season when we must give a spiritual accounting of our lives before God. I can’t tell you what to think about or what issues are foremost in your life at this time. So instead of giving a sermon this year I’d like you to spend the next twenty minutes silently thinking about your life and your obligations to God and your neighbors.” And then I’d sit down and spend the next twenty minutes in silent reflection. This is my dream, but the second part of the fantasy is that I’d probably be looking for a new pulpit the next day…

So how do I begin this personal journey on Rosh Hashanah? I read, I study, and I spend time in reflection. Rabbi Alan Lew has written a wonderful new book about the High Holy Days entitled, This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared, in which he speaks of the High Holy Days as a journey that begins on Tisha B’Av in early August and ends on Sukkot. He speaks about the need for mindfulness and self awareness during this season and suggests that unless we’re willing to invest ourselves in uncovering the hidden layers of our soul, the holidays will remain empty expressions of ritual in which we fail to do the hard work of change.

Rabbi Lew makes many suggests about how to do this but I’ll share only one of them with you today. He suggests that the prayer book can become a tool for self reflection, not because of what it says but because of what it does. While davening he suggests we focus on the words we are reciting (even if we don’t understand all of them.) Inevitably, our mind will wander from those words in a hundred different directions. Rabbi Lew points out that we gently return to the words of the Machzor but that we take note of what thoughts our mind has grabbed hold of. These are probably the issues and concerns in our lives. In this way self reflection will occur between the words of the Machzor.

When Rosh Hashanah is over, I would suggest that we take a piece of paper and write down what some of these thoughts were. What are we worried about? What would we like to change about ourselves? We can then use the week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur to meditate on these issues, and to repair those things that we can take care of.

We also need to begin the High Holy Days by asking ourselves whether there is room in our lives for God. And if there is, then we must acknowledge that belief in God is more than just a verbal commitment. It is a life commitment that affects how we live, who we are and the judgments we make.

So there’s a lot of work to do at this time of year. And it involves more than just writing sermons and announcing pages. My work is really no different from your work: it involves opening our hearts and considering the possibility of change in our lives. It involves being honest with ourselves and others. And it involves returning to that place at the very core of our being where the best part of us can be found, the part of us that is created in the image of God.

I hope you’ll bear with me, then. I’m here to attend services just like you. And what will make the days ahead more meaningful is what we do together. Don’t let the tickets fool you. This is not a show!

I hope you will all find new meaning and resolve to change in the days and weeks ahead.

Shanah Tova!