Rosh Hashanah: Knowin’ What To Keep
There's something so fundamental in life that no one teaches you or shows you. And that's how to form healthy relationships with others. While we're given a few social cues here and there. Nobody ever gives you a step-by-step manual on how to make friends. Even within our family circles. Our cousins, mothers, brothers, and sisters. Nobody explains how it’s all supposed to work.
I don't know about you, but I just got dropped off at school one day. And then it's like, "OK, good luck!" For most of us, making friends was probably the most anxiety-inducing part of growing up. We learn at a young age that eating lunch alone isn’t much fun. It’s even worse when we see people laughing and having fun around us. And there we are. Just us. And our peanut butter sandwich. So we develop ways to avoid being alone. Because being alone can feel downright awful. Even as an adult. Especially as an adult.
"An influential meta-analysis, which collated and analyzed the results of nearly 150 studies, found loneliness increases the risk of death more than such things as poor diet, obesity, alcohol consumption, and lack of exercise, and it is as harmful as heavy smoking."
I think we call all admit. Loneliness sucks. But there is something even worse than being alone. It's with being around people that don't respect you. Or value you. We place such high importance on bringing people into our lives. Everyone is so concerned with it. But what doesn’t get much of a spotlight isn’t the ingathering part of our social lives. It’s the exiting. It’s when we realize that not every relationship is meant to last. And there's a reason I bring this up on our day of forgiveness.
On our day of judgment. Because this holiest of Holy Days isn't just in the hands of God. We have an active part as well. We are tasked to differentiate and discern. To distinguish right from wrong. To judge. Actively. And not just passively be judged. In the words of Kenny Rogers:
“You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run.
Every gambler knows
That the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away
And knowin' what to keep”
Learning the game of life means understanding that we’re all gamblers when it comes to relationships. This is one of the most complex, heart-wrenching parts of life. We spend so much time welcoming people into our circle. That we forget to notice how THEIR actions, behavior, and words ultimately affect OUR sense of well-being. We’re consumed with impressing others and ensuring they’re happy being around us.
We forget to ask ourselves: “Am I happy? Does this person care about me the way I care for them?” Because as we get older, it’s not just having people around. It’s making sure they're the RIGHT people. And thus, as the song says, "It is up to us to learn how to play the game of life. And play it right."
One of the most important prayers we encounter during our Days of Awe is Unaneh Tokef:
"Angels, in a while of fear and trembling, will say:
'Behold the day of judgment' -
for they, too, are judged...
All who come into the world pass before You.
Like sheep before their shepherd.
As a sheep considers the flock,
When it passes beneath the staff,
You count and consider every life.
You set bounds; You decide destiny;
You inscribe judgments…."
Today is a day of judgment. Today we say WHO will I be there this year? Not what. Who do I want to be? Who do I not want to be? On Rosh Hashanah, we are asked, as God does, to use our better judgment. Not to be cruel. Not to be unforgiving. Or baseless. But to think hard about what our lives are shaping up to be. Because the most powerful word in this ominous prayer is a simple one. Who?
“Who will rest and who will wander?
Who will be tranquil, and who will be troubled?
Who will be calm and who will be tormented?”
Suppose we are to mimic God in our actions. In our lives. Then the question of WHO is also one we face as well. Who will we seek out this year? Who do we need to spend more time with? Who should I have said yes to more?
On Rosh Hashanah, the "last word," so–to–speak, doesn’t solely rest in the hands of God – We have a role to play in how our year is written and recorded. This day isn't all about GOD’S decisions as much as it is OURS. But I have found that our decision–making skills are at their WORST when it comes to other people.
On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we read very special selections. Both deal with the interworkings of relationships. One of them is the sacrifice of Isaac. We will get to that in a moment. The other is about Joseph. Let me give you that recap.
Joseph and his brothers have always had a rocky relationship. He had a bit of an ego. He had dreams foreshadowing his ruling over the family. They tried to kill him. They thought they had. He survived. Sold to Egypt. Landed in jail. Helped Egypt with a starvation problem. Interpreted the dreams of Pharaoh. Finally, Joseph finds himself in a position of power.
And when his brothers show up on his doorstep, they don't recognize him, which puts Joseph in an odd situation. He never intended to see them again. After all, why would he want to? His brothers threw him in a ditch and left him for dead. But then, when they appear again looking for food, he is prompted with a decision. Do I let my family back in my life again? And if I do, can I forgive them for what they did?
Finally, Joseph says: "Yes. I am ready." And such, Joseph says, "Fear not. I will sustain you and your children." But we are also given a small add–on. The Torah also explains that Joseph "reassured them, speaking kindly to them."
According to Rashi, "[Joseph] addressed their hearts, trying to put them at ease.” He used logic to convince them of his sincerity. Because Joseph was, in fact, genuine. He CHOSE to receive his brothers. It wasn't an easy verdict, but it was appropriate for Joseph.
This is to say, not all endings are happy ones. In the account of Abraham and Isaac, Abraham attempts to sacrifice his son at request by God. And as you can imagine. It wasn't enjoyable. For either of them, presumably. Nobel Peace Laureate Ellie Wiesel argues that “not only did Abraham fail the test, but so did God. No God should ever ask a father to kill his child, and no father should ever agree. God may have eventually saved Isaac psychically, but He crippled him emotionally (Dershowitz, The Genesis of Justice, p. 125–126).”
In Weisel's defense – who is arguably one of the most influential thinkers of our generation – essentially crafting a new theology for progressive Jews following the Holocaust – I find comfort that we don't simply make excuses for bad behavior. We don't supply endless passes for reprehensible actions. We hold others accountable for better or worse. And while God regards Abraham as a tried and true believer. His son, however, may have evaluated Abraham by a different rubric.
Because for Abraham, he alone will forever hear his son's words ringing in his ear: "Where is the sheep for the burnt offering?" The last thing Isaac is recorded saying to his father. And that is the end of their story. Their paths don’t realign until Abraham breathes his last breath. And Isaac buries his father alongside his brother Ishmael, who was cast out and left for dead.
A question is asked - one that may sway your opinion. How old was Isaac? Some of the commentators believe he was thirty-seven. Some say twenty-six. Whichever view we follow, it is clear that Isaac was a grown man at the time of his binding. He understood full well what was happening to him. But the retort to this debate is so fundamentally important to our lives and the choices we make going forward. Just because we allow something to happen once. That doesn’t mean we let it happen again. In Pirkei Avot, we are taught:
"Moshe received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Yehoshua, and Yehoshua to the Elders, and the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly. They said three things: Be deliberate in judgment, raise many disciples and make a circle for Torah (1:1)."
In Judaism, we are asked to both be deliberate in judgment and make a circle, or fence, around Torah. We do so to guard our most precious teachings. We want to ensure that those who teach it, learn with us, and guide us in Torah are the right people. As the rabbis teach, this takes discernment and judgment to ensure our circle, the people that surround us, are helping us grow, mature, and blossom into fantastic humans.
Let this be the year of decisions. Let us be granted what our inheritance is—inherent agency and authority over our own lives. Let our words be soaked in sincerity. Let us create a fence, not to keep others out, but to carry us to our full potential. With the people that matter.