October 7, 2024|ה' תשרי ה' אלפים תשפ"ה Nurturing Love and Embracing Sacrifice: A Rosh Hashana Reflection By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

We come to this Rosh Hashana after a year in which the haunting words of "Unetaneh Tokef" took on an entirely new meaning.בראש השנה יכתבון וביום צום כפור יחתמון  “On Rosh Hashana it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: מי יחיה ומי ימות, who will live and who will die?” Last year, at this time, at the end of this piyyut we all chanted aloud  ותשובה ותפילה וצדקה מעבירין את רוע הגזירה. “But repentance, prayer, and charity cancel the evil decree.” As I approach this Rosh Hashana I can’t help but ask, were our teshuva, tefilla, and tzedaka not enough last year? Was the horrific tragedy of October 7th a wake-up call, telling us that something is wrong with the Jewish people? Was it the sound of the shofar calling to us, עורו ישנים משינתכם "Awaken, you sleepers from your slumber"? Were we too complacent, too spiritually asleep, that such a tragedy was allowed to happen? How else can we explain the single worst tragedy to befall the Jewish people since the Holocaust? Part of me feels like I am coming to Rosh Hashana as a member of a nation that was simply inadequate last year.

We also come to Rosh Hashana after a year in which Akeidat Yitzchak took on new meaning. Why do we use the shofar from the horn of a ram? To remind God of the merit of Yitzchak, whose life was spared when a ram was offered in his place. This year, we’ve witnessed far too many "Akeidot Yitzchak." Hundreds of thousands of soldiers risked their lives to defend our nation, and so many soldiers paid the ultimate price. Soldiers like Netanel Eitan, who was supposed to get engaged on the day he was buried. He was a medic, and when his unit was hit by an IED in Gaza, instead of taking cover, he rushed to save his fellow soldiers. While doing so, he was shot by a Hamas sniper. He was helicoptered to a hospital in Jerusalem, but died a few hours later. And just yesterday, we lost eight young men in southern Lebanon, Captain Harel Ettinger, 23, Captain Itai Ariel Giat, 23, Sergeant First Class Noam Barzilay, 22, Sergeant First Class Or Mantzur, 21, Sergeant First Class Nazar Itkin, 21, Staff Sergeant Amken Terefe, 21, Staff Sergeant Ido Broyer, 21 and Captain Itzhak Oster, 22.

We come to Rosh Hashana with hundreds of "Akeidot Yitzchak" like Netanel Eitan and like the eight brave young men who were killed yesterday. We turn to God and cry out, “We have paid the price! Our young children sacrificed their lives for the Jewish people! We deserve a better year!”

We have witnessed acts of unimaginable mesirut nefesh—self-sacrifice. These young men and women gave their lives to defend the Jewish people and uphold our values, just as Yitzchak was ready to give his life at the Akeidah. Surely, these acts of courage and devotion should stand in our merit, a testimony to our worthiness before God.

Yet, we approach Rosh Hashana torn between guilt and merit, between the weight of the tragedies and the nobility of the sacrifices. How are we supposed to feel as we stand before God on this Yom HaDin, this Day of Judgment? Do we feel remorse for our failings as a people, or do we feel pride in the heroism displayed by so many? Should we be filled with fear or with confidence?

The truth is, we cannot know what the future holds. We live in a world filled with uncertainty. We’ve experienced profound losses, and we’ve shown profound bravery. But what the coming year will bring, we cannot know. The only thing we can do is focus on the judgment before us.

What’s fascinating is that we are judged on Rosh Hashana—the first day of the new year—not on the last day of the old year. Wouldn’t it make more sense to be judged at the end of the previous year? If the goal of the day of judgment is to improve ourselves before the judgment is sealed, wouldn’t it make more sense to improve ourselves during the year when we are being judged, rather than during the next year? Imagine if I had a bad semester – poor grades, didn’t pay attention that much in class and I want to change my ways and I’m hoping that the teacher will have pity on me because she sees that I’m trying. Doesn’t it make more sense for me to change my ways at the end of the current semester before the grades are in than at the beginning of the next semester? God tells us that we can repent at the beginning of the next semester for the previous semester, but that doesn’t seem to make sense. The semester is over. Why is the day of judgment and the final chance for improvement during the beginning of a new year and not during the end of the old year?

In his sefer Yaarot Devash (Chelek 1, Drush 1), Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschuetz explains that during the seven days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur we repent for all the sins that we committed that day. On the Monday between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we repent for all the sins that we committed on Monday throughout the year. On Tuesday between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we repent for all the sins that we committed on Tuesday throughout the year, and so on and so forth. But, again, why are we repenting for last year’s sins during the first week of the new year? Why not repent for last year’s sins at the end of last year? Rabbi Chaim Friedlander, in his Siftei Chaim, offers an explanation: the judgment of Rosh Hashana is not only about the past. It is about the future. What will we do in the coming year? What kind of people will we become? The past may inform that, but it doesn’t determine it. If we say on Rosh Hashana, with all sincerity, that we want to be better, that we want to be closer to God in the coming year, then that can change everything.

God looks at who we are at this moment and where we want to go. The judgment is about our potential, not just our past. That’s why Rosh Hashana, the first day of the New Year, is the day of judgment—it’s about what kind of people we are determined to be moving forward. At his recent concert at Madison Square Gardens a few weeks ago, Ishay Ribo said, “A real Jew isn’t someone who knows he is a Jew; a real Jew is someone who wants to be a Jew.” A real Jew looks forward, excited about the opportunities ahead, about becoming better and closer to God.

So how do we navigate this tension between the past year and the year to come? The tragedies of the past must not paralyze us, but they must remind us that we need to make a real cheshbon ha-nefesh, that we really need to improve. We need to be more united, more committed to Torah and mitzvot—not just in moments of crisis, but in everyday life. Unity and commitment aren’t just for when we are under existential threat; they must be part of our daily routine.

But at the same time, we must recognize the incredible mesirut nefesh we’ve witnessed. The sacrifices made by so many young men and women challenge us: Are we sacrificing enough in our own lives? Are we giving enough of ourselves for our community, for our people, and for our relationship with God?

This leads to our mission for the coming year. It’s not just about what we’ve done; it’s about what we are prepared to do. This year, we must be willing to sacrifice—not just in moments of crisis, but every day. We did not sacrifice enough for each other in our quest for unity. This year, we must embrace the example of those who gave their lives for Am Yisrael. While most of us are not called to make such extreme sacrifices, we are all called to sacrifice something—whether it’s our time, our pride, or our resources—for the sake of our community and our people.

But how do we do that? How do we actually gather the strength in our busy lives to sacrifice? Let me share with you a very powerful story that I heard about a particular doctor.  It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00.  The doctor took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him. The doctor saw him looking at his watch and decided since he wasn’t busy with another patient, he would evaluate his wound. On examining it he saw it was well healed, so he talked to one of the doctors and got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.  While taking care of his wound, the doctor asked the elderly man if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told him no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.  The doctor inquired as to her health. He told the doctor that she had been there for a while as she is a victim of Alzheimer's disease.  As they talked, the doctor asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him over the last five years.  The doctor was surprised and asked him, 'And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?' And the elderly man just smiled as he patted the doctor’s hand and said, ‘She doesn’t know me but I still know who she is.’ The doctor smiled and had to hold back tears. As the elderly man left, the doctor had goose bumps on his arm and thought, ‘This is the kind of love I want in my life.’

Rabbi Sacks explains that true sacrifice is an expression of love. If we want to build our "sacrifice muscles," we must first nurture our love—our love for God, His Torah, and His people. When we love deeply, we are willing to sacrifice.

What is our avodah on Rosh Hashana? Each of us must find where we feel the deepest connection to God. Is it in Torah learning? In prayer? In acts of kindness? Or perhaps through our connection to the State of Israel? Whatever it is, we must nurture that love, really nurture that love, in the coming year, because love leads to commitment, and commitment leads to sacrifice. As Rabbi Sacks said, "We love what we are willing to sacrifice for." Today is the day when we ask ourselves what mitzvah is it that we love so much that we want to really sacrifice for it in the coming year.

The Akeidah is not just a story of sacrifice—it’s a story of love. Avraham’s love for God and Yitzchak’s love for his father’s values. It is the story of Jewish history, of Jews who have made sacrifices throughout the generations out of love for God and for the Jewish people and we have witnessed that love from so many brave young men and women in the past year.

As we hear the shofar this Rosh Hashana, let it remind us not only of the sacrifices of the past year but also of the love that drove those sacrifices. Let it inspire us to ask ourselves: Are we living lives of commitment? Are we prepared to sacrifice—not just in moments of crisis, but in our daily lives?

Rosh Hashana is a day of judgment, but it is also a day of love and hope. God doesn’t only judge us on what we’ve done, but on what we are willing to become. Let’s commit ourselves to deepening our love for God, for His Torah, and for His people. If we nurture that love, we will find the strength to make the sacrifices necessary for a year of unity, peace, and spiritual growth. In the past year, we have experienced unspeakable tragedy as a nation, but we have also experienced unprecedented miracles. Our tefillot matter. Many of us are suffering or struggling for a variety of personal reasons – health, parnasa and shalom bayit, as well. May God listen to our tefillot, may we merit yeshuot in our own personal lives and in Eretz Yisrael and may this year truly be a year of peace and security for our brothers and sisters in medinat Yisrael.

Wishing everyone a shanah tovah umetukah.