Rosh Hashana, 5769, Rena Dorph
Rosh Hashana
September 30, 2008 / 1 Tishrei, 5769
Rena Dorph
Financial upheaval—Who will become poor and who will become rich?
Political unrest—Who will be at peace and who feel lacking?
Existential angst—Who will live, who will die?
Spiritual wandering—Who will rest and who will wander?
Emotional turmoil—Who will have quiet and who will be torn up?
These conditions currently permeate our lives and our times. How do we live with them? not knowing what will be; not knowing if our financial world will completely crumble; not knowing if those we care about will be here; Not knowing if we will have competent and caring leaders in the White House; not knowing if all that we have worked so hard to build, to grow, to nurture will survive.
The Rosh Hashana liturgy provides an answer. “U’T’shuvah, U’T’phillah, U’T’zedakah maavirin at roa hagezera.” Translated for us in the Machzor as “But penitence, prayer, and good deeds can annul the severity of the decree.” My comments today will unpack this answer and examine its meaning while sharing my personal journey through this liturgy.
Since I was a kid this text has troubled me. Each Rosh Hashana I’d sit with my family in the mirror room--a large ballroom in our synagogue that had mirror-covered walls where our Minyan met for the Yamim Noraim (High Holy Days). Each Rosh Hashana, I’d look into the various mirrors and see myself and most of the people who filled my world wondering, “mi ichyeh u’mi yamoot?” “Who will live and who will die?” And if they were going to die, how will they leave this world? Eish, maim, cherev, chaia, raav, tzameh, raash, magefa, chanika, skilah? Fire, water, sword, beast, hunger, thirst, earthquake, plague, strangulation, stoning?
And, could I really change what God had in store for me and those I saw in the mirror or who filled my heart by doing enough t’shuvah (penitence), t’fillah (prayer), tzedakah (righteous deeds)?
When I was 11 years old, my cousin, who was also 11 years old, died of cancer. That really brought these issues to a head for me. I was overwhelmed by feeling that if he could be on the list of those who got sick and died, so could I. I searched for some answers to my big question…how could God put him on that list? Why did he die?
My Judaica teacher Batsheva, an orthodox woman, had a very certain response. Her God was much like the one described in this liturgy—one who judges and counts people’s deeds and then seals each person’s fate. To her, God had a plan and a reason. Maybe my cousin was just too good for this world, “he’s in a better place…” she offered in an attempt to comfort me. Cold comfort there; what was I, chopped liver? Were all those who remained on the list of those who will live, actually less righteous, less worthy, less good than my cousin?
So every year, for the rest of my childhood and most of my adolescence these issues would plague me as I looked in the mirrors wondering who was on which list? And, I would wonder how much t’shuvah, tfillah, and tzedakah was enough to ensure that one got on the list of folks who got the good stuff: rest, peace, riches, exaltation?
During the next phase of my life (college and 20s) my focus shifted and I was drawn to different questions; “mi yanooach, u’mi yanuah, mi yashkit, umi yetoraf, mi yeshalev umi ityaser, mi yeanee, umi yasher, mi yushpal, umi yaroom” in the throes of existential angst so typical of that age and time of life, I wondered “would I rest or wander? Would I find a quiet place or be tormented? Would I find wholeness and peace or would I feel lacking?
And then, just as I had found some peace of mind in my late 20’s and early 30s, just as I had come to terms with the fact that there was no way to ensure that one gets sealed in the book of life and placed on the list for the good things …Just then, I had my first child.
And, here I am in the throws of a new type of anxiety …Heneni heani mimas nirashest v nifchedet mipachad yoshev t’hilot yisrael. Hear I stand, trembling and afraid.
And now I am plagued by the whole list…not for myself, but for my daughters...my precious, divinely created (mi yibareoon), holiest of holy children. What will be their fate? How would I cope if they were on the bad list? What can I do to ensure that their list is filled with the “good stuff.” The peace I had found about which list I would end up on, that has been disturbed too; for if my fate happens to land me on the bad list, how could I cope with the consequences it would have for them.
So, today, I’ve chosen to explore a question that I’ve been pondering in one way or another since I sat in that mirror room. And now, I find myself grappling with it in new ways…How might teshuvah, t’fillah, tzedakah maavirin et roah hagezerah?
Does this part of the liturgy really mean that I have the power to change my loved ones’ decrees by doing enough of these three T’s? And if so, how much? Of what type? Would God really intervene and “save” my loved ones? And if not God intervening, then how exactly can our fate be changed?
The liturgy and the stories told in today’s torah and haftorah reading would suggest that God would intervene. Read one way, God is in charge, people pray for what they want, God remembers them, hears them, and intervenes on their behalf. As a result people’s decrees are changed; Sarah and Chanah are saved from childlessness, Hagar and Ishmael are saved from dying in the desert, Abraham’s progeny are saved to populate the world. And so on…
However, just as I could not buy Batsheva’s argument, I can’t really believe that God works in this way in our world, today. While I am a person of great faith, I am also a social scientist at heart. And, my life has presented me with too much evidence to contradict this God as intervener hypothesis and too little evidence to support it. So today, I’m going to offer a different hypothesis. Not one that rests on the power of an almighty God and the 3 T’s as a way to influence ones opinions about and action towards humanity; rather, one that recognizes the power of people who have a divine spirit within them and the psycho-social processes of t’shuvah, t’fillah, tzedakah.
In order to walk through my thinking about this, I’m going to take the two parts of this statement in reverse order. First let’s talk about the phrase “maavirin et roah hagezerah.” And, I’d like to begin by offering a different translation for this phrase than the one offered by the machzor. The machzor translates the line “annuls the severity of the decree.” I’d like to propose something a bit less pithy, but tied to the roots and usages of the Hebrew words.
Maavir—comes from the root avar—which means to cross or pass over. The conjugation of the root avar to the form maavir turns it into a causal word…like causes to cross or to pass over. We see this root used in the liturgy daily in Maariv (the evening prayer service) when we say “u’maavir yom u’mevie laila u’mavdil ben yom u’ven laila.” Who causes day to pass and brings night and differentiates between day and night. This imagery connotes a passing of time and the transformation of day to night and night to day. So here, I take some poetic license with the English (hey if those that translated the machzor could do it, why shouldn’t I) and get to an English word that I think captures the essence of what the liturgy might mean. That word is “transform.”
The next word, Roah comes from the word Ra which means bad. The conjugation of this word as Roah almost means “the badness”—since that is not good English…I suggest “how bad” for my translation.
Hagezerah—comes from the root gazar—which means cut. The conjugated version of this root as gezerah makes this root into a noun…almost means “the cutting.” One can understand this as the cutting process, but one can also understand this at the thing that was cut out, the wound it created or the loss that results from the cutting of something. In this case it may mean all these things.
So rather than understanding this sentence as it is translated— “annul the severity of the decree”—I understand this sentence as “transforms the badness of the cutting”; or to take a bit more poetic license and turn this into better English, how about something like “transforms how bad the wound or loss feels.”
So how can the three T’s accomplish this goal? How do make they something painful (either physically or psychologically) feel less bad?
You are most likely aware of the concepts these words refer to…
T’shuvah—penitence/turning around
T’phillah—prayer and self reflection
T’zedakah—just and righteous deeds
However, today I do not want to discuss the words individually, rather collectively and consider the construction of this sentence. It does not read t’shuvah, t’phillah, u’ tzedakah (t’shuvah, t’phillah, and t’zedakah)… rather it is u’tshuvah, u’tphillah, u’tzedakah…and tshuvah, and tphillah, and tzedakah…unusual. This sentence structure suggests to me something that has no beginning and no end—and that the author is suggesting that you need to do them all together to have the impact you we may be looking for.
Now, why would this be the case? Let’s look for a moment at the trio collectively and what the synergistic impact of them collectively is. One frame of reference that came to my mind are that tradition suggests that there are three kinds of commandments (1) bein adam l’atzmo, (2) bein adam l’makom, and (3) bein adam l’chavero. (1) Between a person and him/herself; (2) between a person and the divine, and (3) between a person and his “friend”/community. And I’d like to suggest that each of the T’s primarily (though not mutually exclusively) represents one of these types. T’shuvah is primarily between a person and him/herself; T’fillah is primarily between a person and the divine, and T’zedakah is primarily between a person and others.
T’shuvah—turning around lets us get in touch with the power within ourselves… T’fillah—prayer and self reflection helps us connect to and draw upon the power beyond ourselves. Tzedakah—just and righteous deeds unleashes the strength that comes from our interaction together.
So, it seems to me that the “ands” are saying that there is an equation here…that there are plusses between the three T’s—and that the combination effect of doing all these things together (looking inside oneself, relating to a spiritual source beyond ourselves, and connecting with our community in a just fashion) is a powerful recipe for transforming how painful our wounds or losses might feel.
My hope for the upcoming year is that individually and collectively our engagement in the three T’s can help us transform our time and reframe our condition:
- From Existential angst to certainty
- From Spiritual wandering to fulfillment
- From Emotional turmoil to comfort
- From Political unrest to hope
- From Financial upheaval to stability
May we transform our lives and our time through and t’shuvah, and t’fillah, and t’zdakah.