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There is nothing quite like the sound of the shofar after the moments of silence that are broken immediately preceding the call for its blowing. It is hard not to be moved and respond physically and emotionally to the soul-stirring sounds of the shofar.
The long, unbroken sound of Tekiah rouses us from our day-to-day routines—and, dare I say, from a complacency that may have settled within us as a way of coping.
While Teruah expresses the staccato rhythm of a lamentation, Shevarim brings to life the sound of a cry from the heart.
Biblically, we know that when the voices of the priests were raised and the shofar was blown at Jericho, the walls that once served as fortification to protect and isolate the city crumbled; barriers were broken.
Here we sit today, trying to navigate and respond to the events that surround us: a divided nation; antisemitism; school shootings; and an emotionally and physically crushing war that threatens to destroy our land—Israel.
Do we roll over in despair? Or do we heed the call to awaken in response to the long, unbroken sound of Tekiah and task ourselves to face the challenges that confront us by opening our hearts and clinging to whatever faith we may have to give us strength—or tap into the strength that lies within each of us—to do something, however big or small, and to hold on to the hope that whatever it is we are doing as individuals or as a people can make a difference?
Perhaps the simple act of stepping outside of ourselves—our comfort zones—and offering a hand or an ear, taking the time to really listen. Maybe the simple act of looking up and out, away from your phone while you are out and about, and observing what is around you. It is likely that you will see someone not as lucky as you, who could really use some food or water, or take a moment to offer someone a simple gesture that acknowledges that you see them and they matter—and that they are not just part of the landscape. Change starts with each of us.
And so, while this may not be the most erudite of commentaries, it is one from the heart, delivered with the hope that—just as the shofar’s mouthpiece has a narrow opening that gradually widens and opens at its end—we are all able, in our own way, to break our own personal barriers and open our minds and hearts from a more narrow perspective to one with a keen awareness of God’s presence (I know that is no easy task these days), one that also widens and expands and allows us to extend ourselves, help repair the world, and feel a sense of gratitude for the little blessings in our lives.
L’Shana Tovah
