Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur

Jeff Green | Sep 16, 2020

The Chanukah holiday traditions are pretty well known in the larger community, mainly because the holiday takes place during the pre Christmas season. However, the most important Jewish holidays, the High Holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, usually occur in September.

With the Rosh Hashana getting underway this weekend, I thought it would be a good time to share a bit about the most important two holidays in the Jewish calendar.

The new year is celebrated first, the literal translation of Rosh Hashanah is “head of the year”, and we are heading into 5781 this weekend (which means that in 2039, also on September 18, which will be a Sunday night, the year 6000 will begin – Jewish holidays start at sundown) 

Rosh Hashanah is a joyous occasion. It is about new beginnings. There are services in Synagogue on the first night (erev Rosh Hashanah) and on the two following days as well, these are punctuated by feasting and family visits.

Jewish holidays are about religion, food and family. Sound familiar?

Yom Kippur, the second holiday, which begins a week after the end of Rosh Hashanah, this year on September 28, is known as the day of atonement. It is a fast day, followed by a break-fast meal the following evening. All told, the fast lasts 26 hours and it is a full fast, no food or liquid.

One of the central elements to the two related holidays is the idea that on Rosh Hashanah, names are written either in the book of life or the book of death for the coming year, and on Yom Kippur, the book is sealed. Jews are invited to reflect on what they have done over the preceding year during the holiday season, including the week in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and commit to making improvements in the coming year. It’s like moral New Year's resolutions in the hope that these will result in mercy from up on high. To my knowledge, and I am anything but a biblical scholar, there is no guarantee that names are really crossed out in one book, and written into the other book, on the basis of how good a job someone does at atoning, but you never know …

Even though I am an atheist, Rosh Hashanah is the one time a year that I go to Synagogue. I would go on Yom Kippur as well, but my family is in Montreal and it’s hard to go two weeks in a row, and why go all the way there and not eat anything.

During the Rosh Hashanah service, there is a poem that is recited during the second half of the 5-hour service. (Most people don’t go for anywhere near that long). In the Synagogue I have attended all of my lifetime, services are conducted in Hebrew. I can follow along phonetically and the tunes are familiar, but for the most part I don't understand the words. The poem, which is pronounced roughly as, Unetanneh Tokef, is about who will live, and who will die before the next time the prayer is sung. Once a year, the question of mortality, which is as real for those who are not religious as those who are, is front and centre. It is not that long, but with repetitions and choruses, it takes about 20 minutes to get through. The tune is beautiful and powerful. When I was very young, I hated it, because we needed to get past it to move on to the next page, and we had to keep turning the pages before we could go home and eat. To make matters worse, everyone, except the very young and the very old, have to remain standing the whole time. But as I have become older it has become a key moment in the year.

Here is a translation of the essential paragraph.

“On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed - how many shall pass away and how many shall be born, who shall live and who shall die, who in good time, and who by an untimely death, who by water and who by fire, who by sword and who by wild beast, who by famine and who by thirst, who by earthquake and who by plague, who by strangulation and who by lapidation, who shall have rest and who wander, who shall be at peace and who pursued, who shall be serene and who tormented, who shall become impoverished and who wealthy, who shall be debased, and who exalted. But repentance, prayer and righteousness avert the severity of the decree.”

What this passage does for me is to invite contemplation, just for a short time, of the fact of my own mortality. This knowledge is always with me, of course, hidden in the shadows, but for a short time while this passage is being recited and repeated a few times, it is front of mind. As is the thought, ‘what have I done this year to make sure this fleeting life has meaning and what will I do in the coming year’.

In the early 1990's, the year when my grandfather had developed terminal bladder cancer in the spring, I stood next to him, as he sat during Unetanneh Tokef. For the first time in his life he could not stand up for 20 minutes. It was a completely new experience for me. I could feel the emptiness that was to come but it was also a profound privilege to be with him for that one last time.

For the last 2 or 3 years, I have stood next to my own father as he has aged, wondering each year if it would be the last time I would be next him during Unetanneh Tokef. Last year, he was really weak, his mind foggy from vascular dementia, and although we arrived later and left earlier than we ever had before to services, and he slept most of the time, he was happy to be there. I did not know for sure he would not live another year, but I did know he would not be back in Synagogue.

Synagogues are not holding in-person services this year due to COVID, and my dear father is gone anyway, and that has taken a lot of my desire to go to Synagogue with it. Also, since my father, whose name was Morty Green, died in April, thoughts about the fleetingness of life are my constant companion anyway. 

One more thing about Rosh Hashanah. After Synagogue, lunch is the centrepiece of the holiday. It is not a light lunch; usually matzo ball soup, salad, brisket, potatoes, desserts, and tea with lemon, among other delicacies.

We also dip apples, fresh picked fall McIntosh apples, in honey, and wish each other a sweet year.

We say “Shana Tova”, have a good year.

Rosh Hashanah will be different this year, because I won’t ask my father how he is feeling when I get to town, only to have him look at me sternly for a second, before, saying “with my hands” and then laughing at his own joke. One of his super powers was the ability to laugh with such joy and humility that everyone laughed along with him.

There will be much less family around than usual, a Zoom call (does anyone really like Zoom anymore) and a feeling of unease because of the time we are collectively going through. But we will be together in whatever way we can, it will be bittersweet.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s will all be different this year as well. Traditions will be altered, the joy will be a bit muted, as we hope against hope for a better, easier year to come.

Shana Tova to you all.