The High Holy Days are again upon us, and as they approach, many
synagogues are about to find themselves filled with congregants who are rarely
ever seen at a Shabbat service or other ritual throughout the year. Many will have to rent space to accommodate
the overflow, while on a typical Saturday, their sanctuaries will be filled
with empty seats. Indeed, it seems as
though many of us are there to hedge our bets; in a post-ritual world, we
explore our Judaism throughout the year through non-traditional means
(participation at a JCC being one of them), yet find ourselves jockeying for
the non-folding seats on these three specific days (2 for Rosh Hashanah, one
for Yom Kippur).
A key problem with this approach to selective worship is
that often we can end up reciting long-remembered prayers and humming
traditional tunes in a manner that is more rote than meaningful. For example, a central tenet that occurs
throughout these days touches upon the tenuous relationship between life and
death. “Who shall live, and who shall
die,” asks one repetitive line in our prayer books, which is then coupled with
imagery of “a book of life” and well-meaning wishes that we be inscribed in it.
These passages and traditional greetings conjure up an image of a giant book in
the sky which will either have our name in it or not. Is it any wonder then that we flock to the
synagogues on these days? Who wouldn’t?
But if we remove ourselves from the literal interpretation
of these words, we can find a powerful message that may help us to live better. In truth, “life” has many meanings. When we say someone is filled with life,
we’re not talking about their years, but rather about how they live it. We’re talking about quality. So when we ask “who will be inscribed in the
book of life?,” the question continues:
it asks further, who will be
inscribed for a good year?
As part of the liturgy, we are taught that through prayer,
repentance and good deeds, we can assure our inscription, and here the literal
interpretation holds up well. We know
that our lives can be more enriched when we take time to be introspective, when
we forgive and let go of our anger and hurt, and when we ask others for
forgiveness. We also know that our lives
are best enriched when we learn to forgive ourselves, And when we strive to do good for others – when
we strive to do better in our personal lives – here too we find that life becomes sweeter . .
. better . . . more good.
Personal Jewish journeys are rarely straight lines; they bounce
us back in forth between the traditional, the modern, and the possible. As this Rosh Hashanah begins, may you find
meaning in your journey, may you live well, and may you be inscribed in the
Book of Life for a good year.
B’Shalom,
Arnie
