Editor’s Note: This post was originally a D’var Torah, given at Or Zarua, a Jewish spiritual community, Rosh Hashanah 2026/5787.
I’ll begin by doing a very Jewish thing, asking a question so that I can say what’s actually on my mind.
The question: What’s it like for you, in that time between seeing the notice in your health portal that the results of your latest blood tests or scans are in and the time you click on the results? What is happening to you during that brief time lapse – between the click and the understanding of what’s written?
For me, my heart races faster than my mind. My face flushes as I think the worst, another very Jewish thing to do.
My next birthday holds 70 candles plus one for mazel, and so like some of you, I am experiencing more frequent visceral reminders that the offer given to us at birth, for one life to live, is truly a limited time offer. This growing recognition has led me to think about people who take actions they might not normally do because of an existential push.
I’ve been thinking about our ancestors, in particular the Israelites who with 600 of Pharaoh’s best chariots at their heels, the Sea of Reeds at their toes, find themselves standing on the edge, facing uncertainty, very possibly death. Then, although reluctantly, the Israelites march in, offering generations to come a roadmap for what to do when faced with an existential shove–step forward — take action.
No matter our age, Rosh Hashanah and the Yomim N’orim (Days of Awe) are designed to make us feel like we are standing on the edge, our hearts racing, our faces flushing, as if to shove and push us until we get the message there is no time or tolerance for excuses, postponement, or hand wringing– we must walk right in, even if it means the water is up to our noses. We must do the hard stuff and do it now.
The shofar blows, awakening us from our sleep, helping us to overcome a natural inclination toward– “I’ll do it tomorrow,” “It won’t matter anyway,” “It’s too painful,” or “I’ll wait to see what they do first.” Our prayers like Uni-tan-neh Tokef (וּנְתַנֶּה תּוֹקֶף), reminding us life is short. We read:
The angels tremble, fear and dread seize them, and they exclaim: the Day of Judgment is here!
How many shall pass away and how many shall be born?
Who shall live and who shall die?
This is the Rosh Hashanah health portal, results are pending…my heart and head race, my face flushes.
I think we should tremble along with the angels, hearing the question who will live and who will die.
What is that like for you? For me, one generative phrase emerges:
וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתַי:
–vi-eem low achshav, ematai, If not now when
As if standing on the edge of the Sea of Reeds we are to ask: Before it is too late, who do I need to speak to? Before it is too late, who do I need to listen to? What must I do before this limited time offer expires?
That push is meant to activate us, so we face our pains, bitterness, anger, regret, sadness–our misses, before it is too late.
I confess it is often easier for me to brush things under the rug, easier than facing the hard things.
But I feel the tap of time, the push of Rosh Hashanah to now:
Do an act of forgiveness, forgive another, forgive my self
Accept that thing that can’t be undone, the things I can’t change.
To do the acts of letting go, letting go of that relationship that can’t be repaired or be as I wish.
Rosh Hashanah also pushes us to do the small hard things like I’ve said to Jay, if we don’t clear out our closets now, we’ll be dead, the kids will be left to clean them out, and they’ll absolutely kill us.
Rosh Hanshanah doesn’t only push us to action; it also pulls us forward. The honey on our tables calls us toward the promise of a sweet new year.
Yes, the Israelites were pushed by the Egyptians into the Sea, and they were drawn by the promise of something wonderful–eretz zavat chalav udvash, a land flowing with milk and honey. I love that.
For the first time in decades, I don’t have a full-time job. I’m retiring, also known as re-wiring. I’m asking myself what are the things I’ve wanted to do, promised myself I’d do? I have a limited time offer, so if not now, when? My heart races, my face flushes as I begin this last chapter, asking what is the sweetness that is calling me?
Learning is one answer, illustrated by the custom of a child licking the aleph and bet drawn in honey when they begin their study. Learning is sweet and is calling.
Jewish tradition provides a long list of sweet things that call to us, our relationships, the words we speak, good health, and friendship to name a few.
I’ve put all these activities on my calendar for the year to come, the classes I’m taking, the classes I’m teaching, the exercise regime I’m doing, the coffees, and the babysitting.
The volunteering. A sweetness drawing me this year is electing leadership that will have us rejoicing or at least not retching, so anyone forced across a border can find a home, so we can walk as Jews without fear on the streets of Paris, Wynnewood, and Ness Ziona.
Travel is another sweet calling. Since October 7, I’ve been to Israel regularly, running with all Israelis to the bomb shelter too many times. People wonder out loud why in the world would I go to Israel in wartime. Ha, I should wait for peace? I’m drawn to share the sweetness of a laugh, a meal, a hug with Sam, Ayelet and our grandson Lavi, while my body still can do it, I say sweetness וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתַי: if not now, when?
At this time of year, if you are feeling pulled and pushed, it’s for a good reason. Rosh Hashanah pushes us to do the hard things and pulls us to taste the sweetness of life. Rightfully, you ask: How might we have the courage and energy to do both?
We learn today not only what to do, but how to do it, from the Israelites. After making it safely across the Sea of Reeds, getting the best news in their biblical health portal, the Israelites wander for three days, unable to find water. Finally, they come to the waters of Marah, do they express gratitude? No, the Israelites can’t drink because they say the water is bitter. Was it really?
According to the Maggid of Mezeritch the problem wasn’t the water. The real reason the water at Marah was undrinkable was because the Israelites were bitter!
We learn, like the Israelites, we can not taste the sweet without confronting our own bitterness, pain, anger and loss.
Responding to their complaints, God gives Moses a piece of wood to turn the waters of Marah sweet. Only after tasting the sweetness, are the Israelites able to march on through the desert toward the promise of a land flowing with milk and honey.
We learn, like the Israelites, we can not be strengthened to do the hard spiritual and psychological work of teshuvah, repentance without also tasting the sweet.
Dipping apples and honey reminds us that Rosh Hashanah pushes us to do the hard things and pulls us to do the sweet things. They are inextricably linked. We bite into the hard apple reminding us to do the things we might not normally do, like apologize or accept a loved one’s apology. We dip into the soft honey reminding us to do the sweet things, the learning, the caring, and the creating. The dip is intentionally made of two interconnected actions, the push and the pull. You can not have one without the other.
By doing the hard things, our hearts and spirits are open, enabling us to fully taste the sweet.
By doing the sweet things we have the strength and resilience to do the hard things.
So, I invite you this year, when you perform the ritual of dipping your apple in honey at your table, answer for yourself, what are the hard things Rosh Hashanah is pushing me to do? What are the sweet things calling to me in the coming year?
Notice at your holiday tables how you eat apples and honey. As the honey drips down your arm, you’ll see we all eat it quickly, reminding us time is short. We do not know what the Rosh Hashanah health portal will reveal. If not now when?
Shanah tova u metukah, a good and sweet year!
