Interest: Then & Now

Note: The following post was written for the 401J blog (http://401j.wordpress.com/) but I thought it would be worthwhile to post again here:  

“If you lend money to My people, to the poor among you, do not act toward them as a creditor; exact no interest from them.  If you take your neighbor’s garment in pledge, you must return int to him before the sun sets; it is his only clothing, the sole covering for his skin.  In what else shall he sleep?  Therefore, if he cries out to Me, I will pay heed, for I am compassionate.”  (Exodus 22:24-6)

Interest rates affect all of us in some way or another.  Recently, historically low interest rates induced me and my wife to end the days of renting and bite the proverbial bullet by purchasing our first home in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, for example.  In our society, it’s basically a given that it’s got to cost something to borrow money now, and we’re more than happy to accept that.  We considered the interest rate we received on our mortgage a steal.

True, many interest rates are fairly low and quite reasonable.  Education and housing, for example, are two areas where interest rates remain fairly low for a variety of reasons.  In other areas though, rates are high bordering on predatory, and can often cause financial stress that turns into crisis as quickly and surprisingly as flames can spread.  Notoriously, credit card debt causes problems for many.  It’s easy to charge things, much harder to pay and keep track of what’s been spent. Then, rates well over twenty or even thirty percent kick in, greatly increasing the burden.

In particular, Payday loans have served as a predatory means for crippling those in need, particularly here in Rhode Island.  First, the basics.  A Payday loan is a small loan that is supposed to be paid off the next time a person receives their paycheck.  The intent is to help those who are having a tough time paying bills but should be able to do so as soon as their next paycheck comes.  This advances the money to a person’s bank account now, assuming they’ll pay off in a few weeks when the paycheck comes in.  The only requirement to qualify for the loan is usually evidence of regular employment and a paycheck on the way.

Now, the abusive part.  These seemingly helpful loans have enormous interest rates.  In Rhode Island, the cap is 260% annually, which is not uncommonly charged.  Further, most people who apply for Payday loans don’t have access to other lower interest loans because of poor credit or limited resources.  Default on these loans is not uncommon, and a small loan for $100 or less can turn into thousands of dollars or more in the blink of an eye.  Many states have legislation to limit these usurious interest rates, and advocates in RI are making a legislative push for a cap at 36%.

As quoted above, the Torah places a categorical prohibition on charging interest to fellow kinsmen in order to assist those in need without penalizing them.  I always assumed, though, that this idealistic law was first promulgated in a society where interest wasn’t common.  Therefore, it was essentially a nice law though better applied in a totally different economic climate.  Wrong.  I recently learned that interest rates were regularly between 20 (the Sumerian rate) and 50% in the ancient near east, and that high interest rates were ubiquitous.  Israel was the notable exception in a climate of predatory lending.  All the more, this serves as a stark reminder of the Torah’s radical message of assistance those in need for their sake rather with a meaningful prohibition on profiting from that assistance.  

Reading vs. Praying

 

We've all been there.  You're reading a book, initially interested, eagerly turning the pages, absorbing, thinking, conversing with yourself and the author's constructed voice.  Time passes, and suddenly, you realize that for the last however many pages, you haven't been engaged.  Sure, you've read and even comprehended the words, but you've taken away nothing and have stopped engaging with the text.  What started out as an active, engaged reading has become a passive exercise with little attention, input, or interest.

Either version of reading is inherently passive to some extent.  An author has already done the heavy lifting, organizing original thoughts and presenting ideas.  Moreover, if there is a dialogue to be had when reading, it's a dialogue with ourselves, in our own heads.

Contrast this with what prayer could be. Though the central prayer of Judaism, the amidah (literally standing prayer), is frequently mistranslated as the "silent devotion", halakhah (Jewish law) requires that it be vocalized and said out loud (but not so loud as to disrupt others!).  Prayer is fundamentally an act of communion and communication with Another.  Yes, in many theories of it, it may indeed be primarily effective due to the reflexive effects on one's self (and not God).  Still, it is universally understood to be a conversation with Got outside that is the method to achieve this effect.  This is so because prayer is meant for us to leave the boundaries of self (as we do each and every time we act towards or communicate with someone or something else or other) and engage in act of sharing with and receiving from God.  This reaching out allows us to broaden our perspective and vet our wishes and desires against our (admittedly limited) understanding of what God wants for his creation.

For example, when praying and asking God for improved health, one ought to prompted to to take things a step further.  "Why should God want to give me better health?  If I had it, would it advance God's stated purposes?"  These refinements and clarifications, a natural part of healthy dialogue with any other, give prayer a large part of its force.  Suddenly, improved healthy is a means toward partnering with God on the other end of the request in helping to form a more perfect world.

These days, we pray from a book.  Often, it's too quick and familiar to be even an active reading, itself far short of the prayer ideal.  More often, it's an exercise in repetition, more closely resembling the passive reading mentioned above.  We're all familiar with prayer leaders quickly mumbling and plowing through in order to finish on time.  Punctuation is often absent, as is inflection.   Just as we sometimes drive to work without paying attention to where we're going and wind up in the right place out of habit, prayer can turn into a exercise in habit-formation.

Instead, to make prayer effective, we need to work aggressively to transform prayer into a true dialogue.  In the United States, our synagogues often feature a collective gathering of well-intentioned reading.  As a result, attendance at daily prayer in waning, and weekly services feature a host of other attractions to bring people through the door.  Let's work to change the status quo and reclaim the beauty and power of the transformational conversation that is prayer.              

On Shunning

This morning, it suddenly struck me that shunning seems to play a very large (too large) and seemingly increasing role in modern disagreement. No, I'm not talking about garden variety disagreement and/or criticism, even the vociferous kind; for an example of heated disagreement, see RI's Catholic Bishop's criticism of Nelson Mandela's stance on abortion, and the ensuing uproar.  For an example of shunning, see Bishop Tobin's refusal to sit with interfaith leaders who approve of civil same-sex marriage. Instead of merely disagreeing, shunning and posturing seem to be on the rise.

Just recently, Swarthmore Hillel entered the fray with Hillel International, launching the Open Hillel movement in protest against Hillel's policy proscribing speakers in favor of boycott or divestment from Israel; Hillel's policy, rightly or wrongly, had been to shun such speakers.  Presumably, this was a method of laying down the law and constructing firm lines on the limits of acceptable debate.  On the question of divestment, it's abundantly clear that Hillel is in the right; as to whether it's prudent to forbid such speakers from speaking at Hillel, I'm not sure.

In other headlines, Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel's eloquent Prime Minister, failed to attend the memorial service for Nelson Mandela.  Though the official reason given related to the cost and expense of attending, it's fairly clear that Netanyahu's distaste for Mandela's support of the Palestinians and criticism of Israel must actually have been the decisive factor.

At the installation for the new President of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, a new Rabbinic seminary devoted to modern Orthodoxy, there was an over-discussed and scandalized panel involving Rabbis of multiple Jewish denominations.  Having this kind of panel prompted immediate condemnations, with many boycotting the installation.  Oh, the topic that prompted a public storm - "Training New Rabbis for a New Generation."

It doesn't come close to stopping there.  In a recent high profile move, the American Studies Association endorsed an academic boycott of Israel.  In response, many are suggesting a counter "boycott of the boycotters" through new legislation in the knesset, Israel's legislative body.  Last year, I myself even briefly joined into the craze, publishing my reasons for boycotting a dinner sponsored by RIETS, my own esteemed and beloved rabbinic seminary.

So what are we to make of all of the shunning?  Clearly, each of us has lines of support whereby even associating with a particular event, person, institution, whatever it might be, compromises our integrity and makes us complicit in a way which we naturally abhor.  In some ways, it is a healthy sign of conscience, integrity, and an affirmation that life is valuable, important, and yes, worth the fight.

On the other hand, the inability and unwillingness to hear or discuss positions with which we strongly disagree is troubling.  For one, it fits into a larger trend of polarization.  For a plethora of demographic, psychological, technological, and other reasons, humans increasingly tend to read, listen to, and speak with those who espouse like-minded thinking.  This creates an affirmation bias, distorts our understanding of the range and depth of views held, and stifles our own growth.  In my own life, I can recall many occasions where my thinking has gradually evolved, often due to being challenged by those with a different perspective. Ultimately, willing to listen, think, entertain, and even disagree represents a certain humility of the individual. It is in this spirit that our sages declared: Do not separate yourself from the community, and do not be sure of yourself until the day of your death (Pirkei Avot, 2:5).

At its core, shunning represents a declaration of moral certitude (sometimes necessary and required).  In normal civil discourse, it is understood that well-intentioned intelligent individuals may, in a good faith, come to different conclusions.  We respect and honor each person's right to think, reason, and act, embodying the best of the Divine image in man.  Civil disagreement is predicated on individuals truly valuing each other's autonomy and individuality.  Shunning represents a temporary change in the rules, and is predicated not on respect but a paternalistic assertion of relative moral certitude.

Of course, we're all going to have different red-lines, and disagree as to which particular situations require taking a stronger stand.  Still, it seems that on the whole, it's better to err on the side of civil discourse, and act with a strong preference to shun shunning.      



        

Thanksgivukkah: Sukkot in December

This is a reprint of a post I wrote for the 401j blog, the new Jewish collaborative of Jews in their 20s, 30s, and early 40s in Rhode Island.

Most years, Hanukkah clearly takes second place to Christmas in the annual “My Winter Holiday Is Better than Yours” competition. This year the tides seem to be turning, if only just this once, due exclusively to the coincidental concurrence of Hanukkah and Thanksgiving. While Jews across the country are certain to be celebrating Thankgivukkah with their menurkeys and cranberry jelly doughnuts, I’m also fairly certain that most non-Jews will be celebrating Thanksgivukkah instead of Thanksgiving this year as well. It turns out that combining a religious winter holiday with a cherished national holiday (complete with school breaks, vacation, football, and the biggest sales of the year) is the perfect way to increase the market and help a holiday gain exposure.

Even Stephen Colbert couldn’t resist commenting on the ironic calendric coincidence. As he satirically noted during a recent show, “Hanukkah celebrates the struggle of an oppressed people’s fight against invading conquerors, while Thanksgiving is about our healthy nurturing relationship with the Indians.”  I’m sure Colbert is well aware that satire was actually one of the hallmarks of Hellenistic culture.

All of this got me thinking – what if there’s more to Thanksgivukkah than aggressive Jewish marketing with catchy holiday hybrids. Perhaps, just maybe, Colbert was on to something when he suggested that the stories are in fact polar opposites, and that the pilgrims may as well have starred as Antiochus and the Syrian Greeks, while the Native Americans were in fact the indigenous oppressed religious and ethnic minority.

Pondering all of this led me to try and shed my western/democratic tinted reading glasses (to some extent, anyway) and consider the story again anew. One of the striking features of the extra-biblical Book of Maccabees is that there is absolutely no mention of Hanukkah’s most popular story, the miracle of a single cruse of oil lasting for eight days. There are lengthy descriptions of Hasmonean revolt, the battles, the decrees, the rededication, seemingly everything . . . but Hanukkah’s most popular miracle is mysteriously and unmistakably absent.

If not for the oil, why, pray tell, did the Maccabees celebrate for eight days? The Book of Maccabees offers a most surprising suggestion. That year, the Jews had missed the opportunity to celebrate Sukkot, the eight day harvest festival, as the sacrificial altar and Temple had not yet been purified from foreign Hellenist control. The 25th of the Hebrew month of Kislev happened to be the third anniversary of the Hellenist takeover of the Temple; this included the obviously offensive sacrifice of pigs and the construction of a statute of Zeus in the holiest chamber of the Temple. The Maccabees decided to rededicate the Temple exactly three years to the date after control had been lost. But what should the rededication ceremony look like?

When Moses had initially presided over the construction of the mishkan, a portable worship center designed for the desert, the initiation ceremony lasted eight days.  When King Solomon first dedicated the Temple in Jerusalem, the ceremony lasted eight days and coincided with the celebration of Sukkot (1 Kings 8:66).  Naturally drawing from these earlier models, the Maccabees also intuited that an eight day celebration was in order.

Sukkot has two essential themes.  On the one hand, it is an agricultural harvest festival, a chance to thank God for the food and fruits of the land.  On the other, it is an existential holiday representing God’s presence and protection in the history and lives of the Jewish people. It is for this reason that King Solomon originally chose to dedicate the first Temple on Sukkot, as the point of the building was to serve as a tangible symbol of God’s presence in daily life.

Sukkot was the perfect model for the Maccabee’s celebration of Hanukkah. They had missed Thanksgiving (i.e. Sukkot), and were craving the opportunity to formally express deep gratitude for the gifts they had been blessed with during those most trying war-filled years. At the same time, the themes of Sukkot meshed well with the rededication of a Temple whose presence was meant as a conduit for God’s holy presence in our lives. Therefore, the first Hanukkah was actually Thanksgivukkah, the celebration of Chanukah and Sukkot – the Book of Maccabees tells us that they celebrated exactly as they were accustomed to do on Sukkot.

I’ve lived in Providence for a little more than two years now, and as I reflect on what I’m grateful for this Thanksgivukkah (I really do dislike the term), the people in my life are at the top of the list. Providence embodies a creative and collaborative energy amongst genuinely interesting and interested individuals.  There is an abundance of talent and diversity, but most importantly, genuineness. It’s one of the best “hidden” secrets in the country.  Like the Maccabees during this same season so many years ago, we’re both free yet obliged to create our own rituals of gratitude and construction during this time of transition and rededication. I am truly excited that, working together, we’ll build the edifices that enable us to enhance and sustain community, forming lasting relationships engaged in meaningful endeavors together. I can’t wait to see the variety of lights we can add together; I’m so deeply thankful for that invisible miraculous Spirit gently guiding us forward and the hard work of so many investing wisely, even aggressively, in a bright future.

What's In a Name?

(This post is paraphrased from a sermon I recently gave at Congregation Beth Sholom)

As Juliet famously asks and then answers:

"What's in a name?  That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Lately, I've been doing some thinking about how we name things.  It started with the government shutdown. As some may have noticed, Fox News decided that the "shutdown" wasn't really, as many (but not all) government workers continued to function in a somewhat normal capacity.  Instead, they consistently (and annoyingly) referred to the shutdown as the "Government Slimdown."  Though I can't quite place why, this seems to me to be comparable to the Weather Channel's decision to name winter storms like they do Hurricanes and tropical systems.  Does anyone remember Winter Storm Athena?

Then, I read Rabbi Avi Weiss's article in the latest issue of Conversations, a quarterly publication published by Rabbi Marc Angel's Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.  In the essay, he discusses themes relating to womens' experience in Judaism and the synagogue.  In Orthodox and even non-Orthodox synagogues, communal prayer services are frequently referred to as minyan, the Hebrew word meaning quorom; in this case, ten adult Jewish men is the minimum quorum for an official prayer service according to traditional Jewish law.  Rabbi Weiss argues that this trend bespeaks a bias against women's prayer and inclusion:

"The term used for public tefillah also makes a difference.  Although the word minyan is commonly used to refer to a prayer service, my preference is to use tefillah.  Minyan, in Orthodoxy, includes men but does not count women.  Tefillah transcends gender.  Women are not part of the quorum of ten, but tefillah describes an experience in which both [men and women] are critical participants."

Then, my father-in-law Dr. Neil Baine informed me of an article that examined how sleep essentially helps to detoxify the brain and remove waste products.  To many children (we've all engaged in and witnessed the tantrums) and adults alike, sleep has some serious negative connotations.  Going to sleep means missing out on important events destined to occur as soon as the eyes are shut.  A perfect opportunity to rename and re-frame sleep, I thought.  Since then, I've been floating names like "Brain Detox" and "Rejuvenation Time", in an effort to redefine sleep as preparation for what's yet to come instead of a retreat from the exhaustion caused by that which has already been; though useful, both names are a little too cumbersome to take the title from the mono-syllabic and highly entrenched "sleep".

Turning my attention to prayer, I agree with Rabbi Weiss that minyan is probably not the most thoughtful term to use.  Not only does it subtly exclude women, it doesn't really capture anything about the essence of the prayer experience itself; this, for me, is the bigger strike against the term.  "Prayer" works well, though sometimes, using a new term helps to shock in a way that can cause reflection and break habitualized rote.

In his Book the B'er Hagolah, the famed sage the Maharal explains as follows:

"When you think about the etymology of the word tefillah (prayer), [you see] that it is from פלל . . . and this is well known.  As Rashi explains (Breishit 48:11), the meaning of the word is מחשבה (thought) . . . the language of tefillin (phylacteries) are also from thought . . . this is so because a prayer requires intention and thought that God, may He be blessed, desires and wants it to be so, and this is what we call prayer, that a person's thoughts and desires desire and request the good."  

According to the Maharal's fascinating understanding of prayer, it is a time for us to think about what it is we want, and see if it measures up to that which is truly good from God's broad perspective.  Since reading this Maharal, I've been trying to use prayer as a time to prioritize, soul search, and measure up that day's to-do list against the concept of divinely ordained goodness.  Not a small task.  From this perspective, prayer might aptly be called "Thinking Time" or "Reflection."  For myself, I'm going to run with "Thinking Time" and see how it affects my experience of prayer.

Who's a Jew?

(Israel's newly elected Chief Rabbis)

Once again, this hotly debated question has reared its head.  Rabbi Avi Weiss, a long time passionate advocate for the State of Israel, Soviet Jewry, and now increased women's participation in Orthodox Judaism has had his letter certifying someone's Jewish identity rejected by the Chief Rabbinate of Israel (http://forward.com/articles/185816/avi-weiss-letter-vouching-for-american-couple-dism/).  This kind of thing happens when a Rabbi isn't on "the list," a list that no one's ever actually seen and that no one seems to know how you get on it.  There are usually about three reasons that a Rabbi might be off the list, bureaucracy, being unknown, or actual ideological rejection.  I've had this happen to me before as well, and I'm almost positive it's because no one in the Office of the Chief Rabbinate knows who I am (nor should they).

I wanted to take a step back and share some pragmatic, experiential, and theoretical thoughts on the situation as it now stands, in the hopes that it will help foster a productive discussion, clear up confusion, and also help American Jews better navigate what is surely a broken system.

First, it's important to note the distinction between standards for aliyah (moving to and becoming a citizen of Israel) and standards for marriage and the like.  Aliyah is governed by the Law of Return and the Misrad HaP'nim, the Ministry of the Interior.  They accept as Jewish for the purposes of moving to Israel anyone recognized as Jewish by a recognized Rabbi of any of the major streams of Judaism, including Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative, and Orthodox.  A letter from just about anyone's Rabbi is enough for aliyah; even I've written three just this week.

Religious services, however, most prominent among them marriage, are run by the Orthodox Chief Rabbinate, not the Ministry of the Interior.  Practically speaking, if you want to get married in Israel, you have to register with the Rabbanut (the brand new Tzohar Bill just made that easier for Israeli Jews) and prove that you are both Jewish and fit for marriage (single/legally allowed to be married).  This is decided by the Rabbanut according to particular Orthodox interpretations of Jewish Law.  Our discussion doesn't touch upon aliyah, but rather the question of who can be married in Israel.

Now, the idea that the Israeli Rabbanut, so far removed from diaspora Rabbis and diaspora Judaism, can effectively put together a comprehensive and inclusive "list" of qualified diaspora Rabbis is just plain silly.  Distance, both geographically and culturally, suggests that this is impossible.  How are the lists to be updated?  Who's to be included?  Is it based on where a particular Rabbi received his ordination?  Is it about the fitness of his current theological worldview?  Rabbi Avi Weiss has suggested that the latter might be one reason he's now apparently off the list.   I don't have a better alternative, but we should definitely drop the idea of a list.  Oh, and when congregants find out that their Rabbi is not on the list, and thereby get a letter rejecting their Jewish identity from the official Rabbinate of the Jewish State, some take it personally, feeling as though their Jewish identity has suddenly been impeached by a faceless bureaucracy.  That shouldn't be surprising, and the practice should stop.  It is the unnecessary cause of serious damage and distancing between Jewish people and the leaders of their faith.  The most frustrating part of the whole thing is that the Rabbanut doesn't usually mean to offend, it's simply that most American Rabbis are not on the list, and they're merely following procedure.  Everyone means well, but American Jews are repeatedly victimized by a poorly designed procedure.

Pragmatically, there is an "answer" to this crisis.  The Beth Din of America (http://www.bethdin.org/) is a professional and superbly run Jewish court located in the heart of Midtown Manhattan.  I had the pleasure of serving as an intern there for more than two years.  During my years there, the interns were largely responsible for producing Teudot Ravakut v'Yahadut, certificates affirming Jewish identity and single status, with the approval of the Menahel (Lead Administrator) Rabbi Shlomo Weissmann and his talented staff.  There's a small fee for the process, and requests from all types of Jews from the United States and beyond were and are handled with professionalism, diligence, humanity, and compassion.  No one is denied their Jewish identity for bureaucratic or political reasons, and the staff make every effort to ascertain whether someone is Jewish.  Best part of all, they have streamlined certificates accepted and known to the Rabbanut, and will handle claims from all over the country.

A personal confession - every time I read about these kinds of identity issues, I become so frustrated I want to pull out my hair.  The Beth Din's letters are never denied, and they can help absolutely anyone who is legitimately Jewish, aiding them through the process.  Rabbi Weissmann and the Beth Din are patient, methodical, thorough, and kind, and frankly one of the best assets the community has.  For anyone who's struggling with the Rabbanut, I have a simple message; if you want to have your problem taken care of in a straightforward and clear manner, by people who will treat you kindly and respectfully, call (212) 807-9042.

For many, the fact that the BDA does what it does is besides the point.  Local Rabbis should have the autonomy to decide if their congregants are Jewish, without having to submit to the authority of national agencies, no matter how well run, the thinking goes.  It is most definitely true that the authority of local Rabbis is actively being eroded in favor of stricter and less flexible national standards.  This is certainly true of conversions, where the system used for generations has been overhauled in favor of a standardized and less flexible approach.  It is also true of the Kosher supervisory industry, where "national standards" have replaced local supervision.

This is a dangerous trend for Judaism, as local need, leniency, and the very humanity of the people we deal with are ignored in a brave new world of bureaucracy and artificial insecurity.  I think it's fair to suggest that Rabbi Weiss and others see the denial of his letter as just one more front in an ongoing war.

My thoughts are as follows:  Rabbis are right to feel threatened, and ought to be advocating for renewed autonomy in religious decision-making.  It's this diversity and humanity that contributes to the greatness of the Jewish tradition.  Centralization, however, isn't always a bad thing, and is sometimes necessary on a larger scale.  While the fight is being waged, the entire American Jewish community ought to be aware of the fine upstanding work being done by the folks at the Beth Din of America, and make use of their talents.  The system may not be ideal, and there are surely obvious reforms to be implemented, but it can function much better if we're aware of the resources we have.  We hear way too many of these tragic stories, none of which have to happen, even under the current system.        

Shana Tova!

My high holiday's message from this year's bulletin.  Best wishes for a happy and healthy 5774 to all of my friends and readers!

“Why does Rosh Hashanah come before Yom Kippur?”  This question, asked by sages and scholars throughout the centuries, has profound implications for our experience during this holiday season.  The logic of the question is as follows:  Rosh Hashanah is largely a celebratory sort of occasion, even with the solemnity of the day; unlike Yom Kippur, there are large family meals, sweet foods, friendly greetings, and an overall festive atmosphere.  Perhaps, it would make more sense to repent first, confess our sins, redirect our lives, and then celebrate.  Is not a celebration before the difficult work of repentance and the achievement of atonement inappropriately premature?

I believe that the answer to this question teaches a fundamental truth about the nature and structure of the Yamim Noraim, the High Holidays.  The Torah teaches that the holiday we fondly refer to as Rosh Hashanah is celebrated primarily through the blasts of the ram’s horn as a memorial (“zichron teruah”).  As for the significance of this particular observance or the nature of the holiday itself, the Torah is vague and obscure.  Strikingly, there is no mention of a new year, a day of judgment, or any of the overarching themes we’ve become so accustomed to.

Left with a void, the Rabbis understood the blasts of the shofar as a coronation ceremony, designed to remember/anoint the King of Kings and recall the creation of the universe.  The concept of God as King dominates the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, yet it’s a difficult concept to grasp.  For one, we’re not used to the notion of an all-powerful monarch in the modern era.  Also, the terminology used (melech – king) may actually distract from the meaning of the term itself.  The notion of God’s kingship is meant to evoke a consciousness of the fact that, while life can seem disparate, divergent, and devoid of order, there is always a living, loving God not only guiding existence but encompassing and causing it in the first instance.  The Master of the Universe is exactly that, and experiencing that reality is the central theme of Rosh Hashanah.

Framed in this context, it becomes clear why Rosh Hashanah appears first on the calendar; before we are moved to introspect, recall, review, and repent on Yom Kippur, we need a framework in which to do it.  Without an experiential and deep awareness of God’s loving sustenance and the responsibility that such a situation requires, repentance seems unnecessary or even misguided.  To state it more simply, before we can evaluate our past actions and correct our ways, we need a compelling reason to do so, and a roadmap of where we ought to be headed.             

My blessing to all of us is that we will be able to appreciate the holidays as a connected unit, truly experiencing God’s kindness and the most basic fact of our own existence, and that we will be inspired to become truer to our best selves, better able to emulate the divine kindness, love, and support we inherently receive and experience as we interact with others.  Best wishes for a happy, healthy, sweet, thoughtful, and successful year to all.