Rosh Hashanah
Finding Awe
What children can teach us
at Rosh Hashanah.
Dasee Berkowitz
J TA
New York
A
deep spiritual life is hard to
find. While opportunities
abound for spiritual
connections (yoga, meditation, retreats
and the like), for most of us it doesn't
come easy. The noise, unfinished to-do
lists and the distractions of everyday
life interfere with quieting our minds,
letting go of our egos for a moment and
connecting to something far greater
than ourselves.
On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur,
we notice just how difficult it is to
connect spiritually. As we log in
hours of prayer at our neighborhood
synagogues, with unfamiliar liturgy and
an unfamiliar language, we can easily let
the longing for spiritual growth morph
into a longing for the service to be over.
But for some, the spiritual life that we
crave comes naturally. This is especially
true for children.
Yes, they may be running through the
synagogue's aisles and "whispering" too
loudly, but this time of year they can
become our best teachers. We just need
to slow down enough to listen to them.
Cultivating a relationship with God
comes easy for children. As an adult,
a relationship with God has never
been central to my Jewish identity. It
might sound strange because I live an
observant life and prayer is important to
me. The weekly holiday cycle punctuates
my family's calendar and Jewish ethics
frame much of my behavior.
Still, I seldom credit my observance
to God. Judaism is important to me
because it adds meaning to my life. And
if I start speaking about God, I start to
feel self-conscious, too "religious" and
slightly fundamentalist. Then I notice
how easily my kids speak about God.
At 3, my son periodically gave a high
five to God and explained to others
what a blessing was. "A brachah," he
would say, "is like a group hug." With
his simple young mind, he experienced
both a level of intimacy with God and
recognized that connecting to God helps
one develop a sense of intimacy with
others.
The rabbis call Rosh Hashanah
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"Coronation Day." In the rabbinic mind,
the metaphor of crowning God as Ruler
and giving God the right to judge our
actions was a powerful way to galvanize
Jews to do the hard work of repentance,
or teshuvah.
While the image of a king sitting
in judgment might motivate some,
the rabbis also knew that God is
indescribable. Throughout the liturgy,
they struggled to find other images that
might penetrate the hearts of those
who pray. The famous medieval
piyut (liturgical poem) "Ki Anu
Amecha" portrays God as a
parent, a shepherd, a creator
and lover.
The images continued to
proliferate in modern times. The
theologian Mordechai Kaplan spoke of
God as the power that makes for good in
the world. And the contemporary poet
Ruth Brin speaks about God as "the source
of love springing up in us."
The liturgy on Rosh Hashanah
challenges us to confront the meaning
of God in our lives and then develop
a level of intimacy with the Ineffable.
While I am still not sure what God is, I
am coming to appreciate the view that
God is what inspires us to live our lives
in service to others.
Children have a natural ability to be
awestruck. There is so little that they
have experienced in life that it must be
easy for them to experience wonder. We
watch their delight as they find out how
a salad spinner works, or when they find
a worm squirming in the dirt, or when
they observe how flowers change colors
as they enter full bloom.
These are not simply the sweet
moments of childhood. These are ways
of being that have deep theological
resonance.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel recalls
in Who is Man (1965), "Awe is a sense
for transcendence, for the reference
everywhere to mystery beyond all things.
It enables us ... to sense in small things
the beginning of infinite significance,
to sense the ultimate in the common
and the simple: to feel in the rush of the
passing the stillness of the eternal:'
Would that we could develop that
sense of awe by first simply noticing
our surroundings instead of being
\)-
preoccupied with what comes next.
We can make space this Rosh
Hashanah to begin a journey toward
wonder, whether you notice the cantor's
voice as she reaches a certain note, or
hear the crackle of a candy wrapper,
or connect to the sound of your own
breathing during the standing silent
Amidah prayer.
Take a walk sometime during the
High Holidays and notice the leaves on
the trees, the sunlight refracting from
a window, the taste of holiday food
at a meal or the voice of a loved one.
Notice the small things and consider for
that moment that they have ultimate
significance.
Consider the concept that Rosh
Hashanah marks the birth of the world.
Act as if nothing existed before this
moment. Slow down, focus in, be silent
and you may experience awe.
Children forgive easily, grown-ups
not so much. The central work of the
period of the High Holidays is teshuvah,
or repentance. We return to our better
selves and make amends with those
whom we have hurt in some way.
Every year, I recognize how
uncomfortable I am to ask for
forgiveness from family members,
peers and colleagues. "So much time
has passed" or "I'm sure they forgot
about that incident" are common
rationalizations I offer.
What takes an adult days, weeks or
even years to let go of resentment takes
children a matter of minutes before they
are back to laughing with those with
whom they once were angry. While it
might be difficult to coax an "I'm sorry"
from a child's lips, they rebound quickly.
It is a lesson for us.
Children offer their love freely. I am
overwhelmed daily with the unbridled
love that my 2-year-old daughter
unleashes toward me as she jumps
into my arms, hair flying, at the end of
each day. For many adults, the doors of
possibility seem to close more and more
with every passing year. In contrast, the
ecstatic joy and free spirit that children
naturally exude is a lesson in being open
to the fullness of what life can offer.
This Rosh Hashanah, let the children
be our teachers. As we do teshuvah, let's
return to a simpler time and the more
childlike parts of ourselves — when a
relationship with God was intimate, when
awe came easy, when we didn't harbor
resentments and when the door was open
wide to forgive and to love.
❑
Dasee Berkowitz is a JTA contributing writer.