Rosh Hashanah: Praying for SHALOM V’SHALVA

I. Insecurity

I don’t know about you, but as I stand here today on Rosh Hashanah I can’t help but think back to last year, reciting these same Tefillot, having no idea what was in store for us. I suppose that’s true every year. We hope and pray for a Shana Tova U’Metuka, a good and sweet year for ourselves, for our family, for our community, for Am Yisrael, and for the world. And while each year has its surprises, both good and hard, I don’t think any of us could have ever imagined the pogrom that would occur in Israel just two weeks later on Shemini Atzeret, or anything that has happened since then, including hostages, rockets, war, and a dramatic rise in Antisemitism.

We will soon recite the U’Netaneh Tokef prayer, which includes the stirring words:

?כַּמָּה יַעַבְרוּן וְכַמָּה יִבָּרֵאוּן? מִי יִחְיֶה וּמִי יָמוּת? מִי בְקִצּוֹ וּמִי לֹא בְקִצּוֹ

How many will pass away and how many will be created? Who will live and who will die? Who will come to his timely end, and who to an untimely end?

Those words are always poignant, but perhaps never more so than this year. We have seen how vulnerable we are and are left feeling scared and insecure. In fact, the Tefilla goes on to describe our fragility with a series of images:

מָשׁוּל כְּחֶֽרֶס הַנִּשְׁבָּר. כְּחָצִיר יָבֵשׁ. וּכְצִיץ נוֹבֵל. כְּצֵל עוֹבֵר. וּכְעָנָן כָּלָה
.וּכְרֽוּחַ נוֹשָֽׁבֶת. וּכְאָבָק פּוֹרֵֽחַ. וְכַחֲלוֹם יָעוּף

Man is like pottery that is breakable, like grass that withers, like a flower that fades, like a shadow that passes, like a cloud that vanishes, like a wind that blows, like dust that flies, and like a fleeting dream.

We don’t like uncertainty and unpredictability. But the truth is that this past year, and really the last few years, have shown us how little control we have. Thinking back to things like the 2008 Financial Collapse, Climate Change, School Shootings, the Covid Pandemic, the attack on the Capitol, or last year’s Israeli Judicial Reform protests, we quickly realize how much we take for granted and just how insecure we really are.

We also wonder about the impact of rapid advances in technology, such as how Artificial Intelligence (AI) will impact us, which hackers or viruses may be accessing our private information, or what algorithms our social media apps use to keep us scrolling and seeing only certain content.


II. Two Types of BITACHON

This is all to say that over the last few months and years our sense of BITACHON (security) has been shaken. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this word, BITACHON. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that depending how you pronounce the word, you may mean different things. BITACHON means security, as in having police or an army to protect you, whereas BITACHON refers to trusting in God. Of course, these are two applications of the same idea, that when you trust someone to keep their HAVTACHA, their promise, you feel BATUACH, secure.

This concept of BITACHON, trust in Hashem, is familiar to us. In Havdalah each week we say “הִנֵּה קל יְשׁוּעָתִי אֶבְטַח וְלֹא אֶפְחָד - Here is the God of my salvation. I will trust and not fear.” Our Neviim (prophets) emphasize the importance of BITACHON. Yirmiyahu (17:7) teaches “בָּרוּךְ הַגֶּבֶר אֲשֶׁר יִבְטַח בּה’ וְהָיָה ה’ מִבְטַחוֹ - Blessed is the person who trusts in God and for whom God is his security.” And Yeshayahu (26:4) preaches “בִּטְחוּ בה’ עֲדֵי עַד - Trust in God forever.”

But we also know that it’s not enough to sit back and have BITACHON that Hashem will watch over us. We have to do our efforts, our HISHTADLUT, as well. BITACHON doesn't mean hard or sad things won't happen. And it certainly doesn't mean we can sit back and be spectators. We have to participate. What it means is that even if we build the biggest armies, and border walls, and vaccines, and virus protection filters… there will always be something unknown, beyond our control. We will always need Hashem.

Rabbi Sacks says it beautifully: “In Judaism, faith is not certainty. Faith is the courage to live with uncertainty…. Other nations told stories that celebrated their strength. They built palaces and castles as expressions of invincibility. The Jewish people was different. They carried with them a story about the uncertainties and hazards of history. They spoke of their ancestors’ journey through the wilderness without homes, houses, protection against the elements. It is a story of spiritual strength, not military strength.”

This is the strength I want us to think about and try to tap into today. Not the BITACHON of physical security, but the BITACHON of spiritual security.


III. Removing Armor

One of the most famous stories in Tanach is the story of David vs. Goliath. A young shepherd boy musters the courage to fight a giant warrior of the Plishtim, when no one else in the Jewish army was brave enough to do so. And we know how the story goes. David defeats Goliath with a slingshot and goes on to eventually become David Melech Yisrael, King of Israel. But there is one astonishing detail about this story that you might miss if you read too quickly. Not only does David have the courage to fight, but the pasuk (Shmuel Aleph 17:39) tells us that he takes off his armor because it is too heavy for him:

וַיַּחְגֹּר דָּוִד אֶת חַרְבּוֹ מֵעַל לְמַדָּיו וַיֹּאֶל לָלֶכֶת כִּי לֹא נִסָּה
וַיֹּאמֶר דָּוִד אֶל שָׁאוּל לֹא אוּכַל לָלֶכֶת בָּאֵלֶּה כִּי לֹא נִסִּיתִי וַיְסִרֵם דָּוִד מֵעָלָיו

David girded his sword over his garment. Then he tried to walk; but he was not used to it. And David said to Saul, “I cannot walk in these, for I am not used to them. So David took them off.

Reflecting on this story, Elie Wiesel said “this image has stayed with me as a symbol of a key concept: that vulnerability is the greatest weapon if you are brave enough to use it.”

When I hear the word vulnerability, I once again am brought back to feelings of uncertainty, insecurity, and fear. In fact, the Hebrew word for vulnerability, PEGIUT, has the same root as the word for a terrorist attack, PIGUAH. Because when you open yourself up you run the risk of getting hurt. So what does Elie Wiesel mean when he says that “vulnerability is the greatest weapon if you are brave enough to use it?” I can perhaps understand in the case of David how shedding the heavy armor allowed him to maneuver more quickly in order to defeat Goliath with speed and agility, rather than strength, for which he would have been no match. But in our day to day lives is it really true that vulnerability can be a strength?

The vulnerability guru, of course, is Dr. Brene Brown. She has dedicated her career to researching this topic and shining a light on its importance. And she too talks about removing armor as a way to build connection. But I heard one insight from her that I’d like to share that actually frames vulnerability not only as a healthy emotional practice, but as a spiritual one as well. She says:

True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.

Maybe what Brene Brown, and Elie Wiesel, and David HaMelech are teaching us is that real strength doesn’t come from being invincible; it comes from being authentic.

So many of us spend so much energy thinking about how we look to the world, so that we will be accepted and will fit in. Deep down, we’re scared of opening ourselves up because of the possibility that the world will not accept us when they see that we’re not perfect. We may be so used to living this way that we don’t even realize it, but it’s exhausting. Imagine a football player who never takes off their football helmet and pads. In a world of strangers and dangers, armor and helmets have their time and place. But day to day, with the people we love, we need to reveal the real us, warts and all.

The Torah (Shemot 25:11) describes the Aron Kodesh, the Holy Ark, as a wooden box plated in gold on both the inside and the outside. Why, asks the Talmud (Yoma 72b), was it covered in gold on the inside where no one would see it? It was to teach us that our insides should match our outsides, a concept known as Tocho K'varo.

This is such an important concept, especially on a day like today, Rosh Hashanah. We may be able to fool the people we work with, the people we sit next to in shul, maybe even our friends and family, sometimes even ourselves. But we can never fool Hashem. God knows us better than we know ourselves. So why bother wearing any armor? It’s heavy and slows us down. And God can see through it anyway. Take it off. You’ll feel lighter and more like yourself.

Today is about shedding the extra layers, taking off the makeup, and looking in the mirror. Who are you deep down? What are your core values? What matters most to you in your life? What are the blessings in your life? What are the challenges? What is your unique contribution to this world and what are you doing to maximize the gifts God gave you to make the world a better place?

When people think about the word Teshuva they sometimes get scared. But what if Teshuva isn’t about becoming a different person, but about removing the armor to reveal our true selves? And what if Rosh Hashanah is not about patching up the cracks on the surface but about opening up our hearts and returning to who we are at our core?

There’s a halacha that a Shofar that is cracked cannot just be patched up and used. Because the sound won’t be the same. This reminds me of an idea I once read about the origin of the word Sincere. Evidently, dishonest sculptors in Greece and Rome would cover flaws in their work by using wax. If the sculpture was chipped, cracked, or damaged the dishonest sculptors would melt wax into the marble dust, using it to conceal the flaw or imperfection. Therefore, when an honest sculptor presented their work to the patron, they would make the statement that the sculpture was “Sine Cera” or “Without Wax.”

We don't achieve security by patching things up on the outside, but by strengthening our inner core. This is the difference between focusing on Pnimiyut (what’s inside) vs. Chitzoniyut (what is external).

Let’s do a thought experiment. If I ask you to picture pineapple, what do you see? Are you picturing a shell with a tough exterior and some leaves coming out the top? Or are you picturing cut up pieces of the sweet yellow fruit inside? The Klipah, the shell, is important. It protects the Pri, the fruit, inside, allowing it to grow and ripen. But we don’t eat the shell. We throw it away and eat the actual pineapple which is inside.

But what do we do if our inner core is rotten? Or unripe? What if we’re worried that when we remove the shell we won’t like what we find inside?

David HaMelech writes in Tehillim (51:19):

לֵב נִשְׁבָּר וְנִדְכֶּה אֱלֹקים לֹא תִבְזֶה

God, You will not despise a broken and crushed heart

We don’t need to worry about what’s inside because we are promised acceptance. That’s the HAVTACHA, the promise. And that BITACHON, trust, is what provides the BITACHON, the security, we seek. Rather than harden our hearts, we need to open our hearts. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 106b) teaches that “Rachmana Liba Ba’ee - The Merciful One desires the heart.” And the Kotzker Rebbe famously taught that “there is nothing more complete than an incomplete heart.” It’s ok that we are broken inside, that we have cracks. The broken Luchot weren’t thrown away or recycled; they were kept inside the Aron. And the cracks inside of us are what allow us to let God in.

There’s a beautiful song by Ishay Ribo called “Tehilatcha BaRabim.” And in that song there is such a moving lyric. He asks Hashem:

רק תתן לי לב בטוח לדבר איתך פתוח

I ask only that You give me a secure heart to speak with you openly

The more PATUACH (open, authentic) we are the more BATUACH (secure, safe) we feel.


IV. SHALOM vs. SHALVA

I mentioned earlier the Hebrew word for vulnerability: PEGIUT. When we dig a little deeper into this word we find something interesting. The Talmud (Brachot 26b), teaches that “אֵין ״פְּגִיעָה״ אֶלָּא תְּפִלָּה - This word is a code word for prayer. The prooftext (Breishit 28:11) is the story of Yaakov running away from Eisav and reaching a spot to camp for the night. The Rabbis interpret the phrase “וַיִּפְגַּע בַּמָּקוֹם” to mean that Yaakov prayed. And they derive from there the source to pray Maariv at night. In his sleep Yaakov dreams of a stairway to heaven and Hashem tells Yaakov that He will watch over and protect him as He had promised Avraham.

Vulnerability, PEGIUT, may be a strength, but it can still make you feel insecure and scared. And when we reach those moments in our lives when it is dark, we are alone, and we are unsure of what to expect, what helps us get through is prayer.

There is an incredibly moving prayer that we will recite during Musaf on Yom Kippur. It is the Tefilla that the Kohein Gadol (High Priest) would recite each year after finishing the Avodah in the Beit HaMikdash. The Kohein Gadol asks for many things (a year of blessings, good decrees, prosperity…). But there is one phrase that stands out to me this year. In the middle of this long list of things that he asks for, the Kohein Gadol prays for “שְׁנַת שָׁלוֹם וְשַׁלְוָה - A year of peace and tranquility.”

Of course, SHALOM, a lasting peace, is something we are all praying for right now. But what is the difference between SHALOM and SHALVA? The Malbim (Tehillim 122:6) translates SHALOM (peace) as external and SHALVA (tranquility) as internal. He explains that if we want external peace with our enemies we first have to find inner peace and unity within our Nation. Now that idea itself has a lot of meaning for us to think about. But right now I want to focus on this idea of SHALVA as an inner peace that comes from within, no matter what is happening around us.

The Midrash tells us at the beginning of Parshat VaYeshev (Breishit 37:1) that “בִּקֵּשׁ יַעֲקֹב לֵישֵׁב בְּשַׁלְוָה - Yaakov wanted to settle down in tranquility.” And yet he faced many moments of upheaval and crisis in his life. I think we could all use a bit of SHALVA these days, don’t you? When we’re young we’re always looking for the next exciting thing, but as we get older, sometimes a little SHALVA is just what the Doctor ordered. I am reminded of the famous Academy Awards speech by Holocaust survivor Gerda Weissmann Klein who said “In my mind’s eye, I see those who never lived to see the magic of a boring evening at home.” I think a lot of people right now, especially our brothers and sisters in Eretz Yisrael, would love to experience the magic of a boring evening at home.


V. Inner Strength

None of us know what this coming year will bring. And the truth is, most of it is out of our control. As the Talmud teaches (Brachot 33b):

הַכֹּל בִּידֵי שָׁמַיִם חוּץ מִיִּרְאַת שָׁמַיִם

All is in the hands of Heaven except fear of Heaven

But maybe the lesson we have to remind ourselves of today is that real BITACHON, real security, comes from within. Rather than make us more protected, adding layers of armor can actually make us slower and weaker. Our Avodah this Rosh Hashanah is to remove our armor, to strengthen our inner core, so that we can withstand whatever the wind blows in.

The Talmud (Taanit 20a) even teaches:

לְעוֹלָם יְהֵא אָדָם רַךְ כְּקָנֶה וְאַל יְהֵא קָשֶׁה כְּאֶרֶז

A person should always be soft like a reed, and he should not be stiff like a cedar

You would think a cedar tree is much stronger than a reed. But the Talmud explains that when strong winds blow the cedar may be uprooted, whereas the reed is able to bend but not break. It knows how to be flexible and resilient. Real Strength is on the inside.

So as we listen to the Shofar in just a few moments, let those broken sounds penetrate you. With each shofar blast take off another piece of armor.

Take the time to really look at yourself in the mirror. Who are you deep down? What are your deepest hopes and dreams? Where are you on your journey?

Are you living a life of authenticity - Tocho K’varo? Or are you putting on a persona for others that masks the real you? [If you’re not sure how to answer that question, ask yourself how many people really know “the real you.”]

May this coming year bring both SHALOM and SHALVA, outer peace and inner tranquility. And may we approach each surprise that awaits us this year with the flexibility of a reed rather than the stiffness of a cedar.

Shana Tova