Thoughts on the Joy of Rosh Hashanah

As we continue in this month of Elul, we are rapidly approaching Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year’s Day, most often characterized as Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgment. On that day, all creation passes under God’s staff, as it were. He judges all creatures; even the angels tremble. The great books are open before the Almighty Judge of all. We realize that we have written part of that volume ourselves — we’ve acknowledged our deeds, and each of us has signed it with our own signature. That is the traditional picture we chant in Unetaneh Tokef in the Musaf service. The poet continues with the terrifying thought that this is the day on which God determines our fate for the year ahead: who will live and who will die, whose days will be lengthened and whose cut short. Throughout Elul we are called upon to prepare — to repent, to reconcile with family and friends, to redirect our lives. It is a time for reflection. Each weekday morning the shofar sounds to awaken us to the work we should do during this prelude to the Days of Awe. We add Psalm 27, morning and evening, calling on us to hope in the Lord, to strengthen our hearts, and to hope in the Lord again. Elul gives us a chance to prepare and steady ourselves for that awesome day of judgment.

Strangely, this holiday never appears in the Torah under the name Rosh Hashanah. It is Yom Teruah, Yom HaZikaron, Zichron Teruah — the day of the sounding of the shofar, the Day of Remembrance, the Remembrance of the Sounding of the Shofar. The beginning of the year in the Torah is in the spring, the first of Nisan, the month of Passover, when we became a nation as we departed slavery in Egypt. Other than the shofar and special musaf sacrifices, the biblical text does not present this day as a major holiday. There is no pilgrimage obligation, no elaborate ritual. Yet the Talmud sees it as a day of judgment, and the paytanim — the liturgical poets — take it even further with the elaborate poetry that carries us through the entire morning and into the afternoon each day of Rosh Hashanah.

The most unusual description of this day appears in the post‑exilic period, shortly after the first exiles returned from Babylonia under the decree of King Cyrus. In Ezra we read of the rebuilding of the Temple. In Nehemiah, the city walls are restored in record time to defend the fledgling community. Nehemiah is the governor, the administrator who knows how to get things done. Ezra is the scholar, the spiritual leader who sees how far the people have strayed from Torah during the seventy years of exile.

In chapter 8 of Nehemiah, Ezra appears for a major event on the first day of the seventh month — the first of Tishrei — what we now know as Rosh Hashanah. The people gather. Ezra reads from the Torah, and it is truly a revelation. It is the first time they have heard it. Nehemiah describes the scene:

Ezra opened the scroll… all the people stood up. Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered: “Amen, Amen.” The Levites explained the teaching to the people… And they said, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; you must not mourn or weep,” for all the people were weeping as they listened to the words of the Teaching. And they said, “Go, eat choice foods and drink sweet drinks… for the day is holy to our Lord. Do not be sad, for your rejoicing in the Lord is the source of your strength.”

Rosh Hashanah, then, is to be a day of rejoicing in the Lord. Ezra himself tells us to eat choice foods and drink sweet drinks. That’s all we need to hear — and our holiday tables groan as course after course is set down before us. Apples and honey, sweet tzimmes, kugel, honey cake, taiglach, apple cake. And of course, gefilte fish and chicken soup. I like to think of Rosh Hashanah as one of two brisket holidays on the calendar, along with Passover. One should never look at the price tag on kosher brisket. Take out a second mortgage but never look.

Still, we should not get carried away. It is Yom HaDin, a solemn occasion. We omit Hallel because, as the rabbis ask, “How can one sing when the books of life and death are open before God?” So perhaps it is a quiet joy — a joy rooted in gratitude for a merciful God whom we believe will grant us a good year.

But as the shofar sounds, perhaps it is time to wake up. This year, walking into Rosh Hashanah services feels different. It feels heavier. It feels harder. It feels like the world has shifted under our feet — and not in ways we would have chosen. You don’t need me to list the headlines. You’ve been living them.

The country feels like it’s tearing itself apart. Israel is struggling. Antisemitism is rising. Politics are poisonous. The extremes shout while the center whispers. The economy wobbles. Violence feels too close. And many of us carry private burdens that never make the news but weigh just as much.

And then we walk into shul on Rosh Hashanah — the Day of Judgment — and we’re told to stand before God with awe, with dignity, with presence. And somewhere in the middle of all that, our tradition has the audacity to talk about joy.

Joy? Now? In this world? It almost feels offensive. It almost feels impossible.

But the Torah doesn’t flinch. The Torah doesn’t apologize. The Torah doesn’t say, “Maybe joy isn’t appropriate this year.” The Torah says: “The joy of God is your strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10) Not your comfort. Not your distraction. Not your escape. Your strength. So, the question is not: Is joy possible? The question is: What kind of joy is the Torah talking about? And what does that joy demand of us in a world like ours?

These are questions to ponder during this month of Elul. What kind of joy is our tradition talking about, and does that joy have something to teach us in a world that feels increasingly heavy? For now, as Elul unfolds, let’s sit with the questions — because the questions we ask in Elul shape the answers we will be ready to hear when Rosh Hashanah arrives.