Prayers for a Rainy Day

October 15, 2006

Well, here in Jerusalem the holy days are officially behind us—a day before traditional Jews in the Diaspora observe the final day of the holy day cycle between Rosh Hashanah and Simchat Torah. But, here in Israel we also observe an “extra” day of the fall festivals. This “extra” day is called Isru Hag and follows the three pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. The Talmud (Sukkot 45b) states that “One who makes an addition (Issur) to the festival (Hag) is merited as if building an altar and sacrificing upon it.” The medieval commentator Rashi interprets this to imply the day after the festival. So, we acknowledge the day after the hallowed and hectic holy days as a kind of semi-holy day to allow us to ease our way back into the rigors of everyday, profane life after our sojourn in the sacred during the festival.

Yesterday, Shabbat, Shemini Atzeret (see Leviticus 23:36) and Simchat Torah, was an incredible confluence of celebrations. Amidst all the singing and dancing with the scrolls of the Torah, the (seemingly) endless Aliyot to the Torah read in small minyanim throughout the building to allow everyone a chance to recite the blessings— I recited the Cohen blessing on the fourth complete reading of the portion in our minyan—and the general raucous cacophony that accompanies our Simchat Torah festivities, two decisively serious notes were introduced to the day’s liturgical symphony.

Following the Torah reading, our mood of joy and almost Dionysian abandon of decorum changes abruptly as we turn to the Yizkor service of memorial for our departed. In a whiplash of emotion, we move dramatically from exultation to solemn memory as we look to the past and those who have shaped us. For most of us, were it not for the people in our past and the undying influences that they etched upon our lives, we would not be the people we are as we approach this new year so filled with hope and prayer. And, so we pause to reflect gratefully upon our antecedents, giving thanks for the bounty of their harvest as manifested in and through our lives, just as we offer our Sukkot-thanks to God for the bounty of earth’s harvest. It is this reflective pause and the one that follows, amidst the frivolity and celebration that—for me—is key to the meaning of this festival of thanksgiving.

After reciting our service of Yizkor memory, we turn to the Musaf (additional service) of Shemini Atzeret during which we recite the blessing for rain—which we continue to recite until Passover and the end of Israel’s rainy season. The blessing traditionally is chanted at that service (at the end of the festival) in the hopes that rain will begin to fall in a few days. I say “in a few days” because our ancient forebears anticipated the need for pilgrims to return home on dry roads before the rains began to fall in earnest. Hence, our prayers for rain are accompanied by the unuttered proviso that the Master of the Universe hold-off on the blessing until the most practically advantageous moment. Like Yizkor, the prayer for rain adds another texture to the holy day—it directs us to the future (just as Yizkor reminded us of the past) and the realization that, despite all our scientific and technological advancements, we are still at the mercy of God’s natural blessings.

Today (Sunday, October 15, 2006) is Isru Hag and already some people have taken advantage of this break from the workaday routine to begin the daunting task of taking down their sukkah and putting it away for the year—the truth is that many of the sukkah booths, like America’s Christmas lights, often stay up well past the end of their appointed time. But, as for those who diligently began to take down their sukkah today, they were greeted, right in the middle of their labors, with a “premature” downpour! And, believe me, there is nothing like a Jerusalem downpour.

Due to our topography and climate, clouds move through Jerusalem with incredible speed. Clear and blue one minute, in a twinkling of an eye, the skies can transform into steel-gray as sheets—really sheets—of rain fall to the ground.

And so it was today, Isru Hag Sukkot 5767, the heavens opened up and blessed rain (quite literally, considering our supplications just yesterday) began to fall. Thankfully the rains were brief, though plentiful. Thus, any pilgrims caught in Jerusalem’s first major downpour of the season had no worries about being stranded on muddy roads as they make their way homeward. But, after months of desert dryness, this rain was welcome indeed. We were given a wonderful Isru Hag continuation of the meaning and message of the holy days just ended. We are reminded once again that life is filled with changes—often unpredictable—just like the turning of the year with its sudden downpour, and that it is as fragile as our Sukkot booths. So, too, we realize that life is about the gifts and griefs that we inherit from those whom we recall in Yizkor memory, while at the same time rich in hope for the future expressed in our prayers for nurturing rain.

May God grant you all the life-giving and life-affirming blessings of Isru Hag and a year of blessed rain and the raining of blessings.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

Last Minute Things

October 1, 2006
9 Tishri 5767


In just a few short hours Jerusalem will undergo one of those incredible transformations that mark its singularity as a city holy to the Jewish people. Sometime before sunset virtually all traffic will cease. Public transportation will come to a stop and there will be very few private vehicles presenting moving targets for the over-zealous young people who use rocks to enforce tradition. Yom Kippur—the White Fast—will be ushered in with families feasting in anticipation of twenty-seven hours of self-deprivation in fulfillment of Levitical statute.

Here in Israel, because our Jewish holy days are—by definition—national holidays, the atmosphere everywhere is charged with the spirit of Israel’s answer to America’s “holiday season.” People greet each other (even strangers and even on TV) with a “Shanah Tovah—Good Year,” and a “G’mar Hatimah Tovah—May you be sealed in the Book of Life for a year of blessing.” This past week the holy days have taken hold upon the homeland of the Jews and nothing important has any hope of being completed until “after the holy days,” meaning after Sukkot, not Yom Kippur! For religious Jews (from the most orthodox to we liberals) this is an intense period of spiritual reflection and celebration of God’s creation and beneficence, for secular Israelis this is the last major vacation period before Hanukah.

Right now, as I write these words, the streets of Jerusalem are busy with people scurrying around on last minute errands to complete the preparations for the Aruhat Mafseket—the meal beginning the fast—and the meal to break the fast which, in my family, we called the Kurtar Ta’anit—Ladino for breaking the fast. It is inevitable, plan as you might, you forget something: cheese for the borekas, pomegranate seeds for the salad, or, worst of all—dessert itself! Or, in the midst of your culinary endeavors you realize that you didn’t buy enough of something and, so, someone has to run out to the stores and shop before everything closes around midday.

A Half Hour Later…
Guess what—I had to interrupt the writing of this reflection because Wendy sent me on an errand. It seems that she forgot to put grapes and watermelons on the shopping list so I had to dash off to the greengrocer to pick them up. Derekh Beit Lehem (the ancient road to Bethlehem and our village main street) bore witness to the approaching advent of the holy day as fellow last-minute shoppers mingled with patrons at the cafes filling up on carbohydrates and liquids before tomorrow’s fast. So, believe me, I know whereof I wrote in the preceding paragraphs of this reflection.

I love this time of soul-savoring anticipation, as we make ready for the sacred day ahead. We feel it every Friday as we prepare for Shabbat; but this anticipation of Yom Kippur is all the more intense due to the particular sanctity of the Day of Atonement. Moreover, no one wants to be caught unprepared, as there is absolutely no chance to pick up a loaf of bread or an extra pastry (“just in case”) on Yom Kippur itself. No, there are no second chances if you missed something; all break fasts are final! This decisiveness of the culinary decree adds to the excitement, I think. But, it also brings a spiritual message—just like the Shofar blast on Rosh Hashanah beginning this season—we are reminded to wake up, take stock and make things right before it is too late. Let’s be honest, it is easy to deal with culinary shortcomings—so what, so we don’t have grapes and watermelon and have to make due with whatever else Wendy has prepared in abundance; but, it is not so easy to deal with our spiritual shortcomings. How do you make up for the lack of an ingredient in your character, or make do with the realization that things may be missing in your life?

The days between Rosh Hashanah are to be spent in spiritual inventory and our self-denial of food on Yom Kippur reminds us of our daily self-imposed denial of spiritual sustenance. Lest we assume that the Days of Awe are a kind of Hebraic Feast of Guilt, consider that they bring us the very positive message that we have the God-given capacity to make things right—not perfect but right—in our lives.

Part of our preparation for this spiritual fine-tuning is the tradition of seeking out people whom we’ve wronged during the past year and asking their forgiveness. And, of course, there is its corollary in the mitzvah of our forgiving others (further reminding that it is much easier to ask forgives for wrongs that we have committed than it is to forgive the wrongs that others have done to us). We might add to this the granting of forgiveness to ourselves for those things that—despite our best and truest efforts—we are incapable of changing. Thus we have a Jewish tradition of exchanging the most precious of gifts during the holy days—forgiveness. Don’t wait until it is too late.

And so, in the spirit of the “holy day season,” I wish for all of you that this year be one of much blessing for and from you. G’mar Hatimah Tovah, and…

Shalom from Jerusalem.