Yesterday, was the first time in seven months that I spoke in shul. And while I was sure that day would come, without the support of the exceptional baalei batim of KINS, from our co-presidents, to the gabbaim, the baalei tefillah and all of the volunteers who worked countless hours, we would not be here about to hear the shofar.
But ברוך השם, we are, which may be yet another example of what the Rav, Rav Soloveitchik described when he referred to the shofar as a clarion call of joy. A celebration of success - that reaches back to Avraham Avinu's great triumph of faith at the Akeidah.
But the joy of this moment… and it is a joy, fails to recognize that two of the sounds of the shofar, the shevarim and teruah, symbolize the antithesis of joy - as they are linked by חז"ל to cries of אם סיסרא, the mother of the Canaanite general Sisera, who stood by her window sobbing, as she waited for her son to return from battle.
Why we include those sounds in this mitzvah and why link them to her cries - have been the source of great speculation and many drashot.
But, those aren't the only cries of these days, as we read today, that Hagar, after she was banished from Avraham's home and thought that all was lost - she cried.
And tomorrow, we will read that רחל מבכה על בניה - that Rachel cried for her children who were carried off into exile.
The mother of Sisera, Hagar, and Rachel - they all cried, and their tears are all part of the imagery and the sounds of Rosh Hashana. Why?
The late Rabbi Norman Lamm explained because each represented a different persona, a different response to life.
The mother of Sisera lived in a dream world, holding unto unrealistic expectations only to have them shattered when faced by the hard truths of reality.
While Hagar was the opposite - she was the realist, so much so that she could not imagine other possibilities, and therefore, made no effort to improve her situation, casting her son aside to die and passively crying out of despair.
But then there was Rachel, who lived a short and difficult life. She understood the realities of a harsh existence. Yet, she never bowed to that reality - refused to be consoled, and therefore her cries were powerful of protests that ultimately led to God's promise of redemption.
And the question I leave you with today - in these brief words is - when we hear the broken sounds of the shofar, what kind of cries will we hear?
Will we hear the cries of those who refuse to face reality and who ignore the dangers, not only of a world run amuck but of a pandemic that threatens us?
Or will we hear the cries of despair - that God has cast this plague or some other trouble upon us, and there is nothing we can do?
Or will the cries we hear be the cries of Rachel Imeinu? Cries that acknowledge the pain, mourn the tragedy, and break through Heaven's gates as a prayer - that things CAN be different if we CHOOSE to be different?
That is the challenge we face at this moment. A challenge to cry out to God for what we need, what we can be, and what we are willing to do.
That is the shofar of today. A cry to action and not of acceptance. A cry of faith and not of fear. A cry that is real - surrounded on both sides by the strength of the tekiyot, the faith in our past, and the belief in our future.
Shana tova
Through the window peered Sisera’s mother, Behind the lattice she whined: “Why is his chariot so long in coming? Why so late the clatter of his wheels?”