How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household

by Blu Greenberg

  11th–12th century

  Rashi and the exegetical schools

  1096

  The First Crusades in Christian Europe

  1100–1200

  Maimonides and the Spanish–Jewish philosophers

  1492

  Spanish Inquisition

  1648

  Major pogroms in Eastern Europe

  1740

  Rise of Chasidism

  1880s

  Beginnings of modern Zionism

  1933–45

  The Holocaust of European Jewry

  Yom HaShoah

  1948

  Israel independence—the beginning of the Third Jewish Commonwealth

  Yom Ha’Atzmaut

  Yom Hazikaron

  1967

  The Reunification of Jerusalem

  Yom Yerushalayim

  CHAPTER · 16

  ELUL, THE MONTH OF REPENTANCE

  Elul. You don’t just run headlong into repentance and renewal—you warm up to it. You get yourself in the proper mood. You try it on for size. You reflect. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur without Elul would be like a symphony without an overture, a championship fight without training, a trial without prearraignment.

  THE SHOFAR

  From the very first day of Elul and all through the month, the shofar—a wind instrument made from a ram’s horn—is sounded in the synagogue. This takes place each morning after Shacharit. But never on Shabbat, when instruments are forbidden. And never on the last day of Elul, so as to set apart the preparatory shofar of Elul days from the real thing—the Biblical commandment to sound the shofar on Rosh Hashanah.

  The shofar blasts in Elul are the same as for Rosh Hashanah itself:

  1. Tekiah—one solid blast, between five and ten seconds long.

  2. Shevarim—a broken sound, three bleeps, altogether equaling the length of one tekiah. A melancholy tradition has it that this sounds like a broken heart.

  3. Teruah—an alarm sound, nine rapid-fire bleeps, again approximately the length of a tekiah. (If shevarim is a broken heart, this is a weeping one.)

  It is amazing what a piercing sound this little instrument brings forth. But it takes much practice. I remember one Elul in Jerusalem; all during the month, and at all times of the day, as I walked through the streets, I could hear the sounds of shofar coming from the open windows—people practicing and perfecting their shofar-blowing skills.

  A shofar can be purchased at a Hebrew bookstore in a Jewish neighborhood. Like all religious objects, the price ranges from low to astronomical. A few years ago I happened to be in a Jewish bookstore in the Boro Park section of Brooklyn, during Elul. You could feel the spirit of Rosh Hashanah all around. In one corner were two men and a woman looking through machzorim—the holiday prayer books. At the counter was a woman, with five or six small children, purchasing new tzitzit in sizes two, three, four, and five. In another corner, four young boys were trying out the different shofarot (plural). In front of the mirror, which was affixed to the center column of the store, was a pimply-faced, twenty-year-old Chasid trying on different black velvet yarmulkes, tilting each one back a bit there, straightening it a touch here, looking himself over in the mirror with all the interest and vanity of a woman trying on a new hat at Saks Fifth Avenue. I was caught up in the mood myself. Impulsively, I decided to purchase a shofar as a Rosh Hashanah gift for my husband. As I tried out one for sound, a young man immediately came over and offered to help. He put down the shofar I had used and tried a few others. Then, when he got back to mine, he discreetly put his handkerchief around the mouthpiece and blew into the hole. It had the best sound. “That one,” I said. He smiled. I suspect he was grateful that he would not have to keep track of that particular shofar any longer, the one that had been touched by a woman’s lips. The price: twenty-two dollars.

  Anyone can make a shofar that will cost nothing but time. Ask your kosher butcher to get a ram’s horn for you (ask all year long and you might get it on time). Boil it in a metal pail for a long while, five or six hours, depending on the size. Then pull out the cartilage with long tweezers or a dull scissors. After the shofar has dried thoroughly, saw off the hollow tip and enlarge the blowhole with an electric drill. Sand it if you want it smooth, carve it to decorate, but don’t paint it. A shofar must be in its natural state. It also makes a lovely ritual art object all year long. We have two over our mantel.

  The shofar reminds us of many things:

  It summons up the image of Isaac, bound and waiting to be sacrificed. In his place a ram was slaughtered so that Isaac could live to father Jacob who fathered Levi who fathered...

  The shofar recalls the experience of Revelation. The sound of the shofar accompanied Revelation at Sinai. In 1976, Yom Kippur in New York started out as it usually does, a glorious Indian summer day. As we reached the shofarot part of the service, the part that commemorates Revelation, the sky became overcast. Suddenly, as the congregation waited in silence to hear the shofar, the sky outside darkened. In a moment, a fierce lightning storm was upon us. There was the shofar, there were the peals of thunder: the shofar, the lightning, the thunder, the shofar. We had just read of the smoke, the flames, and thunder, followed by “And the sound of the shofar grew louder and louder …” (EXOD. 19:19). One could almost feel oneself transported back in time, waiting with the crowd at the base of Mount Sinai.

  The shofar was sounded to herald the Jubilee. As such, it represents the sweet sound of freedom for slaves who were set free, and for poor people whose original land was restored to them in the Jubilee year.

  The shofar, Maimonides tells us, is a warning, a reminder, an alarm clock—to wake up from our deep sleep. Marriages can fall into a slumber, relationships with children and parents and friends can stagnate, our personal ethics can become lax. The shofar reminds us to shake ourselves awake, to fight routinization, to look into our own deeds, to regret our mistakes, to repent, to resolve anew, to reverse errant directions our lives may have taken. Nothing, says the shofar, is irrevocable.

  SELICHOT

  After the last Shabbat in Elul, and up until Yom Kippur, Selichot are recited every day, except for Shabbat. Selichot are prayers for forgiveness; we ask God to forgive us, to have mercy on us, to grant us favors. And in between each prayer, we recite the thirteen attributes of a merciful God (EXOD. 34:6-7). If you should happen to check your Bible and don’t find thirteen attributes in those passages, it’s because the Rabbis did a little fancy footwork. They omitted the last two Hebrew words of verse 7: “and he will not wipe out all the punishment,” thereby changing the meaning to “he will wipe out all punishment.” Rabbinic license—because the Rabbis believed in and hoped for God’s unconditional love.

  The Selichot are recited before Shacharit. One must arise very early to arrive in time for the Selichot minyan. In most shuls, Selichot start between 6:00 and 6:30 A.M. (except for the last day before Yom Kippur, when Selichot are longer and therefore start a bit earlier). Selichot services take approximately forty-five minutes. They can also be recited at home; however, certain parts, such as the refrain of God’s merciful attributes, can be recited only in the minyan.

  While the daily Selichot services are generally attended only by men, the first Selichot service has become a community-wide event. It takes place shortly after midnight, on the last Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah. It has become a custom on this night for the rabbi to address the congregation on a topic related to teshuvah (repentance), and for the cantor to lead the special service. Men, women, teenagers with their dates, and even some younger children fill the shul with their bodies and souls in the late, late hours of the night.

  TESHUVAH (REPENTANCE)

  One is supposed to do teshuvah—repentance—all year long. For most of us unsaintly types, that’s not altogether realistic; however, set at a special time, it is a task we are compelled to undertake. Not only do we take stock, but we become altogether serious about the issue of forgiveness. In order to be forgiven by God
for whatever small and large slights, abuse, exploitation, pain, harm, dishonesty, insults, loss of temper, and gossip we have inflicted on another, we are required to ask forgiveness of that person straightaway. If we don’t do that first, all the prayers in the world will not wipe it away. It is difficult to bring oneself to do it, although once one makes up one’s mind to act, the rest is relatively easy. I would rather kasher a hundred chickens, or clean a hundred rooms for Pesach, than have to go to certain people and tell them I now apologize for this or that wrong, when I don’t even want to admit that I was wrong in the first place.

  Over the years I’ve tended to fulfill this obligation somewhat perfunctorily. Right before Yom Kippur, I ask forgiveness from the people whom I love most dearly, whom I haven’t really wronged, who haven’t wronged me—my husband and my children. With few exceptions, that’s about as far as I’ve gone. Like most decent people, I do try not to abuse or exploit or hurt others, at least not wittingly. Yet I know there have been many occasions when I should have asked forgiveness, but had too much pride.

  Similarly, Elul is the time to start thinking about forgiving others. I am not quite the one to talk about this. Some years ago, not all that far back that the pain has yet eased, a petty tyrant in a position of administrative power exploited that power and made my life miserable. Each year before Yom Kippur, I am confronted with the realization that I still can’t find it in my heart to forgive him. Fortunately for me, he’s never asked. Were he to do so, I’d be forced to genuinely forgive and forget the whole incident. Meanwhile, petty tyrants and their petty victims notwithstanding, one should try to be openhearted. It takes time, both to drum up the nerve to ask forgiveness and to muster the will to grant it. One must start in Elul.

  Let me present a more positive example of teshuvah. Traditional Judaism is oriented to practice. As such, we learn from our peers as well as from the masters. I learned about teshuvah from a junior-high-school classmate of three decades ago. In fact, I never think of teshuvah without thinking of Dena G. We were friends, but there was a little envy there. When we graduated, I was accorded honors; it came back to me that Dena had been saying it was only because my father was chairman of the board of education of our yeshiva. I was pretty angry when I first heard it, but then came graduation, and summer, and a new school, and the thing was long since forgotten. Elul came and went, as did Rosh Hashanah, the Ten Days of Repentance, and then Yom Kippur. Big new things were happening in my life, and I wasn’t really into issues of life and death, renewal, repentance and forgiveness. It touched me only peripherally. After Mussaf on Yom Kippur, the shul had almost emptied out. I saw Dena approaching from the other side of shul. I noticed she had been crying, something that only middle-aged and older women did in shul during the Netaneh Tokef prayer, but never a stunningly beautiful, blue-eyed, fourteen-year-old friend. I couldn’t imagine that she was coming toward me. Without ever saying specifically what she had in mind, she asked if I would forgive her for whatever she had done to hurt me. “Of course,” I said, telling her that she hadn’t done anything at all to hurt me. (I had completely forgotten the graduation business and only remembered it a day or two later as I tried to understand what had moved her to this genuine religious expression.) She started to cry again, and, moved by her spirit, I cried, too. If I ever forgive that petty tyrant, it will be not because of his merit, but because of hers.

  New Year’s Greetings

  Starting from the beginning of Elul, although some people start even earlier, it’s customary to wish people a good year—Le-shanah Tovah. The image is one of God keeping records. If God inserts you in the Book of Life, that means you’re going to make it for another year, so the greeting is:

  Leshanah tovah tikatevu vetehatemu.

  May you (plural) be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

  To be grammatically correct, the greeting is “Leshanah Tovah Tikatev Vetahatem” when addressing one man, or “Leshanah tovah tikatevi vetehatemi” when addressing one woman. Or a briefer form, which is gender correct for all situations and which means essentially the same thing, is “Ketivah Ve’Chatimah Tovah.” People respond by saying, “Gam Atem,” which simply means, “The same to you.”

  These greetings are said through Rosh Hashanah, but immediately after, we switch to another form of greeting. In that little switch lies a subtle nuance of traditional Judaism: according to rabbinic tradition, there are three steps to getting into the Book of Life—inscribing, sealing, and final irrevocable sealing. Sealing takes place on Yom Kippur and final sealing comes ten days later on Hoshana Rabbah (the sixth day of the Sukkot cycle). Also according to tradition, righteous people are inscribed for a good year on Rosh Hashanah day. Only borderline people are kept hanging until Yom Kippur. So we treat each person as if he/she were righteous. Therefore, after Rosh Hashanah, we no longer say, “May you be inscribed …” Instead we say, “G’mar Chatimah Tovah,” or a shorter version, “G’mar Tov,” “May a good sealing complete (your good inscription).” This greeting is used up until Hoshana Rabbah, when the heavenly court closes session. Although all this is custom and myth, with no hardcore halacha involved, this fine-tune variation in greetings affects the sales practices of a card store in a traditional Jewish neighborhood. Right after Rosh Hashanah, the cards whose printed message carries the word “inscribed” go on sale at half price, while the ones that say “sealed” continue to sell at full price until the eve of Yom Kippur.

  It has become an “American” custom to send Rosh Hashanah cards to friends, neighbors, and relatives. It makes sense, when people live far away, but less so when many of your friends and neighbors are people you’ll be seeing in person in shul at least a dozen times within the Elul-Tishrei complex. As a result, in the last few years many Orthodox synagogues have begun to use the synagogue bulletin to send greetings on behalf of Family A, Family B, and so forth to all their friends in the community. In this manner, families A and B support the synagogue instead of the U.S. Postal Service. There are still enough distant relatives and friends to keep the card makers, card shops, and Uncle Sam in business....

  THE MACHZOR

  Elul is a good time to purchase a machzor, a special prayer book for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Carrying is permissible on Rosh Hashanah (unless it falls on Shabbat in a place where there is no eruv). Even though most synagogues offer machzorim, it is a nice custom to buy and keep one’s own machzor for use every Rosh Hashanah—and for Yom Kippur where it can be carried to shul within an eruv. I use the one my grandfather gave to me when I was nineteen. In its frontispiece my mother inscribed all the Hebrew and English birth dates of all the members of my family. When I married I added a name. Again, when each child was born. The inside cover of a machzor is an excellent place to begin a family tree.

  VISITING THE CEMETERY

  During Elul, many people visit the graves of their loved ones. It is part of the mood of the holiday that connects one to past and future, to life and death. There are special prayers in the siddur that are recited at graveside, so many people will take along a siddur or machzor; but others go and take with them simply their memories and emotions....

  SYNAGOGUE RESERVATIONS

  In many congregations, annual membership dues include reserved seats for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. In other communities, however, seats are sold separately. Elul is the time to purchase seats.

  One Yom Kippur, a young man came to the synagogue to visit his father. He didn’t have a ticket and the usher wouldn’t let him in. The young man explained to the usher that he wasn’t intending to stay, all he wanted to do was wish his father a good year. The usher thought it over for a moment, his decency overriding his suspicion. “Okay,” he said, “you can go in, but don’t let me catch you praying!”

  There are people who complain about having to “buy” seats to pray. Those are the “unreconstructed idealists” who also undoubtedly believe that a synagogue should be available to everyone at all times, but who are not interested e
nough to participate in its administration and upkeep nor clever enough to have figured out who would finance these services. Many congregations generously open their doors to such people free of charge, for no one wants to say, “Don’t let me catch you praying!” But it is not these “idealists” who have the right to complain....

  CHAPTER · 17

  ROSH HASHANAH AND YOM KIPPUR

  Yamim Noraim—Days of Awe

  Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, together with the intermediate Days of Repentance, form a unit. That unit is often referred to as the High Holy Days. I don’t know who first coined it, but it somehow sounds like High Church to me. Orthodox Jews usually refer to the unit as Rosh Hashanah-Yom Kippur, all in one breath, or as the Yamim Noraim, which means Days of Awe (or literally, Awesome Days).

  This unit is also called the Ten Days of Repentance—Aseret Yemai Teshuvah—which includes Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, plus the seven days in between. The Selichot prayers are the formal requirements of those in-between days; the whole tone is one of repentance, requests for forgiveness, and turning oneself around—the same as for the two holy days themselves.

  Rosh Hashanah: Two Equals One

  I said, “two holy days,” referring to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when I should have said three, for Rosh Hashanah is two days long—the first and second days of the month of Tishrei. But unlike the second day of the festivals, which is considered to be auxiliary to the first and is celebrated only in the Diaspora, the second day of Rosh Hashanah is considered as part of one extended day and is observed in Israel as well.