Rosh Hashanah is a time of deep reflection, In 2022, I wrote about the importance of embracing renewal and using this time to set our intentions for the year ahead. Last year, I reflected on the power of unity and resilience, highlighting the strength we draw from our collective identity.
This year, that reflection feels heavier. Since October 7, our nation has endured unimaginable trauma, loss, and grief. We mourn not only for those we have lost, but also for the parts of ourselves that have been wounded by war, violence, and hardship. This collective mourning (as well as collective hope) has touched every aspect of our lives.
The themes I touched on in the past two years feel even more urgent as I find myself reflecting on this last year—on our wounds, on our responsibilities to ourselves and each other, and on the importance of finding joy amidst sorrow.
Grief as a Call to Action
Loss and grief are unavoidable in times of crisis, but what we do with that grief is crucial. It is tempting to let the weight of sorrow paralyze us. There are many days this year when I felt like it was just too much to bear. There are times when I even allowed myself to be paralyzed for a bit.
As Jews, we are no strangers to loss, and we have always known that acknowledging our grief is the first step toward rebuilding. If we look back on our history, we see that grief has often been the starting point for transformation.
On a Rosh Hashana a long long time ago—in the mid-5th century B.C.E., after the Jewish people returned to Israel from exile and the Second Temple was rebuilt—Ezra was teaching Torah aloud. The Jews wept, realizing how far they had drifted and how disconnected they were from their roots. Half could no longer even speak Hebrew.
Nehemiah, standing beside Ezra, urged them not to remain in their sorrow. Speaking of Rosh Hashanah, he said: "This day is sacred to the Lord your God. Do not mourn or weep... Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is sacred to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength" (Neh. 8:9-10).
This moment, much like today, was filled with grief, but Nehemiah called on the people to take action. Their grief, while profound, was not meant to paralyze them—it was meant to galvanize them into creating something new. Healing begins with acknowledging our pain, but it cannot end there. We must use our grief as fuel for rebuilding, for taking the next step forward.
Personal Accountability in Healing
Judaism places great emphasis on caring for one's health. This mitzvah is rooted in the commandment, וְנִשְׁמַרְתֶּם מְאֹד לְנַפְשׁוֹתֵיכֶם, which means “Take great care of your souls” (Deut. 4:9). Our tradition recognizes that our well-being is inextricably linked to our spiritual and mental health.
Healing from trauma is deeply personal. Each of us carries the responsibility for our own journey toward wholeness. It is not something that happens by itself; it requires conscious, often difficult, effort. Time alone cannot do the work for us.
Yes, time does play a role in healing. Some studies have shown that for many—even those diagnosed with PTSD—healing can happen naturally over time. But letting time alone do its job can lead to prolonged suffering. Without active engagement, trauma lingers beneath the surface, impacting relationships, breaking up families, and sometimes even worsening symptoms.
I’ve seen firsthand how taking responsibility for one’s healing can transform lives. When we actively engage in the healing process—through therapy, spiritual work, or community support—we begin to reclaim control over our lives.
No matter how righteous we are or how deep our faith in God, we still bear personal accountability for our healing. The Sages teach that ״הכל בידי שמים חוץ מצינים פחים״ – ‘All is in the hands of Heaven except chills and fever’ (Ketubot 30a), emphasizing that we should not rely solely on divine protection when it comes to our health.
Personal accountability in healing means recognizing the wounds we carry—both seen and unseen—and committing to the process of recovery. Healing is not just about returning to who we were before. It is about becoming someone new, shaped by our experiences but not defined by them. Each of us must decide to engage with our grief and our trauma, to take the first step toward recovery.
Finding Joy: The Other Half of Healing
Nehemiah’s words did not stop at the call to action through grief. He did something radical—he urged the people to rejoice. He told them to eat, drink, and share their joy with those who had none. This wasn’t a dismissal of their grief but a reminder that joy and sorrow must coexist. Even in moments of deep pain, we are called to seek joy, not as a luxury but as a necessity.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks captured this beautifully when he wrote that, throughout history, Jews never lost the capacity to rejoice. At times of poverty, oppression, and crisis, we still celebrate Shabbat and weddings, as though we had no care in the world. Our capacity to rejoice, even in the darkest moments, is part of what has allowed us to survive as a people.
Since October 7, I have seen this same resilience in our people. Despite the weight of national trauma, there are still Shabbat meals filled with laughter, still weddings where people dance with joy, and still moments where life is celebrated. This is not about ignoring grief—it is about refusing to let it define us.
Finding joy in the face of sorrow is an act of defiance, a way of saying, “We are still here.” It is a sacred obligation to seek joy, not just for ourselves but for our community. As Nehemiah urged, we must share our joy with those who have none, because joy is multiplied when it is shared.
Bringing It All Together: A Call to Heal and Rejoice
This Rosh Hashanah, we find ourselves standing in the tension between grief and joy. We are reminded of the weight we all carry, and yet, we also celebrate being part of a community. We carry the weight of the past year’s losses, but we are also called to look forward with hope.
There is strength in knowing that we do not bear this grief alone. There’s a Swedish proverb that beautifully captures this: "Shared joy is double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow." It is this collective nature of joy and sorrow that has helped us survive as a people for centuries.
Our ability to share in one another’s pain and, more importantly, to lift each other up through moments of joy is a cornerstone of our resilience. The duality of our experience—mourning and rejoicing—is what makes us strong.
Healing requires both personal responsibility and community effort. Each of us must commit to our own healing process, but we also have an obligation to bring joy into the world. By taking responsibility for our healing and sharing moments of joy with others, we help rebuild not only ourselves but our entire community. It is through moments of joy that we find the resilience to continue rebuilding, even when the road ahead is uncertain.
אָבִֽינוּ מַלְכֵּֽנוּ שְׁלַח רְפוּאָה שְׁלֵמָה לְחוֹלֵי עַמֶּֽךָ:
Wishing everyone a year of healing, joy, and strength.
May our soldiers remain safe, the wounded heal swiftly and completely, and the hostages return home soon.
Shana Tova!
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