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A Bleak Rosh Hashanah: The Day of Divine Authority in Our Dark Times

Posted on by Vanessa
A Bleak Rosh Hashanah: The Day of Divine Authority in Our Dark Times

Rosh Hashanah is a day of deep duality, where emotions mix between awe and celebration, pride and joy.

We stand in judgment before God and are fully aware of our inadequacies and helplessness. Yet we also reflect on the loyalty and love that have marked Jewish history and ask God to remember our devotion. For one day, we take a look at the world we hope to create – a world permeated with a heightened spiritual awareness and where God's presence fills every corner.

This day of awe highlights the fragility of human life while highlighting the majesty of a life lived in the presence of God. It is both a day of Ecclesiastes, when we grapple with mortality and the limitations of man, and a day of Song of Songs, when the fate of the Jewish people is illuminated. The power of Rosh Hashanah comes from this tension – the paradox between humility and strength, fear and pride. The day is intense precisely because of this inner paradox.

The shofar, the central symbol of the day, reflects this dichotomy. Its sound, primal and raw, reflects a cry that cannot be expressed in words, stripping away the artifice of human language to reveal the purest prayer – a primal cry to God.

But at the same time, the shofar also brings harmony to our prayers and adds melody to our words. In the temple it was part of a large orchestration that, together with other instruments, enhanced the moment of standing before God. The shofar embodies both simplicity and majesty as well as humility and solemnity.

A graphic photo of a man blowing a shofar, a ceremonial ram's horn practiced repeatedly on Rosh Hashanah. (Source: David Cohen/Flash90)

Historically, some fasted on Rosh Hashanah, which added to the solemnity of judgment before the Divine. Although this custom has largely faded, the day remains one of subdued joy, filled with awe and seriousness. We celebrate, but our joy is tempered by the gravity of the moment. Rosh Hashanah is a day of proud reverence with a touch of solemnity – its symbols and customs perfectly balance these dual emotions.

Although each Rosh Hashanah calls us to manage a spectrum of emotions, this moment in history feels particularly challenging. We are surrounded by dark clouds – our people continue to suffer on so many levels.

Recently I was asked to reflect on “post-traumatic truth” and what our people learned from October 7th. I politely reminded the questioner that we haven't even reached the post-trauma stage yet. Every day brings new pain, and the wounds of the past year have not even begun to heal.

In such dark times, it seems almost impossible to muster the joy, pride, or power traditionally associated with Rosh Hashanah. How can we celebrate a day of glory when so much of our world is shrouded in tragedy and darkness and so many of God's people are mired in misery and agonizing pain?

The first dark Rosh Hashanah

In the midst of a disheartened Rosh Hashanah in our past, we were given a blueprint for dealing with such dark times. In the late 6th century B.C. In the 4th century BC we gradually returned to Israel from our Babylonian exile. Despite our efforts to rebuild the temple and erect an altar, local opposition quickly rose against us, accusing us of sedition and treason. Our efforts were halted for years and the hope of national recovery seemed distant.

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Two decades later we took up this project again. Led by Ezra, a humble and vulnerable group of 42,000 people made their way back to Israel. Poor and barely defended, they set about rebuilding the Temple and Jerusalem. But progress was slow.

Fourteen years after this second stage, the situation had hardly improved. The walls of Jerusalem were so dilapidated that it was impossible to get around them. Our enemies mocked us and predicted our inevitable failure.

Internally, the community was fragmented, with the aristocracy largely remaining in Persia and the returnees left without leadership or resources. Rosh Hashanah arrived under a veil of desolation and uncertainty.

Ezra and Nehemiah gathered the small, weary group of returnees in the city square of Jerusalem for a public reading of the Torah. A special platform was erected for the occasion, and as the words of the Torah filled the air, tears broke out in the crowd. People wept as they remembered lost glories that seemed so far away and so impossible to regain.

The Jewish fate seemed to be hanging in the balance, and their hopes for renewal seemed in vain. How could they find joy on Rosh Hashanah? So much suffering, so many struggles. With the trauma weighing so heavily on them, how could they even think about celebrating?

The joy of God is our strength

Nehemiah responded with a powerful announcement: “Go, eat rich food and drink sweet drinks, and send food to those who have not prepared anything, for this day is holy to God. Do not be sad, for the joy of God is your strength.”

In the midst of helplessness, Nehemiah challenged them to tap into a greater truth and a deeper power. No matter how dire the conditions seemed, they were still part of a larger divine narrative. The joy of God would be their strength. Reflecting on the eternal purpose and meaning of a life before God might momentarily lift them out of their grief and futility.

First, because despite the darkness, God has bigger plans and can quickly transform even the worst reality. Second, because faith in God and a relationship with Him transcends any fate we suffer. And thirdly, because faith itself gives courage, strength and resilience. Faith would be their strength – not just weapons, strategies or armies. No bullet can destroy faith, and it will always endure.

They ignored neither the misfortune nor the difficult conditions they faced. They simply took a break to refresh their faith. Immediately after the end of the festival season – the day after what we now call Simchat Torah (although it was not yet referred to as such) – they returned to mourning and fasting. Through tears, they made one of the most heartfelt and remorseful confessions in the entire Bible.

But Rosh Hashanah itself called for emotional transcendence without succumbing to indifference to sadness—a moment to reach for the heavens and return to earth with renewed courage and strength.

Jewish history often repeats itself. Here we are, 2,700 years later, facing a similar Rosh Hashanah. Ignoring the sadness and suffering is unimaginable – we are surrounded by it. But in these two days we have to get over it without forgetting it. We must find a way to connect our struggles and traumas with the glory of standing before God. We must take advantage of the larger historical mission of which we are a part: to bring God's presence to an ungodly world.

Rosh Hashanah must remind us why this battle is so crucial. This is not just a conflict over land or borders. This is not about occupation or apartheid – it is about God's presence in our world.

We fight against those who falsely speak in the name of an angry and vengeful God who does not exist. We fight against those who desecrate the divine dignity bestowed on every human being and violate his body and spirit. This is a fight against a culture that glorifies death instead of celebrating life, against a world that has lost its ability to know the truth and maintain objective moral standards.

Rosh Hashanah is the day of Divine Authority, and we are currently struggling to preserve His presence. One day his presence will be felt and undeniable. Until that day we have faith. 

The author is a rabbi at Hesder Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush with ordination from YU and a master's degree in English literature from CUNY. He is the author of Dark clouds above, faith below (Kodesh Press), on religious reactions to October 7th and the forthcoming publication Reclaiming Redemption: Deciphering the Labyrinth of Jewish History (Mosaica Press).



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