We are our phones, tablets, et al. Now, I don’t mean that in the socially critical manner that we all can repeat, experience, and lament. I find a powerful metaphor for our devices (choose your preferred model) in understanding this process of Teshuvah for which we are preparing.

Every device has a fundamental operating system that guides and powers it to function in the world as intended. However, the mere act of engaging in the world exposes it to, well, the world—and it finds so many things that inhibit its continuing to function according to its original programming. Malware, bots, phishing programs, etc. So every once in a while, your device needs a hard reset to realign and recalibrate to its original and most authentic operating system.

Hopefully, my fellow “device,” you have caught on to the metaphor. Living in our world has its own forms of malware, bots, and phishing programs that distance us from ourselves. It is not a good thing or a bad thing; it is just the thing that happens when we human beings engage with the world. This spiritual OS contains the algorithm of our values, ideals, fundamental truths, and foundational nature.

This time of year is our hard reset—to help us get back to our most authentic and essential operating system. How can you realign with your essential self? What do you need to do to effect an authentic recalibration? How will your taking the time to do so impact you and the ones you love?

It’s not just the anthropomorphic deity who moves this time of year (see my previous post!)—it is all of us. We are building towards Teshuvah, ten days of it. Teshuvah often translates as repenting, but I feel it better translates as “returning.” One has to move to return—whether that is returning a purchase, returning to the synagogue (as many people do at this time of year), or returning home.

Even before we dig deeper into the movement aligned with this time of year, the very essence of being Jewish has to do with movement. When we first meet Abraham and Sarah, the qualifiers used for them in Torah are not “Jews” or “Israelites”—they are called “Ivri.” While that word has morphed into “Hebrew” to our modern ears, it is more than a name of a language or tribe. “Ivri” means “one who crosses over to the other side.” Being a spiritual descendant means being people who move when moving is necessary.

These movements can be physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual in nature. As Jews, we always ask ourselves: Where do you stand? Where do you need to move to—in body, heart, mind, or spirit? How are you going to get there?

Perhaps we arrive at this time of year and the prospect of another round of reflection and self-assessment and feel fatigued by it all. Maybe we look at the world and see all the seemingly insurmountable ways it seems broken and feel powerless. Honestly, there’s no need for me to write in first person plural (we)—I am feeling these things on a first person singular (me) level.

As I do, a kinda silly midrash comes to mind. It suggests that God sits on the throne of judgment at the beginning of Rosh Hashanah. Upon hearing the shofar call, God moves the divine derrière to the throne of mercy. You know I’m not all about anthropomorphizing the divine. However, the idea—the possibility that something we do (the shofar call) in our realm might have some cosmic impact—offers an invigorating option to my fatigue and powerlessness. (See above.)

Can’t or won’t blow a shofar? Don’t worry, I’ve never figured it out either! The question is: What is your shofar? What do you need to do to get in the headspace or heart space to know what it is? What’s the noise you can make—even in your little corner of the world—that maybe, just maybe, might ripple in the cosmos?

The last set of Shofar calls are called SHOFAROT. It’s not really the most creative or differentiating of names, is it? All the sections are “SHOFAROT”—many shofars. Why were our liturgists too lazy to come up with a new name for this section? Or did they have something intentional in this seemingly repetitive nomenclature?

Maybe it’s the suggestion, possibility, or reality that the things that seem to be the most common and everyday hold much more for us. These three sections are a liturgical ascension, with the SHOFAROT sending us off into the New Year filled with hope and promise for what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps the message in the naming of this top of the liturgical mountain suggests to us that so much of what we seek and yearn for is already contained within us and our lives. We only need to return to our foundations (MALCHUYOT), engage the power of remembering (ZICHRONOT), and then we will have a map to find what we seek.

SHOFAROT takes its cue from the wisdom of Ecclesiastes and tells us that “the world has been placed in our hearts.” What is your sense of the idea that you have everything you need within? Bring to mind a time, place, or moment when you have felt this to be true. How might you go about excavating what is within?

The second set of Shofar calls on Rosh Hashanah are called ZICHRONOT—remembering. This remembering thing may be the most human thing that we do. It is powerful in both positive and negative ways.

Remembering can help us learn and grow. Remembering can get us stuck in moments and mindsets that prevent our growth. Remembering can help us honor and celebrate those dear ones who are no longer in our lives. Remembering can also get in the way as we strive to see what other experiences could be part of our lives.

The ZICHRONOT call upon us to use this time-traveling power of ours with wisdom, balance, and discretion. We forget where and when we are—we are called to live fully and presently, richly informed by the experiences and encounters of previous moments. How is your remembering going today? What experiences and encounters from your past are drawing your attention? How well are you sitting in the present moment?

The ins and outs, ups and downs of what we do with the Shofar this time of year continue to grab my attention. On Rosh Hashanah, there are three different sections or presentations of Shofar calls. The sections and their calls are all similar (except for the GEDOLAH on the last one!), but their intent differs. It starts with Malchuyot—translated as sovereignty, kingship, or something to that effect.

In the mystic map of reality, that term is also used for the physical manifestation of god-stuff in the shape of us and our world. Our bodies, our physical needs and wants, our life in this world—it all starts and ends there. When we don’t tend to our body’s needs or pay attention to what it’s telling us, we create obstacles to heart, mind, and spirit. So at the beginning of the New Year and the ten days of Teshuvah, the Shofar directs our attention here first, as well.

Pay some attention: What is your body saying to you? How are you responsive to its needs? How are its limitations impacting your heart, mind, or spirit? What is the physical sense that brings you the most joy, connection, or meaning? How might you follow your body’s wisdom to discover the other parts of you?

The last of the shofar calls is the Tekiah GEDOLAH. The GEDOLAH is the big finish to the Shofar experience—the smooth, long, breathtaking blast that draws oohs, aahs, and even applause from the crowd.

It harkens back to the themes of the Tekiah—what is foundational and essential to us—and then raises the stakes just a little bit more. Being so much more than the previous incarnations of Tekiah, it pushes us to wander in the terrain of “bigger than we can imagine.” It is the unnamable, ineffable, and mysterious. Some call it “God” and ascribe to it intentions, traits, and sensibilities. Some recognize it as the lurking existential elephant in the room—always there, but easily triaged to the bottom of the list of things on which we need or want to spend our time and energy. Whatever or however we name, experience, or understand it, all of the Shofar calls culminate in this GEDOLAH and conspire to invite and challenge us to give it our precious awareness.

Listen up… Tekiah GEDOLAH! Where does this cosmic bigness fit into your life? How do you fit into it?

The TERUAH call may be the most distinctive of all the Shofar sounds. (Okay, we should acknowledge that it could also be that big GEDOLAH.) TERUAH consists of nine staccato notes, almost beat-like, that emanate from the Shofar each year. To me, they feel like steps in a march. They cultivate in me a sense of movement and purpose. And yet, they are small and concise, with spaces of silence (and stopping) between each one.

Between the big foundational things in our lives (TEKIAH) and the places where we feel and experience brokenness (SHEVARIM) is the vibration of TERUAH. It’s the sound of moving forward in small, manageable steps. The sound of silence and stillness between each step, allowing space to retreat and renew. It’s the wonderful dichotomy of so much of life itself: the “yes, and” of keep moving and stand still. It’s Rabbi Tarfon telling us: “Yes!” you cannot turn away from the tasks at hand, “AND” it’s not all on you all of the time. The trick—or our work—is learning how to measure our steps and our stops.

Listen up… TERUAH! Keep marching and moving, and pay attention along the way to pause, reflect, and renew.

The next of the Shofar calls is SHEVARIM. The word comes from the Hebrew root that speaks to the breaking, fracturing, and shattering of things. The three short sounds of this note hint at a cry or a wail—as if feeling the pain of whatever may be breaking, fracturing, or shattering.

The mere presence of SHEVARIM in this sacred litany of Shofar calls speaks to me. Sure, we can invoke Leonard Cohen and talk about how the cracks and brokenness in the world are needed to let the light in. But before we even go there, consider this: SHEVARIM and its brokenness are always present in the Shofar experience—and always present in our lives.

We can get ourselves into trouble when we paint a picture suggesting that brokenness isn’t supposed to be there. Then, when we encounter brokenness, we spend much of our time and energy feeling angry, frustrated, and disillusioned because something important has shattered. Perhaps acknowledging and accepting that part of the human experience comes with all that SHEVARIM suggests might afford us a different approach to the very real pain, fear, and suffering that accompany brokenness. And maybe—just maybe—it might help us see that light which often pokes through those same cracks.

Listen up… SHEVARIM! Hear the cry, feel the sharp shards that can cut and hurt. Allow yourself to feel, accept, and experience this essential part of our humanity.

The first of the three Shofar calls (four if you count the big, long, final one as separate) is the TEKIAH. It is the call that is a simple, clear, straightforward note. Jewish law (Halakha) demands that every shofar note needs to have a TEKIAH precede and succeed it. It serves as a kind of audio bookend to the other notes. Before we get to the complexity of the other Shofar sounds, we start and end with a hearing, an experiencing, a reminding of the things that ground us and root us.

Maybe the initial steps we can take before responding to the TEKIAH calls ahead of us involve making sure we know or remember what our foundations look and feel like. Being human and making our way in the world can make it challenging to always remember these foundational elements. And then there are cases—maybe you would categorize yourself this way—where what we thought were our foundational bookends were not what we thought they were. Instead of needing to remember, we need to find them.

So, get ready… TEKIAH! Listen to that smooth, stable, and unbroken sound, and invite its resonance to help you remember and discover who and what grounds, roots, and centers you.

5786 is now officially one (Hebrew) month away.  We call that month Elul and it is not simply a placeholder month before we announce and embrace the arrival of a New Year and the days of Teshuvah that follow it.  It is a month of preparation … of limbering and toning up the spiritual muscles that will carry us through the challenge course that is Teshuvah – the returning to our centers, our essence, our Selves.

This year, as I walk this path myself I am going to endeavor to share with you a reflection, an observation – an exercise – that might be helpful in this month of toning these spiritual muscles.  You can find these Elul Exercises on our website, in your inbox (you can subscribe here) or via FB or Instagram.

As we begin these 29 days before Rosh Hashanah, I invite you to ask of yourself the question that I am asking myself: “What can you do in this next month to make a meaningful transition from the end of this spiritual year (5785) to the next one (5786)?”