o learn the spiritual meaning of the fall holy days, just reach into your pockets and see what’s there. I learned this simple truth several years ago from Rabbi Lawrence Kushner of Congregation Beth El in Sudbury, Massachusetts, one Shabbat eve shortly before Rosh Hashanah. Rabbi Kushner invited us to feel around in our pockets and identify what we found. Some people reported finding keys, or coins, or gum. Some, though, found nothing—they claimed their pockets were bare. But the truth is, said Rabbi Kushner, no one’s pockets are ever truly empty. If you dig deep enough, even if the pants are new, there’s always something hidden in their pockets—fuzzy stuff, lint—in short, that which we most appropriately describe as schmutz.

Our pockets are hiding places. Sometimes we intend to conceal things there: wallets, keys, makeup, Chapstick, Binaca. Yet sometimes the contents of our pockets are hidden from us, and we carry them around unknowingly. That’s the schmutz, the secrets we conceal from each other and from ourselves. The "pockets" of our lives, too, are full of secrets: things we meant to hide or deny, things we imagined we’d forgotten or lost, things we meant to throw out, things we didn’t even know we had. And over the course of the year, the schmutz can accumulate.

On the afternoon of the first day of Rosh Hashanah (or on the second day when, as this year, the first day falls on Shabbat), Jews participate in tashlich, a custom that involves removing some breadcrumbs from our pockets and tossing them into a body of living water. As the water carries the pieces away, we symbolically rid ourselves of our errors and assert our determination to begin the new year with a fresh slate.

The objective of tashlich is to empty our pockets literally and figuratively, to reveal our secrets to ourselves and to God. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the High Holy Days, are about facing our secrets, realizing that if we let them into the light, we need not feel scared, embarrassed, or guilty. Quite the opposite—if we find a safe context for revealing that which we have hidden from ourselves and from others, we can experience shalom, a true sense of wholeness and well-being.

Tashlich and the rituals of the fall holy days teach us that we can transcend our mistakes if we honestly acknowledge them and resolve to try to do better. We don’t have to deny them, pretend to be someone else, or imagine ourselves to be better than we really are. We can simply, honestly, be ourselves.

The Hebrew word describing the Jewish conception of repentance, teshuvah ("return"), is instructive. In Judaism, repentance involves returning to who we really are, not pretending to be someone or something thing we are not. If thinking about your secrets and your mistakes depresses us, then we’re not really doing teshuvah. We are doing teshuvah properly if, as we consider the kind of people we’ve been this year, we begin to feel a little bit lighter, a little bit better about ourselves.

Teshuvah is about coming clean, with ourselves and with God. Our tradition recognizes that human beings are imperfect. No matter how energetically we clean our pockets, the fact is that almost immediately the schmutz, the errors, begin to accumulate again. Our job during the fall holidays is to empty our pockets, to be as honest as we can with ourselves, with others, and with God. And our job after that, in the year ahead, is to try to keep our pockets as clean as possible until the holidays return the next fall.

We can honestly acknowledge and apologize for our flaws only when we feel safe, only when we inhabit a context of love and trust. And although the fall Days of Awe are often conceived as a time of judgment, this accounting takes place against a backdrop of mercy and forgiveness. On Yom Kippur, we employ the Thirteen Attributes of God, thirteen aspects of the Divine which stress compassion and forgiveness, as a kind of mantra. We recall that when Moses asked to behold God’s glory, he learned that God is really about boundless mercy and loving kindness. On Yom Kippur, by reminding ourselves that we are unconditionally loved, we find the security which allows for honest self-evaluation, confession, and apology.

These holy days teach us that we are all fallible human beings who are not expected to be perfect, but only to try our best. They remind us that parental and divine love and acceptance ultimately are unconditional and independent of our performance. And by providing that security, they offer us a fresh start, an opportunity to admit our failings and to begin all over again.

There are many ways families can integrate these lessons into their lives. The fall holy days are opportunities to learn how to forgive and how to be forgiven. Some families have "teshuvah" meetings, making time for one-on-one conversations in which each person apologizes for something they wish they had not done to the other. Some find it easier to apologize in writing and sit down to write each other "teshuvah" notes. Another idea is to meet as a family and to make a list of goals for the coming year, both as individuals and as a family, such as spending more time together, being more patient, or creating more opportunities for cooperation. Then post the list on the refrigerator or in a place where everyone will be reminded of the goals throughout the year.

Try experiencing tashlich as a family. On your calendar, circle Sunday, September 15, and remind yourselves to take a walk to the nearest body of water with some bread. As you stand by the water, encourage your children to think about things from the past year which were making them feel sad or for which they were sorry. Do the same yourself. Share with your children some of the things you regret, and ask their forgiveness. Tell them that it’s OK to just think about them and not to say them, if they wish. Explain that Rosh Hashanah is a time to get rid of these regrets and sad feelings, and to start a new year fresh. Then toss the crumbs into the water, watch them float away, take a deep breath of the autumn air, and walk back home into 5757.

May you be inscribed for a happy, healthy, and peaceful year.

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A Passover Tale in Honor of Sukkot

Two friends met one Pesach morning in the back of their synagogue. "And how was your Seder last night?" asked the first.

"What Seder? You know I don’t have the means to provide crumbs, let alone matzah and wine," replied his fellow.

"Who said anything about making your own Seder? Didn’t you receive an invitation?

"No, I did not."

"Then tonight stand with me after services and I’ll show you how it’s done."

Some hours later, following the evening service, the first man positioned himself and his friend at the synagogue’s rear door. Each struck a suitably hungry pose and just as planned, each received a Seder invitation. The next morning the two friends met to compare notes.

"How was you Seder last night?" inquired the first.

"Horrible," replied his friend.

"How can a Seder be horrible?"

"Having not eaten all day I was starving. We started with a cup of wine and some celery dipped in salt water. A strange appetizer with wine, but who am I to complain. But then it started. They prayed and read and spoke and sang until I was ready to drop. Finally they passed around this matzah wafer, which I devoured, following by these beige vegetable chunks. I bit into mine and felt my mouth burst into flames. Having had enough I threw off my napkin and ran for the door."

"Fool. That bitter herb was the maror which they serve right before the full meal. You left before the best part."

lthough the setting of this story is the Passover Seder, its real reference is to Sukkot. Like the second fellow’s Seder, high holy day

services are composed of praying, reading, speeches and chanting, and all too often, after Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we run for the door. After embarking upon the spiritual journey of the high holy days, Sukkot provides a warm family homecoming. To leave the fall holidays without Sukkot is to leave before one of the best parts.

The festival of Sukkot encompasses many layers of meaning. It is a holy day celebrating God’s bounty in nature, known as hag Ha Asif, the Harvest Festival. Each day of Sukkot, we wave the Lulav and Etrog, the myrtle and willow branches joined to a palm branch together with a sweet-scented citron. Holding the lulav, we bless and shake north, south, east, west, and above, below—in recognition of God’s goodness, which can be found everywhere in creation.

Sukkot also celebrates God’s redemption in our sacred history. The Sukkot that we build in our yards with temporary walls and incomplete thatched roofs (through which we can peek at the sky) remind us of the temporary dwellings in which our ancestors lived during their 40 years of wandering in the Sinai wilderness. They also remind us of God’s sheltering presence during that journey and how we need to shelter those who are homeless in our time.

Most importantly, Sukkot is Z’man Simchateynu, the season for our rejoicing. Any child who has experienced the delight of decorating a family sukkah and later sharing a meal and fellowship and song with loved ones will never need to feel envious of another faith’s observances and decorations. Any adult who has joined in that sukkah building experience comes to realize that even if our lives, like the sukkah, are exposed, temporary structures, they are made beautiful by how we adorn them and the warmth of the company we invite.

As we conclude the festival with Simchat Torah, we come to the synagogue to parade with apples and flags and sing and dance with the Torah scrolls as we conclude the annual cycle of Torah readings and immediately begin Genesis anew.

Two parting insights about Sukkot. First, our sages tell us that Sukkot is "aseh v’lo min ha’asuy" — it must be enacted because it doesn’t come ready made." While it is wonderful to come to a synagogue and eat in its Sukkah, nothing beats enlisting friends and family to build a sukkah and beautifying it together. To witness the lulav shake or the Torah parade gives a vicarious thrill; actually participating in it with loved ones make the experience personal. Secondly, don’t make the same mistake as our friend in the story, because if you skip Sukkot by leaving right after Yom Kippur, you’ll have missed the best part.

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an people decide how they want to be remembered? What are the deeds and ideas by which we want others to remember us? In a last will and testament, usually drawn up by an attorney, people distribute material possessions after their death. In a living will, people make advance decisions about medical care in the event they should become incapacitated. An ethical will expresses hopes and offers lessons for succeeding generations.

An ethical will attempts to shape the way in which we will be remembered, making it very important and very challenging. A mother writing an ethical will is faced with the temptation to write of lessons she wanted to teach or wishes she had taught during her life, but did not. An ethical will can become a cherished family testament—bringing to mind the life and person of the writer—but it can also confuse the reader if it does not reflect the known character of the writer. No document can replace the example which a mother or father sets through their actions.

Some ethical wills are very lengthy and contain many details; others are only several sentences. Either way, an ethical will becomes part of a family’s inheritance and heritage.

The Jewish Tradition

The ethical will is a Jewish tradition dating as far back as the Bible. The first examples of this custom are found in the Bible at the end of Genesis when Jacob speaks to his sons and in Deuteronomy when Moses speaks to B’nai Yisrael.

The RAMBAN (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman), a great scholar who lived in the 13th Century in Spain, wrote the following to his children and students:

"Listen, my child, to the instruction of your father, and do not forget the teaching of your mother." (Proverbs 1:8). Speak with kindness to all people always. This will save you from anger, the major cause of misdeed...Always be humble; regard every person as greater than yourself...Study Torah regularly so that you can fulfill its commandments. When you finish your studies, think carefully about what you have learned; try to translate your learning into action...When you pray, do not think about worldly matters, think only of God...Read this letter once a week, and be regular in carrying out its requirements. By doing so you will always walk in the path of God and you will be worthy of all of the good which is due to the righteous."

Use a piece of paper to write your thoughts in the form of a letter to your children and relatives to create an ethical will.

For more information on raising children Jewishly,
please contact Making Connections at 215-635-2877

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