The blowing of the Shofar during the Jewish High Holy Days is one of the most ancient religious practices in the world. Dating back to the earliest days of the Jewish People nearly 2,500 years ago, the piercing sound of the Shofar is simultaneously a cry for spiritual awakening, a clarion call to rouse us from our complacency and our selfishness, and an urgent plea to recommit ourselves anew to the perennial work of forgiveness, compassion, and justice.
Hearing the unmistakable call of the Shofar, a musical instrument made from the horn of ram, is one of my oldest memories. During my childhood and youth, that otherworldly sound punctuated every year at the coming of Autumn. Apart from the days in the spring that came just before Passover–that other great feast in the Jewish Calendar–nothing equaled the build-up to the start of the High Holy Day observances. For an entire month before Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which begins the High Holy Days, my Hebrew school class would focus on the themes of return, repentance, prayer, and charity.
In Hebrew, High Holy Days are known as the Yomim Noraim, or the “Days of Awe.” Indeed, I learned as a child that one of the intentions of the sounding of the shofar during the High Holy Days is to awaken a sense of awe both in our minds and our hearts. In keeping with that sense of awe, we would talk about the idea of a “Book of Life” in which our destinies for the coming year would be inscribed. We also spoke of the “Gates of Heaven,” gates which were said to open especially widely during the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the most sacred day in the Jewish calendar and the culmination of the High Holy Days. These gates, we were told, were particularly wide open to receiving our sincere and heartfelt repentance for any failings during the past year. If we honestly repented and expressed our intention to try harder in the days ahead, we would be written in the Book of Life for a sweet year to come.
Possessing a good imagination, I had no trouble envisioning these gates opening to receive my prayers of atonement for all the ways I hadn’t been as good as I might have been. At the same time, I could easily see in my mind’s eye a giant book open to the page with my name on it and watching an unseen hand writing what my fate would be in the year ahead.
Of course, as a child, I understood these images — of a Book of Life” and the “Gates of Heaven” — literally. As I grew older, I came to realize that things weren’t that simple. Today I understand these images as powerful symbols and I appreciate them for what they represent. Like a metaphor in a great poem, the image of the Book of Life reflects my ever-deepening experience of life as a story, well-planned and ingeniously plotted, being written by a consciousness that both incorporates and infinitely exceeds my own understanding and wisdom. In a similar way, Gates of Heaven symbolize access to my own highest consciousness, gates that open especially wide when I pray or meditate deeply, serve others with special care, or engage in actions that bring healing to the world.
As I reflect on the significance of the Jewish High Holy Days, I find a renewed admiration for this tradition. There is something quite powerful about taking ten whole days and devoting them as much as possible to reflection, prayer, and soul-searching. To taking the time at least once a year to ask if we’ve made the most of our opportunities, if we’ve fulfilled our promises and obligations, if we’ve done anything we regret and need to make amends for, or if there’s something we need to do differently in the days to come.
Though we often plan to devote time to this critical sort of self-reflection, other activities – to say nothing of complacency and laziness – often seem to get in the way of that objective. This is why I particularly value the encouragement this season offers for contemplating both what the Book of Life might hold for us in the days and months to come as well how our intentions, thoughts, and actions might influence that imagined future.