Celebrating the New Year on Shabbat
“And in the seventh month on the first of the month ‘yom teruah’ a day of blowing — it shall be to you” (Bamidbar 29:1).
“And in the seventh month on the first of the month there shall be to you a rest day a remembrance of blowing, a holy gathering together” (Vayikra 23:24).
DISCUSSION around the community over recent weeks regarding the advent of Rosh Hashanah and the subsequent holidays appeared to be dominated by one theme: that this year the holidays fall on weekends, with Yom Kippur on Sunday evening and Monday.
For businesspeople there is no repeat of last year’s situation of four consecutive broken weeks; for those responsible for preparing Shabbat and yom tov meals (as well as the diet-conscious who will eat them), there is the advantage in that the coincidence of Shabbat and yom tov reduces the number of such meals across this season.
And to top it all off, with Yom Kippur on a Monday, even football fans can rejoice. While Shabbat too is not a day for watching football, at least St Kilda fans will be able to concentrate on Yom Kippur services rather than bite their nails awaiting an announcement, as was the case in Melbourne’s St Kilda shul on that famous Grand Final Shabbat/Yom Kippur of 1966.
Nevertheless, there are other reasons why (to paraphrase the Mah Nishtanah) Rosh Hashanah on Shabbat differs from Rosh Hashanah on other days. As we stand in shul on the first day of Rosh Hashanah this year, it is the absence of the sound of the shofar that will reverberate even more loudly than the shofar ever does. For this year, the first day of Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat.
Despite the fact that it is the shofar that characterises the festival, its sound is silenced by the Shabbat, which overrules what is otherwise the highlight of the day. On the basis of the verses cited above, Rosh Hashanah on a weekday is characterised as a day of blowing, and Rosh Hashanah on Shabbat as a day when we just remember the symbolism of the shofar that should have been blown.
What is particularly interesting about this is that, despite the aforementioned allusion, from a purely biblical and halachic perspective, there really is no reason not to blow the shofar on Shabbat. In the Beit Hamikdash it was blown on Shabbat.
And even after the Destruction, the shofar was still blown on Shabbat wherever the highest rabbinical court was in session and able to supervise the ceremony. (Mishnah Rosh Hashanah, 4:1)
So why in this day and age do we not blow on Shabbat?
It is a “gezerah” -— rabbinical decree -— shema ya’avirenu dalet amot b’reshut harabbim -— lest one carry the shofar four cubits in a public domain (which is forbidden on Shabbat).
As is the case with taking the lulav and reading the megillah when Succot and Purim respectively occur on Shabbat, halachah provides that the relevant mitzvah is deferred, even where the relevant object is available for use without its carriage in a forbidden manner.
This is because the rabbis were concerned about the possibility that somewhere, sometime, the sanctity of Shabbat may be forgotten in the enthusiasm to carry out the mitzvah.
Let us reflect on the implications of this ruling.
How many who do not normally attend shul on Shabbat do so on Rosh Hashanah? For whatever reason, some may not observe every Shabbat in a halachic manner — yet in line with the rabbinic statement that all Jews are “as full of mitzvot as a pomegranate has seeds”, it would not occur to them to miss out on attendance at shul on this most important day of the year.
And what do they expect to be the highlight of their visit to shul? Fulfilment of the mitzvah of hearing the sound of the shofar. Yet what do we tell them despite the commendable effort they have made to attend? Sorry -— it is Shabbat today and the shofar is deferred.
And the truth is that even for those who consciously attempt to keep halachah at all times, human nature is such that one highlights occasional mitzvot, such as the shofar, perhaps even more than the regular ones to which one is accustomed. And then along comes a halachic ruling to remind us of what is really important.
It is a reality of life for most, that it is easier to experience spirituality through special actions than through everyday activities.
In my yeshivah days at Kol Torah Rabbinical College, Jerusalem, our mashgiach —- spiritual mentor -— Rabbi Gedaliah Ajzenman, would speak so often of how “hergel” -— getting used to that which we do regularly — is the enemy of spiritual growth. That which becomes a way of life, albeit that it is what the Torah prescribes, is weakened in its spiritual impact when it is lacking in force and feeling.
It was said that in the Beit Midrash of the Kotsker Rebbe, remembered for so many sharp but meaningful short statements, the gabbai would announce at the end of Ma’ariv on first-night Pesach: “Let’s go home and eat supper.” And prior to the commencement of Kol Nidrei, he would bang his hand on the bimah and call out “it is time to davven Ma’ariv.”
This led some Chassidim to ask: “Is the seder on first-night Pesach just another supper? Is Kol Nidrei just another Ma’ariv service?” But the lesson was that ideally every supper should be a spiritual event like the seder, and every Ma’ariv should be prayed as intensely as Kol Nidrei.
At the very start of a new year, halachah regarding the shofar teaches that the regular weekly Shabbat we take for granted is such an important cornerstone of Judaism, that even this much-awaited, but occasional, mitzvah should not interfere with it.
Indeed, in Judaism we have opportunities for spiritual growth the whole year round -— not just on the day when the shofar, whether it is blown or not, gives us the message to awaken from spiritual slumber. Our year-round challenge is to find and utilise those opportunities.
May we all have a ketivah vechatimah tovah and a year of spiritual growth.
Yossi Aron is The AJN‘s religious affairs editor.