A Ballad for the High Holy Days

Every year, as the High Holy Days approach, and people rush to the shops to find symbolic fruits for Rosh Hashanah and secure seats in Shul, I find myself facing a recurring dilemma: where to daven? It’s not just a technical matter but a fundamental one. I wonder which style of High Holy Days I truly desire. Do I seek the contemplative atmosphere of the Days of Awe or the celebratory spirit of Rosh Hashanah? Am I drawn to a setting filled with reflection and remorse or brimming with renewal and joy? Do I prefer the communal experience of public prayer or the intimacy of standing alone before Hashem? Should I embrace ecstasy or indulge in melancholy?

To an outsider unfamiliar with the religious world, it might take time to grasp the distinctiveness of the High Holy Days experience within Jewish communities. Though we engage in identical observances, rituals, prayers, and adherence to fixed rules, a remarkable diversity among communities can make it seem like a celebration of entirely different holidays. Moreover, a range of traditions and melodies have forged distinct paths into different communities, casting distinct shades of light upon these solemn days.

The Rosh Hashanah sky over Uman bears little resemblance to the one above Lithuanian yeshivas, just as the heaven of traditional Yerushalmi prayer differs from that over a Moroccan Shul

In the celestial realm, Kabbalists speak of twelve distinct gates to heaven that correspond to the twelve tribes of Israel. Each prayer form follows its unique trajectory; Hashem accepts them all. I humbly suggest that there are likewise twelve heavens, each distinguished by its own unique and elevated qualities of prayer. The Rosh Hashanah sky over Uman bears little resemblance to the one above Lithuanian yeshivas, just as the heaven of traditional Yerushalmi prayer differs from that over a Moroccan Shul. These, too, are quite distinct from the atmosphere of fervent Israeli patriots celebrating the early stages of the Redeemer’s arrival in Chardal (Charedi Religious Zionist) communities. And none of the heavens mirror the resplendent eastern lights of Sefardi Shuls that pepper the landscapes of Israeli cities and towns.

 

The Heaven of Terrible Ice (Yeshiva Rosh Hashanah)

If I desire solemnity, deep introspection, soul-searching, and the trepidation of severe judgment, I will place my lot with the Lithuanian Yeshiva minyan. There, among men of learning and piety, the awe of the Days of Awe is everywhere manifest: in lengthy Amida prayers, swaying figures clad in white, and fervent cries of the Thirteen Divine Attributes. The words of Rabbi Kruspedai concerning the “Three Books that open” on Rosh Hashanah – one of life, one of death, and one suspended in the balance – hang in the air, imposing a sense of tension on the worshippers and urging them to beseech Hashem with all their might so their judgment may be inscribed for life.

The Lithuanian prayer experience is profoundly personal. It encourages worshippers to turn inward, examine their deeds, and delve into the depths of self-reflection, internalizing the full scope of the Day of Judgment

The Lithuanian prayer experience is profoundly personal. It encourages worshippers to turn inward, examine their deeds, and delve into the depths of self-reflection, internalizing the full scope of the Day of Judgment. “We pass before Him like sheep,” counted one by one. Individually. With unbearable scrutiny. Although the prayer occurs within a congregation, the prayer hall has no overarching collective ambiance. Individuals offer personal supplications in proximity to each other. Even collective confessions sound more like a collection of individual cries, each worshiper occupied with his unique inner self, than a communal prayer.

The Lithuanian yeshiva prayer reflects the spirit of European Mussar masters and their infinitely demanding pursuit of intellectual clarity and purity of intent. The central motifs of the Yeshiva’s Rosh Hashanah are repentance and self-introspection. The dominance of these themes makes the prayer intimate, deep, and powerful, penetrating the worshipper’s consciousness to its full depth, reflecting the prayer, “Your justice is like the most profound depths.” The worshipper delves deep into his soul, contemplating our sages’ familiar principles of repentance: remorse, abandonment of sin, and resolve for the future.

The awareness of sin and guilt is keenly felt in Yeshiva-style prayer. These are saturated in the atmosphere of Rabbeinu Yonah’s Sha’arei Teshuvah (“Gates of Repentance”), echoing the Mussar sermons of the Mashgiach (overseer of spiritual and ethical conduct in the yeshiva) and including an implicit demand for humbling self-reflection. “You reduce man to pulp to the oppression of the soul.” Despite the harshness of this prayer, it also provides much satisfaction. Upon reaching the exultant singing of the final Kaddish, “May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life upon us and all Israel,” the constricted heart is released from the fear of judgment and filled with the joy of completing the long journey.

After the impossible exertion of the climb, reaching the top of the mountain is an exhilarating feeling.

 

The Heaven of Spirited Emotion (Moroccan Rosh Hashanah)

If the atmosphere of holiday joy calls my soul, replete with renewal, singing, poetry, and melodies that penetrate the heart, my feet will lead me to the Moroccan synagogue. Here, we find the fear of judgment blended with the joy of the holiday, the latter being even more dominant than the former. The melodies deeply move the heart, fostering an atmosphere of humility and togetherness but also brimming with optimism. It is characteristic of Moroccan tradition to begin the High Holy Days prayers with the piyyut “Achot Ketanah,” which is saturated with yearning, nostalgia, and joyous hope for the new year:

Her melody wanes, but her desire waxes

Longing her beloved’s embrace, striving to erase

And remove her soul’s anguish from her heart

Seeking the love of her wedding day

Let the year and its curses conclude!

Remorse and repentance will come later. Even then, they will come in moderation.

The communal aspect of prayer is highly central in the Moroccan synagogue. In contrast with the individualistic Lithuanian yeshiva-style prayer, in the Moroccan tradition, almost no sections are recited individually. It is the congregation’s prayer before the Almighty. Instead of “Answer the pauper standing before You, as a poor petitioner of Your forgiveness,” Morrocans chant, “Answer the poor ones standing before You today, as those who ask and seek Your forgiveness… Shine upon us the light of Your countenance, Hashem.” A congregation, united, knows its prayers will not go unanswered.

Despite the collective nature of Moroccan prayer, there remains space for some individualism. The recitation of heartfelt piyyutim (liturgical poems) brims with deep emotions, allowing each person to find his personal connection and innermost self-expression. However, this personal expression doesn’t carry the weight of sorrowful weeping or the sense of individual guilt. The frequent mentions of sin reflect the congregation’s vulnerability and trust in the merciful Holy One rather than mournful remorse. It is akin to children confessing before their Father, secure in His boundless mercy.

The peak of the prayer service is the piyyut “Et Sha’arei Ratson,” which commemorates the patriarchs’ merit during the Akeidah. Symbolically, the worshipers embody the companions of Avraham and Yitzchak on their journey to Mount Moriah, immersing themselves in the celestial-human drama at which:

All the angels of the Holy Chariot were swept with emotion 

The Ofanim and Serafim petitioned in supplication 

Beseeched the Almighty on behalf of the chief officer (Yitzchak) 

Who will provide redemption and atonement for the future? 

Let not the world be without a moon 

The binder (Avraham) and the bound (Yitzchak) and the altar.

Avraham’s ordeal and last-minute rescue serve as a metaphor for our condition on the Day of Judgment. Both heaven and earth stand transfixed in moments of awe, eagerly awaiting the verdict that will annul their adverse judgments. Yet, unlike Avraham – or, perhaps, this was true even of his journey – we hold the certainty of a joyful conclusion to our narrative, “confident that a miracle will be performed for us.”

 

The Heaven of Sapphire (Yerushalmi Rosh Hashanah)

If I yearn for noble holiness, an urge to embrace the Day of Judgment with an air of celebration that bears the weight of solemnity without the overbearing fear of our Litvish friends, I will ascend to Zion, to the Yerushalmi Shul. The Yerushalmi prayers, steeped in ancient grandeur, have their foundation in the holy mountains, in the exile of Castile, Spain. Their melodies are self-assured, gently swaying, exuding patience; they don’t aim to excite the worshippers or sweep them away in ecstatic fervor. Instead, they announce that you first need to absorb the prayer’s intricate and delicate chants and embrace its unhurried pace; only then can you genuinely experience its profound impact.

The inward reflection is articulated in melodies of longing and emotion absent of excessive drama. “Hashem is not found in the thunderous roar.”

The essence of the High Holy Days prayer, as the Ben Ish Chai writes, is to straighten the crookedness in the heart so that a person stands before Hashem with humility. “A broken and contrite heart, Hashem, You will not despise.” Nevertheless, this humility does not involve a public display of self-flagellation. The inward reflection is articulated in melodies of longing and emotion absent of excessive drama. “Hashem is not found in the thunderous roar.” There is no inner turmoil, no blazing inferno. Rather, the atmosphere carries a tranquil, unhurried serenity, a voice of gentle calmness.

The atmosphere of the High Holy Days in the Yerushalmi Shul is epitomized by the piyyut that opens the Yom Kippur prayers, “Lecha Eli Teshukati,” composed by Ibn Ezra. Whose heart is not moved upon uttering the words of the piyyut that penetrate deep into the soul:

To you my God is my passion

In you is my desire and love.

To you is my heart and my kidneys

To you is my spirit and my breath.

I have often marveled at this piyyut, how it penetrates the depths of the heart and opens the gates of tears. By what charm do these words break down all barriers? Perhaps it’s the extraordinary persona of the great Ibn Ezra, or maybe the secret is the timing, recited just before our soul departs as part of the Viddui confession. Either way, this piyyut succeeds in instilling within us a profound sense of unity with the Divine. As we sing it, the sense of distance from Hashem dissipates into thin air. My body, thoughts, and hopes are His; not merely emanating from Him, but given over to Him in their entirety. 

To you are my eyes

And my ideas, my shape, and my form

To you is my spirit, to you my strength

And my trust and my hope. 

A human being, with all his strengths and weaknesses, his spirituality and materiality, is a part of the Almighty. He takes refuge under His wings. There is nowhere to hide, and there is nothing to hide. All is revealed before Hashem.

We stand before the Almighty in our flimsy clothing, our hearts and deepest instincts laid bare before Him. Our consciousness of sin and guilt, reflecting our individuality, gives way before a sense of shame and sorrow for having been ensnared by our inclinations, which are part of our nature as Hashem’s creation.

I have sought You wholeheartedly

Answer me, God, with what I seek

I pour out my tears to You

Wipe away my sins as I cry

My soul says, “My portion

God is my inheritance”

Please gather up my sins

In Your kindness on the day I am gathered up.

Although most of the piyyut comprises confessions and lamentations for our wrongdoings and troubles resulting from our actions, it also declares a total trust in Hashem’s kindness. Hashem knows us with all our weaknesses. They also come from Him. Therefore, even forgiveness belongs to Him and is for His sake. This is the basis of our hope.

Therefore my face is covered

By my shame and my embarrassment

I have no other refuge

My forgiveness comes from You

There is no other pardoner

My pardon comes from You.

The Heaven of Pacing Angels (Uman Rosh Hashanah)

If I am enthused by a holy fire that burns with passion and devotion, I will purchase, without thinking twice, a ticket to Uman. The severity of Rosh Hashanah in Uman all but disappears. There is barely a trace of fear and trepidation; there can be no anxiety, for “there is no despair in the world at all.” The Rebbe assured that all those coming to Uman will be raised out of despair. What room is there for fear? Rabbi Nachman’s main focus was Rosh Hashanah, as he told his students: “Rather than a tradition from my ancestors, my Rosh Hashanah is a great innovation.”

Indeed, it is a remarkable novelty. It seems as though our journey skips elegantly over the days of judgment and arrives immediately at the joyous days of the Sukkos celebration

Indeed, it is a remarkable novelty. Rosh Hashanah as euphoria. It seems as though our journey skips elegantly over the days of judgment and arrives, without further ado, at the joyous days of the Sukkos celebration.

Devotion to the tzaddik, Divine transcendence, and spiritual ecstasy are key components of the event. The main spiritual work of Rosh Hashanah is to reach “elevated enlightenment.” All are accepted; we “pray with the sinners” in the most literal sense since devotion has long since turned wrongdoings into merits. All that remains is to sing and dance in a circle of the faithful. There is no tension in the air on Rosh Hashanah of the tzaddik. The singing and the joy do not stop even for a moment.

If you were in Uman and didn’t reach lofty heights, then you were not there at all. 

The Heaven of the Rainbow (Mizrachi Rosh Hashanah)

If the Israeli muse calls my attention, seeking a liturgy and melodies closer to my everyday experiences, I would probably find myself at an old-school religious-Zionist synagogue, or “Mizrachnikim,” as Charedim call them. These are communities of sincere, straightforward working men and professionals of the old-school tradition. In their unpretentious and balanced approach to life, religious practice seamlessly integrates into daily routines, tradition adorning and illuminating the simplicity of everyday existence. The overall atmosphere during the High Holy Days is subdued, not excessively dramatic. Let’s not go overboard. The days are undeniably profound, calling for decorum and a sense of dignified ceremony. But that’s it. There is no need for loud exclamations or excessive weeping.

The overall atmosphere during the High Holy Days is subdued, not excessively dramatic. Let’s not go overboard. The days are undeniably profound, calling for decorum and a sense of dignified ceremony. But that’s it

Somewhere within the hearts of ordinary, hardworking Jewish individuals lies the belief that the dramatic language of the High Holy Days is more symbolic than literal. The concept of a divine court weighing our good and bad deeds seems theatrical and even intrusive. Our focus for the Day of Judgment is less on “What have I done?” but more on “Where am I heading?” Perhaps that’s why the Rambam wisely advises us that the weighing of our actions is undertaken with the compassionate understanding of the Omniscient, who knows how to assess merits against transgressions.

The everyday “baalabus,” the Mizrachnik bourgeoise man with his conservative values, places significant emphasis on community. Unlike the individualistic Lithuanian yeshiva prayer and the communal Sephardic experience, prayers mean to unify the synagogue’s congregation and nurture a harmonious social connection. Each participant in these prayers actively shapes the Israeli-traditional ethos that forms the essence of our Jewish identity, seamlessly combining tradition with modernity. 

The sentiment is best described by Levin Kipnis in the well-known children’s song “Shanah Tovah”:

A good year to a hero uncle

Who stands on guard,

And to every watchman in the city and the village

A “be strong” greeting is forward

A good year, A good year.

A good year, brave pilot

Riding the high heavens

And much peace Hebrew sailor

who makes his way in water

A good year, A good year

A good year to every worker

In the field and in the mortar

A good and sweet year

To every girl and boy!

A good year, A good year!

The characters are interwoven into one giant, cheerful, and innocent family, enjoying the warmth of tradition and internal solidarity. The sense of community is vertical as well as horizontal, intertwining the synagogue community with past generations. Customs of previous generations, parents and grandparents, are brought (back) to life in prayer and, in doing so, also acquire a nostalgic dimension. The community includes more than just those physically present in the prayer but also past generations. From the youth to the elderly, children, and women, everyone celebrates and rejoices in the Rosh Hashanah prayer. 

The synagogue experience creates a communal holiday atmosphere and a connection between generations; the tension of the Day of Judgment hardly makes an appearance.

 

The Heaven of the Fiery River (Chardal Rosh Hashanah)

When the melody of redemption resonates in my heart, and longing for the Holy Temple and the songs of the Levites fills my soul, I will ascend to Yeshivat Har Hamor and the hills of the religious Zionist yeshivas. Prayers of the day resonate with the return of the Jews to their homeland and the many signs heralding the End of Days. The sovereignty of Hashem over the entire world and the radiance of His Divine Presence upon Israel are the core essence of our prayers. Upon reading these passages, we burst out into a spontaneous song. Intense dancing becomes contagious. The words of the song, “Grant joy to Your land, gladness to Your city, and a flourishing of strength to David, Your servant,” are much more dominant in this prayer than “Who shall live and who shall die, who by the sword and who by fire.”

The sovereignty of Hashem over the entire world and the radiance of His Divine Presence upon Israel are the core essence of our prayers. Upon reading these passages, we burst out into a spontaneous song. Dance is contagious

The ministering angels question the legitimacy of perhaps the power of singing on Rosh Hashanah: “The ministering angels asked Hashem, why don’t Israel sing on Rosh Hashanah? He said to them, ‘Is it possible for a King to sit on a throne of Judgment with the books of life and death open before him, and Israel shall sing in celebration?” [1] However, in the face of the supreme power of eternal redemption, their arguments fall silent. Minor considerations of life and death are dwarfed by the cosmic process of the ultimate return. The vision of Hashem’s sovereignty over all His creatures swells the hearts of worshippers until song bursts forth from them.

And as the Rav Kook writes in “Orot Teshuva”:

The desire for repentance touches a Universal Will at its most elevated source. Since the great current of the flow of life is directed towards goodness, many channels are instantly flooded with the need to discover the good and do goodness with all. The individual’s repentance draws its strength from this source of life.[2]

According to Rav Kook, repentance predates the world, and therefore, it is the foundation of the world. The emotion of repentance in an individual is a tiny spark emanating from the continuous process of repentance that the world advances toward. Hashem leads history toward its perfect rectification, and this direction is reflected in the inner emotion of human repentance. “The spirit of repentance hovers over the world, providing it with the essence of its nature and the impetus for its development. With its luscious scent, it refines and endows it with every virtue, grace, and splendor.”[3]

The individual dissolves into the collective, not a small collective of family and community but a total and universal collective.” All of Israel, the world, all generations, all of existence – all sing the sublime song, the song of redemption

The individual dissolves into the collective, not a small collective of family and community but a total and universal collective.” All of Israel, the world, all generations, all of existence – all sing the sublime song, the song of redemption.

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These are my traverses through the diversity of Jewish communities in Israel. It is clear that Jewish people don’t have just one Rosh Hashanah; they have many, and each community celebrates it in its own special way. Some opt for lengthier prayers, while others keep them short, but all share a common intention to connect with Hashem wholeheartedly.

In my younger days, I often felt uneasy and worried that I couldn’t find a place to truly connect with the High Holy Days. Deep in my heart, I carried the sense of a wanderer, moving from one synagogue to another without finding my spiritual home. I wandered in unfamiliar lands, and my haven remained elusive. These are days of awe, I reflected to myself, yet where does it lie? How can the gravity of judgment touch your soul if you cannot grasp the essence of these days? What path shall I take in approaching His judgment? Should it invoke trepidation or joy, calm serenity or anxious retrospection, jubilant joy or universal transcendence? How do I enter His sanctuary?

Even today, I cannot provide a satisfying answer to this dilemma. Yet, it no longer bothers me. The secret of Rosh Hashanah hides within its diversity. Rosh Hashanah’s service isn’t a single, uniform experience; the true beauty of revealing Divine kingship lies in its multifaceted nature. We shouldn’t try to judge these approaches, determining right or wrong, better or worse. We are better off with the words of Rabbi Yehuda Halevi in his poignant Rosh Hashanah poem, “Yah Shimcha Aromimcha”:

I shall exalt Your name, O God, and Your righteousness not conceal

I listened and had faith, I shall neither question nor test.

And how shall one, created of matter, instruct his maker how to act?

I call Him, I sought Him, as the Tower of Strength and the Rock of Refuge.

Clear as a glowing light, without veil or concealment.

He shall be praised and glorified, exalted and elevated.

 

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[1] Rosh Hashanah 32a.

[2] Orot Hateshuvah 6, 1.

[3] Ibid., 5, 4.

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