Carrying What Strengthens Us Into the New Year
Rosh Hashanah has always held a very special place in my heart.
As a child, I loved going to synagogue with my family and extended family. I remember the warmth of gathering around the holiday table, sharing familiar foods, and being surrounded by people I loved.
I also have fond memories of going to tashlich with my community. There was something meaningful about standing together near the water and participating in a tradition that connected us to generations of Jewish life.
The sound of the shofar has always resonated deeply within my soul. Its call is powerful and unmistakable. Even now, it connects me to my childhood, my family, my community, and my Jewish identity.
As I have grown older, I have come to understand that these traditions offer more than cherished memories. They can also support our emotional well-being.
That feels especially important as our community continues to face intense antisemitism. Many Jewish people are carrying anxiety, anger, grief, and emotional exhaustion. We may feel as though we must always remain alert, prepared for the next upsetting headline, hostile encounter, or expression of hatred.
These reactions are understandable. Antisemitism affects more than our sense of physical safety. It can also affect our sense of belonging, our trust in others, and the way we move through the world.
Our traditions cannot remove that reality, but they can help us carry it differently.
The shofar is one example. Its sound has called Jewish communities together for generations. Today, it can remind us that our voices have not been silenced and that our identity remains strong.
Antisemitism may try to make us feel small, isolated, or unwelcome. The shofar declares that we are still here. We continue to gather, celebrate, speak, and live proudly as Jews.
The Rosh Hashanah table offers another kind of strength.
When we dip apples in honey, we express our hope for a sweet new year. That sweetness does not require us to deny what is painful. It reminds us that difficulty is not the only thing present in our lives.
There is still sweetness in a shared meal, a familiar prayer, a supportive message, a moment of laughter, or the comfort of being with someone who understands.
Recognizing those experiences is not avoidance. It is one way we sustain ourselves. When we allow joy and gratitude to remain part of our lives, we prevent hatred from taking up all the emotional space within us.
Tashlich carries a different lesson.
Tashlich is a Rosh Hashanah custom in which people gather near flowing water and symbolically cast away their sins, regrets, or burdens.
As a child, I experienced tashlich as something we did together. Looking back, I realize how meaningful that was. Even the act of letting go took place within the presence of community.
Today, the ritual makes me think about the emotional weight many Jewish people are carrying. We may not be able to release the reality of antisemitism, but perhaps we can begin to release the belief that we must hold every painful experience by ourselves.
We can put down some of the guilt we may feel when we need to step away from the news. We can give ourselves permission to rest without believing that we have abandoned our community.
We can acknowledge our fear without allowing it to make every decision for us.
We can accept support instead of believing that strength requires us to manage everything alone.
This is where community becomes essential to wellness.
Gathering for Rosh Hashanah connects us to the people beside us, to those who came before us, and to those who will carry these traditions forward. That continuity can strengthen our sense of identity and belonging at a time when both are being challenged.
Our history contains tremendous pain, but pain is not the whole of the Jewish story. Our story also contains family, faith, learning, humor, creativity, celebration, and an extraordinary ability to build community.
That is a source of realistic hope.
Realistic hope does not require us to minimize antisemitism or insist that everything will be fine. It allows us to recognize the seriousness of what we face while remembering the resources we still have.
We have our voices.
We have our traditions.
We have the ability to support one another.
We have the strength to continue creating Jewish life.
As we enter the new year, I hope we can carry forward what strengthens us while giving ourselves permission to put down some of what has become too heavy.
May the sound of the shofar reconnect us with our courage.
May the sweetness of the holiday table remind us that joy still belongs to us.
May tashlich help us make room for relief.
And may our communities remind us that whatever the new year brings, we do not have to face it alone.
שָׁנָה טוֹבָה וּמְתוּקָה
Wishing you all a happy and sweet New Year.