Rosh Hashana @ MindSay

To all my Jewish Mindsay peeps - L'Shanah Tovah Tikateivu -- Have a happy, healthy and sweet new year.

And now -- an obligatory YouTube video:

... Vancouver,BC, that is. For a "gig" -- to be guest cantor at a synagogue for Rosh Hashanah-- the Jewish New Year.

Now -- I just have to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. And then get there and rehearse with the choir.

The money wasn't the ideal amount for which I had hoped, but it's still generous.

the biggest thing is that it will be quite far away from my family -- and for a week.  And with the time difference, I'll be calling Av at around 4:30 - 5:00 to say good night.

Great White North -- here I come!  See you in 5768!

Today has been a good day for us thus far. The three of us headed to Old Town Alexandria, VA for the annual Alexandria Festival of the Arts. They close down the main drag (King Street) to vehicular traffic, and 200-some artists set up their booths in the center of the roadway for several blocks. We ended up buying four prints. There's also a stage with performances by local musical acts. And, of course, there was a playground nearby which we often frequent.

I had noticed that the flags on the plaza in the center of town -- a US flag, a Commonwealth of Virginia flag, and a City of Alexandria flag -- were all at half-mast. I then remembered why: it was in observance of Patriot Day. I mentioned this to socks -- she had just assumed, as it had been all week, that the flags were that way due to the recent death of Justice Rhenquist. I guess we were all about in a very happy atmosphere (and in absolutely amazing weather today!) that it didn't seem as much as a day of mourning. We were both aware of the date -- and I think we always will be aware of September 11 every year to come in our lives. But I think our observance was a nice one: to quote President Bush's proclamation of Patriot Day for 2005, "I call upon all our citizens to express their patriotism and their gratitude for the blessings of liberty. By flying the flag, supporting military families, and teaching young people about our founding ideals, we honor the lives lost on September 11, 2001, and since, and we help preserve our freedom for future generations." Freedom of expression through artistic creativity is certainly an example of one of our dear liberties. And avi certainly searched out as many police officers and fire engines as he could to give them a smile and a wave.

I'd like to share something I wrote the week after September 11, 2001. I delivered it as a sermon at Rosh HaShanah (Jewish New Year) services at the University of Virginia where I was officiating. The subject is that of the blasting of the shofar, the ram's horn fashioned into a kind of trumpet which is sounded on Rosh HaShanah as well as every day in the month leading up to it.

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For years to come, people will be asking us where we were and what we were doing on September 11, 2001.

I was at work. I work in a high tech internet communications campus in Ashburn, Virginia.

For those of you who know the Washington, DC area, this is a high-tech area on the western side of Dulles Airport. Our closest neighbor is another high-tech headquarters. I won’t mention its full name, but the company’s initials are A.O.L.

So I’m at work – it’s a high tech call center. Each of us is at his or her own workstation, testing remote equipment, talking to customers, reading and writing email. On the wall in front of us, in usual fashion, are multiple video screens showing, without audio, CNN, CNBC, CNN Headline News and the Weather Channel. Our company uses these channels to help isolate possible issues with our clientele.

Then, the voices around me started. People pointed to our video screens. We began to see the terror unfold before our eyes. The scrolling banner on the screens filled us in quickly. When tragedy struck the Pentagon minutes later, everyone scrambled to our desk phones and cel phones to call those we loved to make sure we were okay. However, the phone circuits, landline and cel, in Northern Virginia were already clogged, making it very difficult to find an outside line.

Some of us typed at a furious pace to log onto websites. Ironically, since the entire world was trying to log onto cnn.com or msnbc, those of us trying to get news were only successful by reaching news sites at the BBC, Germany, Australia, Singapore or even Israel.

Many of us were panicked. In an age of such ease of global communication, some of us were in the dark. We had been so used to constant connectivity that the few moments of being cut off from the rest of the world made us feel quite alone.

But then came the sounds which then broke the near-silence.

We heard, and were part of, the sound of Instant Messaging. You know that sound. The three tones going up when you receive a message, and the three tones going down once you send one.

And what a comforting sound it was. Computer after computer, row after row, people were communicating once again. There was still a heightened sense of emergency in the air, but at least we were connected. In lieu of the phone, some were making plans to pick up the kids and head home. Some were already home and providing updates from the news. Sure, there were people speaking out loud. But many of us were typing, pressing Enter, hearing those tones which indicated that our messages have been sent, and waited the few seconds for the alert to come back to us – telling us that a message had come back. Somehow, this repetitive sound seemed to let us know that life, however shaken up it may have been, was giving us a sense of familiarity. It let us know that we were communicating again. We didn’t hear words, but the message was still there.

You’ve probably figured out by now where I’m going with this.

The shofar has been a symbol of communication for countless generations. The sound is so distinct to us. When it is sounded today, I bet you’ll find lots of people here in Newcomb Hall (UVA's student union building) perking up and trying to figure out what it is. And if you were walking around campus and heard it, however, you’d probably pick up on what it was almost instantaneously. Hearing the sound of the shofar has always been a sound of comfort for me – something I could recognize as belonging to my community.

As we sound the shofar this year, we hear different types of tones. The “tekiah” – a loud sustained tone, familiar to us. The sound reminds us of triumph and joy.

On the other hand, we also sound the “shevarim” and “tru’ah” – which are broken blasts of the shofar. Shevarim, in fact, means “broken.” The Shevarim symbolizes the happiness and exaltation of the Tekiah – but broken. Some will equate the Shevraim and the Tru’ah – which turns into short, staccato blasts, as the rhythmic sobbing of one who grieves.

Today, if you’re looking for a shofar, you’d probably need to look in a Judaica store. But if you were to look generations back, you’d probably have to go to an arms dealer, for it was used as the primary communications tool in war. In Biblical times, military commanders and officers used the shofar to communicate important signals to their troops, and similarly, civil defense personnel used the shofar to warn civilians of possible attack and to mobilize reserves. Therefore, in a manner similar to one's gut reaction to the sound of a siren today, the sound of a tru'ah in biblical times meant immediate danger. Hearing that sound was associated with going to battle or being under attack.

It’s an interesting dichotomy – a call of happiness and strength, then one of alarm? Why are both sounded together?

Rabbi Ben Ish Chai explains by means of a story. A man had a ring specially made for him. Upon this ring, he had engraved the words "This, too, will pass." If he were troubled and in pain, he would look at his ring and remember that the suffering would eventually end. This thought comforted him. During times of happiness and comfort, he would gaze at the ring as well. He would realize that his wealth and good fortune could change for the worst in an instant. Good times are not forever. He would recognize that there was no reason to become conceited and haughty over circumstances which were beyond his control and could turn adverse without any warning. This ring reminded the man that all in his life had to be put in perspective, and that one should live his life neither complacent nor despondent.

The tekiah, the first sound, is a sound of joy and happiness. Immediately after we hear the long exultant blast, we hear the shevarim and teruah. These are both sounds of sadness, pain and suffering. The stark contrast between these sounds is intentional. We are supposed to remember while listening to the shofar that we cannot forget tragedy during times of contentment, and we cannot let ourselves let our heads get too big from our achievements. Success can quickly turn into failure. Only with God's help did we prosper, and only with God's help will we continue to do so. However, upon hearing the sorrowful sound of the Shofar, we should not think that in times of suffering God has abandoned us. We should not become depressed and despondent. Right after these blasts, we sound a tekiah again, to signify that it is possible to return to a state of jubilation again.

The voice of the shofar can be one of an alarm – a wake-up call for us to be ready and alert for any misfortune which comes our way. But that same instrument can be used to express victory and accomplishment, as it has in the past. As you listen to the blasts of the shofar, I hope you feel its comfort as I have – in its call to the community of hope and triumph.

Shanah Tovah.

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Acknowledgements to my brother, Rob, to Rabbi Yehuda Prero, and to Menachem Leibtag for some of the ideas written here.