The two following verses are found in the liturgy recited before blowing the shofar:
“Out of my straits I called upon God; He answered me with divine alleviation.” (Psalms 118:5)
“You hear my voice; please be not deaf to my plea for well-being.” (Lament. 3:56)
In the Midrash (Eccles. Rabbah 9:3 on the verse Eccles. 9:7) “Go, eat with joy your bread, and with a glad heart drink your wine, for God has already favored your works,” we learn the following:
They said in the name of R. Levy: This verse is an allusion to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
A parable: A city owed tax arrears to the crown. The king with his treasury agents went to collect the debt. Ten miles from the city, the nobility came out and greeted the king with praises; He forgave them one third of their debt. Five miles from the city, people of the middle classes greeted the king with praises; He forgave them another third of their debt. As he approached the city, men, women, and children came out to greet him, singing his praises; He forgave them their whole debt, saying to them, “What has passed has passed, let us now begin a fresh reckoning.” So it is on the eve of Rosh Hashanah when the leaders of the generation fast God forgives a third of their sins, as it is written (Psalm 130:4), “Forgiveness is with You, so that You be feared.” Certain individuals fast on those days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and God forgives them another third of their sins. On the day of Yom Kippur, everyone fasts, men, women, and children alike, and God forgives them all their sins, saying, “Whatever has passed has passed; let us now begin a fresh reckoning.” Then a voice goes out from heaven saying, “Go, eat with joy your bread and with a glad heart drink your wine, for God has already favored your works.”
R. Acha said, “Forgiveness is all readied and prepared at Rosh Hashanah, as it is written, ‘Forgiveness is with You, so that You be feared.’ So that fear be upon all Your creatures, God.”
The Midrash makes clear two noteworthy ideas: that forgiveness is readied and prepared at Rosh Hashanah, and that the reason for this is so we should fear God. In fact, we have previously learned that the reason the Holy Blessed One created the entire universe was in order that we fear Him, as it is written (Eccles. 3:14), “And God made it, in order that they fear Him.”
But what this Midrash adds is the idea that even the concept of forgiveness was conceived only to enable us to fear God.
When all of his blunders and previous errors torment a person, it is impossible for him to fear God honestly, with dread and reverence of God’s blessed greatness and His awesome power. Real fear of God is the awe of His very greatness that is experienced by every Jewish soul, each according to his own level of sensitivity. There is, for instance, the person for whom the fear of the tremendous holiness of God is felt viscerally, who trembles at the very idea of erring, God forbid, or of acting against the wishes of God. And then there is the person whose fear is experienced merely as a fear of punishment. This fear also stems from his soul, which fears God’s greatness, but because of the person’s self-centeredness and insensitivity to his soul, it is experienced as fear of being punished or fear that his personal needs will not be sufficiently met.
All this is true only at those times when the essential Jewish soul predominates, for only then can it feel its genuine closeness to God and tremble at the fear of God. This cannot happen when a person is miserable because of his blunders and is tormented by them. Then, crushed and declining, he may be totally numbed in body and soul, unable to feel anything at all, let alone the fear of God or a trembling at His awesome power. This is the meaning of the verse (Psalm 130:4) “Forgiveness is with You, so that You be feared.” As we read in the Midrash above, from Rosh Hashanah the forgiveness—including not only exoneration but also remission and salvation—is all prepared and readied “so that fear be upon all Your creatures, God.”
Rosh Hashanah, the Ten Days of Repentance, and Yom Kippur are particularly favorable times in which to find the Holy One, blessed be He. Our sages of blessed memory explained the verse “Seek God while He may be found” (Isaiah 55:6) by asking, “When may a person find God?” and answering, “He may be found during the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.” (Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 18a) The sages were saying that during this period the revelation of God is manifest in the soul of every person, and so the fear of God is awakened in each person with greater clarity and greater strength.
Why are the perceived closeness and the manifest revelation of God most noticeable at this time of the year? In order to reveal God’s sovereignty. We say in the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, immediately upon blowing the Shofar, “Today is the birthday of the world.” As was said earlier, the purpose of Creation is to reveal God’s sovereignty over the Jewish people, and so it follows that in this period, at the birthday of the world, God’s sovereignty is felt most acutely.
And so the meaning of the Midrash quoted above, with the parable about the people of the city who came out to sing the praises of the king, becomes clear. The people came out to sing praises of the King because this was their way of acknowledging His sovereignty. The parable compares our fasting during the period of the Ten Days of Repentance to their singing of the praises of the king. It might then be asked: What kind of praise is fasting? With what we have already said, we can readily explain what the Midrash means. It is not only the songs and praises that we sing on these days; or the prayers, crying, and beseeching we do; that sing the praises of God, but even our fasting and acts of self denial are acknowledgments of God. They stress our feeling that the soul within us, our viscera, feels the revelation and imminence of God. That we tremble before Him, and shudder at the mere thought of sinning.
There is great need for us to arouse and excite our own fear of heaven during this period, because the fear itself is an acceptance of the yoke of God’s sovereignty upon us. All the cries of the Jewish people heard in this period are a revelation of God’s sovereignty and an acceptance of God’s sovereignty upon us. Even those pleas and prayers in which we beseech God to take care of our physical needs are also a kind of revelation of His sovereignty and a praising of Him. God has revealed His majesty to us and we have accepted His sovereignty over us. We have returned to Him, and so we also ask of Him that He meet our needs. Who else can fill the needs of His people and His servants if not God, King of kings, the Holy Blessed One? This is the praise we sing to God: the fact that we acknowledge and accept upon ourselves God’s sovereignty.
A person may take it as a sign that his fears flow from his soul’s awareness of the proximity and revelation of God if he finds himself anxious and fearful during this period. If he finds himself doing a personal inventory, examining himself without any thought of self-justification, but, on the contrary, reviewing his own behavior and scrutinizing the very smallest of his sins; if there arise in him feelings of remorse and even anger at himself, such that he says, “Woe, that I sinned against God. How am I acknowledging Him as Sovereign over me?”; if during this period he feels himself donning the yoke of the fear of heaven, accepting the weight of God’s sovereignty upon himself, for the year to come, then his pleas—even those related solely to his own needs—are all forms of worship and a singing of God’s praises. In fact, it is especially appropriate that we cry out to God to meet our needs during these days more so than all the rest of the year.
There is a parable of a prince who was captured and held captive by the most contemptible people, who afflicted him. Suddenly, the prince, sensing the proximity of the king, started shouting and crying bitterly, “Help me, father! Help me, my liege!”
The prince felt the king’s manifest nearness, and so his increased weeping was an indication that he was experiencing a revelation of the king’s closeness. Similarly, the increase in the intensity of crying heard from all Jews at this time, over their own suffering—the suffering of loved ones and the suffering of all Israel—is a sign that they are experiencing the manifest revelation of God’s sovereignty. Of course, this is only true when and if a person genuinely feels his fear of God growing stronger and his yearning to crown God as King growing more powerful.
Now, it is also true that people repent each in his own way, all year round, and that every day we pray for our life, health, and sustenance. Why then should Rosh Hashanah be considered so unique? What makes the day so easily distinguishable is the sounds associated with it—not only those of the shofar, but also more generally the piercing sounds made by our voices of repentance and the poignancy of our pleas for sustenance. Rosh Hashanah is unique because at this time our souls feel the revelation of our Father, our King. As we said above, we are like the prince who at the time when he feels his father, his king, close to him cries out with all his heart and all his strength, quite unlike the way he calls out during the rest of the year. This is how our praying ought to be on Rosh Hashanah. In addition to the sound of the blowing of the shofar, the whole day ought to resound with the sounds of our prayers and the strength of our cries. They are signs that we are in touch with our awareness of the revelation of God’s sovereignty and our acceptance of the yoke of heaven. A person’s prayers at this time of the year should not resemble those of the whole year round, for if his prayers display no emotion and do not cry out loud, though he recite all the poems in the liturgy, it is a sign that he has not noticed his Father is close and unveiled. When a person prays with great passion and clamor, however, it is a sign that he knows his Father is revealed, and that he accepts upon himself the yoke of heaven.
We are able to understand this with the help of a well-known parable expounded by his honor, my holy father and teacher, my rabbi, of holy blessed memory, in his holy book, Imrei Elimelech. (p. 330) A prince began to stray from the proper path, giving his life to vain, empty things and to the company of base and reckless people. Courtiers began complaining to the king about the prince and his behavior. They claimed that he disobeyed the king’s decree and did nothing to glorify his father, the king, or to acknowledge his father’s sovereignty at all. Furthermore, it was charged that in addition to all the things of which the prince already stood accused, he had become so insensible with fickleness that he did not even acknowledge his father as sovereign, and could not distinguish between his father and a commoner.
The prince was exiled from the king’s presence and sent to live among vulgar people who maltreated him, making him suffer, until in his great anguish he began to ask himself, “Why am I in this predicament, in so much pain?” He started to heed the decrees of his father, and to plead, “Please, father, have mercy on me; save me. Take me back to you and I will do your bidding. Heal me from all my hurt, for how can I do all that needs to be done when my hands are broken, my heart is broken, and my head is full of wounds?”
But the prince had many enemies in court at that time. There was no shortage of accusers to maintain the deceit that the prince still lacked respect for his father and his father’s sovereignty, and that all his cries were simply a response to being exiled from his father’s house. They pretended that the prince’s cries were due only to the pain of being hurt and beaten; that his cries of “Father, father!” were simply a conditioned reflex, nothing more than childhood memories of his father chastising him; that seeing the faces of people he recognized had jolted his memory somewhat, because the king, his father, had been in the habit of sending trusted advisors to help rehabilitate his son. His accusers offered the king other proofs of their words, saying, “Even now he has no intention of accepting upon himself the king’s decree; otherwise, why listen to those vulgar people, and take their advice as well? Obviously he doesn’t truly recognize your majesty’s sovereignty.” The accusers’ indictment succeeded so well that despite his pleas and supplications, the prince remained in exile and misery, God forbid.
Once, the king passed before the windows of his son’s room at a time when his thoughts were composed, and the prince started to yell out all the cries that he was accustomed to shouting: “Woe, I am in pain! I have no food, Father! Take me back, bring me close to you. . . .” The prince shouted with a voice so piercing and bitter, it caused the doorposts to tremble. His father ran to him, embracing him and taking him close unto himself. When the accusers began muttering their customary charges, that the prince had only been crying because he was accustomed to doing so, that even now he did not really recognize his father or his sovereignty, the king thundered at them:” Now I see that all this time it was only because you hated my son that you denounced him. For who can not instantly hear when cries are genuine? It was obvious he recognized me. He cried when he saw me because he recognized me; he knows that I am the king and that his destiny is in my hands. His repentance came from his acceptance of my sovereignty upon himself. Even his pleas for his physical needs came from his recognition and acceptance of my sovereignty.”
The analogy is obvious. The Jewish people are “My son, My firstborn, Israel.” (Exodus 4:22) For their sakes God created all the worlds, that they might direct all the worlds. At first they were on the level of “Israel, it is in you am I glorified,” (Isaiah 49:3) but later they strayed from the path, and in heaven there began the accusations against them. The charges stated that because of the great capriciousness of the Jewish people, because they were so steeped in their ignorance, they did not even acknowledge God’s sovereignty. “And they say to the tree, ‘you are my father.’ ” (Jeremiah 2:27) Consequently, they were banished from the palace of the King, to dwell among people who torture them and cause them suffering. We have long felt our suffering, like the prince who was forced to ask himself, “Why am I in this predicament, in so much pain?” We began to plead, “Please, father, have mercy on us; save us. Take us back to you, and we will do your bidding. You, our King, draw us near to You.” But the accusers are not idle. They continue to malign us, saying that even now, God forbid, we do not recognize God’s sovereignty; that we have no humility and do not negate our ego before the sovereignty of heaven; that even now, our crying is only because we are in trouble. They say it is only because of the prophets sent by God, who were so plainly manifest in ancient times, and because of the messengers that God secretly sends to us these days, that we are accustomed to repenting and returning; that all our remorse is just force of habit; that we are grown used to the fact that we have to beg and entreat—that we have become habituated to the need to speak words of contrition, but all of this is done without any real recognition of God’s sovereignty. The accusers even try to prove the veracity of their words, showing that even as we repent and return, hearkening to God, we also listen to others. They say we listen not just to our own evil inclination, which tries to lure us with manifold seductions, but to every kind of depraved and malign influence.
One can hardly deny that in these modern times there are young people who have abandoned spirituality, straying from the proper road, God forbid. Those influenced by their friends and peers are greater in number than those who are seduced by their own evil inclination. They observe, and then copy others, saying, “If they do this then so must I, or else I will be considered dull, or seen as old fashioned and reactionary,” etc. And so the accusers use this to prove that the good that people try to do, their contrition and repentance, is done merely out of habit, from imitating others; that people do not actually recognize the One and only Master of all, or acknowledge the sovereignty of heaven, God forbid, but simply do the bidding of anyone who happens to come along.
This is why even though we repent and return and pray, we are nevertheless still in exile and our troubles intensify. The situation has deteriorated so much, to the point that it is not just our ancestors that lived many hundreds of years ago who would be unable to comprehend our predicament. We ourselves, had we been told just thirty years ago that we would find ourselves in such a serious plight, would have been unable to imagine how it could happen and how we could survive it.
If, however, during this period, our souls really do feel the imminence of God; if in our excitement we shout out all our prayers truly from the depths of our hearts, then our words of contrition and the sounds of the shofar will stop the mouths of all our accusers. This then becomes the proof that we have recognized God’s sovereignty, that we accept upon ourselves the yoke of His sovereignty, and that we have truly returned and repented. When this is so, even the requests for our own basic physical needs are also a sign that we recognize the majesty of God that is being revealed to us at this time.
This is why Rosh Hashanah is so noted for the piquancy of its liturgy, the sounds of the shofar and the sounds of the prayers: because at this time we are aware of the revelation of the sovereignty of God.
In the holy Zohar (Vol. II 20a) it is written, R. Yehuda said: “Yelling and crying are the highest forms of prayer. The Hebrew words tsa’akah and za’akah, meaning ‘yelling’ and ‘crying,’ are one and the same thing. They are much closer to the Holy Blessed One than moaned or whispered prayers, as it is written: ‘If he shouts to Me, I will listen to his cry.’ (Exodus 22:22) It is precisely because we feel God’s closeness and recognize only His sovereignty that before blowing the shofar we pray, ‘Out of my straits I called upon God.’ We also call out to Him, saying ‘You hear my voice. . . .’ Listen to the cries and shouts of our voices, for it is only You that we recognize. We accept Your sovereignty; therefore, ‘Please be not deaf to my plea for well being.’ ”