Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is the author of Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion from CCAR Press. As Rosh HaShanah approaches, we share one of her poems from the book for the Jewish new year.
Hin’ni: Here I Am The Confession of a Broken Heart
I am HERE. I am here. I stand before the open ark and the eternal scrolls of our people dressed in white light. I stand ready to enter the Holy Days, to offer prayers that urge me to live better, kinder, ever present to the pain of others, to become a vessel of compassion, trustworthy, holding hope in the midst of despair.
Hin’ni. I am here, I am here. I stand on the edge between earth and heaven, between what I know and what I can never understand, between life and life everlasting. Mortality hovers, a rippling presence, always there—lingering, waiting, holding. I am here.
Hin’ni. I am here. I stand resilient, determined, though I have been taken down, forced to live a different way. The rhythm of life has been altered. Time unfolds and morphs, expands and stands still. I have been called to be present, to pay attention. What I have I learned? What have I done with the time I have been given, glorious time of never-ending possibility? Have I squandered the beauty, the radiance of life, an offering to my inner being?
Who am I? Where have I gone astray? Am I worthy to pray with my people? May I be worthy to pray with my people.
Hear my plea, grant me the faith, courage, and wisdom to enter into cheshbon hanefesh: the fragility and humility of self-examination.
Hin’ni, I am here, I am here. May this fractured heart soften and hold love and compassion in a way it never has before.
The High Holy Day season calls us to go from the experience of brokenness to the presence of God, from the pain of loss to the promise of renewal, from the worst of what we experience to the best of what we can imagine. We need—I need—the High Holy Day season this year more than ever.
This season of introspection and improvement arrives for me in the nick of time. I’m surprised by how much harder it has been to begin this year’s journey of self-examination. How could it possibly be any more difficult than last year, in the days leading up to the first anniversary of October 7, 2023? Consumed with writing in the aftermath of the attack that year, I completed my High Holy Day book Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe to give voice to the pain of our times and to elevate—against all odds—the call for hope, renewal, justice, peace, and life revived. Turns out, I wrote the book for myself.
Yes, I’m turning to my own book to find meaning this year. I typically find ongoing meaning by continuing to write, not by returning to my work, with the exception of public readings. I simply recommend my books to others, hoping they will find meaning and comfort in my words, and I keep writing. Yet I haven’t fully moved on emotionally and spiritually since October 7, and today my own book is speaking to me as if it is someone else’s voice.
My book, in fact, is singing a duet with another book of poetry, prayer, and inspiration. My heart is drawn to what Rabbi Karyn Kedar writes about the beginning of the High Holy Day journey, which is to experience and examine brokenness. It peaks on Tishah B’Av when we commemorate the destruction of the two temples in Jerusalem. As she writes in her new book Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion, “The month of Av grounds us with a simple warning: Humanity has an unlimited desire and capacity to create love, but at the same time, humanity has the will and the means to destroy itself. Av asks us to dwell in our desire to live an elevated life…”
I want to dwell in the desire for an elevated life. I want to live in a nation that elevates life. With hostages still in captivity, a two-year set of wars within wars, frequent sirens and trips to bomb shelters, starvation in Gaza, and with global antisemitism spiking, I am putting my hope and faith in this season of introspection to help me find not answers, but ways of being. How to be an Israeli-American progressive Zionist who has no faith in the Israeli government. How to be a Zionist who has given my life to this land, but demands a better government and a better future for Israelis and Palestinians alike.
“The High Holy Days can lift us on words of Torah and prayer to the heights of our best selves,” I write in the introduction to Enter These Gates. “The days also call forth the deepest moments of our vulnerability and pain.” We use that vulnerability and pain as medicine, as a path to healing ourselves as a pivotal step in healing the world.
This year, I am taking Rabbi Kedar’s Unfolding, and my own Enter These Gates, into my first High Holy Day pulpit as an HUC rabbinical student. It is a selfish act of love for myself and the community in which I will serve. It is a selfish act for the people of Israel to demand a better nation for ourselves and the world. It is a selfish act for all of Klal Yisrael for each of us to do everything we can to find the best of who we are and of what God expects from us.
Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is the author of Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion from CCAR Press. In this excerpt, she explains the special rhythm of the Jewish calendar from the months of Av to Tishrei.
My wondering is my prayer. Beauty is my prayer. My spiritual agitation is my prayer. My prayer is the quiet by the window, which frames my thinking room as the sun sheds an early hue. I have sought silent amazement all the days of my life. I linger.
And I invite you to linger with me. This volume is my attempt to synchronize our spiritual search for meaning with the heartbeat of a few weeks of the Jewish calendar. It is an ode to our mortality, a song to our sense of impermanence. The words are meant to scratch at our imperfections. If we are flawed, and we truly are, then what is our worth? How do we find our purpose within the cracks and fissures of our being? Where do we find meaning?
We live and tarry in these questions for just a few weeks, from Av to Elul to the beginning of Tishrei. This becomes an arch where we slowly become aware, touching our existential longing to live deeply, intently, lovingly, and meaningfully. It is an invitation to a spiritual unfolding.
We begin with Tishah B’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av—a time of mourning and remembering the many calamities that have befallen the Jewish people. The month of Av is a solemn period grounded in historical circumstances that encourages deep personal reflection. The Temple was destroyed on the ninth of Av in 70 CE because of human frailty; we chose hate over love, and all was lost for the nation. So too, with us—when we give in to negativity, we lose so much. Destruction, we learn, is caused by senseless hatred. Redemption will come with love.
We begin here, in the ashes, for we learn from our tradition that we are but dust. We are of the earth and will return to the earth. This is not a statement of self-deprecation—after all, we are also taught that we stand on holy ground—but rather a call for a humble perspective. It is the reality of human nature to rise and to fall, to love and to hate, to give and to withhold. The month of Av grounds us with a simple warning: Humanity has the unlimited desire and capacity to create and love, but at the same time, humanity has the will and the means to destroy itself. Av asks us to dwell in our desire to live an elevated life—an unfolding toward loving rather than fear.
Nestled between the lowliness of Av and the overwhelming spirituality of Tishrei is the ethereal month of Elul. Elul invites us to contemplate thoughts of forgiveness, love, and beauty. For the entire month, we sing songs of penitence, praying. Praying that we will be forgiven, for we are deeply flawed. Praying that we can forgive, for we are afraid to let go. Remembering that we are created for glorious things—if we can live a life of strength and resilience, depth and compassion.
Love is not a feeling but a spiritual state, not an emotion but a practice. We yearn for an expansive love that lifts us and connects us to our highest impulses. To be gentler with ourselves and find greater self-love. To embrace our relationships with open hearts and understanding. To find a faith grounded in the awareness that love abides and abounds if only we reach for it.
The mantra of the month of Elul is Psalm 27, recited daily: “There is only one thing I seek, to gaze upon beauty all the days of my life” (verse 4). We consider words and concepts such as God, holiness, love, and beauty. For me, they are synonymous and the dwelling place of the aspirational soul.
The calendar leads us further into the thicket of reflection, self-awareness, moral accountability, and spiritual elevation. The first ten days of the month of Tishrei are called the Ten Days of Repentance. For weeks now, we have readied ourselves for the intensity of these ten days. We have practiced sustaining a thoughtful and contemplative pose, thinking about where we have come from, who we are, and who we desire to become. We have tended to our wounds, nurtured our hearts, and immersed ourselves in matters of the spirit. It is healing to realize that these days begin with Rosh HaShanah, a celebration of Creation, when the world shines new and we know that the power to recreate ourselves lies within our attention and intention to do so. The shofar sounds, a clarion call to awaken what lies dormant within so that we may journey ever deeper into repentance and forgiveness, unfolding into a deeper sense of self.
And then Yom Kippur. We are tired, humbled, ecstatic with hope, crying out one last time. We deny ourselves food and drink. On this holiest of days, with nowhere to go, we go inward. We use metaphors that create a sense of urgency like “the gates begin to close” and “seal us in the Book of Life.” We sing one more time of sin and repentance, rocking ourselves, hopeful that we can find the way, the path to a deeper life. A more thoughtful life. A forgiving life. And we bring our generations with us, immersing ourselves in loss and memory and the acute understanding that we are mortal. Morality is the demanding consciousness of Yom Kippur, bidding us to live better, deeper, and kinder. From dust. To dust.
Alden Solovy is the author of Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe, now available from CCAR Press. As Rosh HaShanah approaches, we share one of Alden’s poems from the book for the new year.
Meditation on the Eve of a New Year God, We stand at the cusp of a new year, Looking forward, looking backward, So much accomplished, So much neglected, Gains and losses, Joys and sorrows, Victories and defeats. A life. My life.
You, God of Old, You are Steadfast Witness, Source and Shelter. I bend my heart to You, Recalling all of Your gifts.
God, For consolation in my grief, For sunlight and midnight, For hope in my celebrations, For warmth and for shelter, For current and tide, For family and for friends, For the flow of beauty and grace, I bend my life back to You, As the New Year descends, In love and in service, My offering To Your holy name.
Alden Solovy is the author of Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe, now available from CCAR Press. In this excerpt from the introduction, he reflects on the meaning of the High Holy Days and how his book can deepen our experiences of this season.
What a strange thing we do each year at the High Holy Days: We put our own humanity on trial. We take an accounting of our souls precisely at the moment we celebrate the creation of the world and lift up the sovereignty of God. We take accounting of our own souls because the world needs us each at our best, because part of perfecting God’s world is healing ourselves. Even though we know that the world will offer us moments of challenge—like September 11 and October 7—we choose to look deeply at our lives again and again, year after year.
The High Holy Days can lift us on words of Torah and prayer to the heights of our best selves. The days also call forth the deepest moments of our vulnerability and pain. Our memories—joyous and painful—meet our hopes for the future. These are the days of our most intimate self- assessment. By design, our liturgy brings out our sorrows, our fears, and our vulnerabilities. Yet the intent—far from punishment or retribution—is to lift us toward our best selves. Repentance. Prayer. Charity. Confession. Forgiveness. We ask a lot of ourselves and our liturgy. Our liturgy and our tradition ask a lot from us.
These challenges led to the genesis of my new book, Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe. The volume has two purposes. The first is to serve as a source of new meditations for private use, a path to deepening our individual experiences of the Days of Awe. The second is as a new liturgical supplement to Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe, which has been in use for more than a decade. Central to this book is the goal of helping clergy and congregations bring refreshed vigor and new voices into High Holy Day worship. Enter These Gates can also be used in conjunction with Mishkan HaLev: Prayers for S’lichot and the Month of Elul.
This volume offers more than one hundred new readings based on the core thematic elements of the High Holy Day liturgy. Some of the works are traditional in form and language, recognizable as riffs on particular prayers. Other prayer poems offered here blend traditional themes with storytelling, music-like interlude, or liturgical reframing.
My hopes are that:
▪ Rabbis and other clergy incorporate some of this work into High Holy Day worship, including S’lichot and Tashlich.
▪ Congregations place copies of Enter These Gates in their pews and prayer bookshelves so that congregants and participants can encounter this work in private prayer during services.
▪ Individuals use this volume during the month of Elul and the Days of Awe as part of their own personal journeys of High Holy Day preparation.
▪ Educators use this volume for supplemental prayer in religious school worship in the weeks leading up to the High Holy Days, as well as for teaching High Holy Day themes.
▪ Rabbis, clergy, and educators use Enter These Gates to teach about the High Holy Days in adult education and conversion classes.
The introduction to Mishkan HaNefesh asks, “Opening a prayer book on the High Holy Days, what do we hope to find?” If a machzor (High Holy Day prayer book) is successful, it goes on to say, “It leads us on a path across rough terrain.” Soul searching. Introspection. Mortality. Our shortcomings. Our beliefs. “It tests our spiritual stamina, and we do well to make use of imagination and memory.”
Although Enter These Gates is a book of prayers and meditations for the High Holy Days, don’t be fooled. It is really a mirror. A dream. A doorway. It is a book of imagination and memory, a book of challenges and warnings, a book of hopes and aspirations. It is a descent into fire and an ascent into secrets that rise to heaven.
Rabbi Hara Person, Chief Executive of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, shares her gratitude for the unending work of CCAR members, and shares her hope that they find joys both big and small as the new year 5784 begins.
To the Reform rabbis of the CCAR,
These High Holy Days are full of joy, reflection, and gratitude. The ability to be reflective, to write ourselves anew, is an incredible gift that we get to re-experience every year at this time.
The Psalms exhort us to “worship God in gladness, come into God’s presence with shouts of joy” (Psalms 100:2). As part of my personal High Holy Day prep, I’ve been reflecting on the idea of joy, which, though so profoundly central to our personal and professional lives, can be a challenge. Perhaps it’s because of the stress of the world that bears down on us; perhaps it’s because of all the many things wrong in the world and in our lives. Perhaps it’s because it can be so hard to live up to the best versions of ourselves to which we aspire. Perhaps it’s because our internal monologues tell us we’re not good enough, or deserving enough.
Additionally—and on so many levels—these are difficult times we are living in. As rabbis, we take so much upon ourselves. Because we take seriously the mandate to help heal the world, and there is so much healing to be done, it can feel overwhelming. Joy can often feel out of reach, even unattainable. There are so many reasons to struggle with experiencing joy.
Yet with all the uncertainty around us, I see what you are doing. In all the ways that you are serving the Jewish people, in congregations and communities around the world, in the military, in hospitals and healthcare settings, in schools and at camp, on college campuses and in all kinds of mission-driven organizations, in the early days of your rabbinic career and in retirement, I know that you are giving all you’ve got to bring inspiration, hope, and healing.
I am so grateful to you all. And dare I say that seeing all that you do as a rabbinate brings me more than a small amount of joy, and hope.
I recently came across a piece in the Washington Post by Richard Sima about something he calls “joy-snacking.” He writes, “By mindfully tuning into the pleasant, nice and sometimes routine experiences of every day, we can transform an otherwise mundane moment into something more meaningful and even joyful.” Apparently, there are scholars who study joy—who knew? One of their findings is that when people experience the small joys of everyday living, they find greater meaning in life, feel more connected, have a sense of purpose, and are more likely to flourish.
So, as we enter this new year with our hearts open and our souls determined to chart a positive and purposeful path in 5784, I invite you to consider this concept of “joy-snacking.” We each have the agency and indeed the responsibility for the care and feeding of our own souls, not only the souls of those we serve. Finding the small quotidian joys in the course of our daily lives is part of that process. Even as we focus on the heavy lifting that we each individually have to do as our part of helping to repair this very damaged world, this divided society in which we live, our beloved Israel in such pain, and in some cases the very communities in which we serve, we also have to push ourselves to find those moments of joy that uplift us, give us meaning, and help us keep going so that we have the energy and motivation for the hard work that lies ahead.
And there is much hard work ahead. As rabbis we are called to heal, to speak out loudly and courageously against injustice, to give voice to the voiceless and hope to the hopeless. We’re asked to do so much, and we ask a lot of ourselves. That work can’t be done without properly nourishing our own souls. Finding those glimmers of gladness and joy is also part of our mandate as rabbis, for it not only helps ground us and gives us purpose, but it also helps us connect to the Divine and reminds us of why we do this work.
The poet Rahel points us to finding those tiny joys, which add blessings to our days.
Tiny Joys Tiny joys, joys like a lizard’s tail: a sudden sea between two city buildings in the west, windows glittering in the setting sun— everything blessed! Everything blessed. A consoling music in everything, in everything mysteries and hints— and everything waiting for corals of beautiful words to be strung by the imagination on its string.
[Tiny Joys, by Rachel Bluwstein, Found in Translation, transl. Robert Friend (Milford, CT: Toby Press, 2006]
In this new year, may you find the tiny joys—and maybe some big joys, too. May all of those joys bring meaning and help you focus on what matters. May you find blessings and purpose in all that you do. May you have the strength to be a voice for justice, and may you continue to be a blessing and an inspiration.
Wishing you and yours health, happiness, and hope in 5784.
It’s been four years since the publication of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27: A Spiritual Practice for the Jewish New Year by CCAR Press. I have not only been blessed to engage in this work myself, but I also have been able to share it with my congregation and students around the world, sometimes in person, and more often and regularly, online. As Elul’s 2023 season of reflection and renewal begins, I am preparing to see this psalm and myself as new, yet linked eternally to the past. This is your invitation to the practice.
The month of Elul begins on Friday, August 18, and with it the daily practice of reading Psalm 27 for seven weeks—from the arrival of the month to the close of the festival season on Simchat Torah. With only fourteen verses and 149 Hebrew words (roughly two hundred in English depending on the translation), it’s a psalm to savor. Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav understood the danger of the twenty-first-century binge when he wrote, “…But even if you are not motivated to t’shuvah”—the spiritual work of turning, changing, being at one with oneself, others, and God—“. . . the regular recitation of Psalms will lead you to awakening; you will come to the gates of t’shuvah and find the key to open its closed gates. In this manner you will attain complete t’shuvah.”[1] It does not matter if we read or sing, in Hebrew or English. What matters is that we engage with Psalm 27 slowly over the seven week season; in this way, the psalm holds the keys to open the gates of the heart.
At this season of the year, I try to be a strict adherent of the poet Wendell Berry’s advice, “Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air … stay away from screens…”[2] It’s not easy to stay away from the phone or computer screens, but I am successful in staying away from television screens. I don’t watch much TV to begin with, but there are times when I miss an entire season of a show and binge-watch it to catch up. The seasons of TV shows, going back to school, even vacation, have become linked to frenzied rushed behavior rather than an embrace of the unfolding evolution of seasons in nature or the healthy pace of this sacred High Holy Day season in our Jewish tradition. Each season of the year is different, just like each year is unique, and so too our experience with Psalm 27, year after year, or for the first time.
Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27 was published in 2019, and Season 1 began with celebratory singing and chanting[3] at each private reading and public gathering. Season 2 launched in Elul 2020 as the COVID pandemic pushed us apart. Words of Psalm 27 shared weekly online were a light and a salvation,[4] and in those moments we were not abandoned.[5]
The Psalm 27: Opening Your Heart app arrived in time for of Season 3 in 2021, bringing photographs, music, multiple voices, and gentle guidance to the sacred work. There were still enemies roundabout[6] and each day was chaotic[7] but from our Zoom boxes we saw God’s face[8] in each other; this gave us hope and courage to continue to wait[9] until we could be together in person again. By the start of Season 4 we were confident that we could make our way along an apparent path[10]; each of us and each word of Psalm 27 could be new each day.
And what to expect in Season 5? Surely the original characters of fear and doubt will reemerge from their hiding places[11], and alongside them, courage and hope.[12] Season 5 is also Season 1, meaning it doesn’t matter whether you’ve been reading the psalm for five years or fifty years. In this 2023 season, it is: fresh and new, an invitation to rest on a rock[13], seek shelter in a sacred place[14], lift the head and raise the gaze[15], to offer an offering[16] in song or deed, to seek out a new upright road[17] and to continue to wait and hope, to do the spiritual work and find the keys to open the heart in this new year.
Any season was and is a great time to begin the practice, and any day is great. It is never too late and never too early, and there’s no need to catch up or cram. This season is a gift of our tradition, a time to lounge and linger with the language of Psalm 27, finding in it the keys to open the gates of memory and tears, of gratitude and faith, of t’shuvah and transformation.
The S’lichot prayers are traditionally recited on the Saturday night before Rosh HaShanah to help prepare us for the soul-searching and transformation that we hope to do during the High Holy Days. S’lichot is thus the opening scene of our efforts each Jewish year to build a life of meaning, a life of consequence.
We want to break through the routines to which we have become accustomed. As we entered adulthood, we developed certain habits that served us well at the time. Some of these are still valuable practices that serve important functions for one reason or another, but many others are useless, pointless, or even counterproductive. Sometimes we develop workarounds that achieve what needs to be done in the moment but not necessarily in the best way. There is a story about a person who takes their car to a mechanic because the brakes aren’t working. When they come back the next day, the mechanic tells them “I couldn’t fix your brakes, but I made your horn louder.” Isn’t that what we have often done when facing challenges in our lives? We did the best we could, patching things over in order to carry on.
Real change is hard. In fact, it’s well-nigh impossible unless there is some sort of burning internal or external motivation. If the doctor were to say to us, “You have one year to live,” then we might go home and, after pouring ourselves a stiff drink, actually decide to change everything, living in a completely different way than we had been up to that point. There are other dramatic moments in life that can compel us to spontaneously reject everything that we have always done and move in a completely different direction.
Yet I don’t think that S’lichot is trying to push us to impetuously change our lives 180 degrees in one evening. So don’t trade in your Ford Explorer for a Porsche. Don’t buy a plane ticket to India in order to spend the rest of your life in an ashram. Don’t book your seat next to Elon Musk to fly off to Mars. Rather, I would argue that what Judaism is asking us to do on S’lichot evening is to evaluate and reevaluate our lives in order to try to realize our full potential for lasting fulfillment.
Several years ago, I was the editor of a CCAR Press volume titled A Life of Meaning: Embracing Reform Judaism’s Sacred Path. Our goal was to get people thinking about what Reform Judaism could mean in terms of how we find meaning in our lives. Though published before the pandemic started, the chapters remain timely and relevant. As we enter a reflective mode during this S’lichot season, I hope this book can inspire us to create positive change, both in our communities and in ourselves.
We are reminded by the words in the prayer book that we are granted the gift of life, a gift of uncertain duration but of certain laborious effort. However much we protest or negotiate, this short time is all we get. For many, fate overwhelms, truncates, or destroys their journey. To the best of our knowledge, this is the one life that we have, and we have a sacred obligation to make the most of it. And so, let us pray that this new year 5782 may be a year of wisdom acquired and shared, a year of virtue and the strengthening of our characters, a year of mitzvot and the meaningful practice of ritual, and a year of community and the sharing of our commitment to making the world a better place. May God’s presence in our lives this new year strengthen our souls and renew our spirits.
These days, books go far beyond print volumes—they can be converted into many digital formats. Perhaps the most straightforward digital form of a book is an ebook; CCAR Press has over a decade of experience creating a variety of ebooks, from basic reflowable text to enhanced, interactive, multimedia versions. However, there are often compelling reasons to put in the extra time and resources to transform a book into a standalone app.
With our busy lives, a meditative practice is always a challenging new routine—we often need a bit more help to begin and maintain such a practice. Our new app, Psalm 27: Opening Your Heart, includes a variety of features designed to help in this process. When you first open the app, you are presented clearly with the basic steps and flow of the process, with a user interface that strives to emulate the meditative tone of the practice. Rather than asking the reader to figure out which is the current daily Reflection for Focus, the app knows the date, performs some calculations based on when Shabbat occurs, and automatically delivers the intended reading for the day.
There are also other features of the app that simply could not be a part of a print book. One of the most enriching is the inclusion of a variety of beautiful musical settings to verses in Psalm 27, some of which are original to this project. One can listen to the same music for a week, diving deeply into the complex layers of each piece, or listen to a new song each day. Similarly, each new day reveals a meditative image, often photos taken by the author or her students, in vibrant color. The app also includes a mediation timer, with the option to choose visual and audio cues, as well as a daily reminder to engage in the practice, both of which are extremely helpful features that could never have been a part of a print work.
This is perhaps the most beautiful app that CCAR Press has created to date. While many of our previous apps are nicely designed and function well, they focus on delivering a large amount of content in an easy-to-access way. The Psalm 27: Opening Your Heart app was designed specifically to convey an emotion, a sense of peace and calm, commensurate with the intentions behind the practice. It is our hope that the content of this incredible work, along with the carefully crafted experience of using the app—with all of its helpful features—will allow individuals and groups to enter this High Holy Day season with an open heart and a more meaningful experience.
Here we go again. It’s just a few weeks from the High Holy Days, and hopes of worshiping in a post-COVID world of congregational togetherness are quickly being dashed. Communities that planned to hold communal, indoor, and possibly maskless prayer services are reassessing. Whatever happens on the individual congregational level, it will be another year outside the bounds of what we once thought as normal for holy day worship.
We have been dreaming of our spiritual reunion with each other for the upcoming holy days; that blessing appears to be postponed. Perhaps, all the more, we should pray for blessings beyond our wildest dreams. We know these are unprecedented times. Most of us could not have imagined the losses and suffering that the pandemic would bring. For those of us who have lost friends or family to COVID—for those who lost income, livelihood, personal connections, mental health, stability—it can only be described as a nightmare.
This Rosh HaShanah, let us renew our hopes in large and beautiful dreams of peace, the kind of peace that means wholeness, health, renewal, vitality, and resilience.
To share that prayer together on Erev Rosh HaShanah 5782, Rebecca Schwartz, cantorial soloist at Congregation Kol Ami in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania, created a new musical setting for my short prayer “Pervasive Peace.” The prayer reads as follows:
May it be Your will, God of our fathers and mothers,
That the year ahead bring a pervasive and complete peace
On all the inhabitants of the earth,
Beyond all the dreams of humanity.
The prayer uses a classic formulation—Y’hi ratzon mil’fanecha…, May it be Your will…—imploring God for specific blessings. This formula is typically used in the Rosh HaShanah seder alongside dipping apples in honey, connecting the sweet ritual to the chain of traditional prayers for the New Year.
“Pervasive Peace” was written before COVID, but it took on a deeper meaning of peace as healing medicine last year as the Jewish community experienced our first pandemic High Holy Days in lockdown. It has, yet again, taken on a longing for renewal as we move toward our second High Holy Days under returning public health restrictions.
Rebecca’s music captures both the hope and the longing that the words are intended to convey. We envision cantors using the prayer to open and set the tone for Erev Rosh Hashanah. Hear Rebecca sing the music in this video. An MP3 file is available for download. The sheet music can be purchased on oySongs.
Singing “Pervasive Peace” might also be paired with reading an associated prayer written last year called “Wildly Unimaginable Blessings”:
Wildly Unimaginable Blessings
Let us dream Wildly unimaginable blessings… Blessings so unexpected, Blessings so beyond our hopes for this world, Blessings so unbelievable in this era, That their very existence Uplifts our vision of creation, Our relationships to each other, And our yearning for life itself. Let us dream Wildly unimaginable blessings… A complete healing of mind, body, and spirit, A complete healing for all, The end of suffering and strife, The end of plague and disease, When kindness flows from the river of love, When goodness flows from the river of grace, Awakened in the spirit of all beings, When God’s light, Radiating holiness Is seen by everyone. Let us pray— With all our hearts— For wildly unimaginable blessings… So that God will hear the call To open the gates of the Garden, Seeing that we haven’t waited, That we’ve already begun to repair the world, In testimony to our faith in life, Our faith in each other, And our faith in the Holy One, Blessed be God’s Name.
Rebecca Schwartz is Cantorial Soloist and Music Director at Congregation Kol Ami in Elkins Park, PA. She is a professional singer, guitarist, and award-winning songwriter. Hear more of her music at rebeccasongs.com.
