Now this feels like Rosh Hashanah! That awesome sound of the Shofar.

Despite my veganism, there really is nothing quite like the sound of a hollowed out ram’s horn to make you come to attention. The first shofar sound I heard this year was a few weeks ago during the month of elul. A colleague of mine was leading services over facebook. After a short introduction, he blew the shofar.

At first, I shut off the video without watching it to the end. It sounded like the shofar, but I couldn’t feel the shofar.

While I know this is clergy privilege, the shofar is usually a few feet away from me when it is sounded, and I can feel the vibrations from the instrument in my body.

The shofar, which rabbinically represents the weeping of ancient women for their children, is meant to make you feel like you could weep as well.

And I felt like I could weep in that moment for the lack I felt in experiencing the shofar. But it was deeper than that, it was the anticipated loss of not having the shofar’s sound softened by all of our bodies in the room together. The loss of not holding my wife’s hand while being surrounded by you all on the bimah as we hear that final tekiah gedolah to end the fast of Yom Kippur.

But I, like all of you, had to find a new way to relate to the shofar–this time through sound and visual alone. This time with the sound echoing through a much emptier room.

I realized that my relationship to the shofar must evolve, and so too must the symbolism of the shofar.  I call this, Tears of Change.

In the haftarah from Jeremiah that was read today, tears are the main character. Jeremiah’s dreams about a world when the Jews will be gathered from the corners of the world and return to the land. They will do so with weeping, prayer, and repentance.

Jeremiah goes on to say that there is a role model of weeping that the Jews emulate: Chapter 31:14, “So says the Lord: A voice is heard on high, lamentation, bitter weeping, Rachel weeping for her children, she refuses to be comforted for her children for they are not.”

Rachel has apparently been crying for her children who have been unable to access their own feelings to cry. God tells Rachel to dry her eyes, reassuring her that they will indeed be crying, which is the key to their return.

All of our matriarchs, with the exception of Rebecca, are depicted as crying at least once in the Tanakh. They cry primarily about family matters, wanting to have children, about the fate of their children, or not being appreciated by their husbands. But distressed mothers are not the only ones who cry. If anything, the haftarah teaches us that it is only when the entire nation cries that they will be returned to the land. 

Crying did not come easily for our patriarchs. In our Torah today we read about the binding of Isaac, Abraham’s final test from God. Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son, and he almost goes through with it. While the jury is still out whether Abraham passed or failed his test, the reaction of Isaac is astounding.

He says and does nothing. He doesn’t cry. Even as his father is about to complete his mission, Isaac does not even shed a silent tear. According to the midrash, this caused his eyesight to diminish: 

“His eyes dimmed from the shock of that spectacle when our father Abraham bound his son Isaac upon the altar. The ministering angels wept and tears dropped from their eyes into his and were imprinted upon his eyes so that. When he aged, his eyes dimmed.

While this midrash is usually used to explain why he went blind in old age, I think there is a deeper lesson in the angel tears. The angels were moved to tears of sadness by the act of Abraham committing himself to sacrificing his son. The angel tears are permission for Isaac to feel that which he must have felt going through something as traumatic as that. The angels cried the tears he was meant to cry. However it is clear from the midrash that even when he was an old man, he had never once allowed himself to cry.

Not being able to cry negatively impacted Isaac. Tears, then, have the power to heal. 

Fast forwarding to the end of the Torah, in chapter 34 verse 5, our leader and teacher Moses dies. But the book still extends for a few more verses. According to the rabbis, the Torah was written by Moses, so how could he continue to write after he died?

Again the midrash comes to our aid. One opinion is that far did Moses write he was going to die, and then he died. From there and onward Joshua wrote. However, Rabbi Meir said: Rather the Holy One, blessed be He, dictated this, and Moses wrote it in tears.

In other words, Moses through the courage of his own tears, WITH his own tears, he was able to complete his holy mission of finishing the Torah before his death.

Tears give the strength to keep going even when things seem hopeless.

Our ancient rabbis also believed in the powers of tears. Avinu Malkeinu, was believed to be written in tears.

This story is from tractate ta’anit, the book about ritual fasting. 

“There once was a great drought. Rabbi Eliezer stepped before the ark to lead the congregation in prayer and recited the twenty-four benedictions of the Amidah for fast-days to try to end the drought, and his prayer was not answered. Rabbi Akiva stepped before the ark after him and cried:

Our Father, our King! We have no king but You!

Our Father, our King! For Your sake, have compassion for us! 

And rain fell.”

Rabbi Akiva surely knew that tears are the skeleton key to God’s throne room, as it says elsewhere in the gemara in tractate bava metzia,

Rabbi Elazar says: Since the day the Temple was destroyed the gates of prayer were locked, and prayer is not accepted as it once was, as it is stated in lament of the Temple’s destruction: “Though I plead and call out, He shuts out my prayer” (Lamentations 3:8). Yet, despite the fact that the gates of prayer were locked with the destruction of the Temple, the gates of tears were not locked, and one who cries before God may rest assured that his prayers will be answered, as it is stated: “Hear my prayer, Lord, and give ear to my pleading, keep not silence at my tears” (Psalms 39:13).

Tears keep open the gates of prayer. Tears give the strength to keep going even when things seem hopeless. Tears have the power to heal. 

These are the tears I hear today in the weeping of our shofar. Not just the tears of our matriarchs mourning what could have been, but the healing, hopeful, prayerful tears that have also been cried. Tears of Change.

There are still a few more shofar blasts in our upcoming musaf service. Use them as anchors to trigger memories and call for a change inside of yourself. With the first set shofar blasts, think of a time that you felt loss, like our matriarchs.

When I came to visit Bnai Israel in May, I asked at one of the meet and greets how they have felt loss during this pandemic. Many shared the loss of friends and family. Many more shared the loss of time. Their grandchildren who had been born who they hadn’t met, the bnai mitzvah that were far away and travel was not safe. The 

With the second set of shofar blasts, think about a time you healed, like the angels.

I will think of the first time Saturday services we had over zoom as a community in July. How mourners were able to say kaddish for their loved ones. We as a community celebrated the simha of Matilda Mae’s baby naming. Although we were not in person, we were able to move forward together.

With the third set of shofar blasts, think about a time that you had strength to go on even when things seemed hopeless, like Moses.

I will think of the way Bnai Israel has bounced back from a few years of great loss. When we do return together safely in person, it will be in a new sanctuary. While people have varying opinions about the sanctuary, I will say it is filled with light and love. When I first saw the sanctuary in May, it was hard to imagine anything other than the aftermath of a storm. However, it has now become our calm after the storm.

With our final shofar blast, about 10 days away, think about how you can use tears to keep yourself open, like the rabbis of the talmud.

I will think about how my relationship to vulnerability has changed over the years. I used to think that crying was a weakness, but now I see it as the ultimate expression of emotion. I cried when I hugged my parents goodbye for the last time before moving here. I cried at my wedding. I cried when my cousin was laid to rest way before his time. I cried when I was ordained. I cried when I got the call that Bnai Israel had voted me in to be their next rabbi. I have a deep personal connection to all of those tears. They were shepherding me to whatever life had in store next.

Tears can mark change. Tears can help you process change. Tears can help you feel more deeply.

May the sounds of the shofar awaken our tears. 

May the sounds of the shofar be God’s prophetic voicing telling us to wake up to ourselves that many of us put on hold during this pandemic.

May the sound of the shofar make us whole.

Lshana Tova, may we all be written in the book of life, health, good fortune, and a healthy sprinkling of tears.