Confoundingly, we are a people of dual extremes

As I write this column in Jerusalem, it is the Fast of Gedalia, having just completed our yoma arichta, one long day of Rosh Hashana (masechet Sukka 45b). The Fast of Gedalia is welcomed by many as an opportunity to shed a few of the excess pounds heaped on at the seemingly endless meals during Rosh Hashana.

Explain to a non-Jew in America that a two-day yom tov is like a four-day Thanksgiving — with four major meals in just two days. And that doesn’t count the kiddush after davening! Then, after the Yom Kippur fast, there’s the Festival of Eating, otherwise known as the Festival of Sukkot, followed by Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah. Talk about feast or famine! We are a people of extremes.

It is strange that we eat at all on Rosh Hashana. This is the Judgment Day; we should be so nervous and anxious that we would not want to eat. And yet after spending several hours in shul, asking G-d to be charitable in His examination of our own lives, we feel comfortable enough to go home, or to friends or family, kick off our shoes and plunk down for delicious, multicourse meals. Is this proper?

As always, the answer has its origins in the Tanach.

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In sefer Nechemiah, years after the destruction of the first Temple, as the walls of Jerusalem were being rebuilt, the people gathered as “one man” “before the water-gate.” At the water-gate, which was situated near the Gihon spring, and the past and future Holy Temple complex, they called to Ezra Hasofer, to bring forth the “sefer Torat Moshe asher tzivah Hashem et Yisrael (the Torah scroll of Moses that Hashem had commanded Israel).”

What day was that? It was Rosh Hashana, “b’yom echad la’chodesh hashvii (the first day of the seventh month).”

Ezra read the Torah to them aloud, but as the people heard the words of Hashem and realized how they had sinned and did not fulfill the Torah as a Hashem had commanded, they began to weep. But Nechemia told them to cease their mourning and their tears; “rather, go eat and enjoy good food, and drink sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to G-d.” And that is exactly what the people did.

“They went to eat and drink and send gifts (u’lishloach manot) and celebrate with great joy.” Instead of a day of that began with trepidation and fear, mourning and sadness, that Rosh Hashan was a day of happiness and gladness, joy and celebration.

It is interesting to note that it was a celebration in the same location as the once and future Simchat Beit HaShoeva on Sukkot, Zman Simchatenu (the Time of our Joy), the celebration of the water-drawing for the water libations for the Temple — which the Talmud in masechet Sukkha 51a describes as “the most joyous event ever witnessed.”

They utilized the custom of mishloach manot, sending gifts of food, the same custom and language used earlier on Purim, considered probably the happiest day of the Jewish year. Two extremes, mourning and tears coexisting with happiness and joy, on the same day at the same time.

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Rosh Hashana today shares the same duality of somberness and happiness, that our forbears displayed, and it is evidenced in our prayer liturgy. We have prayers dealing with the enormity of Judgment Day, with the prospects of life and death, and at the same time we ask Hashem to grant us “simcha l’artzecha, v’sasson l’irecha (gladness to Your land, and joy to Your city).”

This is the paradox of Eretz Yisrael, the state of Israel, the Jewish people today. We go from one extreme to the other. The horrific bereavement of Yom Hazikaron to the elation of Yom Haatzmaut, in the blink of an eye.

We are experiencing daily, such tragedy and heartbreak — continuous war, terrorist attacks, soldiers dying in battle, imprisoned and tortured and murdered hostages, rocket and missile attacks, traffic accidents, lack of Jewish unity, and internecine squabbles. Yet at the same time we have truly inconceivable joy. I know it because I feel it the minute I return home to Jerusalem. No matter how bad the “situation, after you grieve, you build, you donate, you connect and you blossom with a joy that is palpable.

The conventional explanation is that happiness is “dependent on the human connection and the role of caring and sharing for others,” which Israel certainly has. But the verse in Nechemia, which took place on Rosh Hashana, describes the people who heard the words of Torah, and at first realized their shortcomings. They felt mournful and cried, as they should have, for they realized their error, but then immediately were told, today is not a day of sadness but celebratory rejoicing.

They were not yet forgiven for their sins, but still told to go ahead and rejoice. That is because the Jewish people, who had returned to build the walls of Jerusalem (the Temple had not yet been re-built) were inherently committed to the Torah. They heard its words from Ezra himself and responded.

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The same is true for the nation of Israel, in the land of Israel today. Even the most irreligious Jew in Israel is connected in some way to Torah. On Friday, the buses say “Shabbat Shalom,” the street signs are filled with the names of Prophets and Kings, Tribes and Torah scholars, all connected to one another through the millennia by their connection to Torah.

The two features of happiness, common to the happiest countries in the “happiness index” — namely human connection and caring and sharing with others — are commanded by our Holy Torah, in Vayikra 19:18: “V’ahavta l’reacha kamocha (love your neighbor as yourself).”

As long as we remember our strength, and that our purpose comes from Torah, we will be truly happy.

Going back once again to that very same verse in Nechemiah when the he tells the people not to be saddened, but to go eat and drink and celebrate, because “Chedvat Hashem he Ma’uzchem (The joy of Hashem is your strength).” Let us remember that singular lesson, whether in Israel or elsewhere.

Gmar v’Chatimah Tova v’Chag Sameach!

Write: Columnist@TheJewishStar.com