More than a sleepy year: 4 lessons of ‘shana’
I believe it was my mother, A”H, who first taught me the classic rule: “You are not supposed to nap on Rosh Hashana.” If you nap on Rosh Hashana, she warned, you’ll end up with a g’shluffinah year (a sleepy, sluggish year).
I was pretty young at the time and I didn’t quite understand what was so terrible about a sleepy year. People love to sleep! We constantly complain about not getting enough rest, so a “sleepy year” didn’t sound half bad. Now, while I may not actively schedule a nap on Rosh Hashana, sitting in a comfortable chair with the right sefer after a long davening sometimes means sleep overtakes me anyway.
So what is the real issue with a g’shluffinah year?
On a simple level, napping on the Day of Judgment implies we aren’t taking the moment seriously (though, of course, if someone needs rest for health reasons, it is entirely understandable). But I arrived at an insight this year that offers a deeper connection.
In Yiddish, to sleep is to shluff. In Hebrew, sleep is shayna (שֵׁנָה). And the letters for sleep — shin, nun, hei — are the exact same letters that spell shana (שָׁנָה), year! You can either have a Rosh Hashana — the head of a vibrant new year — or a Rosh HaShayna — the start of a sleepy one.
The first moments set the tone for everything that follows. Do we want our new year to be spent asleep at the wheel? Probably not.
• • •
When we examine those same three letters — shin-nun-hei — we discover they yield three distinct blueprints for the year ahead:
•First, shana is rooted in shinui (change). Rosh Hashana can be read as Rosh HaShinui, the beginning of change. It is the ideal time to evaluate what in our lives requires recalibration. The shift in our prayers, the white kittels, the symbolic foods — everything in our environment signals that change is within reach.
This is the essence of teshuva: turning away from bad habits, breaking routines that no longer serve us, and reconnecting with Hashem and our families. Rav Moshe Feinstein contrasts the sounds of the shofar to illustrate this process: the steady tekiah reflects stability and staying the course, while the broken teruah symbolizes veering off path. The final tekiah represents our return to the proper coordinates laid out by the Torah.
•Second, shana is connected to mishna — repetition and refinement. The Book of Devarim is called Mishneh Torah because it repeats and clarifies what came before. Rosh Hashana and the Days of Awe demand discernment: figuring out where we must change but also recognizing what we are already doing well.
Teshuva that demands a person completely uproot who they are rarely sticks. Taking a measured look at our strengths, taking healthy pride in them, and doubling down on maintaining our successes is a far more sustainable path. And mishna, of course, implies learning, making Rosh Hashana the ultimate time to commit to regular Torah study (especially if you aren’t napping!).
•Finally, if we expand from the singular shana to the plural shanim (years), we find a fourth message. Shanim shares its root with shnayim (two).
W
hat is the message of Rosh HaShnayim? The Vilna Gaon highlights a subtlety in Parshat Shoftim regarding the testimony of witnesses: “Al pi shnayim edim.” The Gaon explains that the word shnei refers to two separate, disparate individuals who merely happen to stand next to each other. But shnayim refers to two distinct entities that come together to form an integrated unit.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev once observed two tailors arguing in the market right before Rosh Hashana. He stopped them and said: “Two tailors can sit in the same room for 30 years. If one drops his needle and the other doesn’t help him pick it up, they aren’t partners, they are just two strangers sharing rent. True partnership means realizing that if your neighbor’s needle breaks, the whole shop comes to a halt.”
Whether changing or maintaining our course, our goal for this Rosh HaShanim must be to become more shnayim. We need deeper achdut (unity) in our lives, becoming true units with our spouses, our families, our community — and Am Yisrael as a whole.
This brings us back to the Shofar. Every set of blasts begins and ends with a single unbroken sound: the tekiah. The fractured teruah in the middle — with all its various opinions and interpretations — symbolizes the friction, arguments and disunity of daily life. Conflicts inevitably arise, but every set must resolve in the clarity of an ending tekiah.
As we hear the tekiah gedolah at the conclusion of the service, let its sound echo in our souls long after we leave shul. May it inspire us to turn our divisions into unity, ensuring that as we build harmony in our physical relationships, Hashem graces us with peace and blessing in our spiritual ones as well. Amen.
Rabbi Dr. David Wiseman, who practices dentistry in Cedarhurst and Queens, prepared these remarks for delivery on Rosh Hashana at the Five Towns Rehabilitation and Nursing Center in Woodmere. He’s been leading a weekly Torah class at the Young Israel of Hewlett for over 20 years.
