Rosh Hashana Torah Essay

The Shofar: From Tears to Coronation

The Shofar: Coronation and Commemoration

The imperative of sounding the shofar relates in its essence to Rosh Hashanah, which is referred to as ‘a day of blasts’ (yom teruah; Num. 29:1) and ‘a commemoration of blasts’ (yom zichron teruah; Lev. 23:24). Based on these two epithets, the rabbis viewed Rosh Hashanah as possessing a dual character: a day of coronation, and a day of commemoration and judgment. On Rosh Hashanah we appeal to God by employing two different metaphors: a king and a judge. There is a tension between these two metaphors, since a coronation is a day of exhilarated celebration, whereas a day of judgment is pensive, filled with fear and awe.

Despite the tension between these two facets of Rosh Hashanah, the shofar is linked with both. The shofar is one of the instruments used to herald the arrival of the king, as described in Ps. 98:6: “With trumpets and the blast of the shofar, shout (joyfully) before the king, Hashem.” This concept links the shofar with the essence of Rosh Hashanah as a day of coronation. Conversely, the shofar and trumpet are means for commemoration before God, as described in the blasts sounded upon embarking on battle: “When you enter into battle in your land against an adversary who attacks you, sound short blasts on the trumpets, and you will be remembered before Hashem, your, God and saved from your enemies” (Num. 10:9). Thus, on the one hand Rosh Hashanah is the day of God’s coronation as King, and on the other, a day of commemoration and judgment; it is the shofar that links these two facets of Rosh Hashanah.

The Talmud also acknowledges the dual nature of Rosh Hashanah, and views the shofar as a tool with a dual purpose, which relates to both the nature of Rosh Hashanah as a day of coronation and a day of commemoration:

The Holy One, Blessed Be He, said […] On Rosh Hashanah, recite before me malchuyot (coronations), zichronot (commemorations) and shofarot. Malchuyot – to coronate me as king over you; zichronot – to ensure that your memory is positively brought before me; and with what? With the shofar (BT Rosh Hashanah 16a).

Musaf on Rosh Hashanah is divided into three essential parts: malchuyot, zichronot, and shofarot. The Talmudic text above views malchuyot and zichronot as separate in essence. Conversely, the shofar relates to both coronation and commemoration – and the statement “with what? With the shofar” is linked with each of the two preceding categories.

 ‘Hayom harat olam’ – On this day, the world came into being

The aspect of coronation on Rosh Hashanah relates to the universal nature of the day – the day on which the world came into being. When reflecting on human kingship, we associate human monarchs with a specific state or nation: each king has a country and is responsible for the interests and well-being of his own nation. A good king is judged by the state of his subjects, considering factors such as a high GNP, clean sidewalks, or a good education – all in relation to other countries.

Conversely, the Rosh Hashanah prayers direct us toward the coronation of God over the entire world: “Rule over the entire world in all your glory and be exalted over the entire earth in your splendor.” Similarly, Ps. 47, which is recited seven times before the shofar is sounded, also emphasizes the universal aspect: “All nations clap your hands, cheer for God with sounds of joy … God is king over the entire land … God has ruled over nations, God sits on his holy throne.” On Rosh Hashanah, we yearn for a time in which God will reign over the entire world, and the whole world will recognize God’s monarchy and follow his path.

‘As though you bound yourselves before me’

Contrary to the blasts of the shofar signifying God’s coronation over the world, the connection between blowing shofar and commemoration points to a different relationship. The commemoration motif is related to the metaphor of God as a judge who recalls all our deeds, and is linked to an image of all people as defendants on trial. Some sources, however, tie God’s commemoration to specific events. The Talmud inquires why we blow a shofar made specifically out of a ram’s horn, and explains that the shofar conjures the memory of the ram that was bound and sacrificed upon the altar in place of Isaac; therefore, each Rosh Hashanah, blowing the ram’s horn commemorates Isaac’s willingness to be sacrificed:

God said: blast before me using a ram’s shofar, so that I may remember the binding of Isaac son of Abraham, and I will consider it as though you bound yourselves before me. (BT Rosh Hashana 16a).

The story of the binding of Isaac serves as the basis not only for this passage but also for many of the prayers and piyyutim recited throughout the Yamim Noraim. Yet another midrash links the binding of Isaac with the mitzvah of shofar from a more surprising angle:

When Isaac returned to his mother, she said: where have you been my son? He told her: Father took me up mountains and down hills. [Sarah] said: Woe to the son of the mother who mourns! If an angel had not come down from the heavens, would you have been slaughtered? He said to her: Yes. At that time, she sounded six cries of woe, corresponding to the six [shofar] blasts. It was said: she had not finished [sounding her cries] before she died (Lev. Rab. 20:2).

According to this midrash, Sarah sees Isaac and knows that he was saved, but is nonetheless so deeply shaken that she dies of shock and grief. Her cries are the foundation for sounding the shofar blasts on Rosh Hashanah. Yet another midrash describes Sarah hearing about Isaac’s binding while her son is still bound upon the altar. The midrash explains that the archangel Samael is angry that he was unable to dissuade Abraham from sacrificing his son:

He went and told Sarah: Sarah, have you not heard what is happening in the land? She said: No. He said: Abraham took Isaac and slaughtered him upon the altar and sacrificed him as a burnt offering upon it. She began to cry, and sounded three cries corresponding with three [shofar] blasts, three wailings against three wailings, and her soul drifted, and she died (Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 32).

There is a slight difference between the two depictions: in the former, Sarah sees Isaac and knows that he was saved, whereas in the second she has every reason to believe he has died. She cries out of shock during those moments in which she is convinced that his life has ended. The shofar blasts remind us of those moments of shock and grief that accompanied the binding of Isaac, which continue to echo in us to this day. The inconceivable dedication of Abraham and Isaac is described in the biblical text, but the midrash offers a reflection of the inner world of the reader, who imagines and identifies with Sarah’s pain and devastation upon learning of her son’s fate.

The Wailing of Mothers

In the latter midrash, Sarah ‘sounded three cries corresponding with three [shofar] blasts, three wailings against three wailings.’ The distinction between the cries and the wailing is expounded in the Mishnah (Rosh Hashanah 4:9): “The length of a tekiah (the single long blast) is three teruot (shorter blasts), and the length of a teruah is three wailings.” The Talmud explains that the Aramaic translation of the word teruah is indeed ‘a wailing:’

As it is written: “A day of blasts it shall be for you,” and this is translated: ‘a day of wailing it shall be for you,’ as it is written regarding Sisera’s mother: “Through the window Sisera’s mother peered out, and she wailed” (Rosh Hashanah 33b).

The foundation for this explanation is surprising – and perhaps shocking, since it is based on the tragic wailing of another mother: Sisera’s mother. Sisera was the chief commander in the army of Yavin, King of Hazor, and a sworn enemy to Israel. He was killed by Yael, wife of Hever the Kenite, who fed him milk until he fell asleep and then drove a spike through his head. Sisera was a hateful adversary to Israel, and the Bible depicts his death as just and appropriate. Regardless, his mother’s pain is so deeply ingrained in Jewish historical consciousness that her wailings are remembered each and every year, as we hear the shofar blasts. The commemoration of a mother’s tears is directed towards God as he sits on the throne of justice, and that memory serves to arouse God’s pity.

Yet these are not the only mothers’ tears we invoke on Rosh Hashanah. The Torah readings and the haftarot of Rosh Hashanah also refer to weeping mothers. The Torah reading on the first day describes Hagar sobbing over her son Ishmael. The first day’s haftarah recalls the tears of Hannah as she prays for the birth of a son, while the second day’s haftarah refers to Rachel weeping for her children. With the choice of these readings, the rabbis balanced the splendor and glory of coronation with the wailing of broken-hearted mothers, anxious and fearful for their sons.

For the last year, we have all experienced this fundamental sense of trepidation, shared by parents and relatives everywhere. We are heartbroken like Hannah, bereft like Rachel and petrified like Sarah. The shofar blasts direct us to revert to the most basic human emotions: the primal anxiety a parent feels for a child, the grief over the death of relatives, the anguish over the pain and destruction of war. The sound of the shofar gives expression to this pain and acknowledges the sense of brokenness and difficulty as legitimate human emotions. Yet the shofar simultaneously reminds us that alongside the grief, there is also room for hope. The shofar advances the memory of our sacrifices before God, but also demands that we make space for God’s coronation. The shofar reminds us that ‘this is a time in which the gates of divine favor are opened’ (et shaarei ratzon lehipatach). We are tasked with amending the world, realigning it with the kingship of God, and doing all that is in our power to ensure that the world is worthy of the day when “God will reign over all the land.” The two elements of the shofar blast—coronation and tears; the concern for the entire world alongside the worry for the individual child—are interwoven on Rosh Hashanah. Our anguish and tears for ourselves hold the power to open our hearts to the pain of others, to develop the sensitivity to fill the world with compassion and healing. As we recite at the conclusion of Neilah:

May it be Your will,

to safeguard our tears, to heed our pleas,

To save us from all harsh decrees.

God who hears the sound of all cries,

Unto you alone we lift our eyes.