Rosh Hashanah 2026: The sound of the shofar as a vessel for victory, struggle, and self-sacrifice

Fun fact: Nowhere in the Torah do we find the term “rosh hashanah.”

Leviticus 23:24 refers to the festival of the first day of the seventh month as zichron teruah (memorial of sounding the horns), while Numbers 29:1 calls it yom teruah (day of blowing [the horn]).

“Rosh hashanah” does appear once in Tanach, in the Book of Ezekiel (40:1), but it has a different meaning: either a general reference to the beginning of the year, a possible reference to Yom Kippur, or even referring to the month of Nisan (when the Hebrew calendar begins).

In our prayer books – the siddur or mahzor – Rosh Hashanah is also called Yom Hazikaron, the day of remembrance (not to be confused with the modern Israeli Remembrance Day for fallen soldiers and terror victims).

Rosh Hashanah is one of the four Jewish New Years, this one being the new year for calculating ordinary calendar years, sabbatical years, jubilee years, and dates inscribed on legal deeds and contracts. It also commemorates the creation of humankind, which allowed God to form a relationship with all creations and be crowned as King over them.

High Holy Days encompass events of whole year instead of one event

All of the Jewish holidays – with the exception of the High Holy Days – focus on a specific event. Passover relates to the Exodus; Sukkot connects to our journey through the desert; Shavuot recalls the giving of the Torah; Hanukkah, the battle against the Syrian-Greeks; Purim, the threat of Haman to commit genocide against us.

But Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur employ a wide, 360-degree lens that encompasses all we do, all year long. Their universal, timeless message of sin and forgiveness is conveyed by sound – by Rosh Hashanah’s shofar and Yom Kippur’s extensive prayer. And sound is pervasive. It fills the entire room, and it fills the senses, inspiring us and bringing the Almighty into our souls.

There is another message regarding the “rosh” of Rosh Hashanah. If our prayers are going to be answered; if we truly want God to bless us in the months ahead, we need to use our rosh, our head. We need to think very seriously about where we have been, where we are going, who we are, and how we can best influence others and sanctify this life which has been granted to us.

I WANT to share a story from my past as a synagogue pulpit rabbi, a story that emphasizes just how crucial it is to see the bigger picture and utilize our head, our sechel (common sense), to make the right choices.

The story is true, though the names have been changed to protect the innocent. I will leave it to you to judge just who is innocent and who is not.

The story starts with Marlene. She was the president of my shul’s ladies’ auxiliary. Though not fully Orthodox, she was a very committed Jew, and she gave generously of herself in wonderful service to the synagogue. She was a major asset to our congregation and quite popular, with many friends.

Marlene had a younger brother, Max, a brilliant young man who graduated at the top of his high-school class. He was on his way to China – to study Chinese in its natural habitat before beginning his university classes – when he decided to stop en route in Israel. 

Max never made it to China. When he came to visit the Kotel, he was befriended by a young rabbi (one of the energetic “Wall-nuts” who reach out to the unaffiliated) who invited him to spend a Shabbat in Jerusalem before moving on to Beijing. Max loved that Shabbat so much that he canceled his flight, enrolled in a yeshiva, and went on to study for quite some time. He would be ordained and start a successful rabbinic career. The Land of the Rising Sun had lost out to the Land of the Rising Soul.

Lessons learned from Marlene's story

Fast-forward several years. Marlene’s daughter is approaching bat mitzvah, and the family is planning the accompanying celebration. I visited Marlene and asked her whether she was planning to make this party kosher.

She put her head down and nervously said, “Rabbi, you know we are not fully observant, and just how expensive kosher catering is, compared to non. Yes, we would like to make it kosher, but it’s just not in our budget.”

“Marlene,” I said, “if finances are the problem, I will provide a generous amount from my discretionary fund to help you with the added cost.

“You are a community leader; your decision will undoubtedly influence many others to make their own parties kosher.

“And think of something else – you have a deeply religious brother; I’m sure he will refuse to join in if the event is nonkosher. Don’t you want him to be included? Won’t it be wonderful if he is also able to attend?”

Marlene promised to think about what I had said, and I felt confident she would do the right thing. But when the invitations came out a few weeks later, I was saddened to read that the party was indeed to be held at a nonkosher venue.

I immediately called Marlene.

“What happened?” I asked her. “I really had hoped you would reconsider and opt for the kosher catering!”

Marlene sighed, and then said: “Rabbi, I really was impressed by your words, and I was ready to make the function kosher – especially to accommodate my brother so that he and his family would attend.

But then he told me that it didn’t matter if the food was kosher; if there wouldn’t be separate seating at the meal, then he and his family would not attend. So I thought, Why should I go to all that expense if Max won’t come anyway?!”

I was stunned; shocked really, both at my own failure to convince Marlene, and at her brother’s total lack of vision and failure to seize a golden opportunity.

I could not just let this moment pass without doing something, so I picked up the phone and called Max. But try as I did, I could not convince him to change his position.

Finally, I left him with this message. “Max,” I said, “you will no doubt accomplish amazing things in your career and achieve a high position.

“Yet no matter what good things you will do, how many people you will reach, you can never atone for this decision you have just made, for you will never know how many waves of positive acts you could have generated had you seen the bigger picture, had you put aside your personal desires for the spiritual good of the community.”

THE SHOFAR is a deeply personal, elemental experience. Some of us hear the sound of victory; others hear the sound of struggle.

But at its core, the shofar is the sound of self-sacrifice. It echoes Abraham’s willingness to sublimate his own wishes to those of God, prompting all of us to submit to a greater good, one that is beyond our own personal wants and desires.

So do not ask for whom the shofar blows. It blows for us.■

The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com