On Rosh Hashanah, it is written and Yom Kippur, it is sealed; who shall live, who shall die. But repentance, prayer and charity avert the severity of the decree. If you apply a literal reading to this most famous of High Holiday prayers, you cannot help but conclude that it is medieval gobbledygook. Our destinies for the next year are predetermined by God, but repentance, prayer and acts of charity will somehow mitigate that predetermined destiny. What does that mean? If someone dies, would a few more ducats in a Tzedakah box have allowed that person to live another year? Would a few more times at Shul reciting some prayer by rote have altered the outcome?
Ours is a tradition that begs for interpretation. And for this prayer to be meaningful to me, I needed to put a spin on it, which is almost directly contrary to its literal meaning. I have learned from humanistic, rational and compassionate teachers to interpret the prayer as an acknowledgement of the inevitability of death; that every living creature must at some point die. And if human mortality becomes a foundational element of the prayer, then the emphasis on repentance, prayer and charity become the choices you make with the finite time that you may have on this planet.
Perhaps our choices should include more acts of caring for those less fortunate; let’s call that Tzedakah. Maybe we should be more forgiving of others and of ourselves and sincerely work at making ourselves into a better people; let’s call that one Teshuvah. Finally, if we take some time, perhaps each week, to acknowledge the orderliness of creation and of a creator that has taught humanity morality, compassion and justice; let’s call that one Tefillah. Now there’s an interpretation of what is otherwise a problematic prayer in which I can believe.
And yet, I have also literally experienced moments of life and death, triumph and tragedy all on Rosh Hashanah.
Who shall die: It was Rosh Hashanah 1990 and I flew in from Los Angeles to New York to spend the holiday with my father and brother. My father cooked the dinner for the first night, which was attended by my father, my brother, a co-worker of my brother’s. After dinner, Dad made a point of saying that since he had done the cooking; he was retiring to the den to relax, while we did the clean-up. The three of us schmoozed while we cleaned the dishes and put away the food. After we were done, I went downstairs to the den to check on my father. I discovered him lying on the floor unconscious; I quickly made a 911 call and waited outside for the ambulance to arrive while my brother held my father. He regained consciousness by the time the paramedics arrived; Dad argued with both the paramedics and us about not wanting to go to the hospital. I pleaded with my father to no avail. Finally, I phoned his twin brother to see whether someone of his own age and experiences could better persuade him to take care of himself than his sons. Fortunately my uncle was hosting his own son, a physician, who explained to my dad that losing consciousness was a result of lack of oxygen to the brain and that someone had to figure out what the cause of that might be. After that explanation, Dad allowed us to drive him to the emergency room. The hospital wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but had no rooms available. Dad had no desire to spend the night on a gurney bed in the ER. We let him come home only after we extracted a promise from him to go back the next morning. That was only the beginning of a very long and difficult evening as my father fell and collapsed multiple times with my brother reviving him each time.
The reason that my dad was vehemently opposed to going to the hospital is that he witnessed his spouse, my mother (z’l) go into the hospital for cancer treatment eight years prior and never emerge. My dad knew something was seriously wrong and where this all was heading. By the way, I never did make it to Shul that Rosh Hashanah as I spent the entire holiday in the hospital with my dad. My father died in that same hospital 54 days later, never having left the hospital during that time period.
Who shall live: Fast forward to Rosh Hashanah 1997. My wife Brenda was pregnant with our second child, who was due to be born five days after Rosh Hashanah by a C Section, which was scheduled two weeks earlier than the actual due date. Rosh Hashanah began that year on a Wednesday evening and Brenda wanted to prepare a festive holiday dinner for the family. I argued with her to no avail that Hashem would give her a pass this year. So she went off to to purchase a huge roast beef.
In the course of dinner preparation, I received a phone call at work from Brenda indicating that she was not feeling too well. I asked whether she had called her obstetrician, which she had. Brenda was instructed to drink a half glass of wine and relax. I, of course, was anything but relaxed as I rushed home from work to join my wife. By the time I came home, she was still not feeling too great. However we had a soon to be 2 ½ year older sister in the house and no one to watch her while we went to the hospital. So I had to call a friend of mine who was sitting down to Rosh Hashanah dinner with his own family and ask him to leave his family dinner to pick up my daughter and take care of her. While we waited for him to arrive, I wrapped up the roast beef and put two slices of cheese on some bread for my dinner to eat on the drive to the hospital.
We arrived at the hospital about the same time as the obstetrician who was the only non-Jew in a medical practice group which except for her consisted of all Jews. The first words that I spoke to the obstetrician were expressions of gratitude that she was not of the Jewish faith. The doctor examined Brenda and quickly came to the conclusion that if the birth were vaginal, she would be sending Brenda home because labor had not progressed far enough. She also mentioned that given that Brenda was going to give birth by C Section in a few days and that both doctor and patient were already at the hospital that she was willing to perform the C Section that night if Brenda wanted it. I remembered seeing two obstetricians in the operating room for my older daughter, Judy’s birth, because a C Section is still surgery. I asked the doctor about who would be assisting her in the operation. Maria said that she had called the least religious in her practice group, but he still was in no mood to interrupt his own Rosh Hashanah. Maria said that a surgical resident would be more than adequate assistance.
Next I did what any guy would do at this time, which was shut up and let my wife decide what she wanted to do. She opted for having the baby that night. I had a kippa on under my surgical garb and witnessed the birth of our daughter Lindsay at 10:44 PM on the first night of Rosh Hashanah. With a sense of circularity, our daughter Lindsay was named for the same person who collapsed on Rosh Hashanah seven years earlier, my father, Leonard (z’l).
Despite my view that Unataneh Tokef is a bunch of medieval gobbledygook, I have witnessed during the days of awe and judgment, life’s highest highs and lowest lows. Most of life is lived somewhere in between great triumph and horrible tragedy. The birth of my child and the death of my father are in my thoughts each and every Rosh Hashanah, making every High Holiday since those events somewhat anti-climactic.
However, if I am going to live, I still want to make my life have some meaning and value. In that regard, Teshuvah, Tefillah and Tzedukkah can certainly help improve the quality of my life and that is what I will focus on for each Rosh Hashanah going forward. I will still take my Rabbis’ teachings over those of medieval Jews. L’shanah tovah
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