September 11th marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of the deadliest attack on America since Pearl Harbor. This year, 9/11 coincides with the Jewish New Year, Rosh HaShanah, which begins at sundown this Friday. As Jews gather to welcome the year 5787, our observance of the holy day will be tempered by the memory of that horrific day when so many died or were injured or lost loved ones, and when our sense of relative safety was permanently destroyed.
According to Jewish legend, God created the world on Rosh HaShanah, and creates it anew—and us with it—each year. That’s a powerful, mythic way of saying that we have the opportunity to make a new beginning, a fresh start, in our own lives, in our communities, in our country, in our world. Nothing is foreordained for us; the future is open, and we are free. In Jewish tradition, the cardinal sin isn’t idolatry or blasphemy, immorality or even bloodshed. It is despair— abandoning the determination to do what we can to fix what is broken: giving up hope.
As we witness Putin’s war on Ukraine, Israel’s war on Gaza and Trump’s war on democracy; as we experience the devastation caused by climate change, the bitter polarization within our country, and the rise of homophobia, racism and antisemitism—it is easy to conclude that we are living in a dark time.
Jews have, alas, a great deal of experience when it comes to living in dark times, and much of Jewish tradition was born in the crucible of that experience. What we call “Jewish tradition” is, in large part, a trove of wisdom about how to live in dark times without succumbing to despair.
In his last collection of poetry, published while he was in exile from Nazi Germany, Bertolt Brecht wrote:
In den finsteren Zeiten,
wird da auch gesungen werden?
Da wird auch gesungen werden
Von den finsteren Zeiten.
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing.
About the dark times.
So how do we keep singing in dark times? First, the Torah says, “Take good care of yourself” (Deuteronomy 4:15). If you can, eat properly, get enough sleep, exercise, find work that is meaningful to you, and do it joyfully.
And then, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). Do something kind for someone else. It doesn’t have to be spectacular. A smile, a kind word, a friendly gesture—these things bring light. Two thousand years ago, the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria said, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a tough battle.”
So, when does darkness end and light begin? When does night give way to daybreak? When does polarization end and cooperation begin? When does “I’ve got rights” end and “I’ve got responsibilities” begin? When does “Everyone for himself” end and commitment to the common good begin? The answer I like best is contained in this Hasidic tale:
The rebbe asks, “How can we know when the night ends and the day begins?”
One of the students says, “When you can tell the difference between a dog and a sheep from a distance.”
“No,” says the rebbe.
A second student asks, “Is it when one can distinguish between a fig tree and a grapevine?”
“No.”
“Then please tell us the answer.”
“It is,” says the rebbe, “when you can look in the face of another human being, and you have enough light to recognize in him, in her, your brother, your sister. Until then it is night, and darkness is still with us.”
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.
The cardinal sin is despair. Take care of yourself. Take care of others. May this twenty-fifth anniversary of disaster mark the end of darkness and the beginning of light.
—Rabbi Dov Taylor