Posted on September 22, 2025 by Rabbi Noah Diamondstein
Dear Temple Beth-El,
We have finally arrived at the end of 5785, and in just a few short hours will welcome 5786. What a year it has been for us all! We’ve seen both great, even existential challenges for our People both here in the U.S. and in Israel, and major transition for our synagogue community, to say nothing of the many challenges large and small we’ve all faced as individuals and families. A fresh start is welcome, and there is no greater signifier of that fresh start in our tradition than the sound of the shofar.
The shofar is, to use the language Joey Weisenberg did on R. Yehuda Kurtzer’s “Identity/Crisis” podcast, one of two quintessential instruments of Jewish history; they are the kinor (lyre/violin) and the shofar. The Kinor is an instrument like most modern instruments. It plays precise notes on a scale, and can be used to weave melody. The shofar, conversely, is a cry, a blast. It is a sound without exact pitch or precision, seeking to powerfully emote rather than weave complex melodic narrative.
The rabbis, in Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 33b, compare the shofar sounds to a mother’s cries. Referencing Sisera’s mother in the book of Judges, they compare the t’kiah to an open cry, shevarim to broken wailing, and the quick blasts of a t’ruah to short whimpers. As we have waited, and prayed, and waited, and prayed still more for the hostages to be rescued from Gaza—and as we suffered through many devastating developments in our politics and discourse—we all have been shofarot in this way over this past year. Further, the shofar was the siren, the alarm for our ancient ancestors in moments of attack. It was the call to arms, to go into defense mode. Many of us have been sounding metaphorical shofarot in this way this year, too.
The shofar, though, is not only a cry of pain. It is also our most optimistic sound. The shofar is the sound that, per tradition, will accompany Eliyahu HaNavi when he returns to announce the beginning of the Messianic Age. It is the sound of our redemption, the call not to arms but to destroy our arms, the signal that the time has come to beat our swords into plowshares. In this moment I am remembering the words of Yehuda Amichai, who imagined that, in the moment of that most anticipated shofar call, we wouldn’t even stop there. He wrote:
Don’t stop after beating the swords into plowshares, don’t stop!
Go on beating and make musical instruments out of them.
Whoever wants to make war again will have to turn them into plowshares first.
This Rosh Hashanah, as every year, we will bring all of these shofarot with us to temple. We will reflect on the pain, the worry, our misgivings and misdeeds, AND we will hope and maybe even believe that this year will bring us closer to that redemptive shofar call we are working toward. May our hopes become realities. May this be a year of less bloodshed and more building, less pain and more principles, less vitriol and more virtue, less contempt and more compassion. And as always, may it be sweet.
Shanah tovah umetukah,
Rabbi Noah Diamondstein
