Let’s “wake up” and remember to give proper focus to our souls, so that we’ll be truly alive

“Behold, I have set before you today life and good, and death and evil.” (Devarim 30:15)

The Rambam writes that the function of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is to “awaken” us from our spiritual “slumber.” We tend to become preoccupied with “havlei hazman” — the “nonsense” of the world. The sounding of the shofar is meant to awaken us and alert us to the need to devote ourselves to religious observance. However, how exactly does the shofar do this? Why a shofar instead of some other kind of noise? (Rabbi Eli Mansour)

I’ve always had a hard time relating emotionally to shofar blowing. Intellectually, I know what I’m supposed to be feeling, but while I think these thoughts, the actual sound doesn’t do anything to me on a deeper emotional level. It sounds like… a shofar. A sound that fills my house right when Elul starts, as all my boys love to blow. And all it manages to prompt within me is an automatic response on my part, “No blowing in the house. Take it outside.”

So it’s always been a struggle for me to connect the sound to emotion on Rosh Hashanah.

During creation, Hashem created Adam from the dust of the earth, and then, “He blew a living soul into his nostrils.” Adam was created as a physical creature — but still, he wasn’t complete until G-d “blew” a sacred soul into him. The Maharal explains that on Rosh Hashanah, the day Adam was created, we blow the shofar to commemorate the blowing of Adam’s soul into him. This particular act is commemorated to remind us that this is the essence of the human being — his soul. We’re shown that although we’re both body and soul, the primary component of the human is the soul. The shofar awakens us from the preoccupation with our body, and reminds us to focus on sustaining the soul.

I have a suspicion this year it won’t be an issue.

The Navi Amos says, “Will the shofar be blown in the city and the nation won’t quake?”

This year, I’ve learned the emotional association of the modern-day shofar the navi is referring to: the air-raid siren.

It’s woken me from my deepest sleep. The piercing wail evokes automatic panic and action. I’m poised to hear it at any moment, and the wail of an ambulance, or a cell phone ringing paralyzes me. I’ve even heard phantom sirens when there aren’t any. I’m tense, alert, and prepared that at any moment I may be running for my life. I know the emotions a mere sound can evoke.

True “life” is achieved when we cling to Hashem through mitzvos. A person may be physically alive, but dead if his soul, the primary component of his being, isn’t sustained.

The Gemara Berachos cites Rabi Akiva’s famous analogy between Torah and water. Just as fish cannot live out of the water, similarly, we cannot live without Torah. Rav Mordechai Gifter explained that Rabi Akiva used the specific analogy of fish because when a fish is removed from the water, it frantically thrashes until it perishes. During those moments when the fish is thrashing, it appears that it’s alive — even more “alive” than it was in the water. Yet we know the thrashing’s a sign of the fish’s imminent death.

Likewise, Rav Gifter said, many people who live without Torah seem very “alive.” They are actively busy enjoying their “lives.” However, they’re like fish out of the water. Although their bodies are alive, their souls aren’t — and the primary element of a person’s existence is the soul. (This might be one reason for the custom of Tashlich next to water with fish.)

Let’s “wake up” and remember to give proper focus to our souls, so that we’ll be truly alive.

Life has become precarious and ultimately that much more precious. Sitting in my sealed room, trying to reassure my children, I’ve also realized that my visceral response to the fear is also a desire to live and outlast our enemies. A determination that they won’t win; we will — both here in This World and for eternity. In those moments of terror, I’m also filled with an intense pride, a drive to live my life as a Torah Jew, to prove its truth.

Let the shofar blow. I feel the fear deep in my heart, but I also feel its promise, to herald our final destination. Ask not for whom the shofar blows; I know it blows for me.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 912)