It has often struck me as odd that the Jewish New Year comes in the fall. While it is true that as a demarcation of one point on the circular orbit of the sun, any choice might be arbitrary, knowing that Nisan, the month of spring (Aviv), is the first month on the calendar has not made it seem any less strange that we celebrate the New Year in the fall. Spring is the season of rebirth, of flowers and planting. It is the season which seems to hold the most potential, the most hope. It bursts with energy after the survival of a barren winter.

So why did Judaism shift its New Year observance from Nisan, the first month, to Tishrei, the seventh month? Perhaps because fall is the harvest season. Perhaps because fall, rather than being the season of unfulfilled potential, is the season of reality when agricultural efforts come to fruition or fail. Symbolically, fall is the season when we take stock of what we have done. After all, this is what the High Holy Days, the Days of Awe, call us to do. They command us to look at our lives and consider the harvest that we are reaping because of the seeds that we have planted. It is not the time to point at others; it is the time to take full responsibility for our own actions, and understand that if we want things to be different, we have to be different. As we come face to face with our personal harvest, we should come to understand that planting the same seeds year after year will always produce the same result. In the words of the song: “Plant a radish, get a radish ... never any doubt.”

Fall is also a time of transition. Fall, like spring, is a bridge between two extremes, summer and winter. In that transition, there is a burst of energy. We know that adult education classes are best subscribed in the fall. The children return to school. There is an implicit dynamic of commitment to what is to come. (In our day and age, it may also be the product of a return from summer vacation.)

These considerations begin to make sense of a fall New Year. Rosh Hashanah does not call us to pure unbridled celebration. Rather it calls us to celebrate life, and all that life has to offer in terms of joy and accomplishment. It calls us to celebrate the human capacity for change. It calls us to celebrate that life is finite and therefore has meaning beyond mere existence.

So in this year when the Holy Days are so late (although they are begin as always on Tishrei 1), I wish you and yours a joyful, meaningful, healthy New Year.

Shana Tova Tikateivu - May you be inscribed for a year of life.

B’shalom
Rabbi Marvin Schwab