The holiday of Rosh Hashanah is unique in several respects. One of its unique properties is a feature which we here in the Diaspora may not notice – namely, the length of this Yom Tov.
Here in the United States, we are accustomed to two-day holidays: the first and last days of Pesach, Shavuot, and Shemini Atzeret/Simhat Torah. These are all two-day observances – but only here, outside the Land of Israel. Our brothers and sisters in Israel celebrate only one day of Yom Tov at the beginning of Pesach, at the end of Pesach, on Shavuot, on the first day of Sukkot, and after Sukkot (Simhat Torah). The reason for this discrepancy between Israel and Diaspora communities relates to the method of determining the calendar in ancient times. Space does not allow for a full explanation, but suffice it to say that Diaspora Jews, who lived far from Israel, often did not find out before the holiday which day had been declared Rosh Hodesh (the first of the month) – as Jewish months could span either 29 or 30 days. They were therefore compelled to observe two days of Yom Tov to cover both possibilities. To this day, Diaspora Jewry commemorates this ancient practice by observing two days of Yom Tov.
Rosh Hashanah is unique in that even Jews in Israel observe this holiday for two days. Technically, this is due to the simple fact that the date of Rosh Hashanah is, of course, the first of the month (Tishreh), such that even the Jews in Israel could not find out which day was declared the first of the month and should thus be celebrated as Rosh Hashanah.
However, the great sages throughout the generations uncovered for us the deeper significance of the two days of Rosh Hashanah, and why this special occasion of judgment, introspection and repentance requires two days. We present a particularly profound approach advanced by the Rebbe of Bobov, in Imreh Kodesh.
Double Blowing
The Rebbe introduced his answer by addressing a well-known yet mysterious Talmudic passage relevant to the sounding of the shofar in the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah.
Torah law requires sounding a single series of shofar blasts on Rosh Hashanah. However, as we know, we sound several series of shofar blasts – primarily, the set of blasts after the Torah reading, before Musaf,and then another series of blasts during the Musaf service. Why, the Gemara asks, do we add a second set of blasts? If the Torah obligates just a single series of shofar blowing, why do we blow two sets?
The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 16a-b) famously – yet enigmatically – answers, “Kedeh le’arbev et ha’Satan” – “In order to confound the Satan.”
Somehow, the additional set of shofar blasts has the effect of “discombobulating” the Satan, compromising his ability to prosecute against us before the Heavenly Tribunal as we stand trial.
How does this work? What is it about the second set of shofar blasts that disempowers the Satan?
To explain the Gemara’s remark, the Rebbe sends us to a different – no less famous – passage in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 105b): “A person should always involve himself in Torah and mitzvot even not for its sake, for through [his involvement] not for its sake, he’ll arrive at [involvement] for its sake.”
The Gemara here urges us to learn Torah and perform mitzvot even if our motives are less than sincere. Even when we do not feel truly driven and inspired, there is nevertheless great value in fulfilling mitzvot for ulterior motives – because just getting started puts us on the right path, which will eventually lead us to sincere, authentic service of Gd.
The message itself is quite clear – and of course critically important – but there is one word in this passage that strikes us strange. It urges us “le’olam” – to always – involve ourselves in Torah and mitzvot even for ulterior motives. Why this emphasis on “always”? Are we “always” going to perform mitzvot for the wrong reasons? Isn’t the whole point that we will eventually grow and become sincere? Why should we “always” be involved in Torah and mitzvot even shelo lishmah (not for Torah’s sake)?
Rav Saadia Gaon & the Innkeeper
It is told that Rav Saadia Gaon (10th century) once came to an inn and asked for a room, but the innkeeper informed him that there was no vacancy. Later, the innkeeper discovered that this man who had asked for lodging was none other than the greatest rabbi of the generation. The innkeeper immediately ran outside to Rav Saadia and profusely apologized. He brought him inside and found him accommodations. He then apologized again, and then again, and again.
Rav Saadia asked the innkeeper why he kept apologizing. He apologized once, and this sufficed.
The innkeeper explained that upon realizing that he mistreated the great sage, a man of such distinction and piety, he felt overwhelming pangs of regret.
Rav Saadia would later teach a lesson from this story. If we truly understood the greatness of Hashem, we would be overcome by remorse for our wrongdoing. The more we grasp Gd’s kindness and compassion, and all He does for us, the more pained we are by our religious failings.
In other words, repentance leads to more repentance. When a person begins doing teshuvah (repentance), he recognizes with even greater clarity what it means to defy Gd, and so he is driven to repent with even greater fervor.
The Rebbe of Bobov explained that sin creates a barrier of sorts between a person and his Creator. And when the person begins to repent, that barrier comes down – and he can now perceive Gd’s greatness more keenly. At that point, he experiences even greater shame for his misdeeds. Thus, once a person repents, he then realizes that he must repent again, because he now more fully understands what it means to betray the Almighty.
We might say that the initial repentance is the “icebreaker,” the first step, whereby the person recognizes the need to improve. At that point, the real teshuvah begins.
On this basis, the Rebbe explained why the Gemara instructs us to “always” involve ourselves in Torah and mitzvot even insincerely. Sincerity is not “all or nothing”; there are different levels of authentic service of Hashem. If we are always growing, we will realize that yesterday’s “lishmah” was really “shelo lishmah.” If we thought last year that we were sincere in our commitment, we realize now that our sincerity then was deficient. And, hopefully, next year we will look back upon our present selves and see our current deficiencies. Once we grow, we feel uneasy about who we used to be.
A Commitment to Lifelong Change
It is this commitment to continued growth that silences the Satan and pulls the rug out from underneath him.
The Hebrew word shofar is derived from the root sh.p.r., which means “enhance.” Indeed, in modern Hebrew, shipur means “improvement,” and “leshaper” means “to improve.” The purpose – or a purpose – of the shofar is to inspire growth. The Rambam (Hilchot Teshuvah3:4) famously explains that the shofar blowing represents an “alarm” that “wakes” us from our spiritual “slumber,” calling upon us to repent.
If so, then the additional set of shofar blasts alludes to the repentance that follows the repentance. It shows that once we’ve begun repenting – we realize that we’ve only gotten started, that we have so much more to do. It shows that ourteshuvah isn’t just a momentary experience, but a commitment to lifelong change and growth.
This commitment immediately takes the Satan out of the picture. Nothing the Satan can say will be effective in casting us in a negative light once we’ve shown our commitment to continuous growth. Nothing about our past matters at all if we are genuinely committed to striving to improve. At that point, the Satan quits. He has nothing more to say. If we show that we are in it for the long haul, that each step forward will propel us to the next step, we’ve won. We’ve guaranteed a favorable judgment.
The Rebbe explained on this basis the reason for the two days of Rosh Hashanah. The first day is for fixing, the second day is for soaring. The first day is for us to realize that we need to change, and the second day is for us to realize even more how much we need to change, and to commit to a lifetime of religious growth.
Heads & Tails
Many have the custom on the night of Rosh Hashanah to eat the head of a fish (or a sheep), and to recite the prayer, “…sheniheyeh lerosh velo lezanav” – that we shall be the “head” and not the “tail.”
The implicit assumption of this prayer is that there is nothing in between the “head” and the “tail.” If we are not pushing ourselves and striving to advance, to reach the top, to achieve greatness, then we will almost inevitably fall to the depths. Just like there is physical gravity which keeps us on the ground, there is spiritual gravity which pulls us down. Thus, just as an airplane needs a powerful engine to resist gravity and fly through the air, we need a powerful internal “engine” to propel us upwards, as otherwise we will fall to the ground.
Developing this analogy further – a plane does not fly directly upwards, but rather on a diagonal, gradually but steadily elevating. Our growth, too, must be gradual. If we try to grow too fast, our “engine” – our drive, our motivation, our desire to grow – will overheat and break down. Rapid, drastic change is unsustainable. Our commitment must be to grow slowly, a little at a time, moving step-by-step toward the “rosh,” toward greatness, consistently pushing upward.
If we make this commitment this Rosh Hashanah, we can rest assured that the Satan will not even bother to show up. We can feel confident that once we make the decision to never fall into spiritual apathy, to always try, to always make an effort, to make one small change after another, Gd will look favorably upon us and our sincere desire to improve, and we will be worthy of a happy and blessed year for ourselves and for the entire Jewish Nation, amen.