Mixing Joy and Grief
Rabbi Ariann Weitzman Rosh Hashanah 5785/2024
Shana Tova. A story, written by Levin Kipnis, a Yiddish children’s author, first published in 1961:
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Way high up and far away, where heaven touches earth, New Year and Bygone Year met in passing. And New Year — young and handsome, dressed in purples and blues, crowned in gold, strong and proud, climbed up the mountain. |
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*** Bygone Year answered, “I moan over yiddishe tsores, the sorrows that Jews endure the world over.” And just like that, they had to part, because suddenly, the sun was setting. In the blink of an eye, Bygone Year had disappeared, and New Year was left standing alone. He stayed there a moment deep in thought, concentrating, and then he set off on his way. *** “Shone toyve! Shone toyve!” cried the vineyard. “Come to us, you, happy, good year!” “Shalom, dear, beloved vineyard,” New Year replied. “But how can my heart be joyful when it’s so hard and bitter for Jews the world over?” “Just look at my bunches of grapes,” the vineyard said. “They’re ripe, clear, and full of sweet juice. Go ahead and clip the best of them, to sweeten the bitterness of Jewish life.” Two angels cut off a beautiful bunch of grapes and together carried it on a pole. *** “Shone toyve! Shone toyve!” called out the orchard. “We’ve been waiting for you, year of happy good fortune!” New Year replied, “Shalom, shalom, exquisite orchard! But how can I be happy when it’s hard and bitter for Jews the world over?” The orchard said, “Among my green branches hang golden pomegranates with crimson crowns and rosy cheeks; they’re ripe, and each one is full of 613 juicy seeds. They’re all beautiful and sweet; take some to sweeten Jewish life.” The third angel filled up a basket with pomegranates and lifted it onto his head. *** He was greeted by a beehive in a field of wildflowers, and an entire army of yellow-gold bees buzzing round and round. Their large eyes sparkled and their glass-thin wings gleamed. The bees encircled New Year with a song, “B-b-b-b-b-bee blessed, New Year! B-b-b-b-b-bee blessed, sweet year!” “Shalom, shalom, quick and industrious bees!” New Year replied. But how can I be sweet when it’s hard and bitter for Jews the world over?” The bees said, “We fly from flower to flower, sucking sweet, precious nectar, working from dawn to dusk, chewing and kneading to prepare honey cakes. Take our honey to sweeten Jewish life.” So the fourth angel shouldered a jug of honey. |
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The angels dispersed over all the festive houses and distributed the sweets. That evening, Jewish families sat around their tables, which had been set with all that was good. They tasted the grapes and the pomegranates and dipped white challah in the golden honey and exclaimed: “Shone toyve umesuke — may you have a good, sweet year! |
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There have been many hard years in human history, many hard years for our country, many exceedingly hard years for Jews around the world, and many painful years for Israeli. But this has felt like a year particularly full of yiddishe tsores, Jewish sorrows.
Many of us have had to carry that sorrow more heavily than others, because of our identities, our work, or the way we show up to take action in the world. Some of us might feel like we’re shuffling into this new year as hunched over, groaning and sighing, as the Bygone Year of our story. When we wish each other Shana Tova this year, we might lean in a little harder on the possibility of tova, may it be a year that actually feels good.
But for all of us, whether we are distressed by world news, dealing with loss in our own lives, combating rising antisemitism, managing illness and injury, out of work or working too hard, it has not been a year of all bad, all bitter, all sorrow.
Along the way, we may have welcomed new babies, planted new gardens, celebrated a bat mitzvah, eaten an ice cream sundae, read a delightful book, learned a new skill, engaged more fully in a mitzvah, cared for others, joined a community choir, or otherwise made a difference in our community. Along the way, we have all had moments of joy, moments of delight, moments of good, both small and large.
About a month ago, I bought my first pair of tap shoes in at least twenty years, and I signed up for an adult tap class. I took at least a little inspiration from the slogan I’ve seen connected to life post October 7th, in reference to the Nova Music Festival: We will dance again. But I also have been trying to make as many choices as possible in the past year to increase the joy in my life, to not let joy just happen to me by accident, but to be as habituated as possible to joy so that I never miss it when the opportunity arises.
The truth is that I am already a joyful person. It’s easy for me to make that kind of choice because I usually see the joy already, and I know how to find more. But the other truth is that my life, like many others, is filled with enough other priorities that the joy sometimes gets shoved to the side, forgotten.
In our story, New Year has two choices: to bend over under the weight of sorrow passed on by Bygone Year, the pain caused by this often deplorable and painful world of ours, OR to accept the possibility of joy that meets him at every turn in this often magnificent world of ours.
Even at the beginning of the story, we have a sense that grief may still come to find him by year’s end. The pleasures of the world may not be enough to keep him upright all year long. It’s a danger we all face.
But Jewish tradition offers a third way. It allows us, even commands us, to experience joy in the face of tragedy. We don’t sit shiva on Shabbat, not because we are not still grieving, but because we can allow ourselves to be enveloped in the normal rhythms of joyful, living community even in the midst of our sadness. No matter what the New Year has inherited from
Bygone Year, the vineyard and the orchard and the bees foist joy onto him. He is not allowed to remain in grief in a moment that should be joyful.
And Jewish tradition also allows us to bring sadness to the table in the midst of our joy. It is no accident that of the four times we recite Yizkor memorial prayers during the year, three of them fall on joyful pilgrimage holidays: Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot. It is precisely in moments of joy when we remember who isn’t here, but should be. We let the sadness in just a bit, so that we can feel free to fully give ourselves to the joy of the day, so that we can ritually remove the pain and even guilt of still being here when loved ones are not.
We have no choice as humans but to cry and to laugh with the same eyes, to mourn and to dance at the same time, to be rebuilt anew even while shattering into pieces1.
According to our liturgy, God is mechadesh be’tuvo be’khol yom tamid ma’asei bereishit, that is, creating, in goodness, every single day continually, the works of Creation. It is not only the year that is recreated for us each Rosh Hashanah, with all of its new hopes and possibilities, but it is actually us who are recreated, every single day, continuously through our lives2. The gift of that recreation is the opportunity for new perspectives, new insight, new appreciation of the joys of life.
As we move through the Holiday season, focused on our missteps in the past year, our striving to be better in the new year, may we also focus on the possibility of building a world as filled to the brim with joy as possible, for our own sakes and for every person on earth. May we recommit ourselves again to building a world of love, possibility, and joy.
1. Inspired by a kavvanah by Rabbi Oded Mazor of Kehillat Kol Haneshama, Jerusalem
2. Inspired by the Sfat Emet