by Rachel Thompson
On Rosh Hashana, we are inscribed in the book of life. On Yom Kippur, the book is sealed. During the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we are told to repent for our sins, make amends for our wrongdoings…pound our chests in public and feel hunger.
I always thought that the order seemed wrong. For me, it made more sense to say sorry before moving forward, but what I’ve come to learn is that it’s a cycle.
When I was a kid, I thought that, my avinu malkainu’s wiped the slate clean… absolved me of the sins I committed against my brother, my parents, my friends, myself… and the sins I committed against god… like the sin I committed moments before when I ate an oreo from the synagogue day care center while I was supposed to be fasting, or the sin I commited when I played cards with the kids during the particularly tedious parts of the service. When I’d make it back inside, I’d thump my chest with the best of ‘em – thinking that I was wiping the slate clean
These days, I think a little more critically and a little less literally. I understand now that saying sorry and thumping my chest doesn’t absolve me of my sins, what it does, is mark a point in time when I have acknowledged my mistakes and vow to avoid these same errors in the future.
We’re not a blank slate, we’re constantly evolving beings. We set intentions, we set goals, and when we fall short or take a rocky path, we can always step back, focus our energy on learning from our mistakes and move forward with greater purpose.
On Rosh Hashana, I set some goals for myself. I’ve already run off the path, but that’s ok. On Yom Kippur I will make amends for the mistakes I have made during the last year– and I’m going to keep doing that. This Holy day teaches us that it is never too late to say sorry. Never too late to make a new start.
…
May we learn from our mistakes, May we be empowered to make a fresh start when we need one, and May we all be sealed in the book of life.
Photo by mihoda, licensed under Creative Commons.
We’ve asked Jewish educators and organizations all over North America to add a fifth question to the Seder – one that will inspire us to make Passover meaningful for today’s Jewish world. Find out more about our 5th Question project.
This 5th Question comes from Next Dor -
Passover, it turns out, is the most celebrated Jewish holiday of the year. More than Shabbat, more than Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur. Even ‘high holiday only’ Jews usually make it to a Seder. If Passover, then, is the most important Jewish holiday (by participation), and the Four Questions are the most important parts of the Seder, a fifth question must be taken quite seriously. After all, the Four Questions cut to the heart of the narrative, forcing us to think about our meal as more than just the sum of the foods and people assembled therein. Therefore, I propose a straightforward question, one that it seems is taken for granted by many, but altogether unclear for so many other in our community.
The question is: “Why be Jewish?”
Ok, I know it isn’t in the standard format of ‘why on this night do we do this or do we not do this’, but I think it is probably the most important question in the Jewish world that receives the least amount of attention. Particularly in a time in which so many young adults born to Jewish parents are not identifying with the Jewish community in ways previous generations did, when Antisemitism seems so foreign, and when Israel is so mired in conflict, identifying with and participating in the Jewish community isn’t a given.
I believe that asking this question at the Seder would be quite powerful. Particularly after spending so much of the Seder identifying with our ancestors of old and their struggles, asking and answering the question ‘why’ should we be Jewish today and build the Jewish community in the future would be a strong reaffirmation of our people-hood. It also might give us a chance to really listen to those we consider ‘unaffiliated’ or ‘disengaged’. We might just learn a thing or two and find deeper answers for ourselves as to why we choose, in an age of science, secularism, and sectarianism, to be Jewish.
Next Dor is a platform and program to empower young adults to build Jewish community that is relevant and vibrant. Based out of a renovated house, Next Dor provides the resources and opportunities to bring young adults together in an informal and non-institutional setting.
Photo by Zeevveez, licensed under Creative Commons.
By Barbara Newman
As Purim approaches this year, for some reason, the old TV ad-campaign, “pork, the other white meat” comes to mind. Poor pork, apparently such an underdog to chicken that it needed its own ad-campaign. I know nothing about pork, and yet something about the ad resonates with my thoughts of Purim. In this day and age when so many Jews in America celebrate Halloween, Purim is relegated often to the “other Halloween,” but is that really fair? Should it even be compared to Halloween? Would more Jews celebrate Purim if they knew more about it, and opt out of Halloween entirely? I remember having to convince Jewish friends who loved dressing up for Halloween to come out to a Purim party. Why is Purim such an underdog?
On the surface, Purim and Halloween seem to have a number of similarities – costumes, parties, revelry — but cut deeper into them and you will find many differences.
Halloween (officially All Hallow’s Eve or All Saints’ Eve) is a secular holiday. Much of Halloween’s imagery is evil and scary, with ghosts, ghouls, witches and skulls, and these themes seem to be encouraged. Growing up, I remember hearing about tainted candy and people who would go out on the streets and throw eggs and spray shaving cream all over the neighborhood. Historically, Halloween was a time of year when many pogroms would occur, making it a genuinely scary time to be a Jew.
Purim, on the other hand, is a time to rejoice in the story of individuals overcoming evil. The word “Purim” means “lots” – a reference to Haman casting lots to determine the day he would destroy the Jews, ultimately settling on the 13th of Adar . It is an interesting echo of the Jews history with Halloween, but luckily for the Jews, Purim did not turn out so frightening. Through individual actions, good triumphed over evil, giving us more reasons to celebrate than to fear. Rather than trick-or-treat and take from others, the Purim tradition asks that we give to others, through Mishloach Manot (gifts of food) to our neighbors, and charity to the poor.
Although it is a Jewish holiday, on the surface, Purim can seem fairly secular. The heroism, triumphs and miracles of Purim came about through the actions of people. No reference to G-d is made throughout the Megillah reading and excessive drinking is encouraged (even in Synagogue). But all is not what it seems. Just as we dress up in costume and wonder who is beneath, there is hidden and significant meaning behind the seemingly secular nature of the holiday.
So is Purim really “the other” Halloween? Looking behind the mask of each holiday reveals just how different they truly are. Might Purim need a better marketing campaign so that more people will celebrate? Well that’s a different question.
Photo by Miala, licensed under Creative Commons.

By Nava Szwergold
It’s certainly not the most significant holiday in the Jewish calendar, nor does it appear in the Torah or carry with it many mitzvot (commandments). Actually, Hannukah’s apparent lack of importance has an interesting effect on me: it eases much of the tension and guilt that I usually feel as a secular Jew around the holidays. I don’t sign on to all the beliefs and rituals that religious people do and have often felt uncomfortable celebrating Shabbat or other chagim with them. There are just too many rules to be followed and too many ways to break them.
However, my own Hannukah tradition of lighting candles and singing songs doesn’t differ all that much from traditions of more observant Jews. One evening in Israel I saw a religious family lighting their Hannukah candles in the lobby of my hostel. Later that night I saw a secular Jew do the exact same thing in a bar. Both times I found familiarity and joy in the ritual and songs, and more than that, I appreciated the diversity of people and places reflected in Hannukah.

Hannukah is one of the few weeks of the Jewish calendar when things feel relatively simple for me; it is a respite from the discomfort and uncertainty that come with many other holidays. Having learned them as a kid, I understand my Hannukah traditions and can easily share them with others. More importantly, they come with many joyful memories for me. So, even though Hannukah is not a very important part of the Jewish calendar, it is one of the most special parts of my Jewish year.
Photo by Lackac, licensed under Creative Commons.
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