Renewal Is Built into Jewish Observances
Which comes first-darkness or light?
Thinking about how we function in this semi-pandemic world is complicated. Should we go places, and if yes, under what circumstances, like the theater? Should we hug and kiss our family and friends or rub elbows? When is it appropriate to wear a mask, and when is it unnecessary?
Are you weary of these fundamental questions?
I know; I am.
I started thinking about the relationship between how difficult it is to find new beginnings these days and the Jewish practice of beginning every day and every holiday at sundown, a time that ushers in darkness and danger. Is revitalization possible under these circumstances? We must survive the menacing night to get to the rising sun and the surrounding light. I wondered why and when this unusual pattern developed.
Friday nights, when the holiday begins, Shabbat is referred to as a bride, full of hope for the future. Welcoming Shabbat is called likrat kallah (to greet the [Shabbat] bride.) Each weekly holiday offers the opportunity for renewal, even though it starts with darkness. But, you can see that night, in this instance, doesn't cast a negative shadow.
The origin of this practice turned out to be the Old Testament, in the story of creation. God created darkness before he created light. So, darkness is the beginning, not the end. It's a tribute to this ancient document.
Similarly, the Jewish New Year takes place in Autumn, approaching the dark season. It is the time of year most resembling sundown. Granted, Autumn is a spectacular time of gorgeously colored leaves, brisk days, and a return to a more active lifestyle.
Gone are the relaxed summer days when we all thought about the nearest body of refreshing water to jump into. Secretly, we acknowledge the upcoming winter's woes, darkness, cold, ice, and winds, at least in this part of the world.
Notice the similarity of the timing of weekly Shabbat celebrations, starting at sundown, to Rosh Hashonah, the start of the 10 Days of Awe. It begins on a New Moon night, a night of darkness, a moonless time.
During the next ten days, we meditate and pray, examine wrongdoings, ask for forgiveness, and seek the blessing of another year of life. When Yom Kippur is over, we rejoice and feel restored. Once again, our time of darkness comes first, then light follows with happiness.
Renewal may be built into these practices purposefully by ancient rabbis to teach us to seek awakening and a renewed sense of joy —renewal triumphs when we have passed through the darkness.
Feeling revitalized may be more complex than we once thought.
Could it be that the world must endure the pandemic to get to a glorious new beginning, and similarly, so must our individual lives?