After being here for over a year, the change in seasons still astounds me. On September 21 – the autumnal equinox – almost like clockwork, the weather changed drastically. We had a beautiful warm end of summer and now, all of a sudden, fall has arrived. This week it rained for 4 days straight and you could really see people’s mood change. Today we’re back to sunny skies but there’s a different feeling in the air. There’s a crisp coolness that calls our attention to winter’s approach.
I’m actually quite excited about the change in weather (mostly because I’m looking forward to snowboarding). Since moving here to Colorado, I’ve become so much more conscious of weather. I grew up in Southern California, where the weather never really changes. Every day is pretty much like the last – sunny and mild. Do you remember the movie “LA Story?” Steve Martin plays a weatherman who pre-tapes his reports so he can go away for the weekend. Until I saw that movie, I wasn’t even aware that there were weather reports in LA. What’s the point? The weather never changes much. Nothing seems to change in LA. Even the people don’t seem to age there… they just get plastic surgery. But, here in Colorado, we definitely notice changes.
I remember last year my friend from LA called me and asked me how I was doing… I said, “I’m ok, but there’s something terribly wrong here and I’m really worried.” He asked, “what’s wrong?”
“Well,” I responded, “I think the trees here have some sort of disease… they’re all turning yellow and then red and the leaves are all falling off! I’m scared: think the trees are dying!”
Now, I love the seasons. I notice the changes in the plants and the animals that come out at different times of year. I love to see the leaves change color as winter creeps closer. I love the feeling of winter giving way to spring and the renewal of life. It also makes me think about how much more aware our ancestors must have been of the changes around them. I wonder what it was like here in Denver a few generations back before central heat and Subaru all-wheel drive. I imagine that people didn’t go out more than they needed to.
We modern city dwellers – especially those of us from LA – are so much less aware and less affected by the changing seasons. Even in the ancient Land of Israel – whose weather is more like California’s than Colorado’s – our forefathers and mothers were intimately attuned to the weather and change of seasons. The balance of rain and sunshine didn’t determine if they could go bike riding that day – it was a matter of life and death. If the rains didn’t arrive in time, people would literally starve. It’s really no wonder that our Jewish holidays are so tied to the seasons. Most Jews aren’t aware of it – because we don’t emphasize it anymore – but our ancient ancestors were obsessed with fertility and agriculture. Our festivals probably started as agricultural rituals that we inherited from our pagan predecessors. We changed the theology and over time we grafted onto the festivals the narratives of our people. In fact, the cycle of the holidays tells our national story.
In the Spring, in the month of Nisan, we celebrate our liberation from Egypt. Pesach represents our birth as a nation and it is no coincidence that it comes in the spring when new life is emerging all around us. Pesach is then linked to Shavuot by the counting of the Omer – which was literally counted with sheaves of barley. That period was a precarious time for our ancestors as they awaited the summer harvest. On Shavuot we celebrate receiving Torah from Mount Sinai. The sustenance we glean from the words of Torah is coupled with the nourishment we harvest from our fields.
Someone recently asked me if there is a connection between the High Holy Days and the season. She wanted to know if Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have resonance with the early fall. You might expect that the New Year would start in the spring. You might expect that Rosh Hashanah, which commemorates in part God’s creation of the universe – would be in the spring, when new life comes into being. Instead, we have the Days of Awe just as the doldrums of winter are approaching. And, furthermore, you might expect that the Yamim Noraim – concerned with repentance and being written into the book of life – would be in the spring, when new life is emerging.
Well, this woman wasn’t the first person to ask this question and it isn’t obvious why we count the new year from the beginning of the month of Tishre. In fact the Talmud (RH 11a) records a dispute between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshuah – two sages from the time of the Mishna. Rabbi Eliezer said that the world was created in Tishrei (in the fall) but Rabbi Yehoshuah says the world was created Nisan (in the spring). And to bolster their arguments, they each refer to the same passage in the Torah. When God was creating the Earth, He says, “Let the land be covered with vegetation – seed-baring plants and fruit trees.” (Gn 1:11) Rabbi Eliezer takes this to mean that the world was created with fully formed plants and fruit, which would mean that Creation took place in the fall when the fruits are fully mature. Rabbi Yehoshuah uses the next verse (1:12) “so the earth brought forth vegetation…” and concludes that the world was created at the time of year that the Earth brings forth vegetation – that is in the spring.
The argument in the Talmud goes in a number of directions, but to my mind it brings up an interesting question: what is the appropriate time of year for the reflection and repentance of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur? Is it in the spring when life is renewed, at the beginning of the process of life, or is perhaps the outgrowth of maturation?
At the time we are born, there is no need for repentance. Reflection happens after having lived life for a while. Teshuvah is more strongly associated with the end of life than with its beginning. And while Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur may not be directly tied to agriculture, we also need to bear in mind that the Yamim Noraim are linked to Sukkot. The season of repentance that begins in Elul culminates at the end of Sukkot – at Hoshanah Rabbah – when we begin to pray for rain. To our ancient ancestors, there was nothing more important than the coming of the rainy season. In the Torah, Sukkot is referred to as “he-hag” – THE Festival. It was a time of great anxiety because they believed that rain was God’s reward for our righteousness and drought was a sign of divine punishment. So, it isn’t surprising that before we can ask God for rain, we need to ask for forgiveness from our sins.
There is also a connection to the mood we feel at this time of year. I don’t know about you, but I’m very affected by the weather. The cold short days of winter make me want to stay inside and curl up under heavy blankets. The same is true for the process of teshuvah – of reflection and repentance – that we undergo at the High Holy Days. We turn inward. And, like the seed planted by the farmer at the beginning of winter, we don’t see the fruits of our teshuvah right away. The changes we seek in ourselves don’t just sprout up overnight. Like the farmer sitting in his sukkah, we have to cultivate those changes, nurture them, and hope they will take root. If we are successful, we too will emerge in the spring with renewed life.
Shabbat Shalom. G’mar Hatimah Tova.
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