Why I’m Choosing Optimism This Year

When I head for shul for Rosh Hashanah in a few days, I’ll bring my own packet of tissues. Even during nonextraordinary years, this is a powerful, emotional day. While my shul always has a few boxes available, this year I expect the tears to flow copiously. 

Every year we stand in front of God, asking to be inscribed in the Book of Life. As we make this request again, our hearts will clench in pain over our staggering losses — more than 1,400 brothers and sisters in Israel who were not inscribed in that Book last year. We will see in our mind’s eye the faces of hostages, soldiers and other victims who became known and precious to us. Perhaps we even knew a few of them personally. We will try to imagine them in heaven, at peace, understanding what we cannot. 

Normally in the weeks leading up to Rosh Hashanah I think of small ways I can commit to my spiritual growth. I focus on small things, not because I don’t need significant improvement, but because if I overreach I will fail for certain. This year I felt too weary for this exercise. Like so many other Jews, I am more fiercely dedicated to our people, our land, and our God as never before, but fighting this good fight while also living our lives has been exhausting.

Like so many other Jews, I am more fiercely dedicated to our people, our land, and our God as never before, but fighting this good fight while also living our lives has been exhausting. 

Personally, this past year I began a chapter-a-day study of Nach Yomi (the 19 books of the Prophets and Writings) through the Orthodox Union’s Women’s Initiative, joined WhatsApp groups reciting tehillim for the IDF and for other Jews in need of healing and protection, and ramped up my financial giving and efforts in Jewish advocacy. When lighting Shabbat candles, I began to ask God to bless every member of my family by name, feeling inexpressibly fortunate that I had so many names to recite. I began to do something that was unnatural for me, which was to say to God, I love you. I had long felt this in my heart but giving voice to a feeling, however quietly, gives it more power, makes it more real. So as the month of Elul came around again, I felt I could not take on anything more. 

During Rosh Hashanah we stand in judgment both as individuals and as a people. I love how our prayers are expressed in the plural, a reminder that we are all responsible for one another. The prospect of divine judgment can be daunting, even frightening, but every year I approach it with guarded optimism. Some years, when famous and powerful Jews have disgraced themselves through reprehensible behavior, shaming us all in the process, I wondered if I was living in a fool’s paradise in expecting a good judgment. I hoped that their odious behavior would be overpowered by the thousands upon thousands of daily mitzvot performed without fanfare by Jews around the world. These people are true stars, both in this world and the next. 

Last year, my optimism was clearly misplaced. Our punishment has been severe, and it was impossible not to link our catastrophe to our code-red levels of internal strife that preceded it. This pattern — internal division leaving us wide open to attacks by enemies — has repeated itself throughout Jewish history. I’m learning much more about it through the Nach Yomi program. I hope that maybe, just maybe, we’ve needed to learn it for the last time.   

But guess what? This year I’ll still choose optimism, because we have rallied in the face of our harsh judgment. We have rushed to embrace one another in a time of desperate need. Perhaps following the old adage that there are no atheists in foxholes, many Jews who were unaffiliated have clamored to learn more about their Judaism. Chabad centers, Hillel houses, and other Jewish institutions have seen unprecedented upsurges in people seeking education, spiritual, and Jewish social connections. Many secular Jews proudly call themselves “Jewy,” wearing Magen David pendants, dog tags with hostages’ names, purposefully supporting Jewish and Israeli-owned businesses and giving to causes supporting Israel and our self-defense. The demand for tzitzit among secular IDF soldiers has been extraordinary. 

Last fall, a secular woman in Israel called a help line operated by religious Jews who offered to help anyone, anytime, with anything they could. Tearfully, the woman said she wanted to light Shabbat candles, but had never done so, had no candles at home and didn’t know the blessing. The man on the help line asked for her address and assured her that someone was on their way with the candles and the blessing written down. The call was recorded and made the rounds, but stories about Jews helping other Jews with no concern for labels, as well as Jews finding their way back to God in some way or other, are legion and will likely fill several books. 

Over this past year, so shocking and painful, we have proven that we are so much more than what divides us. We have proven it to one another and shown it to the world, though many are loathe to acknowledge it. I will feel optimistic because Rosh Hashanah is not only a day of judgment but a day of remembrance and mercy, when Humankind was created; when the Patriarchs Abraham and Jacob were born; when Joseph was released from Egyptian prison; and when, after years of barrenness, the matriarchs Sarah and Rachel, as well as Hannah, mother of the prophet Samuel, were blessed to have children. And we have seen many, many miracles, not only in Gaza but throughout the Jewish world.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe believed that when Rosh Hashanah leads directly into Shabbat there is a heightened potential for holiness, unity and peace, with one another and with God. I am holding onto that idea. I’ll still keep my tissues nearby, because I expect I won’t be the only one crying, not only for all that we have lost, but for what we have gained and for all that can still be.

Judy Gruen is the author of “Bylines and Blessings,” “The Skeptic and the Rabbi,” and other books. She is also a book editor and writing coach.