My friend Nick reminded me that once upon a time, I used to go to Rosh Hashanah services on the evening of Rosh Hashanah, but although it was probably not too long ago, it seems as if ages have passed. When you live in Israel, the change in weather, the approach of fall, and the coming new year are so apparent that the spiritual aspect, which in the Diaspora assumes such a prominent role, invariably—if one like me is “secular” and goes with other “secular” Jews—diminishes in importance. When I was young, I never understood why Rosh Hashanah occurred in such an unassuming time of year—usually about the middle of fall—a holiday twixt and between, not like New Years, which took place when winter passed its nadir or Pesach, which invariably inaugurated spring. Rosh Hashanah seemed the new year of nothing.
Until I came to Israel. For at least two weeks now I have noticed cumulus clouds, first signs of autumn, in the sky despite the oppressive summer heat. The sky often is a pale blue as if white gauze has been placed over it, and the sunlight is that beautiful yellow light which in Israel you only get in the fall. So for two weeks now I have been awaiting the New Year, Rosh Hashanah, the harbinger of rains, the narcissus and daffodils in December, the cyclamens in January, and the end of the oppressive, rainless summer: the forerunner of rebirth, which here in Israel occurs in winter when the country again becomes green.
Happy New Year to all! May there be rebirth, joy, prosperity, and health.
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