Rosh hashanah

On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed.
I’ve been getting a lot of questions in my village this week about the Jewish New Year. How on earth is it 5772? What does “Rash Hashina” mean? What are all those bearded Hassidim doing in Uman? Are Hassidim even Jews?

I try to answer each of the questions as best as I can. We began counting from the creation of the world. It means the “Head of the Year.” The Hassidim are there visiting the grave of a famous Rabbi, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, who promised good fortune to all those who visited his grave during the new year. There are many different types of Jews, including Hassidim, not to mention that there are many different types of Hassidim. Do you understand yet?

At the onset of the Jewish New Year, Jews are given ten days with which to get their affairs in order. Our tradition tells us that on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, all Jews are split into three groups: the righteous, the evil, and the in-betweens. Most of us, not surprisingly, fall into the last group. And so on Rosh Hashanah these in-betweens are written into the book of death (which is, understandably, bad) but are given ten days to rectify our mistakes. On the tenth day we celebrate Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, where first we atone for our sins against man and then we atone for our sins against God. Every year, our eternal existence hinges on a day ten window in early autumn. And people wonder about the root of Jewish anxiety.

What bad things have I done in the past year? I try to be a good person, do the right thing, follow the path of righteousness, etc. etc. But there exists this vision in my mind of the person I ought to be, and when I look in the mirror I just don’t see him. Perhaps this is a part of the struggle, what these ten days are supposed to be about: Reflecting on the difference between who we are and who we strive to become.

This Rosh Hashanah, my friend Avital and I organized a program for Peace Corps Volunteers in Dnieperpetrovsk. Following a successful Passover Seder where we had about 15 volunteers, , we wanted to do another event to try and injext some yiddishkeit intp the Peace Corps service of some of the other Jewish and non-Jewish volunteers alike.

While I’ve certainly had a taste of Jewish communities around Ukraine, most of my experiences have taken place in Kiev, the capitol. I thought that Kiev had a vibrant and growing community, looking towards the future. Then I saw Dnieperpetrovsk, and a new standard was set.

Rabbi Shmuel Kaminetzky, chief Rabbi of Dnieperpetrovsk, has a presence. In a synagogue where even on high holidays it is not unusual for tieless businessman to take a quick call on their bluetooth, when he gets up to speak, everybody listens. Rabbi Kaminetzky came to Ukraine 21 years ago for a year. But before the former Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, passed away, he made Kaminetzky promise he would never leave. The Rabbi has truly built a community, where Jews from all walks of life feel comfortable walking into the synagogue. He has gone from a group of disorganized wandering Jews in post USSR Ukraine to the opening, in February, of the Menorah Center, a Jewish community center that will scrape the Ukrainian skies. He is both knowledgeable and inclusive, a traditional Jew with an open door.

He was a welcome change to some of the other Jews I have encountered so far in Ukraine, especially more recently. One Hassidic woman, over a meal, accused me of not understanding Judaism. “How can you not help your own people?” she demanded to know. How could I have such care for these gentiles and chuck the Jewish people to the wind (her words, not mine).

Rabbi Kaminetzky was the opposite of that. In fact, he seems to be one of Peace Corps’ biggest cheerleaders in Ukraine. He regular welcomes my friend Avital, another Peace Corps volunteer, to his home and to his table, and extends open arms to Peace Corps compatriots passing through, Jewish and non-Jewish alike. He has great respect and admiration for all souls, and the feelings are almost certainly reciprocated.

Rabbo Kaminetzky could not have been more helpful in preparing for our event. He gave us a room to use in the synagogue complex, and had a huge traditional festival meal prepared. He also spoke to the volunteers for about ten minutes at the beginning of the program, thanking them for their service, and welcoming them to his community.

Avital and I then split all of the particpants (which numbered about 40, 30 of them peace Volunteers, 15 of them Jewish) into groups of 2 or 3. In Judaism, one is supposed to study with a Hevruta, a word without a true direct translation into English. Perhaps the best explanation is the translation of an old verse explaining the ideal study partner: Make for yourself a teacher, acquire for yourself a friend. Learn from them, learn about them, learn about yourself.

Avital and I directed each of the Hevrutas to ask each other a series of questions that Jews regularly ask themselves during these ten days. What bad things have I done in the past year? What can I do better? Who was I? Who am I? Who may I become?

Avital and I were each others Hevruta, and we dove deeply into these questions. I am constantly disappointed in my work here. I suppose it is the lasting remnants of my undying idealism, this belief that not only I CAN change the world, but that I MUST change the world. And yet every time I seem to fall short of my goal.

What have I done wrong in the past year? Many things, but none more so than being entirely discontented with the work I have done. Who may I become? Someone who continues to try their best to make the world better, for sure, but someone who will also be happy regardless of the outcome. Why am I not the man I see in the mirror? Perhaps it is because of the expectation of the man I expect to find.

I had the change in Dniperpetrovsk to spend some time with Yossi Glick, who runs the Jewish girls orphanage there. Yossi is, in my mind, what Jewish tradition might refer to as an Ish Tzaddik, a truly righteous man. He devotes his life to a small group of 15 girls with no family to turn to, teaches them, cares for them, loves them. He has seven children of his own whom he showers with affection. And to top it all of, twice a week he rides around in a small van through the poorest and most decrepit areas of Dniperpetrovsk. With a local social worker in tow, they build relationships with the city’s runaways, youth who gather in small groups to find warmth under a local highway or inside an abandoned factory. They talk to these children, ask if they can pass messages to their families, try to bring them back to a real life. Yossi admits that their success rate is low. But as the Talmud teaches us, he who saves one life saves the entire world.

Yossi will never be on any list anywhere of the most influential people in the world. He will not cure cancer, he will not solve world hunger, he will not win a Nobel Prize of Peace. But Yossi is trying to do his part, and he is happy, regardless of the outcome.

And so, a new years resolution: From now on, I will look in the mirror and see the man I am. For now, this will have to suffice.