1 Tishrei: Rosh Hashanah 5787 by Rabbi Josh Breindel

This summer, my family and I returned to the Berkshires for vacation.

We moved away nine years ago, and it always feels wonderful to be back in the mountains. Much as I enjoy relaxing at the beach, I delight in being on a summit, taking in the view. My spouse loves being at the ocean, yet I’d choose to visit a new peak if given the chance.

Writer Robert Finch once reflected on the different ways that we tend to perceive the mountains and the sea. The coastline seems to exemplify change. Waves constantly reshape the shore and storms redraw beaches. Mountains, in contrast, often feel more permanent, projecting endurance and stability.
On reflection, I’m not sure that the difference is so clear-cut.

The shore changes quickly enough for us to notice it at a glance. The mountains shift slowly enough for us to forget that they’re in flux, even though we know that they, too, are changing.

I remember how heartbroken I was when New Hampshire’s Old Man of the Mountain collapsed. That stone profile had seemed permanent, almost mythic. But change still came; the mountain, like all mountains, was never standing still. Frost, rain, wind, and time wear down even the sharpest ridgelines. What looks unmoving to us is slowly becoming something else.

That’s one of the lessons that we can derive from nature as we approach Rosh Hashanah. The month of Elul invites us to notice change not only in the world around us, but within ourselves.

In this season, we sometimes speak of teshuvah, of returning to our truest selves, as though our identity were something fixed within us. That emphasis can make it feel as though change were something unusual – a dramatic choice we make once a year. Yet the very nature of creation suggests otherwise.

Our morning liturgy gives thanks to the One who “renews the work of creation every day, continually.” In Jewish tradition, creation isn’t something that was finished in ages past – it’s ongoing, as our Creator is mystically making the world anew each day.

I sympathize with the desire to keep things the same, to preserve the familiar shape of our identity (or our beloved landmarks). At the same time, Jewish tradition – and Elul in particular – teaches us that it’s not possible to live unchanging lives. Change is part of creation, every bit as present in the world within us as it is in the world around us. Our bodies, our relationships, and our planet are constantly in flux.

That’s the real meaning of teshuvah: it’s the call for us to embrace the reality of change in our lives with honesty, humility, and mindful care. The question is not whether transformation will come, but how we will open ourselves to meet it.

May our process of teshuvah guide us to draw ever-closer to our ever-changing sense of self. And as we enter the New Year, may we give thanks to our Creator for our capacity to grow and change, working as loving stewards of our sacred world.