Getting Started

Erev Rosh Hashanah, 5765 (2004)

A few weeks ago, I got into our car to drive some place, turned the key, and, well, the car didn’t start. The battery was fine, the engine was fine, but the car just didn’t seem to start. A call to AAA revealed the source of the problem: a faulty piece of equipment known, appropriately enough, as a “starter motor”, or, for short, a “starter.” Once the AAA mechanic started the car, it ran fine, but we were assured that if we turned it off, we’d have trouble starting it again, unless and until we went ahead and purchased a new starter.

This brought back a memory to me. Once, about fifteen years ago, I was living in New Jersey and commuting every day across the George Washington Bridge to the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center where I was working as a chaplain. One day, I hit a deep pothole on the bridge, so deep that I heard a loud bang from the front of the car. I didn’t know what it was. The car seemed to continue to run fine, until we arrived at our destination in Manhattan. I pulled off the road at the edge of Harlem to take a look under the hood. I made the mistake of turning the car off. When I opened the hood, I saw that my starter had fallen right off its frame and that there was no way that I was going to be able to restart the car. Thus began an interesting adventure about which I’ll have more to say on another occasion.

As I thought about this evening, beginning the High Holidays together, anticipating a Yom Tov dinner, thinking about participating in Rosh Hashanah services, with the special Torah readings, the blowing of the shofar, the distinctive liturgy, I thought about that experience. Sometimes, it seems, you can have power, you can have energy, you can be structurally capable of making a journey, but you just can’t get started.

The High Holidays, it seems, come on us suddenly, whether they’re early or late, they seem mysteriously to arrive. I rarely feel entirely ready for them until they arrive. Somehow, I need to hear the characteristic melodies, I need to see everyone in Yom Tov clothing, I need to know that Rosh Hashanah is here before I can truly know it inside. And that’s when I can begin to pray.

Getting started is hard work, and it deserves to be acknowledged as such. How do we do it? How do we get ourselves sparked, excited, engaged? What are some proven techniques?

First, and I know that this message is somewhat wasted on this group, but I’ll remind you of it anyway, Come Early. Whenever people ask me what time this part of the service starts, or when that part of the service starts, I always tell them, “Oh, I think it’s around such-and-such a time—but come a few hours early just in case.” I actually mean what I say. A worship service is an experience that you can’t simply show up for—you have to be a part of it for a while before you can appreciate it. Particularly on Rosh Hashanah, when the davenning is so unusual, I urge people to be here by 8:00 or 8:15 in the morning. It’s so valuable to participate in the introductory service, the preliminary prayers, to focus first on the self and the needs of the self before turning to the community, the Jewish People, and all humanity—the focus of our attention during the later, more communal parts of the service.

Second, come prepared to stay awhile. Explore the mahzor. Don’t be or feel bound by the particular page we happen to be reciting. Read other parts of the mahzor. Ponder them, reflect on them, savor them. Bring a book or two to help make the most of the experience. There are several fine guides to the High Holiday liturgy, such as Reuven Hammer’s book, Entering the High Holidays. Some people like to bring a book of poetry, or a book of devotional readings, such as the Book of Psalms. All of us have a book we find inspiring—or we should have such a book. Go find it. Get it. Bring it. Read from it.

Finally, don’t forget to bring youself. Martin Buber tells a wonderful Hasidic story about an absent-minded Hasid who was always finding it difficult to get dressed in the morning. So his rebbe told him to put his clothes out the night before and to arrange them very methodically, in the order in which he would want to put them on. So the man did just that: he put out his leggings and his trousers and his shirt and his socks and his boots. When he got up in the morning, he saw them, but instead of being reassured, he seemed as anxious as ever. “I see my leggings, and my trousers, my shirt and socks and boots. They’re all where they’re supposed to be. But where am I? Where am I?”

We’re never going to get started on this journey unless we are here and unless we know we’re here. Unless we’re fully present, giving it our all. That’s the only way we can rouse all of our spiritual energies and become transported by the experience.

Oh, and there’s one more thing: Sometimes, you can come early and come prepared and you’re all ready to go and . . .and nothing happens. What do you do then? That’s when you might need a ‘jump start’ and that’s why we’re all here—to be there for one another, helping one another on this journey. So please be mindful of the folks in the next row, the ones behind you who might be listening when you shmooze. Please, remember, that what you do in shul can have a powerful effect on those around you. If you’re focused on the davenning, you can help others focus as well. If, on the other hand, you are visibly and audibly distracted, you’re going to be distracting, and you’ll hinder someone else’s spiritual journey.

There’s a beautiful Hebrew term for the proper attitude, the proper approach we should take if we hope to make full use of this prayer experience. The word is kavannah. Kavannah means focus, direction, intention. Let’s all try to focus ourselves, to make full use of this wonderful opportunity. Let’s all try to acquire the proper kavannah so that we can get started, on the right foot, so to speak, during the upcoming Days of Awe. I have no doubt that if we get started, we’ll be able to keep going as long as we like.

Shanah Tovah!