Twenty-five of Yvel’s artisans went to work on a mask made of 18-karat white gold with 3,600 white and black diamonds. They produced a mask worth $1.5 million that weighs over half a pound. 

זכרנו לחיים מלך חפץ בחיים וכתבנו בספר החיים למענך אלוקים חיים

Remember us for life, King Who desires life, and inscribe us in the book of the living, for your sake, living Hashem.

In this simple yet deeply moving sentence, we beseech Hashem to inscribe us in the book of life.  Again, in the second addition to our Aseres Yemei Teshuva, מי כמוך אב הרחמים, we ask Hashem to remember us לחיים ברחמים, mercifully for life.  In the third insertion, though we add a word to chaim – וכתב לחיים טובים כל בני בריותך, now we ask Hashem to inscribe us for a good life.  And then again in the last insertion we reference בספר חיים…לחיים טובים ולשלום.

Why is good life mentioned only in the last two insertions and not the first two? Why not ask for חיים טובים, a good life, from the start? 

The Vilna Gaon explains that the first three berachos of Shemoneh Esrei are about life in the World to Come.  In the future, in the עולם האמת, the world of truth, the world of complete revelation, there is no good or bad, there is no distinction between life and a good life.  By definition, life in the next world is good and so we don’t need to specify טובים it in our tefillah.  However, says the Gaon, the last two insertions refer to our request for life in this world, in the here and now.  In this world, which could go either way, we specifically want a good life so we ask for חיים טובים.

But I would like to offer a different suggestion, one that these past six months have taught us all.  Perhaps the reason we begin by simply asking for חיים, for life, is because we cannot and must not take life itself for granted.  Before we can ask for חיים טובים, for the wonderful and beautiful joys and pleasures of life, before we can dream, wish, fantasize, and hope for exactly what we want our life to include, it cannot and must not be lost on us how fragile, tenuous, and unpredictable life is altogether.  

If last Rosh Hashana I would have stood up here and said, “Chevra, we need to daven hard, we need to dig deep and pray from the bottom of our hearts because I have a premonition, I fear in this coming year the entire globe will be struck by a plague, we will have to shut down the economy, the country, our shul, we will all wear masks, distance from one another, many won’t be able to leave their homes and many, way too many will lose loved ones almost overnight from this horrific plague,” it might have been my last speech.  You would say, “Rabbi, talk about something real, something relevant, something that could actually happen.” 

And yet in the last half of the past year, חיים טובים, the indulgencies and luxuries of life, have not been the priority.  חיים, our very survival, our family’s safety, our community’s health and wellbeing, staying alive and keeping those we cherish healthy have consumed our thoughts and dictated all of our actions, policies, and practices.

The distinction between two categories – “essential” and “non-essential” – has always been part of living a Torah life.  Remarkably, these words have dominated the world’s conversations this past half a year.  Essential workers and businesses were allowed to operate even when non-essential ones were asked or ordered to lock down.  We went out for essential items and activities, even when we were asked to remain at home and forego that which was unessential.  People everywhere continue to struggle to determine what is essential and important to do or go to, and what is unessential and worth skipping in an effort to mitigate risk. 

For almost seven months now we have been preparing for today, for coming before our Creator knowing the difference between חיים and חיים טובים, between essential and non-essential.  Now don’t get me wrong, we miss the non-essential. The “normal” parts of our lives we took for granted—socializing, playdates, vacations, kiddushes, simcha dancing, travel, and so much more—were not only enjoyable and fun, these were important and significant parts of life.  Yet, as badly as we crave their return, we have learned to live without them, at least for the time being.  We have realigned our priorities, refocused our values, and we have come to appreciate the gift of חיים, even before we get to חיים טובים.

Before Corona most people were inclined to feel invincible, indomitable, that all would continue the way it was, that we could and should expect to wake up tomorrow, to experience next week, to fully live next year and to enjoy the next decade and beyond.  And yet, an invisible and pernicious virus has taught us that nothing could or should be taken for granted, nothing, not our lives or anything in them, is predictable or certain.  The default and expectation should not be forחיים טובים or even חיים at all.  Each day we wake up, each moment we live is a gift from above.

The Shulchan Aruch (OC 225:1) rules based on the Gemara (Berachos 58b) that one who sees a friend after a year of not seeing him or her recites the beracha of ברוך מחיה המתים, Blessed is He Who revives the dead. The Maharsha wonders, just because you have been locked down, quarantined, distancing and haven’t seen others doesn’t mean they were dead and have been revived, so why does the beracha upon seeing a long-lost friend invoke literal resurrection?  The Mishna Berura quotes the Maharsha’s answer.  He explains that every year on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, our lives hang in the balance, our future is not certain, it is not secure. If we emerge successfully, it is as if we have been recreated and so when you see someone you haven’t seen in over a year, after a Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur have passed, you make a beracha acknowledging that Hashem has revived them for another year, granted them חיים.

With this in mind, firstly, we must not take life for granted. We cannot skip to asking for חיים טובים without first thinking about the gift of חיים.  I was once talking to a mother in our community who has several significant challenges in her family.  I asked her how she was doing or how was her day and her response has stayed with me ever since.  She said, “Rabbi, any day which ends with the same head count in my home as it began is a good day, no matter what else is going on.”   Let us pour out our hearts this morning to ask Hashem for the same head count in our homes at the end of each day, each month and each year as we had at the beginning.

This morning, on the anniversary of the creation of man, of first receiving life, let’s pause and be grateful to be alive and to pray that we and those we love merit long lives.  Let’s take a moment to declare we know what is essential and it isn’t a $1.5 million mask, but it is our health, our family, a roof over our heads, food in our mouths, meaning, purpose and Torah and our lives.

Secondly, the Gemara (Rosh Hashana 32b) says that on Rosh Hashana Hashem sits on His throne and the books of life and death are open before Him.  Why does He need a book of life, isn’t it enough to not be inscribed in the book of death?  Perhaps we earn חיים, life, by simply not being inscribed in the book of death.  But what kind of life?  A life of loneliness and solitude, a life of lockdown and quarantine, a life of retreat, of fighting to survive?  Or, a life of vibrancy, dynamism, a life of company, companionship and community, a life of activity and activism?  Our Creator opens two books because we don’t just want to be inscribed not to die, we want to be given the chance to fully live, to live a good life, a life filled with joy, pleasure, nachas, companionship, and happiness.

We begin by asking for חיים, but we don’t hesitate to also ask for חיים טובים.  My dear friends, this morning, let’s not be satisfied with just not dying, let’s aspire to live again, to sit in shiur together again, to hug our friends again, to hold our grandchildren again, to dance together again, to enjoy Shabbos and Yom Tov meals together again.  These days are Yemei Ratzon, special days to pour out our hearts to daven, to plead. Let’s together, collectively storm the gates of Heaven and ask Hashem to not only spare us from being written in the book of death, but to inscribe us in the book of life, of good life.

And lastly, when we think about the difference between essential and non-essential, we can’t just think about how we define the things in our lives, but we must ask ourselves how others define us in their lives.  Are we essential or non-essential?  Do we matter to others, do we make a difference in their lives, do we prove ourselves essential to our family and friends, to our colleagues, to our community and most of all to Hashem? 

The Mishna (Sanhedrin 4:5) teaches us, “כל אחד ואחד חייב לומר בשבילי נברא העולם”, every one of us is obligated to say “The world was created for me”. How do we balance this with the famous declaration of Avraham Avinu, “אנכי עפר ואפר” (Bereishis 18:27) “I am but dust and ash”?

Rav Noach Weinberg z”l, the founder and Rosh Yeshiva of Aish HaTorah, used to explain: We are not supposed to say the world was created for me in a self-centered, self-absorbed, narcissistic way. Rather, “The world was created for me” means it falls to me to take care of the world.  I see myself as essential, I am prepared to step up, to serve and to be of service, to matter, to make a difference, to pursue my mission. 

You can be essential by sharing love with those who desperately need it, you can prove essential by helping others or volunteering. You are essential when you make choices not based on comfort or convenience, rather what you can do for the community. You are essential when you consistently add your unique voice to davening and learning.  You are essential not only if you donate your kidney, but also when you donate your time and your resources. 

I recently read the story of a Satmar Chassid from Williamsburg whose mother, who is in her early seventies, was having trouble breathing. Her oxygen levels were not good and she was rushed to one of New York City’s major hospitals.  She was subsequently put on a respirator as her condition worsened. For several weeks, she was in an induced coma and all her son could think was that please God she will awaken and what will she find, how startled will she be.  She will be totally disoriented after weeks of being unconscious and no family will be there to comfort and support her.  He asked if he could visit for just a half hour after she regained consciousness, but, as was the case with virtually everyone at the height of Covid in New York, his request was denied.  Only essential personnel were allowed in the hospital, absolutely no non-essential visitors could enter. 

He soon discovered that the hospital had a longstanding contract with a company that supplies personal nursing care.  The man hired a private nurse to care for his mother but then he had an idea.  He approached the owner of the company and asked to be admitted to his mother’s room under the auspices of the private nursing company.  The owner thought he was crazy and told him it simply wasn’t possible; if he sent someone who didn’t have credentials, he could lose his license and his business.  The son, this chassid, had another idea. He asked what would be necessary to acquire appropriate nursing credentials.  It turns out, as a consequence of the severe nursing shortage caused by the pandemic, New York state had enacted a law creating an expedited procedure for certifying licensed practical nurses (LPNs). One needed to only take a series of online courses and pass a written exam.

This chassid happened to be a long-time Hatzolah volunteer and an emergency medical technician (EMT). So for three straight days he locked himself in a room and listened to the online courses for LPN certification. He then took the exam and passed with flying colors.  Armed with certification, he persuaded the company to let him join their staff as a regular scheduled nurse for the night shift in his mother’s hospital room.  When she came out of the induced coma, he was there. And during her remaining weeks in the hospital, because he refused to accept that he was non-essential and went to great lengths to be deemed essential, he was there to offer support, care, and love. 

As we coronate Hashem today, let’s not take life for granted, let’s not be satisfied with not dying, but let’s truly live and let’s promise and prove that we are essential to the people around us and to our Father in Heaven. 

Every aspect of Jewish living has been rendered easier, more comfortable and requiring less sacrifice.  We have pop-up Sukkahs and pre-packaged hadassim and aravos.  We purchase complete Chanukah sets already pre-assembled and ready to use.  Endless potato recipes for Pesach have been replaced by kosher l’pesach bagels, cereal and pancakes.  We buy ten pieces of bread labeled for bedikas chametz. 

Artscroll has revolutionized learning, making what were once closed texts accessible to the masses for study.   We have diverse kosher restaurants, an app to help us find minyanim within proximity to our exact location.  We have Shabbos clocks and Shabbos lamps and Shabbos alarm clocks.  In some ways, fidelity to Halacha requires less sacrifice, less compromise and less effort than ever.

And it is not just halachic conveniences, it is simply easier to function in the world today than it ever was.  Remember Disney’s “Carousel of Progress”?  It had a display showing inconceivable technology like programmable refrigerators and ovens, voice command, video conferencing, and inconceivable video games.  I remember seeing it as a child and thinking how creative this showcase was and how unlikely it would or could ever come true.  Well, somewhat sadly Disney has not updated that carousel, and when I saw it with my family a couple of years ago, my children wanted to know why things that exist in their past are being described and celebrated as the future. 

We now FaceTime with people around the world, program our smart houses, and some are already relying on our self-driving cars. The increasingly comfortable world, Jewishly and technologically, is making us progressively uncomfortable with discomfort.  Even now, when a global pandemic forced us to adapt, we got used to everything being conducted over Zoom, from shiurim to board meetings to parent-teacher conferences, in a way that makes us consider whether we want to return to those things in person. We expect everything to be easy, compatible, pleasant, and convenient. 

To be honest, I am worried about our generation, a truly privileged generation’s capacity for mesirus nefesh.  To be clear, there is nothing wrong with all of the wonderful progress.  We should enjoy and celebrate the abundance of options and the ease of being an observant Jew and a blessed member of the 21^st century.

But, what happens when we encounter that which is inconvenient, uncomfortable or incompatible?  Do we have the interest let alone the strength to persevere, to overcome, to endure?

On Rosh Hashanah we use a horn of the ayil, a ram, for a shofar.  The Shulchan Aruch writes (586:1), “It is best when the shofar of Rosh Hashanah is from an ayil…although all shofros are kosher.”  The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 16) wonders, “Why do we blow shofar specifically with a ram’s horn?”  It answers, “Hakadosh Baruch Hu says, ‘Blow for Me with a ram’s shofar so I will remember akeidas Yitzchak and I will consider it as though you were bound on the akeida before Me.’” 

When we want to persevere and triumph in judgment, when we want to be worthy of being written and ultimately sealed for a year of prosperity and blessing, we think about and invoke the story of the akeidah.  It is what we literally read for Kerias HaTorah on one of the days, and it is the reason we use the shofar of a ram on both days: “Vayehi achar ha’devarim ha’eileh v’ha’Elokim nisa es Avraham, va’yomer elav Avraham, va’yomer hineini.  And it happened that God tested Avraham and said to him, ‘Avraham,’ and he replied, ‘Here I am.’”

I would like to suggest to you that the akeida and Rosh Hashanah go together because it is the power of “hineini,” of being tested and answering the call, that should be on our minds as we prepare for judgement.  As we think about coronating God as our King, we are to consider – Have we answered the call like Avraham?  Have we been prepared to make sacrifices in our lives and lifestyles?  Have we passed the tests that we have confronted and persevered in the face of the adversity, temptation, and seduction that has come our way?

Some are tested with maintaining faith during a health crisis or a financial collapse or infertility or a failing marriage.  Some are tested with being loyal to the Torah’s view of the world when it conflicts with Western culture and values and others are tested observing Jewish laws that are inconvenient or even incomprehensible to them.  Some are tested with coming to shul while others are tested with paying attention while there.  Some are tested when submitting their income taxes and others are tested when surfing the web. And of course, while we all face a variety of tests every year, there is surely not a single person in the world who has not been tested in some way this past year by the coronavirus and all that has come with it.

When it is our turn and our time, when v’ha’Elokim nisa es…, when God tests us, do we care enough and are we strong enough to say “hineini,” I am here, I am prepared to sacrifice, to struggle, to compromise, to forfeit and to submit?  Or do we believe that life should be comfortable, easy and convenient, so when we encounter conflict we disappear, we check out, we drop whatever necessary to get our comfort level back up?

Rav Moshe Feinstein zt”l famously said that we must not tell our children “t’iz shver tsu zeyn a yid,” it is difficult to be a Jew, but instead, we must tell them “it’s geshmak to be a yid,” it is amazing to be a Jew.  He was right and remains right.  We need to show our children the beauty of our tradition, how it enriches and enhances our lives and brings deep meaning and great joy. 

But with that said, let’s admit for a moment that it isn’t always geshmak to be a yid.  It is sometimes shver.  When you have to wake up early for selichos and you are exhausted, when you lose a business opportunity because of Shabbos, when you are stuck somewhere with nothing kosher to eat, when the Torah law doesn’t fit neatly with the mores of the time, it is shver, it is difficult.  And yet, at those times, in those moments, are our “hineini” opportunities.  That is our chance like Avraham to say, I don’t only show up for a Judaism which I perceive as pleasant and pleasurable, but even when it is hard and challenging and makes me work – “hineini!” – I am here, I am in, I am ready.

Willingness to compromise, sacrifice and submit is a critical part of religious experience.  We like to show how compatible Judaism and Torah are with science, with our liberal values, with the world we live in.  But religion is not about compatibility with what is convenient for us to believe and with how we prefer to behave.  At its core it is about a willingness for submission.  Rosh Hashanah is about being mamlich Hashem, coronating God as our King and with it, kabalas ol malchus shamayim, accepting and surrendering to the will and dominion of our King, even when it takes sacrifice and submission.  On the Day of Judgment we coronate God with our words but we truly coronate God not in shul but in our homes, our work places, our gyms, and our recreational activities, by standing the tests we face.

In a famous footnote in Halakhic Man, Rabbi Soloveitchik wrote:

This popular ideology contends that the religious experience is tranquil and neatly ordered, tender and delicate; it is an enchanted stream for embittered souls and still waters for troubled spirits…This ideology is intrinsically false and deceptive.  That religious consciousness in man’s experience which is most profound and most elevated, which penetrates to the very depths and ascends to the very heights, is not that simple and comfortable.  On the contrary, it is exceptionally complex, rigorous and torturous.

If we use the ram to invoke Akeidas Yitzchak why do we specifically use the horn?  If our goal is to remind Hashem of Akeidas Yitzchak, couldn’t we have used any part of the ram that was ultimately brought instead of Yitzchak?  Why specifically the horn?

Perhaps we can answer with an insight from R’ Meir Shapiro in his Imrei Da’as.  The passuk says he set out on the first day and arrived on the third.  What happened in between?  The Midrash (Tanchuma, Vayeira #22) says that when Avraham set out to bring his son as a sacrifice, along the way the Satan, the dissuading voice tried numerous times to discourage Avraham from going through with his mission. Avraham persevered each time and ignored the voice seeking to dissuade him.

When he finally raised his hand to strike his son Yitzchak, an angel instructed him to stop.  Wonders Rav Meir Shapiro, how did Avraham know that the voice of the angel was authentic and legitimate?  How did he know it wasn’t the Satan one last time?  He answers that the text tells us that Avraham notices the ram ne’echaz basvach, struggling in the thicket.  Only upon noticing the ram struggling was Avraham convinced to in fact put down the knife.  Explains Rav Shapiro, falsehood and temptation come easy.  Truth and meaning are connected to struggle and effort.  Avraham noticed the struggle of the ram after hearing the angel’s voice.  When he saw struggle, he knew he was in the presence of truth.

Perhaps we specifically use the horn of the ram because it was the horn that was entangled and caught.  The ram struggled to escape but its horns were caught in the bush and it couldn’t get out.  The shofar represents challenges and struggles.  It was chosen because Hashem cherishes our struggles.  He values our efforts and cares deeply about each and every moment of perseverance.

A few years ago I got to know a family living on an island in the Caribbean that wanted to convert to Judaism.  They were mentored by their local rabbi and studied diligently with a rabbi in Israel.  I ultimately met them in person and visited their small local Jewish community.  A few weeks later I got an email from him:

We have made a lot of changes in our lives just to be a part of HaShem’s people. These changes have not been easy but have been worthy, and even more when we complete the process. You saw our commitment, as you expressed that you were impressed.

Our desire to finish the process is not just for the sake of getting to be called  Jews. Being a Jew is very hard, takes courage and dedication. We are willing to continue to make sacrifices and take this path all the way. For this we need your help. 

When we welcome someone to the Jewish people they stand in the mikvah about to undergo an enormous transformation and we ask them a series of questions.  One of them, the Gemara tells us, is do you know that it is really difficult to be a Jew?  Are you aware that keeping Jewish law is complicated, keeping kosher and Jewish schools are expensive, anti-Semites want to kill us?  Are you prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to be a Jew?  Only when a candidate says yes do we welcome them to our people.

The ram’s Shofar asks us those same questions.  Do we answer the call of the akeida like Avraham Avinu?  In the coming year, are we willing to remember that avodas Hashem is called “avodah” for a reason, because it takes work and effort. 

Robert Browning, the 19th century English poet, put it well when he said, “When the fight begins within himself, a man’s worth something.”  Let’s make our lives worth something. When inevitably called upon to struggle spiritually or theologically or in our lifestyle, let’s determine, as we approach this great day of judgment and awe that we will answer hineini, here we are. 

Jay Feinberg is one of the most soft-spoken and humble people I know.  Even at an event for Gift of Life, the organization he founded and serves as CEO of, he likes to blend in.  While he is modest and would never tell you directly, it is not an exaggeration to say that he is personally responsible for saving thousands of lives. 

Jay is the visionary behind Gift of Life, an organization that has conducted over 10,500 bone marrow drives in 49 countries, has 374,855 registered donors, has found 17,888 matches (including several amazing BRS members, Avi Amsalem, Perel Hande, Matthew Hocherman and Jonathan Struhl) and has facilitated 3,645 transplants. 

But all of that almost didn’t happen.  In 1991, during his first year of law school, Jay was diagnosed with leukemia.  His family was told he would need a bone marrow transplant to survive, but there were no matching donors in his family or in the entire national registry.  For four years, while they watched Jay’s health deteriorate, his tenacious family conducted drives around the globe.  They tested 60,000 donors and found matches for hundreds of patients along the way.  Finally, they found one for Jay. 

When he recovered, Jay was determined to ensure others wouldn’t have to wait as long for a transplant or risk not finding a match at all. Instead of returning to law school, he used his own experience to found an organization dedicated to educating and encouraging people to add themselves to the bone marrow registry and to improve the efficiency of finding matches and coordinating transplants within the Jewish community and beyond.

This week marks the 25^th anniversary of Jay’s transplant, his new lease on life.  Not only is he personally celebrating and feeling grateful to be alive, we should all be appreciative of the gift of Jay to humanity and the Jewish people.

While Jay and his story are extraordinary, there are other remarkable people without whom this story wouldn’t have a happy ending.  Jay’s condition had worsened terribly, but friends of his in Milwaukee, Benjy Merzel and R’ Amir Gutman (now of Boca), refused to give up hope and organized one last drive. A young lady from Illinois, Becky (Faibisoff) Keller, volunteered at the drive, but due to her fear of needles decided not to get tested herself. 

The drive was packing up at the end of the day having tested 130 new people, hopeful one would be Jay’s lifesaving match.  In the last moment, Becky said to herself, it is silly to have come and helped out but not get tested myself.  She overcame her fear and was the last of 60,000 people tested, at the very last drive for Jay.

You guessed it – she turned out to be Jay’s perfect match and the transplant took place a short time later at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle.

A determined family set out to find Jay a match. Two friends refused to give up hope.  And one young lady overcame a fear to do an act of kindness that not only saved Jay, but by extension has now saved the lives of thousands and given hope to leukemia patients around the world. 

We are currently observing the darkest period of the year, mourning the tragedies, atrocities, suffering and loss throughout the millennia. Our rabbis tell us that what precipitated it all was baseless hatred, a lack of kindness, a self-centeredness that corrupted our world to the extent Hashem essentially disbanded and destroyed it, dispersing us around the globe.

The antidote, the key to rebuilding that world, to hastening redemption is to do the opposite, acts of selflessness, baseless kindness.  Dovid HaMelech wrote (Tehillim 89:3): Olam chesed yi-baneh – the world is built on kindness. 

On Shabbos Nachamu we transition from mourning and destruction to comfort and consolation.  Yet our Beis HaMikdash remains unbuilt, our holy city still incomplete. Where is the comfort when nothing that we mourned has changed?  Perhaps our comfort stems from using the struggles of the past to inspire and motivate a future filled with kindness, goodness and selflessness. 

What if Jay’s family hadn’t tried? What if Jay’s friends didn’t run one more drive? What if Becky hadn’t overcome her fear?

Who knows the consequences, the “what if” created, by neglecting whatever act of kindness that we can do next?  Who may desperately need a phone call, a checking in, someone to shop for them or cook a meal, send flowers to for no reason or offer to learn on the phone.  There are no limits to the possible acts of kindness that can enrich or even save the lives of others, even when physical proximity is difficult or impossible.

Overcome a fear or inhibition, leave your comfort zone and reach outside yourself to do something kind for another.  Who knows what life you might not only touch, but save, and by extension how many thousands of other lives too. 

*Find out more about Gift of Life at www.giftoflife.org