Vampire Weekend's Surprising Jewish Stories
5 min read
Hearing God’s alarm clock.
The shofar is a ram’s horn, blown every year on Rosh Hashanah, 100 times on each day. Click here to hear what the shofar sounds like.
Let’s explore the deeper meaning of the shofar and how to connect to it.
The Torah tells us that Rosh Hashanah is a day “commemorated with loud blasts,” which has become understood to mean blowing a shofar. Biblical references to the shofar place it as one of the thundering sounds at the giving of the Torah, the horns blown as the walls of Jericho fell, and generally, as a trumpeting sound heralding something important.
Picture the classic image of a king arriving: a red carpet is rolled out, a crowd is gathered, and horns blow to announce that the most important person you know has just gotten here.
The shofar is a symbol of power and importance. What does that mean on Rosh Hashanah?
The Jewish sage Maimonides described the shofar sound like this: “There is a hidden message we are supposed to infer by listening to the shofar. It’s as if it says, ‘Sleeping ones! Awaken from your sleep! Slumbering ones! Awaken from your slumber! Examine your deeds. Remember your Creator and do teshuva…’” Teshuva is a term often translated as repentance, but which could more accurately be said to mean return to your true self, your soul.
The piercing wail of the shofar goes right to our hearts, reverberating in our very being and asks, “What are you doing?”
The piercing wail of the shofar goes right to our hearts, reverberating in our very being and asks, “What are you doing?” It’s a powerful call, channeled straight from God.
We push the snooze button plenty of times during the year. On Rosh Hashanah, the shofar wakes us up. It’s why New Year’s resolutions resonate so strongly — we’re stepping outside of the day-in-day-out stream of life and saying, “I want to improve myself, and I’m going to do something about it.”
There’s a Talmudic story about the sage Hillel the Elder who gets asked by a potential convert to Judaism if he can explain the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel responds, “Whatever you don’t want done to you, don’t do that to your fellow. The rest is commentary.” This simple root of Judaism is just one thing that’s easy to overlook — how often do you really think about the impact of your words on your friends? How often do you go out of your way to help, instead of doing something when it’s convenient? How often do you think about what someone else wants before you think about yourself?
The shofar is the alarm clock. It’s the beep on the car that says you’re veering into the rumble strip, and you could veer even further. It’s time to wake up.
A shofar is a ram’s horn. On its own, it has no inherent sanctity. It only truly comes to life with human breath. The Torah describes the creation of man as God breathing life into the dust. We’re making use of a similar creative force, blowing into something inert, turning it into something much greater. We create the loud, piercing blast that is so powerful. So, we play an active part in creating the holiness of the shofar.
And yet, the blessing we recite over the shofar blowing is lishmoa, to hear the sound of the shofar. If we’re so active in turning the shofar into something important, why does our obligation appear to be so passive?
It would seem then, that we have to find an active way to listen to the shofar. We have to ask: when the shofar blows, what do I want to hear, what do I want to happen, and am I ready for it yet?
The Dubno Maggid, a classic Jewish Lithuanian storyteller, had this parable to share about the impact of the shofar:
A poor farmer visits his wealthy uncle and is immediately impressed by the uncle’s gorgeous home. As they sit and swap stories, the uncle picks up a small brass bell on the table and rings it. Immediately, a troop of servants swarms in with trays of appetizers. When they finish eating, the uncle rings the bell again and the servants come to clean up. Throughout the night, the uncle rings the bell, and the farmer can’t believe what he’s seeing.
When the farmer comes home, he tells his wife that he’s made a stop at the store. He’s spent their last penny, but the investment will be worth a million times the cost.
The farmer pulls out from a small pouch a little brass bell. “All I have to do is ring it, and we’ll have servants come out with the most incredible food you’ve ever seen!” What do you think happened?
If you want to have servants, food, and wealth, it takes more than just ringing a bell. And if you want to have a deep, meaningful revelation about yourself, it takes more than just hearing a horn blowing. Change takes work. The shofar is the first step. Now you need to create a concrete plan of action for real change. Click here to read some down-to-earth ideas on how to make a plan for change.
