A New Path Ahead
Autumn’s arrival has a habit of catching me out. I am not sure why that is, the signs are all there: the evenings getting darker, the shadows lengthening, signs that the trees are on the turn — but the idea that I am closer to Christmas than I am to the height of summer, somehow does not compute.
Another sign is that I begin to experience the subconscious pull of the rhythms of the Jewish month of Tishrei: the month of the Jewish New Year, of Rosh Hashanah, then Yom Kippur, and then Sukkot (not forgetting also Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah).
Growing up this time of year was for me an exciting and grown up time. We were together as a family a great deal, with grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. There was the annual breaking of the Yom Kippur Fast which we always did with a particular group of neighbours. And, of course, there was food.
The Jewish New Year is synonymous (more or less) with honey and we would enjoy it in cakes, with carrots in a dish called tzimmes, and spread over challah or poured over apples which we were lucky enough to get from the tree in our garden. It became an unofficial custom in my home that over the summer, we would keep our eyes open for different honeys to enjoy at Rosh Hashanah, and it was not unusual for us to have three or four ready to try by the time the new year arrived. It’s something which I have tried to keep doing as I have got older: this year we have a jar of blackberry honey which we picked up in Ludlow on our way home from Wales this summer, but in previous years there has been orange blossom honey from Valencia, honey bought from a honey merchant in the souks of Fez, even honey from local hives in Barnet.
The symbolism of the honey is not particularly complex — it is eaten to signify the hope for a sweet new year.
Tishrei is the month of the New Year, but the month before it, the month that we are in now as I write these words, is the month of Elul. For many Jews, Elul is a time for introspection and taking stock; in many synagogues the shofar, the ancient musical instrument made from a ram’s horn and more usually associated with Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is sounded on a daily basis. In other communities, Selichot prayers are recited on a daily basis. These prayers are communal prayers of forgiveness, and together with the sounding of the shofar encourage Jewish people to reflect on how they have lived their lives during the last year.
There is a Jewish parable associated with a nineteenth century rabbi which I am fond of about this time of year. It goes like this:
“A man had been wandering about in a forest for several days, not knowing which was the right way out. Suddenly he saw a person approaching him. His heart was filled with joy. “Now I shall certainly find out which is the right way,“ he thought to himself. When they got closer to one another, he asked the stranger: “Brother, tell me which is the right way. I have been wandering about in this forest for several days.” Said the other to him, “Brother, I do not know the way out either. For I too have been wandering about here for many, many days. But this I can tell you: do not take the way I have been taking, for that will lead you astray. And now let us look for a new way out together.”
In his companion book to the festivals of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Israeli writer S.Y. Agnon wrote a conclusion to this tale:
“So it is with us. One thing I can tell you: the way we have been following this far we ought follow no further, for that way leads you astray. But now let us look for a new way.”
In most years, I have no doubt that this parable and this conclusion would resonate, but this year, well, this year has been quite a year.
The last six months alone it felt at times like there was no way out. It felt, not so much like a forest, but a swamp with deep pools of mire in which I could get stuck for days at a time. Occasionally there were glimmers on the horizon, or a path, or something on which I could take my bearings, but more often than not it was simply a case of taking it a day at a time to see if a path through could be improvised. I would be surprised if I were alone in this experience.
But it has been more than that, more than simply my own experiences, because there have been times (there still are) when I have looked around at the city in which I live, this country, the whole world, and it has felt like everything seems to be slipping away. Truly, the path we have been following this far we ought to follow no further.
Given all that has happened, it would be tempting to retreat inwards; but the parable ends: “And now let us look for a new way out together.” To me, there are two striking things about this ending, and about what it is trying to tell me the reader about how I should face the coming year. Firstly, when I read this sentence, I hear a command “and now let us”, and specifically a command to action — it is time to find a new way. Secondly, that I need embrace action together with others, that I should work with others to find a better way forward.
I am incredibly thankful for the people around me who inspire me to keep moving forward — indeed, in recent days they have inspired me more than they shall ever know — the people who give me their energy and permission to keep looking ahead. There are my colleagues with whom I have been writing reports about ideas which fill me with excitement for the possibilities for interfaith, and with whom I am planning new and creative ways to engage audiences with our work. There are partners, in other organisations, who I have reached out to and whose shared wisdom and determination I admire and whose generosity in terms of time and collegiality I appreciate. And there is my family whose love and warmth and support I feel around me and whose trust I seek to live up to on a daily basis.
And so, a path emerges. And not just that, a sense of togetherness too. I do not believe that I am the only one who feels that they have been lost and wandering. I do not believe that I am the only one who feels that the path that we have been on we should follow no further. But I do believe that we stand more of a chance of finding a better path forward if we work together. I believe that I can help my fellow travelers more than I have in previous years.
And so, here I am, in the midst of the forest with a simple observation that the path we have been on has been leading us astray and a pledge to make myself a better ally for those seeking to find a way forward that is better for us all than the one we have been on until now.
That is my reflection for the new year and I would love to hear what you think.
