This is how my family is confronting Jewish new year - opinion

At a Jewish learning class I recently attended, the rabbi asked how many of the participants made New Year’s resolutions – either on January 1 or the first of Tishrei. Over half of the participants did not, claiming that resolutions “aren’t worth it” because “they’ll be broken anyway.” Most Americans have abandoned the resolution practice too, rendering it obsolete, cliché, and performative.

In my family, New Year’s resolutions are a serious feat. Growing up, my parents and I would sit down for an annual brunch during the High Holy Days, marking the beginning of the Jewish new year. We’d bring our notebooks with lists – not only of our own resolutions but also feedback for each other. An arena of honest criticism, these brunches would start out calm and composed, but inevitably, the conversations could grow contentious.

What a strange family. Nobody else seems to do this, I thought as a child, why should we? Why turn the joyous celebration of Rosh Hashanah into a forum for family criticism, knowing it could lead to tension?

The Soffers might be strange, but there’s a story behind this meshugas. When I was born, my parents made a commitment to embody the spirit of every holiday not only by connecting with God through prayer but by embracing divine principles and ethics through reflection, repair, and renewal. We ascribed to the words of Elie Wiesel: “If we respect one another, then we owe each other honesty.”

Honesty can be brutal and has to be channeled respectfully to avoid negativity. Over time, we learned to communicate positively, igniting the spirit of growth the occasion warranted.

My mother’s commitment to Jewish tradition took a creative, philosophical angle. She has authored Haggadot for Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur and Pesach, in addition to Thanksgiving, to enlighten our festivities with wisdom and deep discussion. Each book contains analyses from their respective biblical traditions and historical narratives, raising their lessons’ implications for our personal lives, our communities, and our world. She has included quotes from Jewish visionaries and modern thought leaders to prompt dinner discussions around themes ranging from repentance and forgiveness to freedom and responsibility.

Chapters in the Rosh Hashanah Seder and High Holidays Haggadah

My favorite chapter in the Rosh Hashanah Seder and High Holidays Haggadah revolves around the shofar, “awakening teshuva within ourselves,” as Maimonides writes. The word “shofar” shares roots with the Hebrew word “lehishtaper,” meaning refinement or improvement. Teshuva, with origins in the word “lashuv,” or to return, provides the opportunity to reclaim our divine virtues and rededicate ourselves to a pristine ethical code.

Judgment is the cause and effect of every action and reaction – which we reflect upon during the High Holy Days in order to return to authentic goodness. Allegorically, the three distinct sounds of the shofar – tekiah, shevarim, and teruah – are essential to this awakening. Tekiah prompts the awakening with one solid blow, prompting reflection; shevarim, intended to sound like crying with three blows, demonstrates turbulent and perhaps anxious feelings that carry us into the new year after courageously confronting our mistakes; teruah’s staccato sounds reenergize us with joy after overcoming our anxieties and free us from binding factors of the past year.

The ritual of “casting away” our sins by throwing pieces of bread into a body of water, known as tashlich, wipes our slates clean. A clean slate will surely be dirtied again; however, the High Holy Days are a time to ensure the same stains of the past year do not reappear. This ritual of tashlich, the catalyst to teshuva, must be conducted with transparency and accountability so that, like the water into which we throw the bread, we see a clear reflection of ourselves.

Themes of transparency and accountability arise in my mother’s Rosh Hashanah Seder and High Holidays Haggadah’s series of questions about judgment. One question asks, “How is judging righteously different from passing judgment?”

According to Rashi, we blow the shofar twice on Rosh Hashanah to extend beyond confronting oneself; we must also “confront the accuser.” Confronting the accuser is traditionally intended to “confuse Satan” – where Satan embodies yetzer hara, humankind’s inherent inclination toward evil. By confronting and acknowledging our evil inclinations, we gain self-awareness that fosters honesty with ourselves and find avenues to refine our behavior.

This is the distinction between righteous judgment and passing judgment: passing judgment is impulsive and thoughtless, while righteous judgment is born of personal reflection and ownership. Only with ownership of one’s mistakes can one judge themselves and others justly and righteously.

Surely, judgment – a faculty unique to humans – is a privilege. Judgment, along with authenticity and compassion, is incomplete without accountability. After all, lacking accountability is why many Americans find resolutions pointless.

This is why my family holds a forum for Rosh Hashanah resolutions. Not only do we hold each other accountable for our mistakes, but we hold each other accountable for the way we judge and confront each other about shortcomings.

We also transformed our mindset when engaging in family criticisms. The purpose of these conversations was not to criticize but to confront the truth using outside, valued perspectives. Others can often see in us what we cannot. With this in mind, we stopped coming into these conversations with a need to defend ourselves, instead being receptive to each other’s feelings about our actions. We’d intentionally push back and forth using the framework of what we should accept, reject, or change in the coming year. We have learned to ask each other for corrections if we judged incorrectly. We agreed to avoid pairing the word “you” with negative phrases and focused instead on how the behavior made us feel and steps toward amends.

My family’s Rosh Hashanah tradition embraces the teachings of Pirkei Avot: “Appoint a teacher for yourself, acquire a friend for yourself, and judge everyone favorably.” Judging favorably does not mean sparingly. We should judge behavior rather than judging the full person based on their behavior. Such judgment requires introspection and honest, constructive criticism, leaving room for forgiveness and redress.

Humility and honesty in judgment allow accountability to become a source of truth, and personal responsibility to be a source of honor, as we transition into the new year.

The writer is a senior at George Washington University.