The Charlotte Jewish News- September 2026- Page 26
By Rabbi Michael Wolk
For rabbis, the weeks leading up to the High Holidays are among the busiest of the year. Countless hours of work by synagogue staff and volunteers go into making Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur meaningful and memorable for our communities. Rabbis think about every aspect of those sacred days, but in the back of my mind are always the sermons I will deliver. I must decide what messages I want to share and how best to teach them.
For me, a successful sermon has two essential components. First and foremost, a rabbi is a teacher, so every sermon should be rooted in a Jewish text, belief, practice or moment in Jewish history. My hope is that you leave the service having learned something new about our extraordinary tradition.
The greater challenge, however, is explaining why that part of our tradition matters right now. Learning for its own sake, or
From the Bimah
Preparing to Hear on the High Holidays
By Russ Cobe
I have always loved the promise contained in Rosh Hashanah. A new year. A blank page. An invitation to reflect on what has been and imagine what still might be. But some years, beginning again feels more complicated.
As we prepare to welcome 5787, many of us are carrying the weight of an unsettled world. We are worried about Israel and the continuing rise of antisemitism. We are weary of political division and the anger that seems to accompany even ordinary conversations. We are concerned about the people we love and uncertain about what the
Torah L’ Shma as it is known in Hebrew, is an important Jewish value. But a sermon should also bridge the gap between the ancient wisdom of our tradition and the lives we are trying to live today.
But even though a High Holiday sermon is delivered by the rabbi, it is really a two-way conversation, shaped by the relationship between the rabbi and the people in the congregation. One of the most respected preachers in American history was Phillips Brooks, an Episcopal minister from Boston. Living in the 19th century, he wrote an influential guide to preaching. Although he wrote from a Christian perspective, his insights remain valuable to people of all faiths. He captured this idea when he wrote:
“ The preacher needs to be a pastor, that he may preach to real men. The pastor must be a preacher, that he may keep the dignity of his work alive. The preacher who is not a pastor grows remote. The pastor who is
coming year may bring. Some are also carrying burdens that do not make the news: illness, grief, loneliness, financial strain, caregiving, or relationships in need of repair.
How do we celebrate a new beginning when so much feels unresolved? Jewish tradition does not ask us to ignore what is broken. The High Holidays invite us to look directly at it and then decide what we will do next.
Listening to the Broken Notes
The shofar gives voice to the complexity of this season. Its sounds are not all smooth and triumphant. Shevarim consists not a preacher grows petty.”
Rabbis are pastors when we support people in moments of joy and in moments of grief and we are preachers when we teach from Jewish tradition. Although they seem unrelated, those two areas of rabbinic and Jewish life must be connected.
I thought about this on a recent Shabbat morning when I asked my congregation what they hoped to gain from a High Holiday sermon. I worried many would say they wanted to hear about the antisemitism that has become an increasingly visible part of American Jewish life and, at times, seems to grow more socially acceptable each year.
So, I was pleasantly surprised when instead people responded not with specific topics, but with how they wanted to feel. And I was even more surprised at the variety of those responses. Some people wanted to feel God’ s presence or feel more connected to Judaism. Some wanted to feel hope in dark times and some
of three broken notes. Teruah is a series of short, urgent cries. Our tradition compares them to sighing and weeping. The shofar does not pretend that life is whole when it is not. But the broken notes are not the final notes. Each sequence returns us to the clear, steady sound of tekiah. At the end comes the tekiah gedolah, one long, enduring call that seems to gather all the broken sounds and carry them forward. Perhaps that is the message we most need this year: brokenness is part of our story, but it does not have to be the end of our story. Returning to What Matters The central work of the High Holidays is teshuvah. We often translate the word as repentance, but its more literal meaning is return. Teshuvah asks us to return to the people we hoped we would be. Have I listened as carefully as I have spoken? Have I allowed fear or frustration to harden me? Have I become so overwhelmed by the problems of the world that I have overlooked the needs of the person standing beside me? Have I withdrawn when my family, my friends, or my community needed me to show up?
These are not easy questions. But the High Holidays have never been about easy answers. They remind us that we are capable of change. We can apologize. We can forgive. We can make a different choice. And we can begin again. Not because the past did not happen, but because it does not have to determine everything that happens next. The Work Within Our Reach When the world’ s problems feel enormous, it is tempting to believe that our individual choices do not matter. Pirkei Avot teaches,“ It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” I return to this teaching often. It reminds me that Judaism does not measure our responsibility by whether we can solve every problem. It asks whether we are willing to do the work that is within our reach.
We may not be able to end a war, eliminate antisemitism, or repair every division. But we can choose whether we add kindness or cruelty to the world. We can check on someone who is alone. We can bring a meal to a neighbor. We can welcome someone who is new to our community. We can support Jewish institutions and those who make Jewish life possible. We can disagree without humiliating one another. We can teach our children that compassion is not weakness and that hope requires action. These may seem like small acts in the face of large problems. They are not. Instead, they are how we create the community in which we want to live. Beginning Together This year, gathering for the High Holidays is itself an act of hope. When we enter our synagogues, hear familiar melodies,
wanted to be told how to behave or how to act. As I listened to their responses, I realized that preparation is not only for the rabbi.
Writing a sermon requires a great deal of work, but so does preparing to receive the messages of Rosh HaShanah, whether they come through the sermon or through the prayers we recite. Just as I spend weeks asking,“ What does this community need to hear?” every person walking into the sanctuary might be asking themselves entirely different questions such as:“ What am I ready to hear? What will be hard for me to hear? Why is it so difficult for me to hear this now?”
The most well-known Mitzvah of Rosh HaShanah is hearing the sound of the Shofar. The sharp and shrill blasts of the ram’ s horn are impossible to ignore, but they also remind us to listen to the sounds and voices around and within us that are easier to miss.
If we all do our work, something remarkable can happen on the High Holidays. The rabbi comes prepared to teach Torah that speaks to the moment, and the congregation comes prepared to let that Torah speak to them. A sermon is not complete when it is written. It is complete only when it finds an open mind, an open heart, and a willing soul.
As we prepare for these Days of Awe, I pray not only that I will find the right words to share, but that all of us will find the strength to hear the words we most need to hear.
Best wishes for a Shanah Tovah U’ Metukah, a good and sweet year.
Beginning Again When the World Feels Unsettled
stand beside one another, and listen to the shofar, we affirm that we are still here. We are still connected. We are still responsible for one another.
We do not know what 5787 will bring. A new year does not erase what is difficult, and it does not promise that everything will turn out as we wish. It gives us something different: another opportunity to decide who we will be.
May we enter this new year with honesty about what is broken, courage to address what is within our reach, and faith that our actions still matter. The world may remain unsettled. But the shofar will sound. And together, we will begin again.
L’ shanah tovah u’ metukah. May 5787 be a year of healing, courage, sweetness, and peace.
Temple Solel is a small, inclusive Reform congregation in Fort Mill, SC. For more information, visit our website, templesolelsc. org, email info @ templesolelsc. org, or call 803- 610-1707.