Rosh Hashanah, Day 1 – 5786
We gather today as a diverse community, bringing with us many perspectives on the times in which we live. For some, these are frightening days; for others, days filled with hope. I would describe our moment as one of interest—a time that is both turbulent and abundant, provoking reactions that are often diverse, contradictory, and deeply emotional.
The word crisis is often used to describe our era, usually with a negative connotation. Yet its original meaning—derived from Greek, Latin, and Old English—is quite different. Krisis meant decision, judgment, or turning point. In that sense, the word fits our time perfectly. We live in an age that demands decisions—fundamental decisions about our future. This, I believe, is something we can all agree upon.
It is therefore no coincidence that today’s Torah portion speaks directly to this reality. Our sages made a conscious and wise choice in assigning a reading centered on leaving the familiar behind and embracing an uncertain future. Certainty is often comfortable, but it is rarely transformative. Uncertainty, though it can provoke anxiety, is also the source of excitement and renewal.
In our Torah portion, God fulfills the promise made to Sarah and Abraham, and Sarah gives birth to Isaac at the age of ninety. Whether we understand this account literally or figuratively, it marks a profound turning point—a new chapter filled with hope and possibility.
Yet every profound change carries a cost. Transformation always demands sacrifice. In this story, Abraham is required to part from Hagar and his first son, Ishmael. The Torah does not portray him as calm or resigned. On the contrary, the text states:
וַיֵּרַע הַדָּבָר מְאֹד בְּעֵינֵי אַבְרָהָם עַל אֹדֹת בְּנוֹ
“The matter distressed Abraham greatly, for it concerned his son.”
(Bereishit 21:11)
The common English translation softens the emotional force of the Hebrew. The verb vayera, rooted in ayin, conveys something far stronger than discomfort. It implies becoming broken, shaken, even undone. Abraham is not mildly troubled—he is furious, deeply anguished by the banishment of his son.
And yet, God intervenes. Hagar and Ishmael are not abandoned; they are protected, sustained, and given a future. The story does not end in tragedy, but in resolution and hope.
This dynamic speaks powerfully to our own time. We, too, are often angered—sometimes enraged—by events unfolding around us. There are moments when the state of the world disturbs our peace, disrupts our sleep, and drains our energy. But here we must pause and ask ourselves important questions: Is our reaction justified? Is it proportionate? Is this worth our emotional and spiritual energy?
If the answer is no, then disengagement may be the wisest choice. If the answer is yes, then another question follows: How much of our energy does this deserve? And even when something merits our attention, we must ask whether our energy might be better invested elsewhere—into something constructive, creative, and life-affirming.
Our Jewish history teaches precisely this lesson. Again and again, we have transformed pain into learning, loss into resilience, and challenge into opportunity.
We live in abundant yet turbulent times—an era of extraordinary material and technological comfort alongside deep social unrest and moral uncertainty. The Torah challenges us not merely to endure these conditions, but to respond to them with purpose, courage, and hope. On Rosh Hashanah, this has always been our task. Standing before God, we are called to renew ourselves and our world, trusting in the possibility of a brighter future.
I know this is not easy. Many of us are deeply troubled by what is happening around us—by rising antisemitism, by the ongoing and painful reality of war in Israel, by the humanitarian crisis in Gaza, by political instability in the United States and across the globe. These fears and anxieties are real.
And yet, we must remember who we are. The Jewish people survived Egyptian slavery, Babylonian and Greek conquest, Roman oppression, medieval persecutions, and ultimately the horrors of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust. Every one of those empires is gone. We are still here—and we will remain here.
As we enter the New Year, may we transform anxiety into action, abundance into opportunity, and turbulence into a catalyst for growth. May our Jewish community at TBS, in Long Beach and the surrounding areas, continue to flourish as a source of light. And may we, together with all humanity, move forward toward a future of peace, purpose, and hope.
Inspiration exists in this world. It is real, and it is accessible—if we are willing to see it. When people insist that it does not exist, it is often because despair, distraction, or exhaustion has clouded their vision.
To recognize the good around us, we must overcome the emotional and cognitive obstacles that distort our perception of reality. This, too, is part of the work of the High Holy Days.
Shana Tova u’Metukah,
Rabbi Mirski
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