Hearing the shofar blasts on Rosh Hashana is often taken for granted. So, in a year like this one, when the first day of Rosh Hashana falls out on Shabbat, it can be jolting to arrive at shul and realize that we cannot perform the central mitzvah of Rosh Hashana on the first, most important day of the holiday.
The Talmud justifies the tradition of refraining from blowing the shofar on Rosh Hashana when it coincides with Shabbat by explaining that permitting it could lead to the unintentional carrying of the shofar in a public domain (outdoors) without an eruv.
דְּאָמַר רַבָּה: הַכֹּל חַיָּיבִין בִּתְקִיעַת שׁוֹפָר, וְאֵין הַכֹּל בְּקִיאִין בִּתְקִיעַת שׁוֹפָר, גְּזֵירָה שֶׁמָּא יִטְּלֶנּוּ בְּיָדוֹ וְיֵלֵךְ אֵצֶל הַבָּקִי לִלְמוֹד, וְיַעֲבִירֶנּוּ אַרְבַּע אַמּוֹת בִּרְשׁוּת הָרַבִּים
Rabba said: All are obligated to sound the shofar but not all are experts in sounding the shofar. Therefore, the Sages instituted a decree that the shofar should not be sounded on Shabbat, lest one take the shofar to an expert to learn how to sound it and he might carry it four cubits in the public domain. [Rosh Hashana 29b]
The Talmud Yerushalami (Rosh Hashana 4:1) also seems to discern a hint for this prohibition in the Torah verse that specifies two names for Rosh Hashana: Yom Teruah and Zichron Teruah. The first name, Yom Teruah, or A Day of Shofar Sounding, refers to the shofar blasts we perform during a regular year. The second name, Zichron Teruah, or a remembrance of the shofar blast and refers to the years that we must keep it in our thoughts and memory because Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat and we cannot blow shofar.
Whatever the reason is for the prohibition of blowing shofar on Shabbat, I think it is clear the Torah wishes to remind us of the spiritual power of Shabbat, which each week can provide the same powerful merit as the shofar on Rosh Hashana. Perhaps the connection between Shabbat and the Shofar is that both Shabbat and Rosh Hashana are rooted in the power of memory. On Shabbat, we fulfill the fourth of the Ten Commandments:
זָכוֹר אֶת־יוֹם הַשַּׁבָּת לְקַדְּשׁוֹ שֵׁשֶׁת יָמִים תַּעֲבֹד וְעָשִׂיתָ כָּל־מְלַאכְתֶּךָ וְיוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי שַׁבָּת לַיהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ לֹא־תַעֲשֶׂה …כָל־מְלָאכָה
Remember the seventh day and keep it holy. Six days you shall do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of your God you shall not do any work… [Exodus, 20:10]
The key word there is Zachor, Remember. What’s more, the importance of memory is not only found in zichron teruah, the memory of the shofar blast, it is also found in the alternative name of Rosh Hashana itself: Yom Hazikaron, Memory Day. In this way, Shabbat, Rosh Hashana, and the shofar are all tied together with this concept of memory. But what is so special about remembering?
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In the contexts of Shabbat, the shofar, and Rosh Hashana, the concept of memory does not have the narrow meaning of retrieving some information you have forgotten. Rather, it means that something moves into focus, in the forefront of your mind, like when someone threatens another person by saying “You better remember this, or else!”
But what thoughts are supposed to be top of mind on Rosh Hashana that we need to “remember, or else”? And if we don’t have the Shofar blasts this year, how are we to “remember?”
Although early commentators provide at least 10 reasons as to why we blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana, the Rambam ignores all but one. He says the shofar is like an alarm clock, intended to wake us up and adjure us to live a life full of meaning, instead of wasting our lives on futility. The shofar blast reminds us not to squander this unique opportunity we have on Rosh Hashana. But rather to use it to “remember” who we are and to convey to God in our thoughts that we want to be the type of people whose lives and accomplishments have meaning because we are connected to God, to spirituality, and to eternity.
This year, when Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat, we have a special reminder to live a meaningful life. Because Rosh Hashana and Shabbat together serve to remind us that every single week of the year, we have a similar opportunity on the special day called Shabbat. By the nature of the beautiful practices and traditions we keep on Shabbat and the restrictions that provide context to the day, we are able to pause our world, so to speak, and reflect on the idea that every detail of our lives has meaning and purpose.
We could not contemplate this profound reality if Shabbat was a day we went about our usual business, preoccupied with our smartphones and immersed in the latest sensation on social media. Shabbat is a day the Talmud tells us provides a taste of the World to Come:
שַׁבָּת אֶחָד מִשִּׁשִּׁים לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא
Shabbat is one-sixtieth of the World-to-Come [Berachot, 57B]
On Shabbat, we do all we can to avoid distraction. We sharpen our awareness and we focus on what really matters: relationships with our loved ones and with God. We connect to the spiritual, and we reaffirm that we cannot live a life connected to eternity without Shabbat.
So, by banning the shofar on Shabbat, we are given a special reminder that when we observe Shabbat every week of the year, we have our own personal weekly Shofar blast reminding us to stay focused on the personal aspirations we defined on Rosh Hashana. And that Shabbat can have an impact that is comparable to what we achieve with the shofar on Rosh Hashana.
This universal need to find meaning in life is beautifully captured in a movie I saw recently, entitled Living. It was adapted from the 1952 Japanese film Ikiru, which was inspired by Tolstoy’s novel The Death of Ivan Ilyich. The movie portrays a mid-level government bureaucrat who has always done everything by the book, behaving almost robotically toward his subordinates. But when he discovers he is dying of cancer, he first tries to cope by throwing caution to the wind and living hedonistically. He soon realizes, however, that indulging in wanton pleasure does not give him the fulfillment he seeks in the face of death.
He then chooses to devote the rest of his life to turning a wrecked building into a children’s playground. That pursuit gives him a sense of meaning, and he dies with the confidence that he has made a tiny sliver of contribution to the world. His story is a powerful depiction of someone suddenly waking up to realize that he can only attain peace if he finds significance in life.
This is the blessing and the teaching of Rosh Hashana that falls on Shabbat. It is a time for us to reflect deeply and deliberate on the significance we wish to imbue our lives with. This is why we pray for life on Rosh Hashana - we yearn to be “living” in the new year; alive and awake to the things that really matter. Our shared objective on this special day is to convey to God, through deep contemplation, prayer, and thought, our earnest desire to reach our greatest aspirations, all within the timeless backdrop of God's boundless blessings. Rosh Hashana and Shabbat, the two days of memory, come together this year and serve as a powerful opportunity and critical reminder that only through the integration of our physical and spiritual identities can our lives attain everlasting significance and grant us the life of meaning we all deeply desire.
Shabbat shalom. Chag Sameach. Shana tova.
Eliezer Hirsch
Enjoying this Substack? Get a copy of The Book of Life: A Transformative Guide to the High Holidays for more of Rabbi Hirsch’s unique insights that upend common misconceptions about Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. This guide will dramatically transform your holidays into a powerful and uplifting experience, profoundly impacting your outlook on life.