In just a few days, the shofar will sound, Rosh Hashanah will dawn, and the Days of Awe will open before us. The Jewish calendar, in its divine wisdom, does not wait for tragedy to remind us of mortality—it sets aside this season every year so we will pause, reflect, and renew our commitment to life. Life is God’s ongoing gift, not a one-time blessing, and these days call us to recognize it, treasure it, and share it abundantly.
John Lennon once wrote, “Life is just what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” His words capture how fragile and unpredictable life can feel. Ironically, Lennon himself was cut down at forty by a stranger’s bullet. While his lyric points to life’s uncertainty, Torah insists that life itself is neither random nor meaningless. God’s gift of life is intentional, purposeful, and meant to keep giving.
Near the end of Nitzavim, God says: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse… therefore choose life” (Deut. 30:19). Judaism is, at its heart, a faith that chooses life over death. Death negates redemption—it ends growth and freedom. So contrary is death to liberation that the Talmud exempts mourners from recalling the Exodus on the day of loss, teaching that remembrance belongs to life, not death (Berachot 3:1). Maimonides deepens the urgency: every person must see himself and the entire world as perfectly balanced between guilt and merit—one deed can tip the scales toward destruction or salvation. In these Days of Awe, every choice carries the potential to renew life, both for ourselves and for the world around us.
Isaiah’s haftarah breaks through despair: “God will destroy death forever. My Lord God will wipe away the tears from every face” (Isa. 25:8). And later, “In all their troubles, He was troubled, and the angel of His presence saved them” (Isa. 63:9). The verse speaks without embarrassment of both Hashem Himself and His messenger as Savior—a mystery that rabbinic tradition has long pondered. Midrash Rabbah assures us that when God redeems, He does so personally, revealing His nearness even in suffering.
Into this hope steps Yeshua, whose final words—“Father, into Your hands I commend My spirit”—are not a mere echo of prophetic promise but its ultimate fulfillment. He entered death’s depths, yet Sheol could not hold Him. Through Him, God’s own presence invaded mortality and transformed death into a doorway of abundant life. His Great Commission at the close of Mattai—“Go and make disciples of all nations”—is not only a charge but an invitation: join the work of extending God’s life-giving mercy to every corner of creation. In Yeshua, Isaiah’s vision is no longer distant—it has broken into history. He is the ultimate redemption, God’s decisive act to shatter death’s power and keep the gift of life flowing.
Judaism never denies death’s reality. It commands us to face it honestly but refuses to yield. When we say Kaddish, we proclaim—not to death but to life—that God’s kingdom endures. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov reminded us: “The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is not to be afraid.” The High Holy Days draw death near not to terrify us but to teach us how precious each breath is.
On Yom Kippur, by fasting and setting aside daily comforts, we symbolically enact death—not as morbidity but as rehearsal for life. The prophets, the sages, and Yeshua Himself all urge us: choose life. God’s voice in Ezekiel still calls: “I do not desire the death of the wicked, but that they turn from their ways and live.” To turn is to be reborn.
So as the year turns and the shofar pierces the air, how should we respond? We turn inward—examining where we have withheld forgiveness or chosen convenience over compassion. We turn outward—repairing what is broken, giving generously, and tipping the scales toward mercy. We turn upward—worshipping in gratitude and trust, living courageously because Yeshua’s victory has already secured life’s triumph. The Mishnah teaches that Yom Kippur atones for sins between a person and God, but not for wrongs between people until reconciliation is made (Yoma 8:9). These days are our chance to heal and to act, to ensure that the gift of life keeps giving.
Rosh Hashanah is not simply another holiday on the calendar—it is God’s wake-up call. The Days of Awe stand before us, demanding that we choose deliberately and joyfully. May we emerge from this season reborn—cleansed, reconciled, and alive to God’s mission. And may we, with Isaiah’s vision, Maimonides’ urgency, Nachman’s courage, and Yeshua’s ultimate redemption, choose life—for ourselves, our communities, and the world.