On Yawning and Beginning - A New Year Greeting

There’s one thing that all of us do several times a day. We do it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It’s so infectious that when we see other’s doing it we immediately start doing it ourselves. All vertebrates do it, even birds and fish. We all yawn.

We yawn not only when we’re tired but also when we’re bored or hungry and before competing in sports. And, as this clip illustrates, we yawn (and present other physiological symptoms of tiredness) before performing on stage. But why do we yawn and why is yawning so contagious?

No one really knows. Recent research has shown that yawning does not significantly increase oxygen levels in the blood or blood flow to the brain, as scientists thought previously. One current theory is that yawning resets the brain and prepares it to shift from one state to another. According to this theory, the evolutionary advantage of collective yawning may be that it enables group members to reset simultaneously and prepare together for a new activity.

(By the way, if you yawned in the last few minutes, it’s not because I’m boring you but because reading about yawning is enough to infect you – and that’s a scientific fact!)

So what does all this have to do with the start of a new year? Maimonides gives us a clue in his Laws of Repentance, Chapter 3, Law 4:

Even though the sounding of the shofar on Rosh HaShanah is a decree, it contains an allusion. It is as if [the shofar's call] is saying: Wake up sleepy ones from your sleep! And arise, all who slumber! Inspect your deeds, repent, remember your Creator!

In other words, the shofar is a kind of alarm clock that readies us to shift gears, prepare for change and reorganize our priorities.

In the year ahead, may we wake up, yawn, and infect one another with the will and strength to do good.

Shanah tovah,
Eli

On Restarting

At sunset on Rosh Hashanah eve, it is customary in many synagogues to sing Rabbi Abraham Hazan Girondi's liturgical poem, "Little Sister." Each verse ends with the words, "May the year and its curses end," except the final verse, which ends with the words, "May the year and its blessings begin."

This year, the holiday period arrives while we are still recovering from the curses of an especially violent and painful year. We need a new start now more than ever.

On this Rosh Hashana we are blessed with a double restart. Tishri 1st, 5775 is not only the start of a new year in the Hebrew calendar. It is also the first day of a "sabbatical" year, in which the Torah commands us to restart as a society: to refrain from agricultural labor, to forgive debts and to reduce social gaps.

In the world of computing (and in contrast to the approach of the IT department in this clip), a restart alone fixes nothing. It simply closes malfunctioning programs and reloads the operating system. The same is true in life. A restart is not itself a change; it's an opportunity to change.

My wish to us all is that we will take good advantage of the restart opportunities we have been given, as individuals and as a society, and that our programs for change will be blessed with success.

"May the year and its curses end; may the year and its blessings begin". 

Shanah tovah,

Eli

Heads and Tails - A New Year's Greeting

Jews rarely underestimate the significance of food. According to an ancient custom, special prayers are recited over particular delicacies on Rosh Hashana to symbolize our wishes for the new year. Most famous is the reciting over apple dipped in honey of a prayer for a "good and sweet year." An older and (understandably) less widespread custom is the eating of a fish head and reciting "let us be as a head and not as a tail."

The intent of this prayer seems clear: that we should lead, achieve, and choose our own path rather than follow, lag behind or be subject to the whims of others. However, rabbinic tradition does not look equally on all heads and tails. As Rabbi Matyah ben Heresh urges (Avot 4:15), "Be a tail to lions and be not a head to foxes." Context matters. So does the company we keep. 

Choosing our company wisely requires effort. It is easier to stick with the familiar and to move with the crowd. And foxes are cunning; some even know how to dress as lions. 

May the coming year be one in which we have the wisdom always to know lions from foxes, and when to lead and when to follow. 

A Thin, Small Sound

Unetaneh Toqef is a famous tenth-century Ashkenazi piyyut, recited on the High Holidays, which describes the great trepidation felt by human beings when they stand in judgment before God.

A line in this piyyut has always piqued my interest—a line that, at first reading, is paradoxical:

            And a great shofar will be sounded,
            And a thin, small sound will be heard

We would expect that when a great shofar is blown it would make a loud noise.The expression “a thin, small sound” is taken from 1 Kings, chapter 19. After Elijah triumphs over the prophets of Baal and they are killed, Queen Jezebel seeks his life in revenge. He flees to the wilderness and sinks into a deep depression. There, after many days of solitude, God speaks to him:

      

He said to him, “Why are you here, Elijah?” He replied, “I am moved by zeal for the LORD, the God of Hosts, for the Israelites have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and put Your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they are out to take my life.” “Come out,” He called, “and stand on the mountain before the LORD.” And lo, the LORD passed by. There was a great and mighty wind, splitting mountains and shattering rocks by the power of the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind—an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake—fire; but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire—a thin, small sound. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his mantle about his face and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then a voice addressed him: “Why are you here, Elijah?” He answered, “I am moved by zeal for the LORD, the God of Hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and have put Your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they are out to take my life.” (NJPS translation)

The thin, small sound is meant to remind Elijah that justice and truth do not announce themselves amid miracles and fanfare. In order to hear them, one must listen.

There is a comfort in this message: Elijah, you did all you could. If your wonders and portents were not enough, it is their fault, not yours. What can you do? The people simply don’t pay attention.

But it is mainly a rebuke: What are you doing here, Elijah? Why did you flee to the wilderness? Why have you given up on the people? The miracles and wonders you performed are not what counts. You have to be with the people, shepherd them from up close—not with sound and fury, but with quiet attention. 

Sadly and ironically, Elijah himself is not attentive to the “thin, small sound.” He hears it, but he is incapable of listening to it. When he is asked again, after the storm wind, the earthquake, the fire, and the silence, “Why are you here, Elijah?” he gives the same reply as before, word for word. He still sees himself as a failure, as persecuted, as isolated from the people. Nothing has changed.

There is a tendency to see leadership as something that is loud and highly visible. Leaders are people who are vociferous and charismatic. They have well-developed egos, stand at the top of the pyramid, and lead everyone forward. However, there is also another type of leadership—quiet leadership that does not express itself in a great, booming voice but in a “small, thin sound.”

When people ask me to define leadership, I usually say that it’s a combination of modesty and courage. Sometimes it takes courage to make a “great, loud sound,” but often it takes even more courage to make a “small, thin sound.” Sometimes it takes modesty to hear a “small, thin sound.” But often it takes even more modesty to hear a “great, loud sound.”

My wish for Mandel is that this coming year will be a year when the “thin, small sound” is heard in Mandel, in Israel, and all around the world.

Shana Tova.

Taken from remarks by Dr. Eli Gottlieb at a pre-Rosh Hashana event at the Mandel Leadership Institute, September 10, 2012