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Back in May, I went to Israel for the first time since October 7th. And I went with 65 high school seniors. The country was a different country. At times, it felt almost the same, but it wasn’t. We arrived on a Tuesday afternoon and on Thursday we went south…Nova, Kfar Aza, death, pain, shiva homes, graves. We were in it and couldn’t escape it.

But on Friday, I met Liat. Liat was a young girl – maybe 7 or 8, from Moshav Beit Hagedi.

14 minute drive to Kfar Aza
15 minutes from Kibbutz Be’eri
15 minutes from Nova

We had come to her Moshav to help spread joy – we were running a carnival for 300 children who had been displaced since October 7th. The week before they had finally been able to return to their homes after 7 months in a hotel or a guest room. Our entire purpose for being there was to help them forget, even temporarily, the previous 7 months. It was just to have fun.

We were running carnival games, having a dance party with the kids, cotton candy and slushie makers – a sugar overload before 10am couldn’t get better than this. The kids were filled with smiles that went up to the eyes. It was joy like you had never seen.

Liat stood out within the sea of young children – children younger than my own. She was having the time of her life at this carnival. We had brought suitcases filled with candy bags from America – their one request, “American candy.” And I was giving it out. So you can imagine the scene. But when Liat came over, one of the other chaperones stopped me and said, look at that girl’s shirt. See, Liat was wearing a regular t-shirt that was anything but regular. While her friends were wearing random t-shirts that had pictures of suns and beaches and even a few Nirvana ones that someone must have brought them, Liat’s shirt was a little different. In sparkly colors, her shirt had three words on it, three words that have stuck with me ever since then: Hell was boring.

I looked over at the person who had first noticed the shirt and he had tears streaming down his face. Imagine this little girl, no more than 7 or 8 years old, had experienced in the 7 months prior. I didn’t know her specific story, but I did know that for 7 months she didn’t sleep in her own bed, she hadn’t lived in her own home. Likely members of her family had either died or were fighting on the front lines. Liat had every reason to define the life that she had been living as hell, and no one would have blinked an eye or batted a lash. In fact, if she had sat down there on the floor pouring her pain out to us, we would have wept along with her. But, instead, Liat was running around with 300 other children looking like she was living her best life.

How does this happen? Maybe it’s the privilege of youth, that they can compartmentalize or be spared from the challenges of adulthood. Or, maybe, there’s something deeper and more profound that Liat and her shirt choice were trying to emphasize to a group of 70 American Jews. Liat, boldly, was sharing a message that she had experienced evil and made a choice to turn her back to it and not let it define her. She wasn’t going to allow it to be an excuse, and instead she chose joy – the kind of happiness that exists with a 7 year old’s sugar rush.

The Torah, in describing the holiday of Rosh Hashana calls it Yom Teruah and Zichron Teruah – the Truah day, a day of remembering Truah. Terua is the piercing wails, the sounds of cries. That much is clear. But the Torah omits how, exactly, we are supposed to create those sounds.

The Talmud, in Masechet Rosh Hashana, 33b asks about the origins of the shofar on Rosh Hashana. How do we know that the instrument we are supposed to use to make the Truah sound is the shofar? Nowhere in the context of Rosh Hashana do we read about a shofar. The only instance of the shofar truah is at the beginning of Yovel – the jubilee year – to signal
that the 50th year is upon us.

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: מִנַיִן שֶׁבְּשוֹפָּר? תַלְּמוּד לוֹמַר: ״וְּהַעֲבַרְּתָּ שוֹפַר תְּרוּעָּה״.

From where do we know that on Rosh Hashana the terua sound is supposed to come from
the Shofar? Because, it says in the Torah, “and you will sound the Shofar Teruah.”

אֵין לִי אֶׁלָּא בַיּוֹבֵל, בְּראֹש הַשָּנָּה מִנַיִן?

But, asks the Gemara, that is in the context of Yovel, Rosh Hashana minayin – from where do we know that when the Torah tells us that Rosh Hashana is a day of teruah that means blow a shofar?

And the Gemara continues to show that through common language one is to infer that just like in the Yovel year we announce the year with a shofar, so too, we are intended to announce Rosh Hashana through a shofar as well.

For many, this is a classic Talmudic methodological statement – the Torah doesn’t waste words. Each letter, vowel, and word is there with meaning and purpose. Thus, since it’s possible to learn out the connection between shofar and truah from the parallel language by Yovel, no need to be repetitive over here by Rosh Hashana.

But, is this the end? The shofar, which is the primary “thing” of Rosh Hashana is intended to be learned out by inference? I would like to suggest that this inference is not coincidental, but rather, there is a more fundamental connection between Yovel and Rosh Hashana than just having common language. Maybe, that language is parallel and intricately linked in
order to draw a direct line in our minds between Rosh Hashana and Yovel. It’s inviting us to look for a deeper, develop a more substantial connection. Pay attention to me, the Torah is saying.

So what is Yovel?

If anyone has ever visited the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, the iconic symbol of American Independence, you will see the inscription: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto its inhabitants thereof.” Or, as the pasuk in the Torah says it – .וקראתם דרור בארץ לכל ישביה. In other words, the icon of freedom in the United States of America – the bell that was rung
to bring about a call for independence, contains the words describing the freedom of Yovel.

What does this mean? What exactly is the freedom of Yovel?

Through the sound of the Shofar of Yovel, a series of freedoms are set into motion.

וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִיש אֶּל־אֲחֻזָּתוֹ - When the Jewish people entered the lang of Israel, each family was given a נחלה – a specific portion. That portion was to remain within the family. If a family needed to sell their property for additional income, they were permitted to do so. However, the Torah tells us that when the shofar of Yovel sounds, the property is returned to the
original owner. It goes back to the family estate.

וְאִיש אֶּל־מִשְפַׁחְתוֹ תָּשֻבוּ׃ – And it’s not just the physical property that is returned home. If a person was a slave in order to pay a debt, in the year of Yovel and that person goes home. He is free.

Yovel, in other words, is establishing physical freedom. You have a home to live in and family to return to. Perhaps, when the Torah tell us to learn the shofar of Rosh Hashana from the shofar of yovel, it intends for us to draw this very connection: The common language shows us the deeper meaningful connection that Rosh Hashana is, in fact, the holiday of freedom.

Though they are both about freedom, they are two different expressions and manifestations. Yovel marks physical freedom, and Rosh Hashana establishes our spiritual, psychological, and moral freedom. Rosh Hashana are the days of the calendar that remind us that we actually are free and have the opportunity and responsibility to exercise our freedom. One who is physically enslaved doesn’t have the ability to choose how time is spent, how food is prepared, what time the work day begins or ends. This is something only free people can do. But physical freedom is not enough, it is simply the
precursor for spiritual freedom.

The Rambam opens the 5th chapter of the laws of teshuva in the following way:

רְּשוּת לְּכָּל אָּדָּם נְּתוּנָּה. אִם רָּצָּה לְּהַטּוֹת עַצְּמוֹ לְּדֶׁרֶׁךְ טוֹבָּה וְּלִהְּיוֹת צַדִיק הָּרְּשוּת בְּיָּדוֹ. וְּאִם רָּצָּה לְּהַטּוֹת
עַצְּמוֹ לְּדֶׁרֶׁךְ רָּעָּה וְּלִהְּיוֹת רָּשָּע הָּרְּשוּת בְּיָּדוֹ.

Free will is granted to all people. If one desires to turn himself to the path of good and be righteous, the choice is his. Should he desire to turn to the path of evil and be wicked, the choice is his.

We go through life often feeling like we are not free, we feel stuck, immobile, paralyzed. We go through the routine of life and just keep plugging away. We become creatures of habit. And then comes RH. A day or two on the calendar where we are awakened to say you actually are not stuck. If you want to, you can pivot. You have the capacity to do something different, for you are not a slave, and you are not living on someone else’s property. You are not complete and your story is not over.

When I think about Liat, this is the message that she embodied. She had a choice to make – to get stuck in the terrible pain or to make a choice to carve a new path. I don’t think she forgot about those 7 months, that pain and trauma will always be a part of her story. But she didn’t let it define her. Instead, she looked it in the eye and said I’m making a choice to
move forward, to smile, to celebrate being alive and proudly say, hell was boring. She asked us to pivot with her, the live a little bit more, and not get stuck in what had transpired.

Yehi Ratzon, may it be Your will, Hashem, our God, that this Rosh Hashana is truly a holiday of freedom. There are people who right here and right now need the shofar of Yovel – calling for their physical freedom, their return to their home and their families. And for the rest of us, who have our physical freedom, may the sound of the Shofar allow each of us to believe that we have not yet reached our destination, that there is more road to travel, and that we will have the opportunity to choose that path.