 | After months of Jewish intensity, November plateaus in a month without Jewish holidays. In this month's Rabbi's Corner column, Rabbi David reflects on what this seasonal shift can make possible for Shir Ami, and all Jewish communities. The choices we make now about "doing Jewish" – not just "being Jewish" – will tell us much about what we value, and who we are. |
By Rabbi David
Happy November, Shir Ami!
This first week of November feels upside down. We just turned back the clock (sunsets at 4:49 p.m.), but robins are all over my front yard and some deciduous trees are still green, hanging on to summer long past.
And after months of Jewish intensity – the High Holy Day runway, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, a rained-out Sukkot, Simhat Torah, the dramatic liberation of Israel's hostages after two grueling years – November 2025 opens into the Jewish month of Heshvan. Uniquely in the Jewish year, Heshvan has no holidays.
Happy November, Shir Ami!
This first week of November feels upside down. We just turned back the clock (sunsets at 4:49 p.m.), but robins are all over my front yard and some deciduous trees are still green, hanging on to summer long past.
And after months of Jewish intensity – the High Holy Day runway, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, a rained-out Sukkot, Simhat Torah, the dramatic liberation of Israel's hostages after two grueling years – November 2025 opens into the Jewish month of Heshvan. Uniquely in the Jewish year, Heshvan has no holidays.
No drama. No holidays. November.
History had some feelings about this month. With no holidays or reliable festive gatherings, tradition restyled Heshvan as Marheshvan ("bitter" Heshvan). Some of my rabbinic colleagues disagree. Celebrating triumph over the holidays, they wear T-shirts proclaiming "Rabbis ❤ Heshvan."
Predictably, I'm in both camps. I miss the High Holy Days for their emotional depth, open hearts, deep chats with those of you who shared your hearts with me, shimmering and sometimes haunting beauty of our ancestral traditions shape-shifting themselves (and us with them) across the arc of weeks, days and hours. And too, after Simhat Torah I was grateful to catch up a bit on sleep (and laundry – because always there is laundry).
Because November / Heshvan schedules tend to be low-key Jewishly, this month ask us in liberal Jewish life some questions. When the big stuff is over, who are we? What do we value? What is community to us?
Put differently, not No-vember but Yes-vember. Jewishly speaking, what do we say "yes" to?
Our ancestors listed 10 things that every Jewish community needs: courts (i.e. consequences), a charity fund, synagogue, mikveh, bathroom, doctor, artist, scribe, food preparer, and teacher (Talmud, Sanhedrin 17b). Today we moderns might make a different list (try your hand at it), but I bet whatever's on your list, most everything on it will share at least one characteristic:
Everything on our community list needs loving care year-round, not just before gatherings. What makes a community is year-round person to person, the involvement and investment, the empowerment that comes from making it our own.
Yes, there's comfort in knowing that community is there for us when we need it. But what makes a community is actively making it precisely so it is there for all. What matters is what we say 'yes' to when the calendar or next event isn't particularly pushing.
This November with no holidays, please join me in deeply asking what we say yes to and what we are willing to do, so that beloved community can offer care, meaning, perspective, hope and comfort for all – in our best traditions and our brightest future.
History had some feelings about this month. With no holidays or reliable festive gatherings, tradition restyled Heshvan as Marheshvan ("bitter" Heshvan). Some of my rabbinic colleagues disagree. Celebrating triumph over the holidays, they wear T-shirts proclaiming "Rabbis ❤ Heshvan."
Predictably, I'm in both camps. I miss the High Holy Days for their emotional depth, open hearts, deep chats with those of you who shared your hearts with me, shimmering and sometimes haunting beauty of our ancestral traditions shape-shifting themselves (and us with them) across the arc of weeks, days and hours. And too, after Simhat Torah I was grateful to catch up a bit on sleep (and laundry – because always there is laundry).
Because November / Heshvan schedules tend to be low-key Jewishly, this month ask us in liberal Jewish life some questions. When the big stuff is over, who are we? What do we value? What is community to us?
Put differently, not No-vember but Yes-vember. Jewishly speaking, what do we say "yes" to?
Our ancestors listed 10 things that every Jewish community needs: courts (i.e. consequences), a charity fund, synagogue, mikveh, bathroom, doctor, artist, scribe, food preparer, and teacher (Talmud, Sanhedrin 17b). Today we moderns might make a different list (try your hand at it), but I bet whatever's on your list, most everything on it will share at least one characteristic:
Everything on our community list needs loving care year-round, not just before gatherings. What makes a community is year-round person to person, the involvement and investment, the empowerment that comes from making it our own.
Yes, there's comfort in knowing that community is there for us when we need it. But what makes a community is actively making it precisely so it is there for all. What matters is what we say 'yes' to when the calendar or next event isn't particularly pushing.
This November with no holidays, please join me in deeply asking what we say yes to and what we are willing to do, so that beloved community can offer care, meaning, perspective, hope and comfort for all – in our best traditions and our brightest future.
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