Healing our broken hearts

Back in March, when the full impact of coronavirus hit South Africa and President Cyril Ramaphosa announced the hard lockdown, the festival of Pesach was just around the corner. Who will ever forget Pesach 5780?

The Zoom seders, the closed shuls, the cancelled holiday plans. And now Rosh Hashanah is just days away, and we are still in lockdown with no clear path opening up in front of us just yet.

Every day through this month of Elul, we have been reminded that this is a year like no other. That this Rosh Hashanah will be one like no other. Due to this pandemic, we have had to face daily losses and heartbreaking sacrifices.

Some of us have lost work or our jobs, and many have had to confront changed financial realities. Some of us have suffered the death of loved ones at a time that even the comforts of sitting shiva with the community visiting us have been denied.

All of us have had to set aside carefully made plans and lean into the “new normal”. And now we can’t even look forward to the overflowing shuls and packed dinner tables of Rosh Hashanah to begin our New Year.

What tools does our tradition give us for dealing with all this brokenness? What can we say or do to give us strength and comfort for these most holy days ahead? Perhaps the very nature of the brokenness that we feel and see around us is the key to our spiritual readiness.

There is a tale told about the Baal Shem Tov, Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, the founder of Chasidism (1698-1760, Ukraine), that’s a good place to begin.

Once the Baal Shem Tov commanded one of his students, Rabbi Zev-Wolf Kitzes, to learn the secret meanings behind the blasts of the shofar because Rabbi Zev was to be his caller on Rosh Hashanah. So Rabbi Zev learned the secret meanings, and wrote them down on a slip of paper to look at during the service, and laid the slip of paper in his pocket. When the time came for the blowing of the ram’s horn, he began to search everywhere for the slip of paper, but it was gone, and he didn’t know where to concentrate. He was greatly saddened. Broken-hearted, he wept bitter tears, and called the blasts of the shofar without being able to concentrate on the secret meanings behind them.

Afterward, the Baal Shem Tov said to him, “In the palace of a king are to be found many rooms and apartments, and there are different keys for every lock, but the master key of all is the axe, with which it is possible to open all the locks on all the gates. So it is with the shofar: the secret meanings are the keys, every gate has another meaning, but the master key is the broken heart. When a person truthfully breaks their heart before G-d, they can enter into all the gates of the apartments of the King above all Kings, the Holy One of Blessing.” (Sefer Or Yesharim)

As we prepare for Rosh Hashanah, now is the time to embrace that broken heart. If we are feeling pain, if we acknowledge our loss, these are the master keys to opening the gates of t’shuvah, sacred return. The sound of the shofar is often compared to the sound of crying, weeping, and sobbing.

And there is much to cry over this year. For the loss of dear loved ones; the stark differences between poor and rich in lockdown; for being separated when we long to be together; for changed realities and unchanged realities; for constrictions and limitations; for the fear and the unknowing.

Open your heart, and let it break. And then, slowly, we can begin the work of return and repair. For we aren’t meant to remain broken, but rather to seek healing for the brokenness within. And once again, we have a tool for that.

Wrapped around the blasts of the shofar are many precious prayers. Many. Whether we will be in shul or at home, we will have the chance over the yamim noraim, the awesome days, to pray and pray and pray.

Where do these prayers come from? You might say the machzor (prayerbook), and you wouldn’t be wrong, but that’s not the whole reality. The answer is that they really come from the heart. Avodah she’b’lev (the service of the heart). The aim of prayer is to connect our broken heart to the eternal healer of hearts and binder of wounds.

Why is Jewish prayer known as the service of the heart? Would it not be more accurate to call it avodah shebisfatayim (the service of the lips)? After all, it’s our lips that do the praying. But G-d desires the heart. Meaningless words don’t penetrate us. Words without heart are just words. Prayer must come from the heart. And a broken heart is the master key to open the doors of the palace.

The shofar breaks us down, but in that broken state, we begin to repair. Each prayer, each act of t’shuvah, every time we yearn to be better selves, every time we reach out to someone we have hurt, we begin the work of returning ourselves to wholeness.

Each time we say to someone we love, “Here I am, ready to work with you on making our relationship stronger. And let me begin with telling you how sorry I am for the hurt I have caused you,” then we add to the work of repair.

This is the work that we are doing right now. Building up the muscle of the understanding heart – heart gym – so that we can shuv (return) to who we truly are and heal.

Wishing you and your heart a good preparation, and a whole and sweet New Year.

Together with the dynamic rabbinic team of Temple Israel Cape Town, Rabbi Greg is working towards their first ever online high holy days. Find out how to join at www.templeisrael.co.za, or find them on Facebook.

• Rabbi Greg Alexander is part of the rabbinic team at the Cape Town Progressive Jewish Congregation.