What I’m Leaning Into This Rosh Hashana
Anchoring in awe amidst currents of fear and hope
For many of us living in Israel, or deeply connected from abroad, this past year has been wrought with emotional tumult — a continuous swirl of national unease, relentless resilience, moments of both incredible triumph and profound despondence, and too much heartbreak, without even a day’s pause in the breaking news cycle to step back and fully absorb the unfolding events.
As I opened the machzor in preparation for Rosh Hashanah this year, searching for words that could both carry the weight of what we’ve experienced and offer renewed strength for what lies ahead, the prayer that drew me in — more resonant than ever — was ובכן תן פחדך.
“And so place the fear of You, Lord our G-d, over all that you have made, and the terror of You over all You have created, and all who were made will stand in awe of You.”
Reframing Fear
At first glance, this prayer seems almost too intense to utter with full sincerity. And with an endless stream of anxieties already edging their way into our consciousness, why place a fear-invoking prayer at the heart of one of our holiest days?
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, in On Repentance (p. 223), recounts a psychiatrist who told him:
“Had I the authority to do so, I would eliminate the prayer recited on the High Holy Days that begins with the words, ‘Cast Thy fear,’ as fear is the major cause of the mental illnesses that beset mankind… there is certainly no reason why one should ever pray for fear.”
With his characteristic blend of deep insight and wisdom, the Rav offers a thoughtful response that reframes the entire prayer:
“Everyone seems to be beset with fears of all kinds… that of failure, of poverty, of old age, of rejection. Man is plagued constantly by all sorts of lesser fears. I am not a psychiatrist, but I do know that one major source of fear can wipe out all of these lesser fears… Only the fear of the Lord! We pray that this great fear will free us from those other ones which lurk everywhere, upsetting our lives.”
In other words, ובכן תן פחדך isn’t asking us to become more afraid. It’s asking us to put our fears in order — to let our awe of God place all the other worries into perspective. And with that enhanced perspective, it invites us to channel our energy not into anxieties and fears that drain us, but into building a relationship with God that inspires us to act, to give, and to live a life of responsibility and contribution.
Rabbanit Shayna Goldberg, a personal mentor whose writings and teachings explore the role of trust in navigating life’s decisions, echoes this sentiment in her distinctive voice, drawing on the Rav: the prayer is about trust in Hashem — letting that trust empower us to relinquish what is beyond our reach to Him, while focusing our strength on what lies within our control.
A Nexus of Fear, Hope, and Responsibility
The Rav’s interpretation of this central Rosh Hashana prayer deeply resonates with me, especially as I reflect on this past year in which I often found myself drifting between hope, determination, and action on the one hand, and fear, a sense of overwhelm, and retreat on the other.
The fear may not always be justified, but it is real. At least, the fact that I can sometimes be more shaken by internal strife and worrying trends within Israel than by the tangible external threats at our borders tells me as much.
And yet, alongside the fear, there is hope — irrational, perhaps, but undoubtedly what keeps me sane. After all, I’m a Jew, aren’t I? Hope — the insistence that a better reality is possible, and the responsibility that brings — is embedded in my DNA, the hallmark of the Jewish psyche for millennia. English as my native tongue might tempt me otherwise, but Hebrew offers no single word that mirrors “hopelessness” — as if the language itself refuses to fully allow it (yes, there is ye’ush, despair, but that’s arguably something different). I care deeply about the future of this country, and the determination to build that future is what sustains me — why what began as “taking Tel Aviv for a spin” has grown into something so much larger and more defining, giving profound meaning and purpose to my life here.
There are moments when it all feels too heavy, and I retreat inward, metaphysically — and yes, physically — sheltering within the daled amot of my home and family. In those moments, I lean on the conviction — almost completely intuitive, yet still a touch foreign — that somehow, things will turn out okay.
And there are moments where the sense of responsibility comes to bear — in conversations, small gestures, simple choices that probably matter more than they seem. Though if I’m honest with myself, it’s often easier to shrug and say “this is beyond my control” than to push myself out of routine to act where I actually can make a difference.
This dynamic — discerning when to surrender and when to act, when to acknowledge what is beyond our control and when to take responsibility, and having the courage not to confuse the two — is, perhaps, what lies at the core of the ובכן תן פחדך prayer.
A Rosh Hashanah Prayer
And so this Rosh Hashanah, ובכן תן פחדך means more than just a seasonal twist on the Amidah to match the themes of the day. It is a deeply personal prayer: that awe and trust in God might reorder my fears, steadying me against the noise, and that I might find both solace and strength — solace in releasing what is truly beyond me, and strength to act where my choices matter.
May this be a year in which we are anchored by trust, empowered by purpose, and carried by hope.
And may we see the swift return of the hostages, the healing of the wounded, the safe homecoming of our soldiers — and a step toward a safer, more peaceful world. Ktiva v’Chatima Tova.