Sermon given January 3, 2026

Shana tova, everybody!

Happy New Year’s. 

 ארבעה ראשי שנים הם

teaches the Mishna. There are actually FOUR different times of the year that count as “new years”:

The first of Nisan is the new year for measuring the length of the reign of kings and for counting how many festivals have passed since we made vow;

the first of Elul is the new year for the tithe of beasts, for when we count who counts as a “yearling” for sacrifice;

the first of Tishrei is the new year for counting years of the world, for shmita and yovel, for planting and tithing and forgiving debts; and

the first of Shevat is the new year for trees and for tithing fruits, according to Beit Shammai (although of course, as is tradition, Beit Hillel disagreed.) 

You’ll note that the Mishna does not mention January first at all. But clearly, the rabbis cared about when the new year– or the four different new years– occurred, and this recurring theme of newness pervades the Jewish calendar.     

Of course, this means that measuring and counting and keeping track of the various parts of our lives can get very complicated as Jews, and that’s before we even try to factor in the Gregorian Calendar and its New Year, which we just celebrated this week. When we then add in our individual birthdays, and romantic anniversaries, and Yahrzeiten of those who have passed– and secular school years– and fiscal years– the list of types of years and new years gets very, very long.

This means that on any given day– SOMEthing, SOME year or another, is bound to be ending, or beginning, or about to end, or about to begin. Each of our lives is bound up in multiple overlapping annual cycles.

I’ve always found it fascinating how much of an emphasis is put on secular New years, and that people of all backgrounds count down to midnight on December 31st, and make resolutions– even though studies have shown again and again that we overwhelmingly stop following these resolutions by the end of January.

But it seems that there is a power in newness, and a power in celebrating new beginnings, and though this power transcends any one religion or culture, it’s worth asking ourselves– why should, or could, New Years matter to us as Jews? How can we, as Jews, take advantage of what this unique holiday has to offer?

We’re going to look at three answers to these questions today, and I’ll tell you before we even start– there are more than three answers. I’ll look forward to your reflections at kiddush lunch or beyond about why New Year’s is important to YOU, as a person and as a Jew– but hopefully, this will provide us with a good start.

The first reason why newness, and specifically New Years, is so important is because by labeling something as “new”, it allos us to also label something else as “old”, and therefore easier to let go of. It can be incredibly freeing to say that who we were before is now old “old”, and no longer who we are– which then clears the way to identify who we DO want to be, moving forward.  By societally agreeing that a specific second – Midnight on December 31st– will mark a change from the old to the new, we also communally give each other permission to reinvent ourselves, to reevaluate our priorities, and to redefine ourselves going forward. 

Being able to let go of past versions of ourselves is also important for us Jewishly. I’ve spoken in this space before about how one of our names for God is HaMavdil, the one who sanctifies transitions, and the transition from the old year to the New Year is one such holy moment. Transitioning from an old year to a new year allows us the opportunity to recommit to being the kind of Jews we want to be, and living the Jewish lives we want to live. Though Judaism does not formally encourage the writing of resolutions, we do indeed encourage one another to mark the passage of the year by annually trying again to become the people we know we should be. For example, before Rosh Hashanah, we bring conflicts into the open, resolve disputes and let go of anger, and forgive. 

But there is also the potential, at the secular New Years, for our Jewish values to also play a role in any resolutions we might want to make for this year. We can forgive ourselves for lapses in our observance from the past year, label those as “old”, and set new goals for this year. Perhaps we want to recommit to saying the Shema each night, or to volunteering on a committee, or to making challah for Shabbat. Perhaps we want to come to services once a month, or try a new level of observing kashrut. The arrival of New Year’s is a reminder, for both or secular and our spiritual selves, that we now have a chance, again, to try and live lives we are proud of. 

That’s reason number one about why New Years is so important: it allows us to let go of who we were, and focus on who we want to be.     

Reason two for why New Year’s is important to us as Jews is a bit more paradoxical, and it’s well illustrated by an example from our weekly Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat service. 

Every Friday at Kabbalat Shabbat, we sing through a series of psalms designed to get us into a Shabbat mindset, a mindset of rest, of praise, of gratitude– and a mindset of spiritual reset at the end of a week of regular life. 

שִׁ֣ירוּ לַ֭יהֹוָה שִׁ֣יר חָדָ֑שׁ שִׁ֥ירוּ לַ֝יהֹוָ֗ה כׇּל־הָאָֽרֶץ

So begin several of the psalms of the Kabbalat Shabbat service. Sing a NEW song to Adonai, they tell us. Sing a NEW song, all of the Earth.

And yet, this is a paradoxical thing to tell us to do, because it is with ancient words that we proclaim the importance of singing a new song. How are we supposed to make something new from something so old? Given that generations and generations have sung these exact same Hebrew words– shiru l’adonai shir chadash– the moral of the story can’t be that we need to literally rewrite the book of psalms to make it “new”. Rather, the psalms of Kabbalat Shabbat seem to be urging us, as individual Jews, to take true ownership of our spiritual experiences, to make it personal, to make living Jewishly new in a way that is both rooted in the old and uniquely ours, today, in 2026.

This means that the arrival of New Year’s, a day to focus in on newness, is also important because it gives us the opportunity to ask ourselves not just which rituals or prayers or practices or observances we are ready to embrace this year, but also what do these rituals and words really MEAN to us? Are they really ours? Do they feel new? Are we doing enough to make them new, for ourselves, for our children?

This is the second reason, then, why the New Year matters to us as Jews. Yes, New Years is an opportunity to let go of the old and aspire to something better– that was reason one– but it is also a charge and a challenge to take true ownership of our Judaism, to analyze why we do what we do, and what it means to us to find newness in the old. The oldness of Judaism is a beautiful and grounding thing. But New Years can remind us– if our Judaism never feels new to us, is it ever really ours?

That is the second reason we’ll name today.

For the third and final reason, we’ll pull a quote from the beginning of the Torah portion we just read:

וַיְחִ֤י יַֽעֲקֹב֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם שְׁבַ֥ע עֶשְׂרֵ֖ה שָׁנָ֑ה וַיְהִ֤י יְמֵי־יַֽעֲקֹב֙ שְׁנֵ֣י חַיָּ֔יו שֶׁ֣בַע שָׁנִ֔ים וְאַרְבָּעִ֥ים וּמְאַ֖ת שָׁנָֽה:

וַיִּקְרְב֣וּ יְמֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵל֘ לָמוּת֒

And Jacob lived in Egypt for 17 years. And the years of Jacob’s life numbered 147 years. And the time drew near for Israel to die.

So. Our Torah LOVES counting and naming how long people live. 

Now, I don’t know what Methuselah was like as a person, or what he accomplished in his life, or whether he had a sense of humor, because our Torah didn’t record those details– but what our Torah DID record is that Methuselah lived to be 969. Noah lived to be 950, Enoch lived to be 365, and Moses lived to be 120. Sarah lived to be 127. The Rabbis agree that Rebekah died at 133, though the Torah does not mention a specific age. And there are many, many more examples of very specific ages that our tradition has preserved and passed down for generations. 

It’s not that any of these specific ages are of particular note– it’s the fact that our Torah makes a point of marking down how long people live, again and again, and reminding us of the finite time that each of us has on this planet. The fact that the numbers of the years our ancestors lived are not uniform is also significant: The Torah reminds us that even among our leaders and our most important teachers, there is not a guaranteed period we are given on this Earth. 

And, when we read these numbers, just like when we mark the passing of another year each December 31st, we can’t help but be reminded that just like our ancestors, we are also mortal. And just like them, we don’t live our lives knowing exactly how many times we will get to mark a new year, or a new chapter, or a new month, or even a new day. New Years is a reminder of our mortality. 

But of course, we also know that we can’t dwell on our mortality all of the time. We wouldn’t be able to function if we did that, and to celebrate the joy and beauty in this world, and the mystery of spirituality. We wouldn’t be able to do the malacha, the creative tasks that we need to do in this life, to be God’s partners in Creation, if we spent all of our time thinking about the fact that one day, there won’t be another New Year’s. One January first will be our last January first. One Rosh Hashanah will be our last Rosh Hashanah.

And that’s OK. We have to be able to set our mortality aside, most of the time, in order to be able to truly live. But reading again and again the verses in the Torah that list the length of our ancestors’ lives, just like the arrival each year of January 1st, gives us a nudge, and gives us permission, to dwell for a second on our mortality, and to remember that the time we are given on this Earth is both finite and precious.

So. If the first reason why New Years matters is because it allows us to let go of the old and start over, and

the second reason why New Years matters is because it allows us to take true ownership of how we are living our lives, then

the third reason why New Years matters is because it is a reminder that, like it or not, for better for worse, time is marching on, and it won’t march on forever. Some day, each of us will have completed our lives, and others will be able to attach a number to our years, just like our ancestors in the Torah.   

Each New Year’s is a reminder that time, no matter how we measure it, no matter which “new year” we are measuring, each measure of life has value, and the mystery and unknown about how many of those years each of us will get is important. Time moves on, so we had best make sure we are living the Jewish lives we want to be living, and owning our Judaism. 

So, as we move together into the year 2026 of the Common Era, here in the midst of the year 5786 on the Jewish Calendar, I’d like to offer us all a blessing: 

May this be a year of healing and of teamwork;

Of friendship and of growth;

A year of bravery, compassion, and wonder;

A year of acceptance and gratitude. 

May this be a year where we practice poteach et yadecha, opening our hands to let go of the past;

And in doing so, may our hands and hearts remain open to receiving the blessings and potential of the new year.

May this be a year of laughter and of hope.

And finally, may this be a year where we approach ourselves and each other with compassion and empathy as we recommit ourselves, yet again, to being the Jews, and the people, that this world needs us to be.

Shabbat shalom, and Happy New Year.