Rosh Chodesh Shvat: Hibernation and Community
This is about my experience of Rosh Chodesh right now and not about Shvat specifically so much, and that’s okay!! This is one of my free posts for all subscribers — please consider supporting my work with a paid subscription if it moves you!
Did you know that squirrels don’t hibernate? For years I have assumed they do – after all, what are they collecting the nuts for? But recently, I described myself to someone as hibernating like a little squirrel in a tree only to be told that squirrels don’t hibernate. Apparently, while they do mostly hang out in their warm nests but don’t go into that sleeping state like a bear would.
Dear subscribers, you should know that certain species of ground squirrel DO hibernate – I did research to prove that I am not totally wrong. But regardless of my similarity or lack thereof to a squirrel, I have certainly been in a more solitary, cozy phase of life. I have especially been savoring solo, shul-less shabbatot. When I first moved to Berlin, I was overwhelmed by all the novelty, and rarely pushed myself to go to shul. That unwittingly developed into a habit, and in the cold and dark, the siren call of my couch, a small personal cholent, and a novel has been strong.
One of the side effects of not going to shul has been that even though my life is deeply shaped by the Jewish calendar through my work (I always know what the parsha is and what holidays are coming up), I am always surprised by Rosh Chodesh. There is no announcement of the molad when I daven in my matching Shabbat PJs set in my living room!
Last night, I only realized after Maariv that I should have said Yaale V’Yavo – despite having been brainstorming for a few days about this newsletter, knowing that Rosh Chodesh was vaguely soon. Lying in bed, I groggily said “Hey Siri, remind me tomorrow at 8AM that it’s Rosh Chodesh,” in an attempt to do better on my Rosh Chodesh davening during the day.
The reminder worked exactly as it should – Siri’s alert that “it’s Roscoe Dash” was comprehensible enough to do its job. But I have been left feeling guilty. I love to teach Torah about Rosh Chodesh. So why do I need a phone alert to remember Hallel?
I often teach an excerpt from the Tur about Rosh Chodesh, since it is a tidy summary of a larger midrashic tradition (and I wrote about this Tur in my very first Approaching dvar Torah!):
המועדים נתקנו כנגד אבות פסח כנגד אברהם דכתיב (בראשית יח) לושי ועשי עוגות ופסח היה, שבועות כנגד יצחק שתקיעת שופר של מתן תורה היה בשופר מאילו של יצחק, סוכות כנגד יעקב דכתיב (בראשית לד) “ולמקנהו עשה סוכות” וי"ב ראשי חדשי השנה שגם הם נקראים מועדים כנגד י"ב שבטים וכשחטאו בעגל ניטלו מהם וניתנו לנשותיהם לזכר שלא היו באותו חטא:
…the festivals were established parallel to the Avot — Pesach parallel to Avraham..Shavuot parallel to Yitzchak...Sukkot parallel to Yaakov...And the twelve Rashei Chodashim of the year, which are also called ‘festivals,’ are parallel to the twelve tribes, and when they sinned with the Calf it was taken from them and given to their wives, to commemorate that they did not participate in that sin.
(Tur, OH 417)
According to this text, each of the three major festivals, the Shalosh Regalim, is alluded to in the stories of the three Patriarchs. And this text, when I first turned to it again to think about Rosh Chodesh right now, made me feel guilty. If Rosh Chodesh is a holiday that is related to my women ancestors, how can I forget about it? I would never say “hey Siri, remind me that tomorrow is Pesach!” (Though, to be fair, I suppose we do all count up to Shavuot).
In returning to this familiar text – and sitting with the uncomfortable feelings it is causing – I am struck by the specificity of each of the three Avot in comparison with the mass of “wives” for whom Rosh Chodesh is dedicated. I know a lot about Avraham. I have a sense of him in my mind. But while I have written and taught about these women who refused to participate in the sin of the Golden Calf, I don’t have a sense of their personality beyond the collective. Rosh Chodesh isn’t dedicated to, say, Devorah, or Avigayil the Prophetess (indulge me, this is my own newsletter) – it is about solidarity, and community. The whole point is that it was a powerful group of women who refused participation in sin and in misattribution of where power ought to lie.
In addition to taking advantage of being in a place where I am not – yet – expected at shul on Shabbat mornings, I have felt a sense of unpleasant relief at being out of the context of communities that I know deeply and that know me deeply during the war in Gaza. I have written and spoken and pastored, but I have not been asked to organize by peers who keep me accountable. I want to step into more community and resist the loneliness and accompanying sense of powerlessness.
By the time next Rosh Chodesh rolls around, I want to not need an alarm because I am more tapped in to community. This means pushing myself to change out of my Shabbos pajamas and go to shul, yes. But it also means that I will have taken steps to live out my values with others, not only alone or through my words. Rosh Chodesh is not a once-a-year holiday like Sukkot. It happens monthly, calling us to stand in community. There is always next month, yes, but there is also always this month.