Among the yamim tovim, Rosh Hashana is unquestionably the one with the simplest name. Whereas chag hashavuot, the holiday of weeks, has little meaning to the unlearned, or chag hasukkot or chag hapesach, rosh hashana literally means the head or beginning of the year -- its meaning is clear and simple. And yet, every child that has learned Chumash knows that this name of the holiday is actually wholly inaccurate. The first day of a year should, of course, be in the *first* month, and yet every year the yomtov falls out in the seventh!
Now, in some sense, this is no big surprise -- the first mishna of Rosh Hashanah already tells us of four Rosh Hashanah, making clear that we can and indeed have multiple distinct annual cycles, each with its own beginning. The year for which we count yamim tovim need not be the same as that for which we count for kings or documents, or for maser behema, or trees, or shmita and yovel. Opening day for baseball is months away from the first game of the NFL season. And so, the day which we call rosh hashanah can in theory be different from a different one discussed in Chumash.
And yet, none of this is very satisfying. In Chumash itself, the month of Nissan is unambiguously the first month -- the Torah could not have been more explicit! Hachodesh hazeh lachem rosh chadoshim, rishon hu lchodshei hashanah! Indeed, every time a month is mentioned in Chumash -- with the possible exception of a few times in Parshas Noach -- months are ALWAYS counted from Nissan. No other set of months, no other calendar, is ever mentioned in Chumash. And so, if the term "Rosh Hashanah" were mentioned in Chumash -- it's not, but if it was -- then it would undoubtedly denote Alef Nissan, and not Alef Tishri.
Of course, rosh hashanah *is* referenced in Chumash, just not by that name. In parshat Emor we are told almost nothing about the chag, certainly nothing about it being the beginning of the year or Yom Hadin:
We are only told about a zichron truah, issur melacha, and a korban. The story in Pinchas is not much better:
The Yerushalmi is sensitive to the subtle difference between the Zichron Teruah of Emor and the Yom Teruah of Pinchas:
Although this explains the textual difference, there remains the question of why Zichron Teruah, and not Yom Teruah, is mentioned in parshas Emor. Given that in most years rosh hashana does not fall out on shabbos, it is strange that זכרון תרועה is used in Emor as if it is somehow the more typical or representative description.
The low, under-the-radar, profile of Rosh Hashanah is already noticed by chazal. The Gemara in Meseches Rosh Hashanah says:
Rosh Hashanah is the only one of the yamim tovim on which the moon is not brightly lit. The moon is full at the beginning of Sukkose and Pesach, and pretty full on YK, and roughly half full on Shavuos. But on Rosh Hashanah, the night is dark, and no light of the moon can be seen. בכסה ליום חגנו - Rosh Hashanah is somewhat of a hidden chag, both in torah shbichtav and also in the night sky.
Rosh Hashanah was also a quiet day in the mikdash. Aliyah laregel is, of course, a special din in regel, but not on Rosh Hashanah or YK. At some point, YK too became, at least informally, a day on which people would come to watch the Kohen Gadol perform the avodah. In contrast, Rosh Hashanah had no special Avodah of the Kohen Gadol, no Aliyah lregel, and none of the regular hustle and bustle of the daily avodah. Aside from the special truah of the day, which was also sounded outside the mikdash, Rosh Hashanah was a fairly quiet time in the mikdash. A quiet ordinary autumnal day.
And so, we are left with two questions and an observation: if the first day of the 7th month really is some kind of new year, why are we told almost nothing about it aside from it being a Yom Teruah, or perhaps only a Zichron Teruah? Second, why does "Rosh Hashanah" land in the seventh month, and not in the first? And an observation -- Rosh Hashanah was a quiet holiday, in its lack of description in Chumash, its lack of moonlight, and in a particularly quietness that permeated the mikdash on that day. Rosh Hashanah is quiet and modest in a way markedly different from the other yamim tovim.
So here are some short thoughts. I was recently speaking with a child and somehow it came up that when a child goes to a new school, he or she has an opportunity to start anew. Perhaps a child was a bit mischievous in elementary school, and suddenly, when he or she reaches middle school, they have an opportunity to start fresh. A new stage of school, or life, provides an opportunity to start over.
And this made me think about Rosh Hashanah and the process of tshuva. At times we reach junctures in our lives that provide us opportunities to pause, reflect, and to look ahead. Sometimes it is the shofar that wakes us up -- an abrupt event, or a significant change in our lives that motivates and frees us to think about where we are, and perhaps to question it and consider change. These are the teruose, like those of the Yom Kippur following Yovel. There were few events that forced consideration of more details of more people's lives than -- וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל יֹשְׁבֶיהָ -- lands returning to original owners, slaves set free, and tshuva: וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל אֲחֻזָּתוֹ וְאִישׁ אֶל מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ. The teruah of YK of Yovel, בזמן שיובל נוהג, would in practice force almost everyone to reconsider so many aspects of their daily lives, slaves and their owners, lands and their keepers.
The abrupt opportunity for change is perhaps best exemplified by the only other time that Rosh Hashanah is mentioned, possibly, in Chumash:
According to R' Eliezer, whom Rashi here quotes, this first day of the first month was indeed what we call Rosh Hashanah - perhaps it was the seventh month on our post-parshas-Bo calendar, but it was unquestionably a fresh beginning for Noach. The chaos outside had subsided, and Noach must certainly have thought carefully about what the future had in store, for him, and for the world. For Noach, היום הרת עולם.
But in our conversation, the child also pointed out that it's not always possible to really start anew - sometimes you move to a new school, but there are still kids from your previous one there, who know you, remember you and your faults, and make it difficult to really start fresh. Not every point in our lives will be like that of Noach or of Yovel. More often than not, our lives continue from day to day, from month to month, from year to year. Life rarely gives us second chances to really start fresh, to make our past disappear. We're often still so much in the middle of everything.
And perhaps this is really when we need the lessons of tshuva most. We need not wait for the aftermath of a mabul, for a shnas hayovel, or even for a first day of a first month of a year, to pause and reconsider. Even when we are right in the middle of everything, in the absolute middle of the year (!), then too we have not only the obligation to do tshuva, but the opportunity.
Sometimes it is the clear sound of a teruah that provides us the motivation and the opportunity to do tshuva. More often, however, it is merely a zichron teruah, memories of those significant junctures in our lives, which afford us opportunities to think once again about tshuva and about true cheshbon hanefesh. Rosh Hashanah provides us with a quiet day in the very middle of the year for reflecting: וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל אֲחֻזָּתוֹ וְאִישׁ אֶל מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ
Perhaps it is the very gentle modesty of Rosh Hashanah, nestled in the quiet lull between summer and zman simchaseinu, that reminds us that as much as we might associate teshuva with specific times -- beginnings and ends -- tshuva is also both a mitzvah and an opportunity every day of our lives. When we are ready, we can make any day, even a quiet and otherwise ordinary autumnal day in the middle of the year, into תחילה וראש לפדיון נפשנו.