By Elisheva Herrera
We Jews are very good at marking the passage of time. We have baby namings, bar and bat mitzvahs, and of course, the cycle of holidays. The High Holidays, in particular, serve as a reset: a chance to pause, reflect, and begin again. As the liturgy reminds us, it is written in the Book of Life — “who shall live and who shall die.”
Last year’s High Holidays were especially memorable for me. I had just been cast in a local play, sharing the role with another singer-actress. On the days she couldn’t perform, I would step in. There was only one catch: I had to learn Schubert’s Ave Maria. Non-Jewish friends found it amusing that I had never sung it before, but it had never been part of my world. After many hours of study, I was excited to head to my first rehearsal.
On the way, I received a call from my step–sister-in-law: my father had died. It was just before the High Holidays. His passing was unexpected, yet in many ways a blessing. Dad was 92, had just received a clean bill of health, and passed peacefully in his sleep on Shabbat. What better way to go?
Cantor Ephraim and I traveled to Dad’s hometown of McAllen, Texas, to honor his passing. Of course, we were there during the High Holidays. At services, we encountered Dad’s doctor, who expressed his condolences and assured us that Dad had been perfectly healthy when he saw him only days before. The Talmud says that Moshe Rabbeinu died on Shabbat, and tradition says that tzaddikim — the righteous — pass on Shabbat or on holidays. Some may not have thought of my father, a jokester and character, as a tzaddik. Yet he helped many young people by taking them off the streets and into the boxing gym, giving them discipline, structure, and a way to channel their yetzer hara (evil inclination).
We never truly know who the righteous among us are. Stories abound of ordinary people who lived humbly, unnoticed — until their deaths revealed great generosity or hidden virtue.
When I returned home, I was able to perform in the play’s final show. I had forgotten that the production had also hired Cantor Ephraim to sing the Retzeh and recite Kaddish. Hearing my brother’s voice chant the Mourner’s Kaddish so soon after Dad’s passing was deeply moving — heartbreaking, and yet somehow comforting.
The High Holidays remind us that life is fragile and unpredictable. Yet they also offer constancy: each year, they arrive as a time to reflect, to realign with God, self, family, community, and to recommit to living a meaningful life. And what is a meaningful life?
“Who is the one who desires life, who loves days to see good? Guard your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” (Psalm 34:13–15)
Not long ago, I watched the film adaptation of Stephen King’s The Life of Chuck. Chuck is an ordinary, decent man. When he dies at age 39, the world itself seems to end. This brought to mind the mystical concept of the Lamed Vavniks — the 36 hidden righteous people whose goodness sustains the world. None of us know who they are; it is said that they themselves don’t even know. But tradition teaches that we should all live as if we are Lamed Vavniks.
Imagine a world in which everyone lived believing they could be a lamed vavnik, with such kindness and virtue — not burdened by the thought of holding the world on our shoulders, but honored by the possibility that our love, goodness, and actions could tip the scales of creation toward life, that there is no way Hashem would end the world with us in it.
As we enter this new year, may each of us strive to live with that kind of purpose. May your life feel meaningful, full of love, and good deeds, and may you be inscribed for blessing in the Book of Life.
