Shanah Tovah! A Jewish Take on January 1

The streets beyond the shtetl were loud with music blaring and drunken laughter echoing into the frozen night. Fireworks shattered the darkness. It was a night of noise and escape, of people losing themselves in revelry.

Inside the Beit Midrash, the chasidim of the Ohev Yisrael of Apta sat hunched over their books, trying to shut out the chaos beyond the frost-covered windows. But the noise pressed inward until suddenly the tzaddik himself entered. Without a word, the Ohev Yisrael walked to the window and opened it slightly, allowing the commotion of the street to rush in. The chasidim were startled. Why invite the impurity of the outside world into their sanctuary? The Rebbe stood still, eyes half-closed, smiling, as if listening for something beneath the chaos. After a long pause, he gently closed the window and turned to his students.

“Do you hear how they celebrate? This is how the nations begin their year – with noise, confusion, intoxication, escape. And look at us. When a Jew begins the year, he trembles. He prepares for a full month with selichot, with the wake-up call of the shofar. He pours himself into teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah. With awe, he crowns the King and steps into the Yamim Nora’im.”

Then he added, “When you hear their shouting, let it remind you of who you are.”

Our calendar, our rhythm, our spiritual reset is on Rosh Hashanah. Judaism does not need January 1 to define renewal. And yet, our tradition refuses to waste a moment. We can identify a Jewish soul within January 1.

There are several rabbinic personalities who acknowledged that the secular New Year has a spiritual side. The chasidic rabbi, the Ba’al Ha-Yeshuot, would bless people with a good year even on the civil New Year, noting with gentle humor that when God contrasts the way the nations mark their year with the way Jews approach Rosh Hashanah, it brings us added merit. Likewise, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, once wished a follower “Happy New Year” on January 1. He said this was the practice of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, who explained, “When it comes to blessing, every time is appropriate.”

Rabbi Nissan Mindel, the personal secretary of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, was present in the Rebbe’s room on the night of December 31. When midnight arrived, the Rebbe glanced at his watch and wished him, “Happy New Year.” Upon seeing Rabbi Mindel’s expression of surprise, the Rebbe responded simply by quoting Tehillim (87:6): “Hashem shall take notice based on the recording of the nations.” God, too, takes note of how the broader world marks time.

The Rebbe shared this idea on another occasion. On December 31, 1989, while distributing his famous dollars, he told one of the recipients in English, “This will give you a happy year.”

There is wisdom about the infinite power of blessings, but also boundaries for how a Jew engages with the outside world.

Rabbi Norman Lamm was once asked about attending a New Year’s Eve dance. His response was classic and precise:

1. It is not technically prohibited.
2. Not everything permissible is advisable.
3. A better use of funds might be to donate the cost of the ticket towards organizing an evening of Torah study instead.

That is the Jewish approach in a nutshell: discernment without disengagement. Take note of the outside world and channel it towards a higher purpose. The world is excited as we turn the calendar; we should be excited as well.

January 1 is not ours, but it is there. And Judaism has always known how to take what exists in the world and redirect it toward purpose.

My understanding of the Jewish take on January 1 is not that it becomes sacred, but that it becomes usable. It has come to represent movement - forward motion, momentum, and the human desire to turn a page. And there is nothing more Jewish than refusing to let that impulse go to waste.

At a time when our community and our people face so many challenges, we need every legitimate opportunity to recommit to our values, our responsibilities, and our mission. While the world resets resolutions that often fade by February, we can double down on what already defines us, infusing it with new vitality, energy, passion, and enthusiasm.

So, yes, remember to write “2026” on your checks (for those who still write checks). But more importantly, let us take advantage of this moment when the world pauses and starts again. Not because January 1 is Jewish - but because Jews know how to move forward.

And for that opportunity, we can sincerely wish one another: Shanah Tovah!

Trusting Pilots & Having Skin in the Game

We do something curious when boarding an airplane.

Most of us have no idea who the pilot is. We don’t ask how many hours they’ve flown, where they trained, or whether they passed their last simulator test. We glance at the uniform, hear a calm voice over the intercom, buckle up - and entrust our lives to a total stranger.

Yet when it comes to choosing a doctor, we behave very differently. We research credentials, read reviews, ask around, want second and third opinions. We want to know everything.

Why the difference?

It isn’t because flying is less dangerous than medicine. It’s because the pilot is on the plane with us. The pilot has skin in the game.

If something goes wrong, the pilot doesn’t walk away. They go down with us. That shared fate generates a deep, instinctive trust. The doctor, no matter how skilled or compassionate, does not share that same immediate risk. If a procedure fails, the patient bears the consequences - not the physician. And so, we are more wary.

The Torah understood this long before behavioral economics gave it a name.

When Yosef demands that Binyamin be brought down to Egypt, Yaakov is paralyzed with fear. He has already lost Yosef. Losing Binyamin would be unbearable. Reuven steps forward with an offer that sounds dramatic and sincere: “You may kill my two sons if I do not bring him back to you.” (Bereishit 42:37)

At first glance, Reuven seems heroic. He is willing to pay the ultimate price. Yet, Yaakov rejects him outright. Why?  Because Reuven’s offer is not only ineffective but foolish. What comfort would it bring Yaakov to lose Binyamin and two grandsons? How does multiplying tragedy inspire trust?

Reuven’s pledge, though emotional, costs Yaakov everything and costs Reuven very little in the moment. It is a symbolic sacrifice, not a personal one.

Then Yehuda steps forward: “I will personally guarantee him. From my hand you may demand him. If I do not bring him back…I will bear the blame forever.” (Bereishit 43:9)

No theatrics. No collateral damage. Just responsibility. Yehuda does not offer someone else’s life. He offers himself - his future, his standing, his identity. He puts his own life, reputation, and destiny on the line.

And Yaakov immediately accepts. Because Yehuda has skin in the game.

The Netziv explains that Yehuda’s defining strength is achrayut, personal responsibility. Leadership is not about grand gestures or eloquent promises. It is about standing in the blast radius when things go wrong. Reuven’s offer says: “If I fail, others will suffer.” Yehuda’s guarantee says: “If I fail, I will suffer.”

That difference changes everything.

It is no accident that Yehuda becomes the progenitor of Jewish leadership and kingship. A king does not rule from safety. A leader does not outsource risk. True leadership requires shared fate.

It is interesting to note that Yehuda is also the first person to admit his mistake. When confronted by Tamar after accusing her of committing adultery and deserving of death, she did not blame others. She simply proclaimed that the father of her child was the owner of the “signet, and the cord, and the staff.” Yehuda immediately realized the situation – and he acknowledged the truth. “Tzadka mimeni – She is more righteous than me.” (Bereishit 38:26)

Yosef is known as the tzaddik, righteous one, for all he accomplishes, but the descendants of Yehuda earn the kingship for owning up and taking responsibility.

This principle matters far beyond the pages of Bereishit. If we want to influence a community, an institution, or even a family, we cannot stand on the sidelines issuing critiques and suggestions. People instinctively ask - often without realizing it: What does this cost you? What are you risking? What do you lose if this fails?

Ideas without investment rarely move people. Passion without personal stake rings hollow. If we want to change a culture, improve a school, strengthen a shul, or heal a relationship, we must show that we are not merely offering opinions - we are sharing consequences. That is when trust is born. That is when leadership emerges. That is when people listen.

Yaakov trusted Yehuda for the same reason we trust a pilot: because when someone is willing to go down with the plane, we believe they will do everything in their power to keep it in the air.

And that, the Torah teaches us, is what it means to matter.