The study of Torah is such a fundamental part of Judaism that there’s not just a blessing for the act of Torah study, there’s a blessing for encountering someone whose life is shaped and guided by Torah study. Whether it’s a scholarly figure with critical insight or a community elder whose wisdom is drawn from years of learning and living the law, our tradition teaches us to pause and offer a blessing. In doing so, we acknowledge that the wisdom before us is not theirs alone, but a spark of the divine shared with us through them.
Parshat Ha’azinu offers us a similar encounter. This parshah is often called the “Song of Moses.” Nearing the end of his life, Moses does not simply offer final instructions or laws. Instead, he sings. His words cascade as poetry: heaven and earth are summoned as witnesses, history is remembered, and God’s faithfulness is proclaimed. The tone is at once stern and tender, filled with warning and with hope.
What makes this song extraordinary is that it distills the essence of Torah into music and memory. Moses, the greatest of teachers, transforms his final teaching into a form that will live on beyond him. It is as though he becomes the embodiment of the blessing we say upon seeing someone distinguished in Torah study: he channels God’s wisdom, not for himself, but for the people who will carry it forward.
When we hear Ha’azinu, we are invited to see Moses not only as a leader or lawgiver but as a vessel of divine wisdom. And we, in turn, are called to recognize that Torah wisdom is not locked away in the past. It can appear in a teacher who explains a verse in a new light, in a friend whose insight guides us through a hard choice, or in a child who asks a question that reframes everything we thought we knew. Each of these moments is worthy of blessing, for each reveals God’s wisdom refracted through human lives.
The charge for us is clear: to cultivate the eyes and the humility to see divine wisdom when it appears in scholars, in neighbors, and even in ourselves. And when we do, may we always respond with gratitude, blessing both the opportunity to learn and the source of our learning.
This is the sermon I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on Rosh Hashanah day, 2025. For more on Dr. Lisa Miller’s book The Awakened Brain, visit: https://www.lisamillerphd.com
I want to pose a question you may have never been asked. When was the last time you let awe interrupt you? These are the Days of Awe after all, so what is this “awe” we’re talking about? The kind I mean doesn’t have to be earth-shattering; it just has to wake you up from wherever your mind is.
Here’s an example to get you thinking. This summer I found myself on a walk. That’s not the awe-inspiring part. None of you should be surprised that I relish my walks. It was my typical mode: headphones in, multitasking between an audiobook and thoughts of work – in this case it was this very sermon that needed writing. Before it had even really registered with me, I was passing a toddler in a stroller who was pointing to the sky and shouting, “Moon! Moon!” Her eyes sparkled with awe, not only at the idea that the moon could be visible during the day, but in the childlike wonderment that our planet has a moon at all.
I looked up. There it was—a full, glowing moon still visible in the early morning sky. And I realized: I hadn’t noticed it at all. I was too busy being productive. That little girl saw something bigger, something sacred. She was awake to wonder, and I was just trying to get through my day.
That moment stayed with me. It reminded me that being awake—truly awake—is more than just getting up in the morning. It’s about how we show up to our lives. That’s what the sound of the shofar does, and that’s what Rosh Hashanah itself is about: awakening to our truest selves, our relationships, and the sacred pulse that beats behind it all.
What prompted this connection for me and led to this sermon was Dr. Lisa Miller’s powerful book The Awakened Brain, in which she explores how awakening isn’t just a spiritual metaphor—it’s a biological and psychological necessity. She identifies three types of awakening that help us live richer, more meaningful lives: Personal Awakening, Relational Awakening, and Transcendent Awakening. And on this Rosh Hashanah, as we begin 5786, these three awakenings offer a roadmap for how we might renew our lives.
Dr. Miller’s first kind of awakening is Personal Awakening, the internal shift that comes when we confront challenge, loss, or profound insight and begin to see ourselves differently.
We all have these moments. They often come when life throws something unexpected our way—a diagnosis, a breakup, a loss, a new career. In a flash, the world feels unfamiliar. But it’s in those cold-water-on-your-face instances that we’re invited to truly wake up.
The shofar we hear today is the ancient sound of that personal awakening. Maimonides wrote that the shofar calls to us: “Awaken, you sleepers, from your sleep, and you slumberers from your slumber! Examine your deeds and return in repentance.” We don’t call it the “gentle nudge” of the shofar. We call it the “blast” of the shofar! It’s a divine alarm clock.
Dr. Miller calls these moments of personal awakening “the doorways to transformation.” Her neuroscience research shows that people who embrace these turning points with open eyes and hearts, rather than retreating into fear or denial, actually rewire their brains for greater resilience and emotional health.
And wouldn’t you know, Judaism teaches the same thing: that teshuvah—return—is not about guilt. It’s about growth. When we reflect deeply on our lives, we can return to who we were always meant to be.
So I ask: What is your shofar blast this year? What is asking you to wake up?
Maybe it’s a health scare, although I hope it isn’t. Or a job transition. Or the dream you’ve delayed. Maybe it’s a loneliness you’ve managed to push down and cover up that suddenly finds itself staring you in the face. Listen closely. The sound is there. This year, don’t hit snooze. Let yourself be jolted awake.
The second kind of awakening Dr. Miller explores is Relational Awakening, the understanding that we individuals are hardwired to connect. That our healing, our hope, and our humanity depend on each other.
We learned this the hard way during the pandemic, when distance became our new normal. We longed for hugs, for shared meals, for singing side-by-side. And even now, years later, many of us are still finding our way back into community.
There’s plenty in our Jewish tradition that can be done solo or as a family unit in the privacy of your home. But Rosh Hashanah is a communal holiday for a reason. We pray Avinu Malkeinu—Our Parent, Our Sovereign. We gather as a people, not just as individuals. Even the most personal of prayers are recited in the plural, because our tradition knows something Dr. Miller confirms: we are not meant to go it alone.
Her research shows that people with strong relational networks—family, chosen family, spiritual community—are more resilient in the face of life’s challenges. They’re more grounded, and yet also more hopeful. Why? Because being seen and known and loved heals us.
This is the heartbeat of synagogue life. I hope you’re not tired of hearing this, because I’m never going to stop preaching that we are more than a building to house services. We are the Meal Train you sign up for after someone has surgery. We are the embrace when you see someone who has just started saying Kaddish after they’ve lost someone close to them. We are the joyful chaos of kids running through the halls. We are every time you say “Shabbat shalom” because it doesn’t just mean “Shabbat shalom,” it means, “I see you. You matter.”
But this kind of awakening takes a little more effort than the first kind. It means showing up for each other. Not perfectly, just honestly. It means reaching out when you’d rather stay in. Forgiving when you’d rather forget. Saying yes when it feels easier to say no.
This year, I challenge you: reawaken your relationships. It’s easy for the rabbi to stand up here and invite you to attend services more often. I’m here anyway. No, what I’m really asking of all of us is to say hello to someone you don’t yet know. Invite someone new to your table. Open your sukkah. Rebuild the sacred web that holds us together, because if you’ve been anywhere near the news or social media recently, you know we need it.
The final awakening Dr. Miller describes is Transcendent Awakening—when we realize we are part of something greater than ourselves. This is the dimension of the spiritual, the sacred, the holy.
I know that not everyone here in the room uses the word “God” comfortably. Some of us picture a divine being. Others connect through nature, music, or quiet moments of reflection. But I’d guess all of us, at some point, have felt awe, whether it’s watching a newborn open their eyes, hearing the final blast of the shofar, or just gazing at the moon during the daytime.
That’s transcendence. That’s what awakens your spirit.
Rosh Hashanah means that kind of awakening. We call it Hayom Harat Olam—today the world is born. We remember that we are part of something vast and mysterious. We relinquish the illusion that we control everything and lean into trust and humility.
The Unetaneh Tokef prayer stirs us: “Who shall live and who shall die?” These words are hard. They’re real. They ask us to take stock of what we can and cannot control. But they don’t leave us in despair, they do the opposite. They offer us a roadmap: teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah—returning, praying, and acting with justice—can transform our destiny.
Guess what Dr. Miller’s research shows about people who cultivate a sense of the sacred through prayer, gratitude, and awe. It’s not that they need to cut down on sodium. It’s that they live with more meaning and less fear. They have what she calls “an awakened brain”—a mind attuned to love, beauty, and hope.
This year, how might you cultivate transcendence? Light candles. Say Modeh Ani in the morning. Say thank you. Start small, and let awe interrupt you. Let holiness sneak in.
Now that we’ve talked about what my hope for your Rosh Hashanah awakening is, I feel I should also mention what it isn’t. It isn’t about striving for perfection. And it isn’t about some universal awakening that applies to everyone. It’s yours.
This is your invitation:
First, wake up to your own life. Listen for the shofar calling you back to your truest self.
Second, wake up to each other. Reach out, reconnect, rebuild what has been broken.
Third, wake up to the sacred. Let yourself be awed. Let yourself be moved.
Dr. Miller says it plainly: “Spiritual awareness is not an add-on. It is foundational to our well-being.”
And Judaism says: You were made for this kind of awakening. You were created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. You are worthy. You are needed. You are part of something beautiful and enduring.
This year, may we not sleepwalk through our days. May we wake up—in body, mind, heart, and soul. Shanah tovah u’metukah. May it be a sweet, sacred, and awakened new year for us all.
This Shabbat is unique. Nestled between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Shabbat Shuvah, literally the “Shabbat of Return,” invites us into the sacred pause between beginnings and atonement. It is a moment for reflection, for choosing what direction we will turn our lives toward in the year ahead.
Parshat Vayelech seems almost tailor-made for this week. Moses, standing at the end of his life, prepares the people for their next chapter. He reassures them: “Chizku v’imtzu.” “Be strong and resolute, for it is God who goes with you; God will not fail you nor forsake you.” (Deut. 31:6) Moses then hands the mantle of leadership to Joshua, reminding Israel that even in moments of transition, blessing is found not in certainty, but in the abiding presence of God.
The Torah portion also introduces the mitzvah of hakhel, the great gathering every seven years, when all Israel, from elders to infants, assemble to hear Torah. This ritual highlights that blessing is not abstract; it is communal. The Torah becomes a blessing only when it is shared, heard, and lived together.
On Shabbat Shuvah, as we stand in the middle of the Ten Days of Awe, we too are asked to gather—not on a mountaintop or in a courtyard, but here in our community. We gather to remember that our return to God is not accomplished alone. The blessings of renewal, forgiveness, and life come alive in relationship with one another and with the Divine.
The message of Vayelech resonates deeply with the themes of teshuvah: turning and returning, blessing and being blessed. Blessing in Judaism is never only about what we receive; it is about what we generate. To bless is to name holiness, to bring awareness to God’s nearness, to transform ordinary acts into sacred opportunities.
As we walk through these holy days, may we feel the strength of Moses’s charge: “Be strong and resolute.” May we gather like our ancestors, seeking blessing not only for ourselves, but for our entire community. And may our turning toward God and toward each other in this season of teshuvah become the greatest blessing of all.
Have you ever had a task that seemed overwhelming until you actually started doing it, only to discover it wasn’t as hard as you feared? Maybe it was assembling a piece of furniture, running your first 5K, or trying a new recipe. The thought of the work can feel daunting, but when you take it one step at a time, the path forward often becomes less treacherous than expected.
Our tradition tells us that Torah can sometimes feel that way. At first glance, it can seem too vast, too complex, or too distant for us to grasp fully. However, Parshat Nitzavim reminds us otherwise: Torah is not unreachable; it is close, accessible, and waiting for us to live it.
In Nitzavim, Moses gathers all of Israel—leaders, elders, children, strangers, laborers—to stand together and renew the covenant with God. The portion stresses collective responsibility, not only of those present, but also of future generations bound to this covenant. It speaks of return (teshuvah) and ends with the stirring message that life and death, blessing and curse are before you. We are to choose life so that we and our descendants may live.
In the heart of this portion, we find a passage of great reassurance: “Lo bashamayim hi . . .”
“It is not in heaven . . . it is not beyond the sea . . . but very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it.” (Deut. 30:11–14)
This teaching is the foundation for the blessing La’asok B’divrei Torah. “Blessed are you . . . who commands us to engage in words of Torah.” We do not bless God for completing Torah, or for mastering Torah, but for engaging in it. The blessing affirms that the work is not about perfection, but about participation. Torah is ours to wrestle with, to question, to study, and to live.
This resonates deeply with the declaration of our ancestors at Sinai: “Na’aseh v’nishma.” We will do, and we will understand. The Israelites promised to engage in Torah through action first, trusting that deeper understanding would follow. Just as Nitzavim says Torah is already in our mouths and hearts, na’aseh v’nishma reminds us that through living Torah, we bring it closer. It becomes accessible not just intellectually, but spiritually and communally.
Parshat Nitzavim comes to us each year right before Rosh Hashanah, as we stand on the threshold of a new year. It challenges us to see Torah not as an intimidating mountain or a distant ocean, but as something already within our grasp. It is already in our hearts and mouths, waiting for us to do it.
From the moment we wake up until the moment we go to bed, our days are filled with decisions. We are constantly making choices, from what to eat, what to wear, what words to say. Some decisions are small, like whether to take the freeway or the back roads. Others are much bigger, shaping our character or even the legacy we leave. Judaism teaches that even in the ordinary, our choices are infused with holiness. And one of the most powerful ways we frame this is through the blessings we say before learning Torah or performing mitzvot.
Parshat Ki Tavo includes one of the most memorable covenantal moments in the Torah. As the Israelites prepare to enter the Land of Israel, Moses instructs them to divide between two mountains: Mount Gerizim, symbolizing blessings, and Mount Ebal, symbolizing curses. There, they publicly affirm their commitment to God’s commandments, declaring aloud the blessings that flow from faithfulness and the consequences of neglect. It’s a dramatic reminder that Torah is not abstract; it lives in our choices, and those choices have impact.
This moment at Gerizim and Ebal resonates with blessings we say every day. Before we engage with sacred text, we recite the Birkat HaTorah: “Blessed are you … who has chosen us and given us the Torah.” Before performing a commandment, we say the Birkat HaMitzvot: “…who has sanctified us with commandments and commanded us to…” These words echo the covenantal choice in Ki Tavo. Each blessing is a declaration that Torah and mitzvot are not just rituals we check off, but pathways to blessing—ways we bring holiness into our lives.
Standing between those two mountains, the Israelites learn that blessing doesn’t descend on us passively. It’s the result of choosing to live with intention, guided by Torah. Every time we recite these blessings, we symbolically return to that valley between Gerizim and Ebal, and we choose again.
This week, as we read Ki Tavo, may we hear the call from those ancient mountains in our own lives. When we bless Torah study and mitzvot, let us remember we are not simply reciting words, but affirming our covenantal choice to walk in blessing in our daily actions, big and small.
Rabbi Eve Posen 