As the Jewish New Year approaches, I find myself thinking differently about what it means to begin again.
A little over two months ago, I was struck by a car while crossing the street. In seconds, ordinary life changed. I suffered several broken bones in my hand, a dislocated finger, and an injury to my knee. A few days later, I underwent surgery, and the surgeon inserted five pins into my hand to rebuild what had been broken.
Since then, recovery has become part of my daily life.
Several weeks after surgery, I returned to my surgeon, hoping the X-rays would show enough healing for the pins to come out. When it was time to remove them, the first pin was not so bad. The second hurt more. The third was painful. The fourth was very painful.
Then came the fifth pin.
It was long, deep, and stubborn.
Pain shot through my hand. I closed my eyes and quietly began to pray. All I could do was breathe, trust G-d, and hold on.
With one final pull, it came free.
Almost instantly, the pain was gone.
As I left the doctor’s office, I realized this was about much more than removing five pieces of metal. It was teaching me something about pain, healing, and the meaning of Rosh Hashanah.
I began to see that experience in a different way and it made me think of something else. Around the time of the doctor visits, I had just read about an archaeological discovery in Jerusalem. Archaeologists in the City of David uncovered wooden beams from the First Temple period, preserved beneath the ruins.
When the Jewish people eventually returned to Jerusalem, they did not erase every reminder of the destruction.
They built above it.
We often imagine Rosh Hashanah as a clean page, a chance to leave yesterday behind. But life does not always work that way. We enter the New Year carrying the stories of what has broken us, built us, and blessed us in the months and years before.
Judaism does not ask us to erase yesterday. It asks us to build above it.
These past months have reminded me of that.
Before my accident, I never thought about things like buttoning my shirt, holding a cup of coffee, shaking someone’s hand, hugging someone I love, or bending my fingers.
Now, every movement feels like a gift.
Sometimes we have to lose something or be tested, to appreciate what G-d has given us all along.
Perhaps that is part of Rosh Hashanah. It asks us to stop and notice. To appreciate the people we love and treasure our health. To realize that another year of life is itself an extraordinary blessing.
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Before leaving my surgeon’s office, I smiled and said, “When my hand heals completely, I’d like to return the favor. Let me help heal your hand by putting on tefillin together.”
He smiled, hugged me, and said, “I’d be glad to.”
Every one of us enters the New Year carrying something: a prayer to be answered.
We cannot always choose what happens to us. But we can choose what comes from it, how we build on it.
We all have that stubborn “fifth pin.” Maybe it is a reminder that sometimes the deepest pain comes just before the next stage of healing begins.
When the shofar sounds this Rosh Hashanah, may we hear within its cry: Keep believing. Keep building. Keep moving forward.
May this New Year bring healing where there is pain, light where there is darkness, hope where there is uncertainty, and new beginnings where we thought there were only endings.
May we all be blessed with a good and sweet New Year, filled with health, happiness, peace, and the faith to know that whatever lies behind us, with G-d’s help, we can always build something beautiful ahead.