The Jewish New Year, called Rosh Hashana expresses its true meaning in its name. Rosh Hashana means “Head of the Year.” This teaches us how we must view this day as the day that leads and controls the rest of the days and months. The way we act on Rosh Hashanah, therefore, holds extreme importance as this is the day that carries the life and energy for the others. Rosh Hashana is also coronation day, when we anoint Hashem as the King over us for another year. By doing so, we are committing to follow his directives like loyal subjects and to be prepared to give up everything for His will. We express this by blowing the shofar which symbolizes coronation as well as being a wakeup call for us to repent.

The day following Rosh Hashana is a public fast day called Tzom Gedaliya.

After the Babylonians destroyed the Holy Temple and exiled many Jews in 3338 (423 BCE), they appointed Gedaliah as governor of the remaining Jews. Under his wise and pious leadership, they tilled, planted and cultivated, coaxing the ravaged land back to health.

Prior to Rosh Hashanah 3339, Gedaliah received word that a certain Ishmael ben Netaniah, jealous of his position of power and dissatisfied with his tactical alliance with the Babylonians, was planning to kill him and usurp the leadership for himself. But the trusting Gedaliah refused to believe that Ishmael would act treacherously and restrained those who wanted to kill Ishmael. On Rosh Hashanah, Ishmael came to Gedaliah with ten men, ostensibly to celebrate the holiday with him. While they were eating together, Ishmael and his men got up and killed Gedaliah, as well as all the other Jewish men and Babylonian soldiers who were present.

This treachery was followed by more bloodshed. It also caused the Jews to flee to Egypt, effectively ending the prospects of Jewish settlement in the Holy Land until the return of the Babylonian exiles in the year 3390. Thus, the Babylonian exile was absolute, and Judea was left bereft of her children. In memory of Gedaliah’s tragic death and its disastrous aftermath, we fast every year on the 3rd of Tishrei, the day after Rosh Hashanah.

On Rosh Hashana, we eat certain foods that hold special symbolism and meaning.

Some of them are:

The pomegranate: the many seeds inside represent the many Mitzvot that we are obligated in.

Apple and Honey: this is symbolic of our request for a sweet new year in a revealed way

The head of a ram or fish: the head represents the head of the year. Fish multiply in great numbers, symbolizing our hope that our merits will multiply as well. In addition, it never closes its eyes, just as Hashem never sleeps. The ram is in remembrance of the binding of Yitzchak.

Dates: The Hebrew word, “tam” means to end, as we are ending the year and beginning anew.

On Rosh Hashana, at the end of the Brachot for the Shofar, we mention the Great Shofar that will be sounded when Moshiach comes. This is because, after completing the entire service of blowing all the blasts, we will merit the revelation of Moshiach.

“Shalom, Avraham,” Rabbi Ferris greeted me warmly with my Hebrew name, holding a prayerbook and ram's horn. “I have a mission for you.”

To most of the world, it was Tuesday, September 7, 2021, but at synagogue we were observing the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah 5782. I had fulfilled all the usual mitzvahs of the holiday, including the most important one: hearing the shofar.

Without pause, Rabbi Ferris began explaining the mission. There was a local Jew named Sergei Skarupo who was unable to come to synagogue due to a terminal illness, and the rabbi needed someone to go to Sergei's apartment and blow the shofar for him. Rabbi Ferris called it “mission almost impossible” because he did not have Sergei’s address; he only knew that Sergei lived in a building on Le Conte Avenue.

Since we don't use electronics on Jewish holidays, we couldn’t look up the address. To make matters worse, I had never actually blown the shofar before. But the rabbi brushed this off, saying he would show me his secret technique. (This is crazy! I'm learning the rabbi's secret to blowing the shofar!)

Of course, I chose to accept the mission, and the rabbi pressed the shofar and prayerbook into my hands and ushered me to the door. Suddenly, another, stronger doubt came over me: who was I, a teenage basketball player, to blow the shofar—such an important commandment—for a sick Jew on Rosh Hashanah?

I've learned from basketball that the team only functions if everyone believes in themselves. Often, my coach asks me to sacrifice for the team; now, my spiritual coach was asking me to do the same. “I can do this,” I reassured myself.

On Jewish holidays, we also don't drive. So, as I walked to Le Conte Avenue, I practiced blowing the shofar, ignoring funny looks from pedestrians as I blasted my resounding ram's horn through the streets of Berkeley. If basketball has taught me anything, it's that through practice, I can gain the confidence to perform in a critical moment.

Arriving at Le Conte, the impossible part of the mission was confirmed: virtually every building was an apartment complex. Seeing this setback, I could have easily given up with a valid excuse, but I refused to. I began going from building to building, ducking my head into doorways to look for a buzzer or mailbox with the name “Skarupo.”

As I searched without success, I felt a familiar frustration. It reminded me of a time I was at the park shooting hoops and needed to hit one more shot to reach my goal. After four consecutive misses, I only had one more chance. I angrily threw up the last shot, and unsurprisingly, it missed. I had let the frustration from previous misses get the best of me. I couldn’t make the same mistake now; I had to remain cool and keep looking until I found the right building.

I walked over a mile down and then up the other side of the street with no luck. Finally, as I reached the very last apartment on Le Conte, I spotted a name on a mailbox: “Sergei Skarupo!” And then the next hurdle arose: the outer gate was locked and I couldn’t ring the buzzer because of the holiday. Before long, however, I spotted a family approaching the gate. Sometimes you need a little luck and G‑d is there to provide it!

I awkwardly introduced myself, showed them the ram's horn, and asked politely if they would let me in. Although they looked a bit skeptical at first, they agreed, perhaps because of how utterly bizarre my mission sounded.

When I reached the correct apartment, a nurse opened the door. “Don't expect him to respond,” she said, as she brought me to Sergei. He lay unmoving on his bed, his eyes closed. I read the prayer and then, without hesitation, sounded the shofar. Its staccato blasts and reverberating cries filled the room and even seemed to reach beyond.

I'd faced many uncertainties, but Sergei Skarupo was my Jewish teammate; I had committed to help him and was grateful to accomplish my mission.

[Postscript: After the holidays, I did an internet search and learned that Sergei Skarupo was actually a noted nanotechnology engineer, musician, and author. I was able to read several accounts of his generosity, brilliance, and courage. But sadly, those accounts of his wonderful life were obituaries. Sergei Skarupo passed away on the day after Rosh Hashanah, may his memory be a blessing.