Jewish learning Lishmoa Kol Shofar: Fulfilling the Command to Hear

Shema, listen, is one of the watchwords of Jewish tradition. Twice a day and at liminal life moments we recite “the Shema,” calling to ourselves and each other to listen. This call becomes a command on Rosh Hashanah, when we are told, in the blessing before blowing the shofar, that we must lishomoa kol shofar, listen to the voice of the shofar.

How do we hear the sound of the shofar? While simply hearing the sounds of the shofar is sufficient for fulfilling this mitzvah, Jews for millennia have been reflecting on the meaning of the haunting, wailing sound of the shofar and what it means to truly hear it.

Two midrashic traditions responding to this question are particularly present for me this year. One links the sound of the shofar to our ancestor Sarah’s cries when she learns of her son Isaac’s near sacrifice (Vayikra Rabba 20:2). Following this midrash, hearing the sound of the shofar means listening to the cries of the mother, maybe all mothers or maybe our mother, the mother of the Jewish people, because of the unspeakable horror, pain, and trauma her children experience in this too cruel world. Hearing shofar through this midrash invites us to feel heartbroken by and more responsive to the suffering of our children and people.

Another midrashic tradition similarly links the sound of the shofar to a mother’s cry; but instead of to Sarah or a Jewish ancestor, it is the cry of Sisera’s mother. Sisera is a commander of enemy forces who the Israelites defeat in the Book of Judges (Judges 5:28-30). In this surprising and even audacious rabbinic suggestion, the shofar is the wailing of the mother of an enemy who fears and knows that her son will not come back from battle (Talmud Bavli, Rosh Hashanah 33b). In this midrashic tradition, we hear not the suffering of one’s own people, but those who we consider the other, even the enemy. This hearing invites us to feel heartbroken by and more responsive to the suffering of their children and people.

When put next to each other, these midrashic traditions can be read as the shofar challenging us to listen and respond both to the suffering of our people and the suffering of others.

The question I am sitting with this year is which cry, on any given day or in general, I can hear and feel more fully. Which image, Sarah or Sisera’s mother, is more present and evocative? Which one am I hearing, seeing, and feeling more clearly?

It is possible that the answer to this question is the cry I need to hear in the shofar and be awakened to. But this year, the cry I am drawn to feels like the cry I am already hearing. It is already in my ears and on my heart. I don’t think I can fulfill the mitzvah to hear the sound of the shofar through the sound I am already hearing.

Instead, maybe the sound of the shofar I already hear, whether it is Sarah’s cry or Sisera’s mother wail, is meant as a doorway to the other – the particular sound I hear coming to help me hear the sound I am not currently hearing as fully. That is what feels like my work this year, how to fulfill the mitzvah of shofar.

The world near and far is full of situations, crises, tragedies, and horrors to which this insight and approach feels necessary this year. How much can I open my heart beyond what I am already hearing? Is it even possible to hear more? Much of the time, the heartbreak and pain of what I hear already is overwhelming, often terrifying. It can feel like an impossibility to constantly hear that cry, let alone the cry of what is beyond. But in my experience, somehow listening beyond the cry I already hear does not feel like a further burden. It feels like a relief, an opening, a place of possibility, an experience of hope.

Rosh Hashanah and this holiday season are a special time our tradition designates for this focused, attentive work. As we listen to the sound of the shofar this year, may we all hear the cries already in our ears, deeply and fully. May this sound lead us beyond ourselves to the cry we do not but need to hear, and may this expansive listening help us hear, see, and work towards a better world.

Rabbi Daniel Klein `10 is Dean of the Rabbinical School of Hebrew College in Newton, MA. He formerly served as Dean of Students and Director of Admissions.

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