Shemini Atzeret

Our Intimate Feast with God

Yoni Pomeranz, 5767

Shemini Atzeret is part of the last group of chaggim in the month of Tishrei. It has always been something of a mystery to me. We know the reasons for the major festivals, even if sometimes the reasons are diverse. But why do we celebrate Shemini Atzeret? What does "Shemini Atzeret" even mean?

If we look at the maftir reading for Shemini Atzeret (Bemidbar 29:35-30:1), the meaning of the "Shemini" part becomes apparent almost immediately: Shemini Atzeret takes place 8 days from the beginning of Sukkot. But what about the word "Atzeret"?

Well, Atzret comes from the Hebrew root .ע.צ.ר, which commonly means something like "stop". Rashi comments on the first verse of the maftir (Bemidbar 29:35) that the word "atzeret" may mean that the Israelites who were present at the temple for Sukkot were stopped from departing on their last day in the Temple. Then, summarizing a midrash that appears in Bemidbar Rabbah and in tractate Sukkah of the Babylonian Talmud (55b), Rashi writes:

According to Rashi, Sukkot was a universalistic holiday during which Israel sacrificed on behalf of the nations of the world. Why does Rashi understand Sukkot in this way? If you read the description of the Sukkot sacrifices leading up to Shemini Atzeret, you'll notice that the Sukkot sacrifices are larger and more elaborate than the Shemini Atzeret offerings. While 70 bulls are offered over the 7 days of Sukkot, corresponding to the 70 nations of the world, only one bull is offered on Shemini Atzeret. Rashi, following the midrash, identifies this smaller sacrifice as a meal among close friends that symbolizes the intimate relationship between God and the Jewish people.

(I think it's worth noting that the biblical scholar Jacob Milgrom believes that historically Rashi was correct about the meaning of the Sukkot sacrifices. According to Milgrom, the Sukkot sacrifices were clearly designed to add up to 70 bulls: since the number of bulls offered each day begins at 13 and decreases by one each day, the non-constant number of bulls offered on a given day could not be important. Instead, the system was set up to give a round number like 70. Milgrom also supports Rashi's assertion that the 70 bulls corresponded to the 70 nations of the world, based his understanding of the symbolism of the number 70 in Ancient Israel. [The Anchor Bible: Leviticus, p. 2032])

According to Rashi's interpretation, the way that atzeret is connected to the verb la'atzor (to stop) is simple. God asks Israel (rather politely) not to desert the temple courts, but to stop themselves from leaving and stay with God for a last, intimate, small meal.

In the longer, midrashic version of the story, the point is made even more forcefully by way of a parable (Bemidbar Rabbah 21:24, Soncino Translation, with slight modifications):

I am especially struck by this image because the search for an intimate setting in which to worship God is something that characterizes our generation - and our parents' generation - of Ramahniks. I remember being present for a conversation of my parents' friends from camp when they realized that most of the people who had been in their eidah had either joined small, independent egalitarian minyanim, become Orthodox Jews, or become Conservative Rabbis. For many of them, the larger setting of the Conservative synagogue was an unappealing place to be congregants. In the metaphor of our midrash, I imagine they often felt that the service was catered not to them but to a larger, less-committed group, and did not create the intimate space in which they could "dine with God" even on meager fare.

Nor is it a problem that has been solved by our parents' generation. It is also a challenge that we face. Two recent experiences have reminded me of this.

For me, the beginning of the school year has more or less coincided with the period before the high holidays and the high holidays themselves. For Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur Services, the Conservative minyan moves from a relatively small room in our Hillel building to the largest auditorium on campus, which can hold about a thousand people. Especially during Yom Kippur, the space is really needed, since many students and residents of the town of Princeton come to the davening. As someone who is often frustrated by the lack of student participation in egalitarian minyanim on campus, I should feel thrilled by the presence of the newcomers. But in fact, my feelings in this situation have been mixed. The high holidays feel like too short a time for the people present in the auditorium to coalesce into a community, and the sense that many people may be present simply to fulfill short-term religious needs and then depart often makes the service feel like a performance.

The problem is even more acute in the context of Hillel alone. In our Hillel meetings one topic of constant interest has been inclusiveness. We even had a retreat for Hillel leaders to begin the school year where we spent a great deal of time thinking about how to welcome people into Hillel. Inevitably, in these discussions, someone suggests that we need to stay away from using certain religious language that might alienate people who don't have an extensive religious background. I had a conversation with a Hillel staff member near the end of last year about Birthright, a trip that brings college-age students who have never been to Israel on a free organized trip to Israel. We discussed the fact that the advertising often uses sexual innuendoes, but rarely makes reference to any Jewish content at all. I pointed out that I would feel alienated by the sexual language and wondered if it was really defensible to believe that college-age Jews were more comfortable with sex than with Jewish content. She wasn't fazed. "You're right," she candidly admitted, "we do assume that most college age Jews are comfortable with sexual language but not with Jewish content. And if you think about it, I'm sure you'll realize that the assumption is correct."

In the first example I am merely frustrated that we don't have the time during the few short yamim nora'im to coalesce into a community. I am far more troubled by the fact that in order to make Hillel a welcoming place, I need to repress the parts of my own Jewish life that make Judaism important to me. I think, then, that Shemini Atzeret is a holiday for me - and, I imagine, for many other members of the Ramah community who struggle with finding a Jewish community that they are happy with during the year. The openness and the elaborate ceremony of the Sukkot sacrifices listed in the Torah encourage me that there is value in making Judaism open and inclusive, even if sometimes, like the intimate friends of the host at a large and elaborate banquet who feel that the loss of a smaller setting makes their relationship with the host more difficult, it is sometimes more difficult for us to feel comfortable and to find religious meaning in these situations. But Shemini Atzeret reminds us that not every Jewish holiday needs to be Rosh HaShana; that sometimes, amidst our desire to make Judaism more open and accessible, we need to find the space for our own relationships with God.

I want to conclude by mentioning that in most Tanakh translations the word "Atzeret" is not translated as "stopping" but instead as "gathering" or "assembly". This translation follows Targum Onkelos's "כנישין", as well as the clear meaning of the word "Atzeret" in Jeremiah 9:1, in which Jeremiah berates the Judeans as "עֲצֶרֶת בֹּגְדִים", a "gathering of traitors". This meaning of "atzeret", perhaps, can be thought of as the ultimate goal of the pomp and ceremony of Sukkot: that someday we will achieve such a strong communal framework that the two meanings of "Atzeret" will be complementary, that both intimacy and assembly will be possible. Until that time, we must strive to live with the contradictions that force themselves upon on our Jewish lives in the month of Tishrei: with the larger, less intimate setting of the yamim nora'im, and with the small, intimate meal of Shemini Atzeret.

Chag Same'ach.