Rabbi Michelle Greenfield: the slinky of time
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5786
Sept 22, 2025
Watch
L’shanah tovah! As Rabbi Ari Lev said, I’m Rabbi Michelle. As a point of access, I’m a white femme with curly brown and gray hair to my shoulders.
Time is a slinky. We move around in circles that never quite meet, but we know we somehow end up back at almost the same place, on a different plane.
This slinky is the turning of days. If you can’t see, I have small red plastic spring toy. Maybe days begin at sunset. Maybe they begin at midnight. Maybe it’s really just a constant cycle of rolling into dark and light. We have a line in our liturgy that describes God as
בורא יום ולילה גולל אור מפני חשך וחשך מפני אור
Creator of day and night, rolling back light from the darkness and rolling back darkness from the light. It is dak now, and we know we continue moving through this cycle.
This slinky, this slightly larger rainbow spring toy, is the the turning of weeks. We move over and over through cycles of seven days, mirroring God’s six days of creation and then one of rest. In the first half of the 1700s, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto said that during creation, God found the right balance of holy time and profane, and so we keep cycling through that balance, those six regular days and one holy day.
Today is Monday, and we know we continue moving through this cycle.
And this third slinky, this largest slinky I could find, about 6 inches wide in shades of blue, is the turning of the years. Shanah means year, but it also means repeat, or do something a second time. This evening we begin a new year, and we know we continue moving through this cycle too.
On one hand, we are on the precipice. Rosh Hashanah is about marking time, drawing our attention to where we are, where we have been, and where we are hoping to go. Maybe there’s excitement in this, a sense of possibility. What can the next year bring? What can I do better? Maybe there’s a sense of dread, wondering what destruction will come. Or a sense of anticipation. We see this as a time to change. To do better. To somehow have this be the year that is different.
But Rosh Hashanah is also just a return to this spot in our largest cosmic slinky. We’ve come back to roughly the same place in our orbit of the sun. We return to the same tunes, the same taste of apples and honey. These circles of time allow for routine and consistency. They invite us to come back to, the same ritual, the same routine every day. Or every week. Or every year. And so, as your reflect over the next few days, I want to invite you to think not just about the changes that are possible. I invite you to hold gratitude for the things that do not change. To offer blessings for places, the people, maybe the rituals in your life that you know you can return to when it feels like the spiral is moving too fast.
We’re at the beginning of the ten days of teshuva–days of repentance, days of turning, and also days of returning. The Hebrew root for Teshvua holds all of these possibilities. There is potential for change at the beginning of ten days of teshuvah. And there is also a potential for return.
In Tanach, the root is used repeatedly to reflect a return toward God, often done in partnership with the Divine. Throughout this season we hold onto a line from the end of the book of Lamentations, which we read on Tisha B’av 7 weeks ago, and which we will continue to return to every year.
Hashiveinu adonai eilecha v’nashuva, chadesh yameinu k’kedem.
Return us to you, God, and we will return. Renew our days as before.
This plea is asking God to bring us back. To return us. Written about the pain of exile, there might be an element of physical return. But there is also an element of returning to what has already been. This isn’t just a plea for a return to a place, or a return to power. Maybe the desire is to return to what we know. To the best of who we have been in the past, and to the people, the places, the things, that have supported us.
In Psalm 116, the writer speaks of God’s greatness, but there is also a moment of return.
שׁוּבִ֣י נַ֭פְשִׁי לִמְנוּחָ֑יְכִי כִּֽי־יְ֝הֹוָ֗ה גָּמַ֥ל עָלָֽיְכִי׃
Return, my soul, to your rest, for God has been good to you.
This Teshuva is a return to comfort after peril. A return to a sense of calm and safety. A sense of grounding and ability to rest. Teshvua can be returning to calm, returning to parts of ourselves in a world that isn’t always welcoming.
What are the things that you return to now, in this new year? What are the routines and rituals that ground you, even in a new physical space? The parts of yourself that you want to return to?
As an educator, I think a lot about innovation and change. I was asked recently to apply for a cohort of professionals leading the way to create big change in the world of Jewish education. And my first thought was that I’m not so sure about big change.
Four years ago, we started a weekly after school program at Kol Tzedek, now called Tree House. Everything was new that first year. Together with the 8 kids, we developed rituals and traditions as we went. On the Wednesday before Purim that first year, we flipped our day backwards. We usually end with tefillah, praying together from a giant hand-made siddur. On that day, we started our day with tefillah, and we moved through our siddur backwards, from the last page to the first.
A year later, as we approached another Purim, I asked the kids how they wanted to celebrate the holiday together. They said, “We already know what we do. Everything is backwards and we start with tefillah and start tefillah from the last page.” I had been wondering what we needed to create for them, how we could make this Purim special. But they were clearly looking for an anchor, a special silly day when they knew exactly what to expect. A spot on the large slinky that they can come back to each year. They reminded me that having a cycle of the year means that we can rely on rituals to shake up the daily and weekly order of things.
There is a Jewish tradition, based in ancient Jewish laws about property ownership and vows, that once you do something three times, it is set. It’s a chazakah. It’s just assumed that you are going to keep doing that same thing, that you will keep your routine. Chazakah- means strength. Repetition has power. Doing the same thing over and over gives it power.
Like so many neurodivergent people, I rely on routine and consistency. I am always dreaming up the next project or learning a new skill. But at the same time, I really like to know what I can expect, and I have trouble when plans change. For me chronic illness also means I’m also not always sure what I’ll be able to do when we loop back to another week or another year. So I hold on to the moments of return that allow me to explore and to do the next exciting thing. I hold on to stability and consistency where I can find it. I’m so grateful for the big and small things that happen on a daily, especially weekly schedule–I went to pick my niece up from school on the first Thursday of 3rd grade a few weeks ago, and a parent who happens to be a KT member noted that I have been there every Thursday. Since she started Kindergarten. I love going back to the same campground every year with the same friends, knowing what animal sounds will greet me as it gets dark.
And I think, in my tenth year of working at Kol Tzedek, I can safely admit to you all that I have a complicated relationship with holidays. I love the beautiful sounds of the high holidays, the sense of community. The joyful chaos of Purim and depths of Tisha B’av. And also, I really just want a Wednesday that is a regular Wednesday. Or a Monday that is a regular Monday.
I’m trying this year to remember that these holidays are also a routine, just on a larger spiral. Rosh Hashanah isn’t interrupting the weeks. Instead, we’re back here at Rosh hashanah. Even in a different physical space, when this Rosh Hashanah may feel a bit different, we’re returning. we’re returning to the nusach, the tunes reserved for the High holidays. We’re returning to our community, to pop shop popsicles. We’re returning to the calls of the shofar, to the joyful chaos of Tot services.
What are you returning to this Rosh Hashanah? This Monday? This evening? What are the repeated rituals, the unchanging things, the chazakas, that give you the strength to make change where it is needed?
Over these next days, through this holiday season, may we find blessing in the things that give a sense of stability. May we see the power in change and repentance, but also see the parts of ourselves that you want to return to. And may we feel grounded, even as we move through time on spirals of many sizes.
Sept 22, 2025
Watch
L’shanah tovah! As Rabbi Ari Lev said, I’m Rabbi Michelle. As a point of access, I’m a white femme with curly brown and gray hair to my shoulders.
Time is a slinky. We move around in circles that never quite meet, but we know we somehow end up back at almost the same place, on a different plane.
This slinky is the turning of days. If you can’t see, I have small red plastic spring toy. Maybe days begin at sunset. Maybe they begin at midnight. Maybe it’s really just a constant cycle of rolling into dark and light. We have a line in our liturgy that describes God as
בורא יום ולילה גולל אור מפני חשך וחשך מפני אור
Creator of day and night, rolling back light from the darkness and rolling back darkness from the light. It is dak now, and we know we continue moving through this cycle.
This slinky, this slightly larger rainbow spring toy, is the the turning of weeks. We move over and over through cycles of seven days, mirroring God’s six days of creation and then one of rest. In the first half of the 1700s, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto said that during creation, God found the right balance of holy time and profane, and so we keep cycling through that balance, those six regular days and one holy day.
Today is Monday, and we know we continue moving through this cycle.
And this third slinky, this largest slinky I could find, about 6 inches wide in shades of blue, is the turning of the years. Shanah means year, but it also means repeat, or do something a second time. This evening we begin a new year, and we know we continue moving through this cycle too.
On one hand, we are on the precipice. Rosh Hashanah is about marking time, drawing our attention to where we are, where we have been, and where we are hoping to go. Maybe there’s excitement in this, a sense of possibility. What can the next year bring? What can I do better? Maybe there’s a sense of dread, wondering what destruction will come. Or a sense of anticipation. We see this as a time to change. To do better. To somehow have this be the year that is different.
But Rosh Hashanah is also just a return to this spot in our largest cosmic slinky. We’ve come back to roughly the same place in our orbit of the sun. We return to the same tunes, the same taste of apples and honey. These circles of time allow for routine and consistency. They invite us to come back to, the same ritual, the same routine every day. Or every week. Or every year. And so, as your reflect over the next few days, I want to invite you to think not just about the changes that are possible. I invite you to hold gratitude for the things that do not change. To offer blessings for places, the people, maybe the rituals in your life that you know you can return to when it feels like the spiral is moving too fast.
We’re at the beginning of the ten days of teshuva–days of repentance, days of turning, and also days of returning. The Hebrew root for Teshvua holds all of these possibilities. There is potential for change at the beginning of ten days of teshuvah. And there is also a potential for return.
In Tanach, the root is used repeatedly to reflect a return toward God, often done in partnership with the Divine. Throughout this season we hold onto a line from the end of the book of Lamentations, which we read on Tisha B’av 7 weeks ago, and which we will continue to return to every year.
Hashiveinu adonai eilecha v’nashuva, chadesh yameinu k’kedem.
Return us to you, God, and we will return. Renew our days as before.
This plea is asking God to bring us back. To return us. Written about the pain of exile, there might be an element of physical return. But there is also an element of returning to what has already been. This isn’t just a plea for a return to a place, or a return to power. Maybe the desire is to return to what we know. To the best of who we have been in the past, and to the people, the places, the things, that have supported us.
In Psalm 116, the writer speaks of God’s greatness, but there is also a moment of return.
שׁוּבִ֣י נַ֭פְשִׁי לִמְנוּחָ֑יְכִי כִּֽי־יְ֝הֹוָ֗ה גָּמַ֥ל עָלָֽיְכִי׃
Return, my soul, to your rest, for God has been good to you.
This Teshuva is a return to comfort after peril. A return to a sense of calm and safety. A sense of grounding and ability to rest. Teshvua can be returning to calm, returning to parts of ourselves in a world that isn’t always welcoming.
What are the things that you return to now, in this new year? What are the routines and rituals that ground you, even in a new physical space? The parts of yourself that you want to return to?
As an educator, I think a lot about innovation and change. I was asked recently to apply for a cohort of professionals leading the way to create big change in the world of Jewish education. And my first thought was that I’m not so sure about big change.
Four years ago, we started a weekly after school program at Kol Tzedek, now called Tree House. Everything was new that first year. Together with the 8 kids, we developed rituals and traditions as we went. On the Wednesday before Purim that first year, we flipped our day backwards. We usually end with tefillah, praying together from a giant hand-made siddur. On that day, we started our day with tefillah, and we moved through our siddur backwards, from the last page to the first.
A year later, as we approached another Purim, I asked the kids how they wanted to celebrate the holiday together. They said, “We already know what we do. Everything is backwards and we start with tefillah and start tefillah from the last page.” I had been wondering what we needed to create for them, how we could make this Purim special. But they were clearly looking for an anchor, a special silly day when they knew exactly what to expect. A spot on the large slinky that they can come back to each year. They reminded me that having a cycle of the year means that we can rely on rituals to shake up the daily and weekly order of things.
There is a Jewish tradition, based in ancient Jewish laws about property ownership and vows, that once you do something three times, it is set. It’s a chazakah. It’s just assumed that you are going to keep doing that same thing, that you will keep your routine. Chazakah- means strength. Repetition has power. Doing the same thing over and over gives it power.
Like so many neurodivergent people, I rely on routine and consistency. I am always dreaming up the next project or learning a new skill. But at the same time, I really like to know what I can expect, and I have trouble when plans change. For me chronic illness also means I’m also not always sure what I’ll be able to do when we loop back to another week or another year. So I hold on to the moments of return that allow me to explore and to do the next exciting thing. I hold on to stability and consistency where I can find it. I’m so grateful for the big and small things that happen on a daily, especially weekly schedule–I went to pick my niece up from school on the first Thursday of 3rd grade a few weeks ago, and a parent who happens to be a KT member noted that I have been there every Thursday. Since she started Kindergarten. I love going back to the same campground every year with the same friends, knowing what animal sounds will greet me as it gets dark.
And I think, in my tenth year of working at Kol Tzedek, I can safely admit to you all that I have a complicated relationship with holidays. I love the beautiful sounds of the high holidays, the sense of community. The joyful chaos of Purim and depths of Tisha B’av. And also, I really just want a Wednesday that is a regular Wednesday. Or a Monday that is a regular Monday.
I’m trying this year to remember that these holidays are also a routine, just on a larger spiral. Rosh Hashanah isn’t interrupting the weeks. Instead, we’re back here at Rosh hashanah. Even in a different physical space, when this Rosh Hashanah may feel a bit different, we’re returning. we’re returning to the nusach, the tunes reserved for the High holidays. We’re returning to our community, to pop shop popsicles. We’re returning to the calls of the shofar, to the joyful chaos of Tot services.
What are you returning to this Rosh Hashanah? This Monday? This evening? What are the repeated rituals, the unchanging things, the chazakas, that give you the strength to make change where it is needed?
Over these next days, through this holiday season, may we find blessing in the things that give a sense of stability. May we see the power in change and repentance, but also see the parts of ourselves that you want to return to. And may we feel grounded, even as we move through time on spirals of many sizes.