The Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shuvah, “Shabbat of Return.” The name derives from the Haftarah (reading from the prophets) for this Shabbat, which opens with the words (Hosea 14:2),”Return O Israel unto the L-rd your G-d…” Occurring in the “Ten Days of Repentance”, it is a most auspicious time to rectify the failings and missed opportunities of the past and positively influence the coming year. 

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The master Kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria (“Ari”) taught that the seven days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (which will always include one Sunday, one Monday, etc.) correspond to the seven days of the week. The Sunday between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur includes within itself all Sundays of the year; the Monday embodies all Mondays, and so on. Shabbat Shuvah is thus the archetypal Shabbat -- the juncture in time at which we are empowered to influence every Shabbat of our year.

Chabad.org

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Shabbat shalom

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Kreplach (pronounced krep-lakh; singular, krepel. Some call them krepkhin) is the Yiddish name for the traditional triangular pieces of dough filled with ground meat or chicken, similar to dumplings. Some boil the pockets and eat them with their chicken soup; others fry them and serve as a separate dish. There are three times a year when some have the tradition to eat kreplach: during the meal on the eve of Yom Kippur; on Hoshana Rabbah; and on Purim.

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Each of these occasions is considered a day of judgment on the Jewish calendar. For example, on Yom Kippur, Gd judges us with regards to the upcoming year. Although these are days of harshness and judgment, there is definitely great opportunity for mercy and compassion as well.

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Meat is a food which can sustain humans, but at the same time it takes away life from animals. As such, according to Kabbalah meat represents the divine attribute of strength and severity (gevurah), which may conceal G-d’s presence. Bread and dough, on the other hand, sustain life on this planet without destroying any creatures. Thus, these foods represent, and are symbolic of, the divine attribute of kindness (chesed) in its purest form.

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On these days, when judgment is more direct, it is considered fitting to eat kreplach—meat covered with dough. The meat, signifying harshness in judgment, when covered by white dough (a form of bread), symbolizing compassion and mercy, is a physical manifestation of our greatest hopes and prayers that Gd in His all-encompassing mercy will also clothe His strength

with compassion and overlook our negative traits. The food itself reminds us to add a specific prayer on this day that kindness should soften and sweeten any harsh judgments that may be in store for us.

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From an article by Chanie Goldman

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To change the past, there is no need to travel in a time machine. Everything can be done by remote control.

Here’s how it works: From beyond the continuum of time, its Creator looks at where your spaceship is heading right now. From that point, He creates all its trajectory—through the future and through the past. 

Switch the direction your past is sending you. Soon enough, it becomes a different past.

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Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

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The times in which we live are not ordinary times. Everything is suddenly changing, rearranging itself. Technology leaps ahead daily, affecting the way we do things, how we communicate, our concept of life and the universe.

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While an old world struggles to cling to its self-defeating patterns, the stage is set for a world as it is meant to be.

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Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

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Each Yom Kippur, I spend the day fasting and praying in synagogue. However, my choice of where to worship has changed over the years. Recently, I have chosen to follow a more observant Jewish path, so I daven at a Chabad House—which happens to be located several blocks from Fenway Park, home of the ill-fated Boston Red Sox. This Chabad House caters predominantly to the college youth of Boston. It’s a place where they are made to feel welcome, can learn about Judaism at whatever level they are at, and are provided with a free meal on Shabbat and holidays. All without charge. You just need to show up.

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This year, during an afternoon break in the Yom Kippur services, my rabbi was standing outside on the steps of the brownstone building on Commonwealth Avenue that houses the Chabad center. The break coincided with the end of a Red Sox game, and people were flooding out into the streets on their way home. If you have ever seen the members of “Red Sox Nation,” you can

imagine that their appearance is often incongruent with Jews worshipping on Yom Kippur. So when the crowd passes by Jews who are fasting, wearing formal suits, some with large black hats and beards, it is an evident culture clash. Thankfully, many in the crowd seemed to show a certain respectful curiosity and recognition that this was the Jewish Day of Atonement.

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A middle-aged man in blue jeans stepped out of the crowd and approached the rabbi on the steps. He proudly announced that he was Jewish and non-observant, although his father had been raised in a chassidic area of Brooklyn. He added that he was married to a non-Jewish woman, and from his tone and body language, I surmised that he had some Jewish background but had left it behind. He said that while passing the Chabad House, he had remembered that it was Yom Kippur and that he wanted to say Yizkor, the traditional memorial observance for one’s deceased parents.

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My rabbi listened attentively to the man and said little, but he invited him into the small shul, and they emerged some minutes later. At the threshold of the door, I saw the man shake the hand of the rabbi and hand him something. Before Neilah, the closing service of Yom Kippur, the rabbi began to speak. “I want to share a story with you that occurred today,” he began. He then repeated the events that I had witnessed before he disappeared with the man inside the building. ”This man wanted to say Yizkor, and I suggested that he don a tallit. I thought to myself that wearing a tallit is a mitzvah, so he had begun on the path of teshuvah, returning to his Jewish soul.

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“Although he could not read Hebrew, I knew that virtually every young Jew has at some point been taught the Shema Yisroel, the traditional statement of monotheistic belief, so we said it together. As he was reciting the prayer, he broke into uncontrollable sobs, saying that he ‘missed his mother.’ I hugged him and we recited the short Yizkor prayer.

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“Upon leaving at the door, he gave me his card and said that he wanted to make a donation. I told him that I would accept his donation, because the practicalities of running a Chabad center without membership dues depends on the charitable inclinations of others. But I also told him that I would accept his money only on the condition that he bring it to me directly during the daytime, because I thought to myself that then I could help him put on tefillin, another mitzvah.”

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Then the rabbi made the following amazing statement: ”I don’t think that this man came here today because he missed his mother. I think that somewhere in the next world, the soul of his Jewish mother was confused and asking, ‘Where is my son? Why is he not with his fellow Jews praying on Yom Kippur?’; And through the love and concern of a mother for her

son, Gd brought the man home to his Jewish soul.”

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I personally don’t know whether the man will return to make his donation, or whether he will put on tefillin. I hope that he does. But the next day, after putting on my own tefillin and davening the Shacharit prayer, I sat down and wrote a check, and delivered it that day to my rabbi in support of the extraordinary work that is being done at his Chabad House. And in my prayers, I remembered the man, my rabbi and all of my fellow Jews who were blessed to see another year.

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Dr. Richard Kradin

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