The new year traditionally finds us looking inward, asking ourselves the thorny questions we’ve managed to avoid all year. Why am I here? What’s it all about? Where are we headed? What date did I put on the rent check? And, of course, the big one: I did what last night?
None of these, though, is as immediate or consequential as the riddle that confronts Jews in this season: Is this actually a new year? I mean, call me dim, but didn’t we just welcome the new year three months ago, in September? What was that about, if not the beginning of a year? If it was the real thing, then what are we drinking to on January 1? And if it wasn’t, then why did I drop all that money buying tickets for services?
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