The month of Elul has arrived. Each morning across Israel, the cry of the shofar echoes – raw, ancient, and unmelodic, preparing us for the drama of the High Holy Days.
Unlike any other instrument, it cannot play a tune. It can only cry.
And perhaps that is why it speaks so powerfully to us, even today. The shofar bypasses the intellect and pierces straight to the heart. For Jews of every background, from the most devout to the most secular, it is instantly recognizable. It is the sound of our soul.
The cry of a people
The Talmud says the shofar’s broken notes resemble the sobs of a mother crying for her child who has gone out to war and not returned. That image could have been written for Israel in 2025.
This year, our nation has been filled with cries: parents praying for hostages in Gaza, families mourning fallen soldiers, children asking impossible questions – Why did this happen? When will it end?
The world may look away, but the shofar does not. It gives voice to our tears. It insists that our pain matters, that even when nations cover their ears, Heaven still hears.
Alarm clock of the soul
But the shofar is not only about grief: It is also about awakening.
Think of it as God’s alarm clock – Maimonides wrote: “Awake, sleepers, from your slumber!”
In times of war, it is easy to go numb. After so many funerals, so many terrible headlines, so much sadness and anger, we slip into survival mode, hiding our emotions for fear of further unbearable news. The shofar shakes us awake. It says: life is fragile, time is short. Do not sleepwalk through your days.
And it asks: Now that you are awake, what will you do differently? Will you love more fiercely? Speak more kindly? Volunteer, give, repair? The question is personal, and no one else can answer it for us. Time is short – use it wisely and urgently.
One people, one sound
At Mount Sinai, the shofar sounded as the Jewish people stood “as one person with one heart.” Its voice was not a symphony – it was one piercing, indivisible sound.
Israel today is full of arguments: about the war, politics, religion, the courts, the very character of the state. The noise is deafening. Yet the shofar cuts through all of it.
It reminds us that we are bound together by a shared destiny. We may fight like siblings, but we must remain family.
And, ultimately, we do see it in practice. When rockets fall, nobody asks who votes for whom – we all cram into the shelters together, secular and religious, Left and Right, young and old standing side by side. Soldiers of every background, color, and religiosity fight shoulder to shoulder (yes, I am acutely aware of the haredi draft issue – but let’s give a shout out to those who have had the courage to buck the trend and fulfil their responsibility). The shofar is the sound of a desperately needed unity: simple, piercing, undeniable.
Spirit as strength
The shofar is also remembered as a weapon – though not one made of steel.
At Jericho, its blast brought down walls. In Gideon’s time, a handful of men with horns and torches sent an entire army running. Jewish tradition understood the point: true victory does not come from numbers or weapons alone: It comes from spirit.
Israel is strong. Our military is advanced and we thank God for our brave soldiers. But we know instinctively that what sustains us is not just hardware but heart. Tanks can defend borders, but they cannot inspire. Jets can deter enemies, but they cannot explain why life is worth fighting for.
The shofar reminds us: our greatest power is our will – our faith, courage, and refusal to give up.
The sound of tomorrow
The prophet Isaiah spoke of a “great shofar” that will one day gather all exiles home. For centuries that was a dream, recited in whispered prayers. In our own time, it has become reality.
From Yemen and Ethiopia, Russia and France, America and Ukraine – Jews have come home. But the dream is still unfinished. There are walls of hostility, and hatred rising again across the globe. After last week’s article in this very newspaper, I received hate mail from as far away as Hawaii, demonstrating just how far the virus of antisemitism has spread.
Every Rosh Hashanah, when the shofar is sounded, we rehearse our destiny and our future. We remind ourselves that redemption is not a relic of the past but a promise for tomorrow.
Why the shofar matters now
This year, the shofar speaks five messages to Israel: to cry without shame, to wake up from numbness, to hold fast to unity, to remember that spirit is strength, and to never stop hoping for redemption.
It is not nostalgia; it is not just a ritual. It is a metaphor for life itself – grief and hope, weakness and resilience, despair and belief, bound together in one unforgettable sound.
Listen closely this Elul, and then again on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Beneath the raw blast of the ram’s horn, you will hear more than an ancient echo.
You will hear Israel’s soul – weeping, waking, uniting, enduring, and believing still.
The writer is a rabbi and physician and lives in Ramat Poleg, Netanya. He is a co-founder of Techelet – Inspiring Judaism.