LIVE BY DESIGN | How to keep the flame of hope alive when times are dark

It has been a tough week. Mapi and I felt subdued. It is not possible to live in a bubble, impervious to the Lusikisiki killing spree on the home front and the escalating events, mobile device explosions, missile attacks and counterattacks in the Middle East. This past Wednesday, 2 October, was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year celebration.

I am not born Jewish, but my husband is, and I play my part in supporting him when it is our turn to host one of the religious festivals. Rosh Hashana is usually delightful to host.

Whereas Pesach is complex, with a lengthy ceremony and a series of symbolic dishes with restrictions on ingredients, Rosh Hashana is supposed to be joyous and light. Slices of apples served with honey served to savour the sweetness of life, pomegranates to celebrate fertility and love. The traditional plaited challah bread is substituted by a round raisin loaf representing the circle of life, the continuity of seasons, or God’s infinite love – with no beginning and no end.

I usually play joyous, upbeat music when cooking for this cheerful occasion. But this past Wednesday, when choosing music to suit my mood, I chose Leonard Cohen, whose song Hallelujah is perhaps his most widely known.

I have been drawn to Cohen’s engagement with religion and spirituality. Raised Jewish, he also spent several years in a Buddhist monastery.

“I’m a practising Jew, and I always was, but I still felt myself a practising monk. We’re complex creatures unless you’re dealing with orthodox people on either side who wouldn’t be tolerant. But my orthodoxy is this other thing where you can hold various positions.”

I didn’t play Cohen’s romantic songs; I played what some of my nearest and dearest consider to be the dirges. The words Nevermind, written decades ago, and You Want it Darker spun round and round in my head. In 1973, on Yom Kippur Day, Egypt and Syria attacked Israel.

Cohen travelled to the Sinai desert and sang to soldiers.

Nevermind is written after this.

“I could not kill

The way you kill

I could not hate

I tried, I failed.

There’s truth that lives

And truth that dies.

I don’t know which

So never mind”

You Want it Darker is from Cohen’s last album, written in his eighties, dying of cancer and facing his impending death.

“If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game.

If you are the healer, it means I’m broken and lame.

If thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame

You want it darker

We kill the flame…

A million candles burning for the help that never came

Hineni, Hineni

I’m ready, my Lord.”

Killing the flame is understood by many Cohen aficionados to be a possible reference to the evil that humans undertake in the name of religion. The rabbi at Beit Emanuel said, “When the October 7th attacks happened, I was filled with horror. When the attacks on Gaza began, I was filled with despair.”

If they so wished, we had asked our guests to bring a reading of their choice to Rosh Hashana. I did not want to read something Pollyanna-ish, a pretence of sweetness and light. I chose some of the lines from You Want it Darker and gave context for my choice. There were two other readings.

One guest chose French philosopher, author, dramatist, and activist Albert Camus, “My dear, in the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love. In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile. In the midst of chaos, I found there was within me an invincible calm. I realised, through it all, that…

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something more substantial – something better, pushing right back.”

I understand the sentiment, the invincibility of love, of a smile, of calm, of summer – but I’m not in that space. My corner is too dark. I share my sorrow that these words can’t yet reach me.

Another guest empathised and shared that she had found herself similarly sad and subdued she came across these few words from the Talmud, the compilation of ancient Jewish teachings.

“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief.

Do justly NOW

Love mercy NOW

Walk humbly NOW.

You are not obligated to complete the work.

But neither are you free to abandon it.”

There lies the rub. What can we do, however small, in our world of influence which can make a difference? We have choices about how we interact with our family, community, and workplace. Mapi and I are committed to encouraging courageous conversations and inviting people to talk at their edges.

I admire American leadership author Margaret Wheatley, who wrote in her book, Turning to One Another: Simple Conversation to Restore Hope to the Future, “I hope we can reclaim conversation as our route back to each other and as the path forward to a hopeful future. It only requires imagination, courage, and faith. These are qualities possessed by everyone. Now is the time to exercise them to their fullest.”