Perhaps we had a warning about what would happen on Simchas Torah, 5784.

When Rosh Hashanah 5784 fell on Shabbos, I recalled a teaching of the holy Berditchever, Rav Levi Yitzchak: If we do not blow the shofar on Rosh Hashanah if it falls on Shabbos, it must be that we don’t need it. Ordinarily, God would have the Book of Life and the Book of the Opposite open in front of him, but there’s no use for that on Shabbos. The Berditchever pleaded with Hashem saying, “God, as writing is forbidden on Shabbos unless for pikuach nefesh (saving a life) you must write us only into the Book of Life!” On a day like this, who needs a shofar?

But there is another way to understand the lack of shofar on Shabbos Rosh Hashanah.

The Aruch Laner says the reason why we don’t need the shofar on Shabbos Rosh Hashanah is that Shabbos itself becomes our defendant on this awesome day of judgment. But it can only defend us to the extent that we treat it right.

Imagine an advisor to the king who is accused of treason and sentenced to death. None of the other advisors are willing to defend him, lest they sully their own names. Only his wife will step up to speak on his behalf.

The king knows the wife of the advisor very well, so this is a great plan. But what would happen if the king would see bruises on her arm? Even her best defenses will go ignored, as the king would be appalled that the advisor didn’t have the sensibility to treat his own wife with respect. “If he mistreated her, then I cannot exonerate him.”

We call Shabbos our queen, and there is no question that one’s wife can give his very best defense. But have we respected Shabbos enough for God to listen? Do we keep its laws? Do we review them to make sure we apply them correctly? Do we prepare for Shabbos all week? Do we sing zemiros at the Shabbos table with joy? This is a serious cheshbon (accounting) that everyone has to make personally. Are we respecting Shabbos at the level that we are able?

Therefore, the Aruch Laner explains, there have been many years filled with blessing and good tidings that followed a Shabbos Rosh Hashanah. But there have also been many years filled with destruction. When Shabbos steps up and defends us, it can be tremendous. But if its defense falls flat, it can be terrifying.

And what about our brothers and sisters who haven’t yet tasted the beauty of Shabbos, who in the absence of the shofar on a Shabbos Rosh Hashanah, have no one to step up and defend them? It was only the wife of the advisor who dared face the King. What about the Jews who have no Shabbos as their kallah?

If in 5784 Shabbos should have been our protection, we may wonder what was lacking with our observance of Shabbos that brought us to such a calamity. But perhaps it was not our observance of Shabbos for ourselves that was lacking. It was neglecting to have in mind the rest of the Jewish people who don’t observe Shabbos.

Therefore, we must hold ourselves accountable. On Rosh Hashanah, each one of us is judged individually, kivnei maron (like sheep passing before their shepherd). Ultimately, the judgment of those who do not keep Shabbos is their own concern, not ours. But we must still ask: What did I do about it on a broader scale? Did I try to educate, inspire or connect to the Jews in my community who don’t know about Shabbos? Did I support organizations that do?

And what about the Jews who can’t and won’t be reached even by these efforts?

There is a valuable lesson in Parshas Eikev that pertains to how our mitzvos impact the entirety of the Jewish people. In the first verse in the parsha, the Torah introduces the reward for all of the Jewish people. “Ekev im tishmi’un… ushemartem — If you (plural) listen and observe the mitzvos” (Devarim 7:12). This comes immediately after the concluding verse of Parshas V’eschanan, “V’Shamarta es a mitzva -—You (singular) should observe the mitzvos.” (Ibid 11) Why does the Torah use the singular when discussing observance itself, and plural when introducing the reward? The Zera Shimshon explains (Parshas Eikev 1) that this shift is “to hint to us that the merit of the individual influences the many. When ‘one person observes a mitzvah’ it is considered in front of Hashem as if the entire congregation upheld it. Therefore, the reward is expressed [for the many] because even one person observed it.”

There is one key ingredient to being able to observe the mitzvos with this kind of power. The Toldos Yakov Yosef shares that loving other Jews can create an areivus — a connectivity — that shares the merit of mitzvos across all boundaries. Through this connection, if there are Jews who cannot get the protection of a mitzvah by their own merit, they can get it from ours.

Are we protected by the energy of our own observance of Shabbos and of the other mitzvos? We can have the rest of the Jewish people in mind, assuming we are connected to them in our heart.

If we are uncertain of our mandate to feel connected to the entirety of the Jewish people, there are enough hints in the mitzvos and practices of Rosh Hashanah to make it clear.

The Gemara in Rosh Hashanah (33b) discusses what the sound the shofar is supposed to make. Everyone agrees that, in essence, the sound of the shofar should mirror the sound of a cry, as an expression of our inner yearning to connect back to God. But what kind of cry?

The three medium sounds of the shevarim reflect the opinion that the cry should sound like a moan. The nine shorter sounds of what we call the terua reflect the opinion that it should sound more like a whimper. There is a third opinion that one’s cry begins in a moan and continues into a whimper —that’s the shevarim-terua.

Our practice instituted by Rebbe Abahu is to follow all three of these opinions (34a). And the Ran’s explanation, in the name of Rav Hai Gaon, as to why this decree was made should seep into our souls and sit with us during all of Rosh Hashanah and beyond.

“The reason why Rebbe Abahu instituted this practice [that everyone should sound the shofar in all three ways] was so that all of the Jewish people would have a uniform practice and it would not be seen amongst them as something that an ordinary person might (mis)interpret as a divide.”

It is no surprise that this kind of enactment was made for the special mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah, where the supreme focus of the day is the collective coronation of God as our King. As Chazal say, “There is no King without a people.” This principle is applied in many places in halacha in line with the statement that, “berov am hadras Melech — It is an honor for the King of the world whenHis mitzvos are performed with as many Jews together as possible.”

If our goal on Rosh Hashanah is to clarify to ourselves that we believe that God is the King of all kings, we can only make His throne as large as the number of Jews we can contain within our hearts.

Therefore, it is specifically the mitzvah of shofar that brings out this idea. As the Gemara relates (Rosh Hashanah 26a), when we sound the shofar, it is as if we are inside the kodesh hakodashim — the heart of the Beis Hamikdash. It is the sound that brings us into the deepest place in the world that should inspire us to find the deepest place within ourselves. And through Rebbe Abahu’s enactment, we must feel within us, at that moment, the lack of any distance between us and any of our brothers and sisters.

This was a lesson I began to sense when I davened in a new shul for Rosh Hashanah after the pandemic in 2020.

Having gone to shuls my whole life that davened in nusach Ashkenaz, I was used to the shofar being blown on Rosh Hashanah right after reading from the Torah, and again later at the repetition of Shemoneh Esrei. The minhag in nusach Sefard, however, is to blow the shofar in the middle of the silent Shemoneh Esrei, as well.

On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, I davened like I normally had in the past — at my own pace, trying to connect to Hashem on this holy day. Suddenly a hand banged on the bima. Then the shofar sounded, as I paused from my own prayers to silently listen.

The sound was beautiful, bringing everyone’s collective prayers up to Hashem, but something about the whole experience felt missing. On one hand, being immersed in my own prayers is always one of my favorite parts of Rosh Hashanah. On the other hand, sounding the shofar in the middle of Shemoneh Esrei seemed to bring the entire congregation together in one unified prayer — one that I wanted to be a part of.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I decided to shift from my normal practice. I was going to stay on pace with everyone else, even if it meant focusing less on certain parts of the prayer that I may have wanted to otherwise. The hand banged on the bima. The shofar sounded loud and strong — and I was right on time with my own prayers. All at once, I felt the combination of my own personal connection with Hashem together with a connection to the people around me.

Indeed, the Michtav Me’Eliyahu writes that on the first day of Rosh Hashanah we are judged as individuals, and on the second day of Rosh Hashanah, we are judged as individuals in the context of how we are connecting to the Jewish people around us.

The tears come back to my eyes when I remember hearing in the street last Simchas Torah that, “Something happened in Israel.” Had we known what was going to happen on Simchas Torah, perhaps our prayers would have been a little deeper.

How much more would we invest in our Rosh Hashanah if we knew the final shofar was about to blow? Are we at the doorstep of salvation? Instead of monsters entering our gates, will it be angels and Mashiach?

As we say in our weekly Shemoneh Esrei, “Teka b’shofar gadol l’chereuseinu — Blow the large shofar to bring our freedom… v’kabtzeinu yachad —and bring us together in unity.” If we want full protection for the entire Jewish people, then what we want is God’s complete glory as demonstrated by the Jewish people being together once again.

Let’s start by including them all in our hearts.

Rabbi Arieh Friedner is the COO of Daily Giving and author of the book, “Common Ground,” published with Adir Press. Rabbi Friedner and his family have been proud members of the Cleveland community while visiting from Israel since 2008.