Fruit-full And Multiplied
In my family, we host a Rosh Hashanah “seder” each year. Part of this is related to my wife’s Sephardic background, and some of this practice came to me through my own late Ashkenazi parents. We hunt each year for simanim as mentioned in the Talmud: those fruits and vegetables whose Hebrew name or essential nature portend good outcomes for the Jews. For instance, many people eat gourds because the Hebrew word for gourd (kara) sounds like “k’ra” in Hebrew, which means to rip or tear, and by eating them we ask Hashem to tear up any evil decree against us. By eating carrots (gezer), which sounds like the Hebrew word “Gezeira,” we express hope that Hashem will nullify any bad gezeiras against the Jewish people. The same goes for black-eyed peas (rubia), which sounds like “yirbu,” to multiply or increase, and by eating black-eyed peas, we hope Hashem brings us a fruitful year full of merit.
In my family we go even further, venturing into puns. For example, eating turnips expresses our hope that good things will “turn up.” And when we eat kiwano melons, it reminds us to pray with “kavana” or to assert that “kiwano bocharta.” We delight, as do our guests, at the clever innovations which round out our Rosh Hashanah menu. In fact, every item at every course which my wife serves on the first night of the yom tovcontains a food item with a particular siman message.
There are different ways to understand the practice of using food simanim. One approach is that this helps place our minds in a place of optimism, good spirit, and hopefulness about how the new year will “turn up.” Another way of understanding the psychology of the simanim is that it allows us to convert the mundane act of eating into an avodah, a form of ritual where we are serving Hashem as we eat by having consistent reminders that this is Rosh Hashanah, and that our thinking is prayerful with positive wishes and expectations. Apples and honey certainly serve as a siman that we want a sweet new year, but we can go further than this by tracking down many other foods which we can then employ for their symbolic meaning, propelling us to ask for more and more goodness to come our way this year.
We can also view our simanim practices as a prompt to participate in the very change that we seek to bring about. When we munch on a pear after declaring that we long to be the “pa’er,” the splendor of Hashem’s creation, or when we chew on a fig with the preface that this “ta’ena” should symbolize that Heaven has no “ta’einos” (allegations) against us, we are exercising our religious faith that Hashem will answer our prayers in fulfilling ways.
The use of simanim also demonstrates our understanding that there is much more going on in the world than meets the eye, and is part of some Divine plan. I can eat some kohlrabi, and it means nothing to me other than nutrition, but when I pronounce that the vegetable’s name also means kol rabi, the voice of my teacher, and I ask that this year that I can really fulfill my efforts to follow the teachings of my great rabbinic leaders and mentors, I change the eating from a gustatory experience into a spiritual one. There is more to life than going through dry motions; in fact, even routine acts can be uplifted when infused with further meaning. Each step that a person takes along the ladder of religious growth illuminates more awareness of the intricacies and complexities of the Divine handiwork. The use of simanim is a way I can use language to push my brain to see connections that may not be immediately apparent. It also confirms my intuition that there’s so much more that takes place in our lives than the concrete and tangible.
I may nibble at daikon, but there’s more to that white radish than something edible. The daikon is tangible, but it has an abstract facet: it pushes me to look at my life in America and proclaim that this year, may we be able to say “dai kan”: we’ve had enough here. We have lived in exile in the diaspora for too long. Dai kan. Enough here. Let us return to the Promised Land. And meanwhile, as I daven on Rosh Hashanah that my needs be taken care of through a benevolent Divine decree, I hope to be able to say that I possess dai kan, plenty to suffice here. Hashem has given me abundantly from His bounty and I lack nothing.
My late father used to use a guava, that small green aromatic tropical fruit, as a siman. He would remind us that we must not become “baal guava,” arrogant, but should recognize that the guava (gaavah) is solely Hashem’s domain. This was another use of a siman, namely, making our meal an active means of coronating Hashem as King of the Universe. This is the theme of Rosh Hashanah, and rather than working at it only during davening, we make our meal an extension of the davening, continuing to crown Hashem as King through turning to Him with each item that we eat, recounting His supreme role in all that we do, and all the year will bring.
Finally, simanim put us in a good mood. This is an essential element of observing a yom tov. Although the Day of Judgement is a serious and somber time, we do our best to remain upbeat, not uptight, and mirror the kindness and caring which we long to experience in our relationship with the Al-mighty in the year to come. Wishing us all a siman tov!
Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis Services. To contact Chai Lifeline’s 24-hour crisis helpline, call 855-3-CRISIS or email [email protected]. Learn more at ChaiLifeline.org/crisis.
