Each year, as Rosh Hashanah approaches, I am overwhelmed by the mysterious power of our High Holy Days. Why do they continue to have such a hold on us? Why do Jews who do not set foot in the synagogue on any other day of the year feel they must not miss a minute of Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur worship?

Some come early to get a good seat. Others continue to purchase tickets year after year when on any other day they could attend synagogue for free. We who are not supposed to be a superstitious people manifest behaviors that could appear to be just that. These questions never cease to intrigue me. Understand these questions fully and you have achieved an insight into the psyche of American Jews--who we are and what our Judaism is about.

My thoughts on these High Holy Day questions:

• 1. Although we may live what appear to be very secular lives, we are not ready to completely abandon the traditions of our parents and grandparents. We are not exactly certain why. Memories continue to nourish our souls. We have faith that, somewhere in this tradition, we can find deep wisdom and remarkable strength of spirit. Holding on, even for two or three days a year, maintains a bond, a connection to a past that we are simply unwilling to sever.
• 2. Every other area of our lives is rootless--here we have a root. We live in cities we did not grow up in. Our children or our parents are scattered elsewhere. We go to new jobs, new neighborhoods, new vacation spots. Our lives are whirlwinds of change. These holy days provide us one of the few constants of our lives. They serve as a kind of reference point. When everything is change, nothing can be measured. Only in a moment of pause can we stop to consider what we are doing, where we are going, how we are living. The holidays provide that anchor.
• 3. On some level, the message of the day really speaks to our lives. The Machzor (High Holy Day prayer book) makes demands of worshipers. It asks that we consider the gift of our very lives, that we take not one moment for granted. It demands that we give thought to the direction our lives are taking--"for what have we aimed, where have we stumbled." The liturgy asks us to confront the fundamental seriousness of being. Our lives are not jokes, for we are created in God's image.

The prayer book provides an interesting dialectic. On the one hand, we are invited to delve deeply into our souls to consider who we are and what we have become. What are the vows we make? What are the loyalties we have? What is the essence of who we are? Nothing could be more searing or personal. We stand alone before our souls and God. On the other hand, so much of the language of the prayer book is couched in the plural "we." We are alone, but we are not alone. We are part of a community. Each of us is responsible for the other. The sin of one affects all. We can influence each other for good or for ill. We are judged for our individual deeds as well as for the kind of community we live in.

The Holy Days ask us to consider the quality of our lives in the most basic and essential way. Perhaps above all else, we know that this is good for us, that simply doing this restores our souls in a manner so critical that it is beyond our ability to articulate. We reconnect with old friends. We sing along to melodies that remind us of our childhoods, that feel as though they reach into antiquity and make us feel rooted and connected to our forebears. We reach for something bigger in our lives. We grope for faith. We thank God for the blessings of our lives.

May each one of you be written and inscribed for a sweet new year in a world that will know peace. Shanah Tovah.