SALT | Rosh Hashana 5785 - 2024

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MOTZAEI

The third chapter of Masekhet Rosh Hashana is where the Talmud discusses the laws of shofar blowing on Rosh Hashana.  As the mishnayot and Gemara mention, one's shofar blowing may be invalid for a variety of reasons, including physical defects in the shofar or if one hears an echo rather than the shofar sound itself.  Interestingly, the Talmud employs two different terms to refer to the disqualification of a shofar blowing.  In some instances, it uses the terms "pasul" and "kasher" (invalid or valid), whereas elsewhere the Talmud rules either "yatza" or "lo yatza" (one has fulfilled his obligation, one has not fulfilled his obligation).  Why does the Talmud employ inconsistent terminology?

The answer is obvious.  A given shofar blowing may be disqualified for one of two reasons – due to the "cheftza" (object), or because of the "ma'aseh" (act).  First, one can fulfill the obligation of shofar blowing on Rosh Hashana only with an object which halakha defines as a valid shofar. If a shofar has undergone some transformation, such as if it were cracked, then, under certain circumstances, we can no longer define this object as a halakhic "shofar." Therefore, just as one who produces a beautiful shofar sound with a trumpet has not fulfilled his obligation, neither can he fulfill the mitzva with a physically transformed shofar. Secondly, one fulfills the obligation only by performing an act defined by halakha as shofar blowing.  Regardless of how perfect a shofar one has, he cannot fulfill the obligation if he blows it into a cave and hears only the echo. In this case, the act of blowing was deficient, though the object of the shofar was unblemished.

As a rule, when we find the terms "kasher" or "pasul" associated with shofar blowing, it refers to the viability of the "cheftza," whether or not the object under discussion qualifies to be considered a "shofar."  When, however, we deal with a questionable act of blowing, then we should expect to find the terms "yatza" and "lo yatza," which refer to the individual's fulfillment or lack of fulfillment of the mitzva, rather than the suitability of the object.

With this in mind, we can perhaps explain a view among the Rishonim concerning one instance described by the Gemara.  The Gemara (27b) cites a berayta which reads, "If he reversed it and blew it – 'lo yatza'."  What exactly does this mean – that someone "reversed" the shofar?  The Gemara cites the following remark by Rav Papa: "Do not say [that the berayta refers to a case where one] turned it inside out like a shirt, but rather that he widened the narrow [end] and narrowed the wide [end]."  Rav Papa clarifies that the berayta does NOT speak of a case of one who turns the shofar inside out, as one might do with a garment.  Rather, it means reversing the two ends of the shofar, widening the narrow end and narrowing the wide end.

What the Gemara leaves unclear, however, is the status of a shofar that was indeed turned inside out "like a shirt."  Rav Papa told us that the berayta does not address this case; but what is the halakha concerning such a shofar?

Most Rishonim explain (and this is indeed the accepted view) that such a shofar is certainly disqualified from use.  The Rosh, however, cites an anonymous view ("yeish mefarshim") that such a shofar is valid.  Later writers (such as the work "Yom Teru'a" on Masekhet Rosh Hashana) have questioned the logic behind such a position.  If simply reversing the two ends of the shofar constitutes a sufficient physical transformation to disqualify the shofar, then certainly turning it inside out should render it invalid!  Wouldn't we assume that turning a shofar inside out changes it more fundamentally than just switching its two ends?

The answer, however, emerges from a careful reading of the berayta cited in the Gemara: "If he reversed it and blew it – LO YATZA."  The berayta does not consider such a shofar "pasul," it does not question the validity of this object, its definition as a proper shofar. Rather, it informs us that "lo yatza" – this is not a proper blowing.  As the Gemara later explains, one must blow the shofar in the manner in which it originally grew on the animal.  Blowing a shofar from the end that was originally the wide end does not constitute a halakhically defined "blowing."  The shofar itself has not lost its status as a proper shofar, but blowing such a shofar does not qualify as halakhic "blowing." Therefore, this halakha will have no bearing whatsoever on the case of the inside-out shofar.  In this case, the shofar has undergone a significant physical transformation, but the act of blowing is perfectly normal.  Therefore, the berayta's disqualification of the shofar whose sides were reversed – a disqualification due to an improper act of blowing – will have no effect on this case, where the act is a perfectly normal act of blowing.

(Taken from an article by Rav Simcha David Wolf of Antwerp, in the journal "Kol Ha-Torah," Tishrei, 5761)

SUNDAY

Rav Moshe Chayim Lutzatto ("Ramchal"), in his classic work, "Mesilat Yesharim" (chapter 4), establishes a fundamental principle concerning the philosophical nature of teshuva.  Ramchal claims that within the system of "midat ha-din," the divine attribute of justice, there is simply no room for the institution of teshuva.  According to the rules of justice, a person must be held accountable for his actions, and he does not deserve the opportunity to erase past deeds from the record through remorse and sincere commitment to change.  Once an action has been committed, how can it be retroactively revoked?  Undoubtedly, Ramchal claims, this operates strictly within the framework of midat ha-rachamim – the divine attribute of compassion.  Divine mercy overrules, as it were, the conclusions of the attribute of justice and allows for expiation through the process of teshuva.

Rav Elchanan Wasserman Hy"d (in a letter printed at the end of his classic work on Masekhet Yevamot, "Kovetz He'arot") questions this theory of Ramchal based on a well-known passage in Masekhet Kiddushin (40b).  The Gemara there posits that one forfeits all his merit accumulated during his lifetime if he regrets the mitzvot and good deeds he performed.  One who decides at some point that he wishes he had never performed all the mitzvot he fulfilled loses the merits gained for those mitzvot.  This Gemara clearly proves that regret has the power to retroactively erase one's actions for purposes of divine judgment.  Needless to say, the power of regret to eradicate one's mitzvot does not stem from God's attribute of mercy; quite to the contrary, in such a case the attribute of mercy would lobby for the individual's continued possession of these merits!  Seemingly, then, we have an ironclad proof against Ramchal's theory, a clear indication that regret is empowered to eliminate events of the past even within the framework of the attribute of justice.

Rav Elchanan records that he brought this question before his esteemed mentor, the Chafetz Chayim zt"l.  The Chafetz Chayim answered by distinguishing between the two different types of teshuva: teshuva mei-ahava (repentance performed out of love for God), and teshuva mi-yir'a (repentance performed simply out of fear).  The basis for such a distinction is the Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (86b), which writes these two forms of repentance yield different results. When one repents out of love, then his intentional sins convert into unintentional sins; given the far less severe nature of unintentional transgressions, one thus has the opportunity to earn forgiveness.  When, however, a sinner repents from love, then his misdeeds actually transform into "zekhuyot" – merits; all his transgressions are now counted as mitzvot, amazingly enough, and join his pile of merits on the scales in the heavenly court.  The Chafetz Chayim suggested that perhaps Ramchal refers only to the lower level of repentance, teshuva mi-yir'a.  Since the violator regrets his wrongdoing only out of fear of retribution, this regret does not, within the attribute of justice, have the power to eradicate his wrongdoing.  This ability to transform one's sins into inadvertent violations must therefore evolve from the divine attribute of compassion.

When, however, it comes to the higher level of teshuva – teshuva mei-ahava, then, the Chafetz Chayim explains, even by the standards of the attribute of justice one's sins are transformed into merits.  Since the sinner feels genuinely remorseful, his past misdeeds are automatically erased from the record.

However, Rav Elchanan points out, a careful reading of the relevant passage in "Mesilat Yesharim" indicates that Ramchal refers to both types of teshuva.  Ramchal writes that according to strict judgment there is no possibility for repentance for "how can one remove the committed act from existence?" Ramchal appears to argue that within the rules of strict judgment, no action can ever be retracted after having been committed; no possibility ever exists, without the attribute of mercy, for the retroactive erasure of past acts.  This argument presumably applies to both levels of teshuva, and thus Ramchal appears not to draw the distinction suggested by the Chafetz Chayim.

Tomorrow we will iy"H present the approach taken by Rav Elchanan himself to this issue.

MONDAY

Yesterday we discussed the fundamental principle established by Ramchal (Rav Moshe Chayim Lutzatto) concerning the nature and essence of teshuva.  In his Mesilat Yesharim (chapter 4), Ramchal writes that teshuva has the power to achieve forgiveness only by virtue of the midat ha-rachamim – the divine attribute of mercy.  Within the rules of the midat ha-din – the divine attribute of justice, there is no room for expiation through the process of repentance. Rav Elchanan Wasserman Hy"d, however, noted that this theory appears to run counter to a Talmudic passage in Masekhet Kiddushin (40b), which states that one who regrets his performance of mitzvot forfeits all merits earned through them.  This seemingly implies that regardless of the midat ha-rachamim, regretting one's actions results in their retroactive elimination. The rules by which God judges man dictate that one can erase previous deeds – good and bad – by wishing they had never taken place.

Yesterday we discussed the answer suggested by the Chafetz Chayim to resolve this difficulty; today we present Rav Elchanan's own explanation.

Rav Elchanan draws a distinction between two aspects of mitzva performance (and the corresponding two aspects of sin).  As Ramchal himself develops in his work "Derekh Hashem" (1:4), the performance of a mitzva is of dual significance.  First and foremost, a person thereby fulfills the will of God. But additionally, a mitzva act yields a spiritual effect on the person (and perhaps on the world at large).  The metaphysical system designed by God works in such a way that the performance of a mitzva brings about a spiritual change within the individual, it impacts upon his soul (often in ways that we cannot possibly see or understand).  Rav Elchanan suggested that regretting a mitzva act cannot reverse the effects yielded by that act.  The spiritual impact of mitzva performance cannot be undone through feelings of regret. When the Gemara speaks about the power of regret to retroactively erase a mitzva act, it refers only to the first aspect of mitzva performance – that it fulfills the will of God.  If one regrets having performed a mitzva act, he is no longer credited with having fulfilled God's will.  The natural, spiritual effects of that act, however, certainly remain.

If not for the midat ha-rachamim, Rav Elchanan explains, the same rules would apply to regret for misdeeds.  Just as a mitzva act which one later regrets is considered as never having occurred, so does remorse obliterate a transgression from one's record.  But by the same token, we might expect, just as regretting a mitzva act has no effect upon its spiritual impact on the individual, teshuva should not have the power to reverse the negative, spiritual consequences of the transgression committed.  How, then, can one correct his mistakes entirely, to the extent that no trace of the forbidden act remains?

It is this question the Ramchal answers when he writes that teshuva is made possible only by the midat ha-rachamim.  True, even by the rules of the midat ha-din one can be considered as never having committed the sin through his feelings of remorse.  But if this were the extent of teshuva, the sinner will continue to suffer from the adverse spiritual effects of his wrongdoing. The divine attribute of compassion, however, allows for the supernatural eradication of all consequences of sin. Not only can a repentant sinner erase the sin from record, but he can also overcome the contaminating effects of sin. This second power of teshuva is enabled by God's attribute of compassion, by His love for His people and willingness to grant them the opportunity to move beyond their wrongdoing and reestablish their close connection to their Creator.

TUESDAY

A famous debate exists surrounding the precise definition of the mitzva of shofar on Rosh Hashana, a debate that expresses itself in a difference of opinion concerning the text of the berakha recited over this mitzva.  Prevalent custom follows the Rambam's position, that the Torah requires us to HEAR the sound of the shofar; accordingly, the one blowing the shofar recites the berakha, "li-shmo'a kol shofar" ("to hear the sound of the shofar").  Rabbenu Tam, by contrast, famously argued that the text of the berakha should read, "al teki'at shofar" – "with regard to the blowing of the shofar."  In his view, the mitzva requires us to blow, rather than hear, the shofar.  Rabbenu Tam explains that in principle, each and every Jew must personally sound the shofar on Rosh Hashana.  However, the familiar halakhic concept of "shomei'a ke-oneh," that "listening is equivalent to reciting," allows one to be considered as having personally blown the shofar by listening to its blowing by another.

At first glance, however, Rabbenu Tam's argument seems halakhically untenable. The halakhic mechanism of "shomei'a ke-oneh" clearly applies only when dealing with a mitzva requiring a recitation, not regarding a mitzva requiring an action.  Can Reuven fulfill the mitzva of tefillin by watching Shimon lay tefillin?  Can someone observe the mitzva of rejoicing with a bride and groom by watching a wedding video?  Why, then, does Rabbenu Tam allow for the fulfillment of the mitzva of shofar by simply listening to someone else blow?

Rabbenu Tam's ruling provides yet another basis for a fundamental theory developed at length by Rav Soloveitchik zt"l concerning the essential nature of shofar.  According to Rabbenu Tam, shofar blowing is not an act; it is a recitation, a non-verbal, speechless, yet very audible expression of prayer.  The Torah requires one to utter a prayer that has no expression in language, to express a feeling of awe and dread that cannot be translated into any words.  We are to cry and wail like an infant, who knows to express his fears only through tears and shrieks, rather than through words.  Since shofar blowing is, therefore, a recitation of prayer, the laws of "shomei'a ke-oneh" which clearly apply to standard prayer are equally relevant in the context of this mitzva.

What, then, would be the Rambam's understanding of this mitzva?  If, as he argues, the mitzva requires listening, rather than blowing, how would he explain the essential nature of shofar blowing?

The answer emerges from the Rambam's own, celebrated comments in Hilkhot Teshuva (3:4), where he explains the "remez," the deeper significance, of this mitzva.  The sounding of the shofar serves as a "wake-up call," alerting us to the critical need to repent and improve as we stand in judgment before the Almighty.  The shofar awakens us from our slumber of indifference towards, and convenient disregard of, our spiritual condition, and to perform teshuva.  The Rambam here follows consistently his own position regarding the definition of the mitzva – as an obligation to hear, rather than to blow.  For in his mind, the mitzva of shofar requires that we hear the shofar blast, which will hopefully trigger a process of introspection and repentance.

In truth, both these approaches to shofar may be correct.  Chazal legislated that we conduct two series of shofar blowing, to which we generally refer as "teki'ot de-meyushav" and "teki'ot de-me'umad."  The term "teki'ot de-meyushav" refers (according to virtually all views, the Ba'al Ha-ma'or in Masekhet Rosh Hashana being the notable exception) to the set of blasts sounded before musaf, after the reading of the Torah and haftara.  Then, during the musaf service, we sound the second series of blasts, known as "teki'ot de-me'umad."  It stands to reason that this second series of blasts, which is included within the musaf service and constitutes an integral part of that service, serves as a form of prayer.  In the musaf prayer on Rosh Hashana, we speak of the three functions served by shofar blowing in Tanakh: "malkhuyot" – as part of the coronation of God as King over the world; "zikhronot" – as a means of invoking divine compassion as He surveys our conduct; and "shofarot" – as part of divine revelation, both at Sinai and during the future redemption. We include within the musaf service the "prayer" of the shofar blasts, an expression of our hope that all three functions will indeed be served.

The "teki'ot de-meyushav," by contrast, most likely follow the model established by the Rambam, the call to repentance.  These blasts do not accompany or supplement any prayer service. Rather, they are actually an indispensable introduction to "malkhuyot, zikhronot ve-shofarot." They cry out to us to perform teshuva, without which we cannot proceed to the musaf prayer.  We thus listen to the shofar sound of repentance, before we can then go ahead and "recite" the shofar sounds of prayer.

(Based on a devar Torah by Rav Reuven Ziegler, managing editor of the Virtual Beit Midrash)

WEDNESDAY

Not infrequently, the first day of Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat, as it does this year, 5764.  A famous decree of Chazal forbids the sounding of the shofar when Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat, just as it forbids taking the lulav and etrog when Sukkot falls on Shabbat, and reading Megilat Ester when Purim occurs on Shabbat (which can happen only in Jerusalem, where Purim is observed on the fifteenth of Adar). The Gemara in several places cites Rabba's explanation of this decree, that it is intended to prevent the desecration of Shabbat.  Chazal feared lest one take his shofar, lulav, or Megila to a scholar for training in the given skill (how to blow the shofar, how to shake the lulav, or how to read the Megila) on Shabbat, thereby violating the prohibition against carrying in a public domain on Shabbat.

The famous question is asked as to the rationale behind such a drastic measure. Why did Chazal find it worthwhile to suspend the fulfillment of these mitzvot – which, in the case of shofar and lulav, constitute Torah obligations – by the entire Jewish people forever more, out of concern for the remote possibility of an occasional violation by a careless individual?  Would it not be preferable for Am Yisrael to perform these mitzvot as usual, even if it means running the risk of an inadvertent violation of Shabbat?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Musar Ha-nevi'im" (beginning of Sefer Shemuel), suggests that in truth, Chazal's concern may not be as remote as it initially appears.  Keenly aware of human tendency, Chazal understood that people, by nature, show preference for the extraordinary, the infrequent, and the unusual.  Whatever excitement the onset of Shabbat might generate week after week cannot possibly compare with the stir and enthusiasm triggered by the annual celebrations of Rosh Hashana, Sukkot and Purim.  Chazal feared that the unique excitement surrounding the mitzvot of shofar, lulav and Megila would overshadow the far less "spectacular" observance of Shabbat.  People might naturally favor the annual mitzvot to such an extent that they would neglect the Shabbat prohibitions in their zeal to prepare for the special mitzvot of the given festival.

If this approach is correct, then this decree of Chazal carries with it a critical educational message, as well.  Judaism consists of a healthy balance between mitzvot governing our daily routine and those involving rare, exciting events. The prohibition against shofar blowing on Shabbat reminds us to try and overcome our natural bias towards the unique and extraordinary, and rededicate ourselves to the daily responsibilities of Jewish life.  Torah not only requires certain observances at certain times; it demands a constant devotion to a life of mitzvot, a consistent commitment to the day-to-day laws and regulations outlined by halakha, which must be observed even during special times and occasions.

THURSDAY

Yesterday, we discussed the halakha forbidding the blowing of the shofar when Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat.  The occurrence of Shabbat Rosh Hashana raises questions concerning a different aspect of the Rosh Hashana observance, as well – tashlikh.  On most years, we conduct the tashlikh service, which entails going to a river or lake or any other water source and reciting the tashlikh prayer, on the first day of Rosh Hashana.  Should we hold tashlikh on the first day even when it falls on Shabbat? Conventional practice in many communities is to delay tashlikh to the second day of Rosh Hashana when the first falls on Shabbat; here we will briefly review some of the issues and sources involved.

The first issue, which we cannot, for obvious reasons, discuss in any detail, involves the mystical, Kabbalistic aspects of tashlikh.  The famous Rav Chayim Yosef David Azulai, known as the "Chid"a," cites (in Birkei Yosef and Machazik Berakha, end of O.C. 583) conflicting views among the Kabbalists as to whether or not the Kabbalistic notions underlying tashlikh allow for its recitation on Shabbat.  In his "Yosef Ometz" (17), the Chid"a concludes that tashlikh should not be held on Shabbat.  By contrast, the Ben Ish Chai (Parashat Nitzavim, 12) notes that the famous 18^th-century Kabbalist, Rav Shalom Sharabi (known as the "Rashash"), held that tashlikh should be recited even on Shabbat, and the Ben Ish Chai indeed adopts this ruling as normative (see his comments also in "Torah Li-shma," 145).  Likewise, the Kaf Ha-chayim observes that the Kabbalists in Jerusalem followed this practice, of reciting tashlikh even on Shabbat.

In non-Kabbalistic sources, as well, we find different views as to whether one should recite tashlikh on Shabbat.  The Maharil, arguably the most influential rabbinic figure regarding Ashkenazic custom, warns (in Hilkhot Rosh Hashana 60) against bringing food to tashlikh to throw to the fish, and adds that it is particularly important to refrain from doing so on Shabbat.  This clearly implies that the Maharil felt that tashlikh should be held on Shabbat. This emerges as well from a different passage in the Maharil's writings (siman 138), where he speaks of his father attending tashlikh on Shabbat Rosh Hashana.  Some three centuries later, Rav Yaakov Reischer, in his "Shevut Yaakov" (3:42), strongly espoused this view, claiming that no prohibition can possibly be involved in conducting tashlikh on Shabbat.

As Rav Reischer notes, however, in this passage, one might possibly discourage the recitation of tashlikh on Shabbat due to the concern that people will carry objects – such as machzorim – to the river.  Although Rav Reischer himself strongly disagrees, several other authorities forbade tashlikh on Shabbat for this very reason (see Sedei Chemed, Ma'arekhet Rosh Hashana, 2).

In truth, however, this debate, as to whether we should forbid tashlikh on Shabbat out of concern that people will carry items with them, may simply derive naturally from different customs regarding the text recited at tashlikh. Most Ashkenazic communities (with the notable exception of many Chasidim) simply recite the verses towards the end of Sefer Mikha, which discuss the casting of Benei Yisrael's sins "into the depths of the sea."  This was clearly the practice of both the Maharil and the Shevut Ya'akov, and they therefore had no reason to fear that people would bring machzorim to tashlikh. (We might add that the Maharil lived before the invention of the printing press, so in any event he had little reason to fear that people would carry books, which were obviously scarce.) In their communities, virtually everyone either knew these three verses by heart or could commit them to memory very easily, and they therefore had no reason to bring any books to tashlikh. Sefaradim, however, recite a much longer text, as explicitly mentioned by the Sedei Chemed, and they clearly cannot attend tashlikh without a machzor in hand.  This difference in custom naturally gave rise to different attitudes towards the recitation of tashlikh on Shabbat.

Rav Shemuel David (currently rav of the city of Afula), in an article on this topic (included in this year's VBM Holiday Journal for Rosh Hashana), suggests an intriguing solution for those accustomed to reciting the longer text of tashlikh, which they cannot commit to memory.  In order to satisfy all positions, he suggests, when Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat they should recite tashlikh twice, on both days.  On the first day, Shabbat, they should go to tashlikh without a machzor and recite by heart the three verses that constitute the essential text of tashlikh.  Then, on Sunday, the second day of Rosh Hashana, they should take their machzor to tashlikh and recite the full text, as they do every other year.

FRIDAY

On the first day of Rosh Hashana, we read for the haftara the first chapter (and beginning of the second chapter) of the book of Shemuel.  This chapter tells the story of Chana, the embittered, infertile woman whose prayers are finally answered.  She finally gives birth to Shemuel, the famous prophet and leader who would establish the Israelite monarchy.  This narrative parallels the Torah reading for this day, which speaks of Sara's miraculous pregnancy and her birth of her son, Yitzchak, at age ninety. Chazal inform us that both Sara and Chana (as well as Rachel) conceived on Rosh Hashana, thus rendering these accounts appropriate choices for the Torah and haftara readings for Rosh Hashana.

In his analysis of the story of Chana, Yigal Ariel, in his work "Oz Melekh," observes that three different people are described in this chapter as responding to Chana's despondence.  Her husband, Elkana, urges her to "look at the bright side," so-to-speak: "Chana, why are you crying and why aren't you eating?  Why are you so sad?  Am I not more devoted to you than ten sons?" (1:8).  Elkana claims that her status in the family as his primary wife, as opposed to his second, fertile wife, Penina, should somehow compensate for her inability to conceive.  Penina herself reacts to Chana's infertility by tormenting her: "Her rival [Penina] would taunt her to make her miserable… " (1:6). Longing to replace Chana as Elkana's primary wife, Penina embarked on a form of "psychological warfare" to crush Chana's spirits and drive her to despair (though Chazal explain that she actually had sincere motives, to encourage Chana to pray).

These two responses to Chana, of Elkana and Penina, share a common denominator: they both sought to have Chana resign herself to her unfortunate situation, to accept her seemingly unchangeable biological condition.  Elkana wished for this occur out of his genuine concern for his beloved wife, to help her overcome her anguish and frustration, whereas Penina did so as a means of displacing her rival.

The third person involved in this story, the high priest, Eli, takes the opposite approach in dealing with Chana.  Eli sees Chana weeping bitterly in the Sanctuary and mistakenly concludes that she was intoxicated.  After Chana explains that she cries out of sincere anguish, rather than as a result of alcoholic intoxication, Eli gives her a blessing that her prayer should be answered (1:17).  Unlike Chana's husband and rival, Eli encouraged Chana, and even "intervened" on her behalf – offering first his advice, and then his blessing.

However, as Rav Ariel suggests, even Eli's approach was not fully correct.  He assumed that Chana's salvation required his involvement, that somehow he, as the high priest, had to intervene and give Chana advice or a blessing.  This is beautifully expressed by Chazal, in Masekhet Berakhot (31b), where the Gemara comments on Chana's response to Eli's accusation, "Lo adoni" ("Not so, my lord" – 1:15).  Chazal explain this to mean, "Lo adon ata ba-davar zeh" – "You are not lord over this matter."  Eli felt that Chana's plight was under his power and control, his intervention would heal her wounds and help her overcome her troubles.  According to the Gemara, Chana here not only corrects Eli's mistaken impression, but she challenges his right to involve himself in this matter altogether.

Chana, then, resisted all the efforts made by others to help her deal with her situation.  First, she refused to accept the fate to which Elkana and Penina urged her to resign herself.  Secondly, she denied her dependence on others, such as the kohen gadol, recognizing that she must herself struggle and pray to the Almighty for salvation.

This analysis may provide yet another basis for a thematic association between this narrative and Rosh Hashana.  As we stand before the Almighty in prayer during these Days of Judgment, we are reminded of this message: our fate is yet to be sealed, and it depends only on us. Whatever mistakes we have made in the past are not beyond repair; however discouraging our prospects appear for a favorable sentence, the power lies within us to dictate otherwise.  As Chana teaches, it all depends on us, on our sincere efforts to improve ourselves and enhance our relationship with God.

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