Rabbi Charles E. Savenor serves as the Executive Director of Civic Spirit, a nonpartisan organization that provides training and resources to faith based schools across the United States.
The shofar has a singular magnetism that attracts the rapt attention of the young and old. As this ancient instrument takes center stage on Rosh Hashanah, we may wonder what is the meaning behind these piercing notes?
Some explain that the shofar reminds us of the call to battle during the biblical age, but during the Days of Awe the battlefield is internal. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch of 19th century Germany does not connect the shofar with warfare, but rather God’s presence in our lives. He asserts: “With the sound of the shofar, God once called us together on Sinai, with it, God will once again gather us together.” Just as the shofar once ushered in the Revelation at Sinai, so too will it introduce new and necessary revelations in our hearts and minds about the direction of our lives.
A battle cry, a revelation, or a spiritual alarm clock shaking us from an ethical slumber? Each interpretation in its own way makes a compelling case about how the shofar voices a dramatic plea for introspection.
So deeply associated with Rosh Hashanah, the shofar sets the tone on this holiday of spiritual reflection. Yom Teruah, one of the names of the Jewish new year meaning “the day of blasts”, serves as a vehicle for us to look within and ask who we are today and who do we want to be tomorrow?
These questions apply to not just our personal lives, but also our larger society. Currently in both America and Israel, democracy as a form of government has faced challenges that we might have found unimaginable just a generation ago.
This year, the calendar provides another lens through which we can see these Days of Awe, as Rosh Hashanah falls on Constitution Day, commemorating the signing of the United States Constitution on September 17, 1787, in Philadelphia. While Independence Day has been etched onto the American calendar for some time, this national milestone was not officially recognized by Congress until 2004.
The signing of the Constitution represented a watershed moment in the founding of our country. The Constitution replaced the Articles of Confederation enacted in 1781 and was a second attempt to organize the federal government, clarify its powers, and establish the parameters between the federal government and the states as well as its citizens. “Ambition must be made to counteract ambition,” asserts James Madison in Federalist 51, reflecting the founding generation’s intention to distribute power between the government’s three branches.
The Constitution, as we well know, did not foresee or solve every problem. In particular, slavery’s status was a dark cloud over the new republic. Despite its imperfections, this document has remained in place as the national standard of law and governance for over 235 years.
The way the calendar unfolds this year provides the Jewish community with a unique opportunity to reflect upon the state of our nation as much as our own spiritual state. That Jewish prayer is couched in the plural signifies that this path of growth, healing, and renewal is one we walk together.
While our individual experience is important as Jews and citizens, both Rosh Hashanah and Constitution Day remind us that we are part of something larger than ourselves. And Constitution Day underscores the importance of justice, creating safeguards against the temptations of power, and the blessings of second chances for communities as well as for individuals.
Exploring the meaning of America in our own lives can enhance and elevate the conversation around our holiday tables. Hearing opinions different from our own may open our hearts to new ways of approaching common challenges in our society.
More than a calendrical coincidence, Constitution Day and Rosh Hashanah complement and inform one another. When we hear the shofar blasts on Rosh Hashanah, may we embrace not just the invitation to begin our lives anew, but also the spirit of American democracy inscribed on the Liberty Bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof” (Leviticus 25:10).
A commitment to liberty, democracy, and freedom is a legacy we can be proud to pass onto our children. During these divisive times, these values serve as a north star to a stronger future.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.