Holding onto the Daf: Jewish Tradition as a Resource for Resilience and Faith in Challenging Times – Erev Rosh Hashanah 5787/2026

Rabbi Lauren Grabelle Herrmann, Erev Rosh Hashanah 5787/2026

The magic of Erev Rosh HaShanah is that we stand in the liminal space between the year that has passed and the next one — which is wide-open and unrevealed, the pages of the Book of Life unwritten.

While this New Year beckons to us — calls us to celebrate fresh beginnings and regain a sense of hope and possibility — for some of us, this feels harder than in years past.

Some of us, perhaps many of us, sit in this sanctuary this evening feeling thoroughly unmoored.

We may be feeling the heavy exhaustion of a deeply distressing, chaotic, and anxiety-inducing year — from the terrifying resurgence of antisemitism to the cruel, relentless fear inflicted on immigrant communities by ICE, to rising extremism, encroaching fascism, and the steady erosion of our democratic norms. Compounded by the weight we carry from our individual experiences of pain, loss, and struggle, the gap between how we want to feel tonight and how we actually feel may feel like an ocean we cannot cross.

At the threshold of this New Year, how might we find a way forward — to truly embrace the spirit of these holy days and move toward renewal?

I want to offer an answer to this question through a story from the Talmud — that I hope will be a balm for our hurting souls,

It is a tale you may have heard me teach a few years ago, but like any great story, it bears repeating. And for me, its ancient wisdom has never felt as urgent or relevant as it does tonight.

It is the story of the great scholar Rabbi Akiva surviving a shipwreck.

According to the Talmud: One day, Rabban Gamliel, a great sage and Jewish leader, was traveling on a boat in an expanse of water. From a distance, he saw that another boat had been swept up in a storm and shattered into hundreds of pieces. Rabban Gamliel realized that on that shattered boat was the great scholar Rabbi Akiva. Assuming his friend, student, and hevruta(study partner) was dead, Rabban Gamliel became overwhelmed by immense grief and loss.

But when Rabban Gamliel disembarked from his boat onto dry land, he looked ahead in the distance. Could it be? Was he seeing correctly?

It was none other than Rabbi Akiva himself — completely unharmed — and running toward him.

When Rabbi Akiva came close, he immediately began debating with Rabban Gamliel about the intricacies of a particular Jewish law.

With equal parts shock and delight, Rabban Gamliel asked Akiva: “My son, who brought you up from the water? Who saved you?”

Rabbi Akiva replied: “When the boat broke, a daf — a plank — from the boat appeared before me. I grabbed onto it. And with each wave that came my way, I bowed my head.”

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The story Akiva and the ship was written over 1500 years ago- yet it is a parable that speaks to our very moment, offering us tools for how to cross raging and turbulent waters — to move us from fear to faith.

The ship that shattered beneath Akiva represents the living in a climate of uncertainty and brokenness. Today, it can represent the systems, the norms, and the comfortable assumptions we took for granted — the belief that history moves forward, that democracy is an unquestionable bedrock of our society, that our safety is guaranteed. The stable place we once stood on has broken apart beneath our feet.

But the heart of this story — the secret to Akiva’s survival — is the wood plank he held in his hands. Notice that when Rabban Gamliel sees Rabbi Akiva alive, he asks “who” saved you. But Rabbi Akiva doesn’t answer with a “who” rather a “what.”

Rabbi Akiva says, “A plank — a daf — came before me, and I grabbed onto it.” In Hebrew, the word daf (דַּף) — is the very same word we use for a page of Talmud. That is no accident. The daf represents the pages of our sacred text and the symbol of our tradition. The daf is what saves Rabbi Akiva from life-threatening harm and enables him to reach the shore safely. It is not God Godself or a supernatural intervention — it is the “stuff” of our tradition that saves him.

Let’s notice what a plank is, and what it isn’t. A plank is not a brand-new ship. A plank is not something luxurious or comfortable — like a modern flotation device.

But a plank keeps your head above the water line. It gives you a surface to hold onto so that fear does not pull you under.

Our tradition is that daf.