Like most people, this summer has not been filled with many typical highlights, and yet self-quarantine enabled my wife and me to introduce our children to one of the United States’ greatest exports: Hamilton. Over five years, my wife and I had the chance to see Hamilton with their original cast early in their run on Broadway. And this summer, the show’s return to Disney+ enabled my children to see what all the fuss was about.
In crafting a musical theater experience of the highest quality, Lin Manuel-Miranda insists on revealing Alexander Hamilton to us, warts and all. Ron Chernow may write that Hamilton was the “father of our government,” yet Hamilton was also arrogant, short-tempered, an often absent father, and a philanderer. So while Hamilton may be the “hero” of his story, not everything he did was heroic.
And yet Miranda sees a deeper lesson we can learn from Hamilton’s life, and that lesson is brought front and center in the finale, when he asks the audience, “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?[1] Hamilton authored his own life; he came from nothing, and yet in spite of those obstacles, Hamilton told the audience that, no matter the challnege, “I’m not throwin’ away my shot.”[2]
Elul and the forthcoming Yamim Noraim are about many things, yet on a most basic level, this time in the Jewish calendar reminds me that there will come a day when I am no longer on this earth, and will have to account for all that I did. At the same time, the other lesson of this time of year is that I am the primary author of my story.
Marcia Baxter Magolda calls this approach to life “self-authorship,” the “the continual process of finding those parts of ourselves that we cannot see...pulling them out to reflect on them, and deciding what to make of them.”[3] According to Magolda, people who best navigate those life crossroads are those who, “listen to and cultivate their own internal voices.”[4] You can believe that every mistake you make, every struggle you encounter, every hardship you face, is a permanent, immutable force, or you can resolve to be better, to do better, to live better, and to write a different chapter. In the eyes of God, you are the only author of your life story that matters.
Judaism has an ancient concept of self-authorship, it’s called the Book of Life, the Sefer Ha-Hayyim, an image that is referenced in our greetings, our sacred texts, and our prayers over the next ten days. Rabbi Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger, otherwise known as the Sefat Emet, tells us that the human heart is the tablet upon which God writes, and the word written upon each of our hearts is “life.”[5] However, over the course of each year, we make mistakes and don’t measure up, the word on our heart becomes smudged and faded through the mistakes of people who are all too human. But when we come together on Rosh HaShanah, we ask that God imprint the word on our hearts once again, and hope that by Yom Kippur the word will be made permanent.
This Elul, ask yourself: Who lives, who dies, who tells your story? The answer to all three of these questions is you. In the eyes of God, we are the only ones who can make the choices, in the moment in time, to ensure that the word life is imprinted in our hearts. Choose life. Author your own story. And, most importantly, don’t throw away your shot. Good luck.
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Rabbi Joshua Rabin is the Senior Director of USY (United Synagogue Youth). You can read more of his writings at www.joshuarabin.com.
[1] Lin Manuel-Miranda, “Finale,” Hamilton: The Musical (2015).
[2] Ibid., “My Shot.”
[3] Marcia B. Baxter Magolda, Authoring Your Life: Developing An Internal Voice to Navigate Life’s Challenges, 3.
[4] Ibid., 41.
[5] Sefat Emet, “Rosh HaShanah,” 5:139. See Arthur Green ed., The Language of Truth: The Torah Commentary of the Sefat Emet, Rabbi Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger (Philadelphia: JPS, 1998), 343. Also see S.Y. Agnon ed., Days of Awe: A Treasury of Jewish Wisdom for Reflection, Repentance, and Renewal on the High Holy Days (New York: Schocken Books, 1995), xi.
