Rosh Hashanah is upon us. It is a time when we crown Hashem as King of the Universe, and therefore a time of awe, renewal, and introspection. And one of the most poignant symbols of this coronation is right before our eyes: the round challah. Why is it round? Because it represents a crown. It is circular, whole, unbroken, symbolizing royalty, eternity, and unity. Hashem is not just our Father; He is our King.
You may have noticed something curious in many shuls on Rosh Hashanah. When the cantor begins the solemn words “HaMelech” at the start of Shacharis, declaring “The King,” he often doesn’t begin from the bimah. He begins from his seat. Why?
I once heard a beautiful explanation.
On Rosh Hashanah, we are not just proclaiming Hashem as King from a stage or elevated platform. Rather, wherever you are in life—emotionally, spiritually, physically—that’s where you must coronate Him. That is your position for the day, your appointed place. And from that exact place—no matter how far or broken or confused—you declare that Hashem is King.
I remember many years ago, one of my children was hospitalized right before Yom Kippur. He had been there for over a week, and miraculously, just an hour before the holiest day of the year began, he was released.
In past years, I always davened at my regular shul with close to a thousand people. The experience was uplifting, majestic. But this time, I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and had no idea where I’d daven. I found a small yeshiva down the block, with barely thirty people. It felt strange, unfamiliar.
But I remembered that insight. Wherever you are, that is your place and that’s where Hashem wants you to declare Him King. And when you embrace the moment with humility and emunah, Hashem brings the beracha.
Let me share a story that captures this truth. A young Torah scholar from Bnei Brak told this story to Rav Yitzchok Zilberstein.
He and his wife had five young children, and they were supposed to eat the first Rosh Hashanah meal at his in-laws, across the city. They planned to leave before Yom Tov, take a cab, and get there in time. But as often happens, the yetzer hara works overtime on the last day of the year.
He said it felt like every challenge came crashing down that day. The children were fighting, one refused to get dressed, another cried that he didn’t want to go. His wife was overwhelmed and time was slipping away. Candle lighting was also fast approaching, and they weren’t close to being ready. He realized he would likely miss the opening prayers of Rosh Hashanah; something he had never missed in his life.
The tension in the house was unbearable. “I knew that any word I said in frustration would be a sword through my wife’s heart,” he recounted.
He paused. He breathed. And then he made a decision:
“This is my avodah right now. This is my position. This is where Hashem has placed me on this Rosh Hashanah. I will not raise my voice and I will not say something I’ll regret. My mission is to preserve shalom bayis, to hold onto my inner calm. And from this place, I will declare Hashem as King.”
Instead of lashing out, he said something kind. He complimented his wife. And though he missed the tefillah he loved so much, he didn’t miss the moment. His home was calm and his children entered Rosh Hashanah in peace.
He later reflected. “That year, everything changed. My children thrived in school, my parnassah flourished, our home was filled with peace. It was one of the most blessed years I’ve ever experienced, and I am convinced it all started because I held back that night. I accepted the position Hashem placed me in, and I crowned Him King from there.”
There’s a final image that ties this all together.
When Moshe Rabbeinu stood before the Burning Bush, Hashem told him: “Shal na’alecha me’al raglecha—Remove your shoes, for the ground you stand on is holy” (Shemos 3:5).
What does that mean?
Don’t try to step into someone else’s shoes. Don’t imagine that if you were in a different place, you would be holier, more focused, more successful.
The place you’re standing right now, that ground is holy. And from that place—whether it’s in a hospital room, a small shul, a chaotic home, or a place of uncertainty—you have the power to coronate the King.
May we all enter this Rosh Hashanah with the clarity to say: HaMelech, The King... from exactly where we stand. And may Hashem, in turn, shower us with blessings of peace, health, growth and purpose.
