Years ago, there was a Swedish tourist visiting Thailand who found himself in a tavern late one night. It was to be an evening of great merriment, he told himself. But after drinking heavily and losing his cool, he was abruptly thrown out. Left frustrated and angry, he defaced a public image of the King of Thailand with spray paint.
What he didn’t realize is that in Thailand, insulting the monarchy is one of the gravest offenses. He was arrested and faced a potential sentence of ten to seventy-five years in prison. The court sentenced him to ten years, already a harsh punishment. But in a surprising turn, the King of Thailand, perhaps moved by mercy, issued a royal pardon. The man flew back to Sweden, grateful to be free, and silently crossed Thailand off his future travel plans.
Why share this story?
Because it teaches us something profound about kingship.
In monarchies, you don’t mock the king, you don’t deface his image, and you don’t challenge his authority. A king must be taken seriously. And that’s exactly what Rosh Hashanah demands of us.
Rosh Hashanah is the coronation of Hashem. It is the day we declare His sovereignty over the world, and over ourselves. As we recite again and again throughout this season: “Hashem melech, Hashem malach, Hashem yimloch l’olam va’ed—Hashem is King, Hashem was King, Hashem will always be King.”
Likewise, from the beginning of Selichos through the closing moments of Ne’ilah, we utter the words, “Avinu Malkeinu—Our Father, Our King” countless times. It’s not mere repetition. It’s a process of internalization, wherein we strive to feel, to believe, and to live with the reality that we are standing before the King of Kings.
And yet, Rosh Hashanah is unique. It’s not a day of fasting and abstinence like Yom Kippur. We pray with intensity, but then return home to festive meals, rich foods, and celebration. This duality confuses many. Rosh Hashanah seems to be spiritually demanding, yet physically uplifting. How do we reconcile this?
The answer lies in understanding just what royalty means.
Imagine being invited to a royal banquet, to the inauguration of a king. You would attend in your finest clothing, sit with the utmost dignity, and conduct yourself with grace. Every bite would be measured, every word carefully spoken. You are not just eating; you are participating in an event of majesty. So too, the meals of Rosh Hashanah are not casual feasts. They are part of the coronation of Hashem. We eat, but we do so with reverence, knowing we are sitting at the King’s table.
Rosh Hashanah is our special opportunity to have a personal appearance with the King. And it’s not just during davening. It’s in our homes too, as we eat, sleep and carry on with our lives as human beings.
There was once a Jewish businessman from Morocco who traveled to France for work. There, he partnered with a non-Jewish Frenchman, and one evening, the Frenchman invited him to dinner. The Jew declined, explaining that he could only eat kosher. But the Frenchman insisted. “I’ve already arranged kosher food for you. Please come; it’s in your best interest. Tonight, the King of Morocco will be my guest.”
Curious and honored, the man agreed to attend. At the dinner, he was seated next to the King himself. They spoke warmly, discovering that they shared roots in Morocco. The King asked about Jewish customs and was intrigued when he heard about Bar Mitzvahs. Upon learning that the man’s son had celebrated his Bar Mitzvah two weeks prior, the King said, “I want to give him a gift.” The businessman politely declined, but the King insisted. He pulled out a checkbook and handed over a check: €40,000.
The stunned man looked at the amount and protested: “Your Majesty, this is far too generous.” The King smiled and said, simply, “I’m the king. I don’t give less than that.”
This is the mindset we must carry into Rosh Hashanah. We have a unique opportunity, and that is to spend time with the king. But it is not just any king. It is the King of the World. We are not petitioning a limited being. We are not making requests to someone bound by constraints. We are standing before the King Who lacks nothing and can give everything.
But here’s the key: we must believe that He is the King. To the extent that we coronate Hashem, that we truly crown Him King over our lives, that is the extent to which we open the gates of blessing. Not because we’ve manipulated the system, but because we have aligned ourselves with its truth.
When we say Hashem Melech, let us say it not just as a phrase, but a reality. Let us not just recite it with our lips, but with our lives.
We don’t crown Hashem as King in order to get blessings. We crown Him because He is the King. And as a side effect of that sincere recognition, the King, in His generosity, opens His treasury and bestows upon His beloved children blessings beyond what we could ever imagine.
Because Hashem is the King of Kings. And He doesn’t give anything less than that.
