The Sublime Sleep of Rosh Hashana

There’s a well-known minhag that Jews try not to sleep during the day on Rosh Hashana. The commentaries quote the Yerushalmi: “Whoever sleeps on Rosh Hashana, his mazel sleeps.” The Mishnah Berurah even brings this down in halacha. But here’s the remarkable part: this line doesn’t actually appear in any of the editions of the Yerushalmi that we have today. Somehow, the exact source vanished. Think about that for a moment. A teaching that shaped Jewish practice for centuries… gone from the text, but alive in our mesorah. That itself feels like Hashgacha. Almost as if Hashem wanted us to learn that some truths aren’t bound to paper, but are carried in the living breath of Klal Yisrael.

And then we come to the Arizal. The Magen Avraham, the Kaf HaChaim, the Mishnah Berurah — they all quote him: that after chatzos, after midday, it’s permitted to sleep. Why? Because by then, the angel of judgment has already been stirred awake through our tefillos and the blasts of the shofar. Rav Chaim Vital even writes that the Arizal himself would sleep on Rosh Hashana afternoon. This wasn’t a nap out of tiredness. It was something sublime.

The Arizal explains in Shaar HaKavanos that on the first day of Rosh Hashana, the world is awakened through the shofar — but only partially. Zeir Anpin, the divine middah of compassion, is stirred, but not fully. His Chokhmah — his mind — isn’t completely revealed. So after the first day, He “returns to sleep” until the second day, when the deeper Chokhmah is cut and the gevurot descend. Only then is the awakening complete, and there’s no more need for “sleep.”

What does this mean for us? In simpler words: there are two parts to Rosh Hashana. On one hand, there’s the work — the davening, the shofar, the kavanos, all the effort we put in. That’s the Ratz — the running upward. But there’s also another side — the Shov, the returning, the surrender. The place where we admit that no matter how much we do, we can’t grasp the Infinite. The light of Ein Sof is beyond us, and the only way to touch it is through bittul — letting go, trusting Hashem, resting in Him. That’s what the Arizal’s sleep was. A surrender so deep that it reached further than kavanos and words ever could.

And here’s where it becomes practical. Rosh Hashana is not about white-knuckling our way through pages of davening and thinking it’s all up to us. Yes, we give it our all — but then we have to let Hashem carry the rest. There are moments in tefillah where you pour out your heart, and then there are moments to close your eyes, take a breath, and say, “Ribbono Shel Olam, I’m Yours. I’ve done what I can. The rest is in Your hands.” That’s a kind of “sleep” we can all practice, even while awake.

So this year, try to bring both sides into your Rosh Hashana. During shofar, during davening — be fully there, give Hashem your best. But also carve out little pauses of surrender. After Shemoneh Esrei, sit in quiet for a moment and just let yourself be held. When you feel the weight of the year’s tefillos pressing on you, remember: you don’t need to do it all. Hashem is running the world. Let yourself rest in that trust.

That’s the sublime secret of the Arizal’s sleep. It wasn’t a break from avodah — it was the deepest avodah of all. To know when to run, and when to return. To know when to cry out, and when to fall silent. To live Rosh Hashana as Ratz v’Shov — effort and surrender, passion and trust.

And when we hold both, we don’t just avoid a “sleepy mazel.” We step into the year awake — alive, connected, and carried by Hashem’s light.