Lately, I’ve been diving deeper into learning about Hashem. I’ve been attending shiurim, listening to podcasts, soaking in as many divrei Torah as I can, davening more often, and much more. Recently, I went to a friend’s graduation where the salutatorian delivered a beautiful speech about the butterfly effect. She explained how many people confuse the butterfly effect with the domino effect, which is understandable, but incorrect.
The domino effect refers to a line of events where one action triggers a series of outcomes in a predictable, linear fashion. The butterfly effect, on the other hand, suggests that something as seemingly insignificant as the flap of a butterfly’s wings can set off a chain of events that leads to something as catastrophic as a tornado. In essence, a tiny, often unintended action can lead to something unrelated and very chaotic.
Let’s put this concept aside for a moment while I share something from a shiur I attended at Camp Mesorah, given by Rav Rafi. Rav Rafi spoke about a variety of beautiful topics, but the overarching theme was teshuva, or the process of returning to Hashem after a period of distance or sin. Before this shiur, I didn’t know much about the shofar, but Rav Rafi connected the sound of the shofar to the concept of teshuva in such a profound way.
He used the shofar as a metaphor for teshuva.
Rav Rafi explained that the sounds of the shofar represent different stages of a Jew’s spiritual journey.
The first sound, Tekiyah, is smooth and uninterrupted, representing a Jew in their early, unchallenged stage, similar to how a child is guided by their parents, rabbis, and community in their observance of mitzvot. In this phase, life feels seamless, like a continuous rhythm: tuuuuuuu.
The second sound, Shevarim, represents a gradual breakdown, where the rhythm starts to have small, almost unnoticeable breaks. This happens when a person begins to experience life’s distractions, such as new responsibilities, pressures, or distractions,and may start to forget the smaller, seemingly insignificant mitzvot like saying the Shema or making brachot. The rhythm is still there, but not as consistent: tuu tuu tuuu
The third sound, Teruah, is jagged and rapid, representing a Jew who has strayed so far from the derech that it seems as if they’re lost forever. Their observance of mitzvot may be almost nonexistent, and to an outsider, it may seem as if they’ve abandoned their Jewish identity entirely. This phase is represented by the broken rhythm of nine quick blasts: tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tu tu.
Finally, the shofar repeats the cycle, returning to the smooth and whole sound, Tekiah Gedolah: tuuuuuuuuuu. This signifies the idea that no matter how far a Jew has fallen, it is always possible for them to return to their roots and rediscover their path. Even the person who seems the most lost can eventually come back to Hashem in their own time. My interpretation of the sound being labeled as “gedolah” is that it signifies the voluntary path back to Hashem as having the ability to make a person an even stronger Jew than they previously were.
Before attending this shiur, I never really considered the significance of the breaks in the shofar. Now, I know that they’re a metaphor for Hashem’s ability to forgive all.. Rav Rafi beautifully taught us that any Jew, no matter how far they’ve strayed from Judaism, can do teshuva. The Torah says that Hashem hardened Pharaoh’s heart, which may seem to suggest that he was incapable of repentance. However, Rav Rafi explained that “hardening” doesn’t mean it’s impossible; it simply means the person faces greater obstacles in their journey back to Hashem.
This message was a powerful reminder that no Jew is beyond hope. No matter how distant one may feel, teshuva is always possible.
Circling back to the butterfly effect:
You may wonder how it connects to Judaism. Well, the speaker touched on the impact of mitzvot. One may think that mitzvot are essentially a collection of brownie points Hashem keeps for each person. However, the girl giving the speech shared how, when she does a mitzvah, it’s often because she sees someone else doing it and is reminded that she should act as well.
This really resonates with me. When I’m with friends who are saying Tefilat Haderech on a trip, kissing the mezuzah when walking out of a room, or making brachot before eating, I’m inspired to do the same. It reminds me that I’m Jewish, and that comes with a unique set of responsibilities: to be a role model, to avoid a chilul Hashem, and to strive for kiddush Hashem.
This goes to show that, just like a butterfly flapping its wings can trigger a tornado, a Jew doing a mitzvah can trigger a spiritual awakening in someone else. A small act like saying a bracha out loud or holding open a siddur for a friend may inspire someone to return to the first stage of the shofar’s rhythm: Tekiah.
You never know, one mitzvah can change someone’s life without realizing it.
