Rabbi Elliot Dorff makes an important distinction between holidays and holy days. Holidays are meant for fun, celebration, relaxation, travel. There are time-honored rituals — grilling in the back yard, going to the beach, picnicking in the park, gathering with neighbors and family. How you celebrate is up to you.

Holy Days are entirely different. A Holy Day makes demands. We’re asked to observe certain religious rituals, gather in sacred spaces, engage with liturgy, poetry, and metaphor.

But the most important demand of the Jewish High Holy Days is to engage in introspection. Judaism takes this so seriously that we’re asked to spend an entire month preparing ourselves, and the observance itself lasts ten days.

Despite the demands, and the work we clergy do to prepare for the many synagogue services, I love this time of year. One of my faults is plowing ahead without processing the things I’m experiencing, the ups and downs of daily life, as well as the special occasions.

This year I managed to slow down and pay attention. I spent time with people who were going through some of life’s hardest experiences; death, betrayal, loss. And I stood with two sets of brides on the happiest days of their lives. I thought about who I am today and who I want to be tomorrow.

The High Holy Days ask us to engage in two seemingly contradictory behaviors: profound personal introspection while standing in a crowded room. For me, the result is deep humility, knowing that I am not alone, that we are all human, all flawed, all wanting to be a better person next year.

The Days of Awe don’t pull any punches. On both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we recite a prayer that jumps right to the heart matter, asking, “who will live and who will die?”

We don’t like to think about our mortality. The Jewish High Holy Days push us in that direction once a year, urging us to think deeply about how we will behave during the time remaining in our lives.

I don’t know when I’ll die. I do know that nearly 25 years ago I had so much cancer that I was told that I’d die within two years. Now I am 66 years old, and I know I won’t live forever. Every fall, my tradition reminds me to consider how I want to live if the next year is to be my last on earth.

Holidays are wonderful and important. Holy Days are holy, life affirming, and potentially life changing. They are worth the effort they demand.

May you be blessed in the coming year to find joy, sweetness, and determination to live your life to its fullest.