This Wednesday at sunset, Rosh Hashanah (the Judaic new year) will begin. With it, the year of 5777 will come to a close, and 5778 will begin. Rosh Hashanah is a time of celebration and joy. You’re supposed to eat apples and honey to bring in a sweet new year, but I don’t feel very hopeful or joyous right now.

Last year around this time, I can distinctly remember being filled with joy. 5777! I made it! It was a great holiday for me. I had started college, my family was happy and healthy and Hillary Clinton was going to be our first female president. About a month after Rosh Hashanah 5777, things took a turn. I’ll skip over the dreary details, but I believe I can definitively say 5777 sucked. Trump was elected, my family’s health wasn’t as long-lasting as it appeared and the stress of being a freshman really got to me.

Ignoring my personal problems, Earth at large has had a tough time, too. Global warming is starting to affect us like never before, there’s famine in Africa and the Middle East and the Syrian refugee crisis is still ongoing. I had to deal with the abject horror that is watching the news, to seeing Nazis march down the streets of my country. It’s easy to feel hopeless, especially with the large tragedy our campus is still trying to comprehend.

I don’t feel very joyful. I’m not happy or excited. I’m tired and stressed. As a Jew, I do understand there have been worse years than this, but I don’t want to live in a world where I only feel thankful as compared to genocide or pogroms, forced assimilation or oppression. That does not sound like the kind of world I want to be a part of.

Yet, Rosh Hashanah is merely the beginning of a series of holidays. Following Rosh Hashanah, are the “Days of Awe,” a time to consider your actions in the past year and atone for them. The Days of Awe culminate in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. You atone for your sins, do charity and seek forgiveness.

It is time to reflect on how I handled a truly terrible year. I will admit I was not kind enough. I did not always do what I thought was right, out of fear of shame or rejection. I did not work hard enough to help others and was too worried about my own fears and worries. Perhaps I did not love unconditionally enough,

Mary McLoughlin, a Contributing Writer for the Voice, can be reached for comment at MMcLoughlin20@wooster.edu.