Tashlich (“and you shall cast”), the Jewish ceremony of symbolically casting away sins into a body of water, usually by shaking out their garments or tossing breadcrumbs into a body of flowing water, is one of the most visually evocative and emotionally resonant practices of the High Holiday season. The rationale for the practice was poetic and allegorical rather than halachically rigorous: casting away one’s sins, symbolically transferring them to the depths of a natural, flowing body of water, and walking away purified, or at least spiritually ready for the Days of Awe. Some communities added the practice of shaking out one’s garments or even tossing breadcrumbs into the water to represent the sins being discarded. Typically performed on the first afternoon of Rosh Hashana, this custom has evolved across centuries and continents and, although not mandated by the Torah or Talmud, it has become widespread in Jewish communities throughout the world.
Though external and symbolic, Tashlich encapsulates central theological themes of the High Holidays – teshuvah, divine mercy, and renewal – and the act of approaching water echoes biblical scenes of transformation, including the Jews crossing the Red Sea, Jonah cast into the sea, and the mikveh’s waters of rebirth. Yet, Tashlich is by no means about magic; to the contrary, Jewish authorities have repeatedly clarified that the ritual does not actually remove sin in a mechanical way but, rather, it serves as a physical prompt for internal introspection. Rav Joseph Soloveitchik perhaps said it best: the High Holiday process is ultimately about confronting one’s deeds, and not outsourcing them to fish.
One reason for saying Tashlich next to water goes back to Abraham’s trip to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son, Isaac, which took place on Rosh Hashana. As the Midrash describes, while Abraham was en route to the designated location, the Satan created several tricks to impede his progress, including materializing a river to block his path. An undeterred Abraham forged on straight into the river and, when the water reached his neck, he prayed to G-d and the river dried up. Another reason for reciting Tashlich next to water is because Rosh Hashana is the day when we coronate G-d as King of the Universe and, since Jewish kings are traditionally anointed next to rivers (to symbolize that the new king’s reign should have continuity like the flow of water), it is appropriate that we crown G‑d as the King of Kings next to a river as well.
Moreover, a body of water actually represents its Heavenly counterpart above and, in accordance with the Jewish mysticism teaching that water corresponds to the attribute of kindness, we beseech G‑d on Rosh Hashana to treat us with kindness throughout the new year. Finally, water containing fish is optimal because fish are not subject to the “evil eye” – they do not have eyelids, so their eyes are always open, and this is a metaphor for G‑d’s constant supervision over us – and they are also known to have many offspring. Also, as Rav Mordechai Jaffe (aka, the Levush, 1530-1612) notes, the precariousness of the lives of fish reminds us that a human being can similarly be abruptly ensnared in the net of death and judgment, and just as fish cannot escape being caught in the fisherman’s net, so, too, man cannot escape G-d’s judgment, an awareness designed to inspire us to awaken and do teshuvah.
The central textual source for Tashlich is the verse from the prophet Micah 7:19: “He will again have compassion on us; He will subdue our iniquities. You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.” This verse forms the centerpiece of the Tashlich prayer, symbolizing divine forgiveness and purification although, over time, Psalms and other penitential passages were appended to the liturgy.
Despite its poetic resonance, the ceremony is actually a relatively late development in Jewish religious life and Tashlich does not appear in the Talmud and is absent from the early Geonic and Mishnaic sources. Although the custom was likely practiced earlier among Kabbalists and pietists in the Rhineland and Provence, its earliest documentation dates to the 13th century, appearing in the writings of Rav Yaakov ben Moshe Levi Moelin (aka the Maharil of Mainz, 1365-1427), a prominent German Ashkenazi posek.
However, it is interesting to note that Rav Samuel ben Meir (aka the Rashbam, 1085-1158), suggests that Tashlich is based on a Biblical precedent: he cites the anointing of King Solomon as well as Ezra gathering the people at the “water gate,” the nearest gate to the water source, on Rosh Hashana for a public reading of the Torah (see Nechemiah 8:1). Others similarly promoted the theory that Tashlich actually existed in modified forms in ancient times; for example, Philo (early first century) describes a prayer recited at the seashore on Hoshana Rabbah, another solemn day of judgment, and Tertullian (155-220) describes a similar ceremony that took place on Yom Kippur.
In medieval Germany and Poland, Jews would often gather at rivers or streams outside city walls on the afternoon of Rosh Hashana, and in North Africa, the Ottoman Empire, and other Sephardic regions, Tashlich was either less commonly practiced or took on distinct forms. Some communities performed the rite on the eve of Yom Kippur rather than on Rosh Hashana, while others included additional Selichot prayers or refrained from using bodies of water altogether. Among Jews in Syria, Iraq, and Iran, Tashlich was often merged with other pre-Yom Kippur customs; in these traditions, bread was not typically thrown, as doing so was viewed with suspicion and considered wasteful.
The Jews of Kurdistan have unique and fascinating customs for the Tashlich ritual, including jumping into water fully clothed and using water faucets when natural bodies of water are unavailable. In communities without a body of water nearby, they prepare a special pit or fountain in the synagogue courtyard for the ritual and, in other places, Jews climb to a high place from which they can see water.
In 18th-century Italy, some Jewish communities practiced Tashlich while standing on bridges overlooking a river; these elevated vantage points were was not only pragmatic, but bridges were also often seen as thresholds between worlds, thereby carrying symbolic meaning for the New Year. Moreover, communal bridges in Venice and other Italian cities became regular gathering spots for Tashlich, where Jews would cast their sins into the canals amid the bustle of the city.
In some German and French communities, Tashlich was performed not on Rosh Hashana afternoon but was delayed until the second day, or even until the Sunday between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, to avoid performing the ritual on the holy day itself. This adjustment allowed for greater participation and minimized Sabbath desecration.
Among Yemenite Jews, who lived in arid regions where running water was rare, the practice of Tashlich took on forms adapted to desert conditions. Thus, rather than casting breadcrumbs into a river, some communities would symbolically perform the ritual near wells or cisterns, or recite the Tashlich prayers near palm groves where water was known to flow underground. In certain cases, symbolic items like palm leaves were waved or shaken, echoing the Arba Minim Sukkot ritual and reflecting the deep interconnection of the High Holidays in Yemenite liturgical tradition.
Among the Mountain Jews of the eastern Caucasus, Tashlich was infused with folkloric and dramatic elements. According to ethnographic accounts, it was common for the community to perform Tashlich with ritual breadcrumbs and salt thrown into the river, often accompanied by short spoken curses against evil spirits or bad fortune. Children were taught to shout or chant these phrases while tossing the crumbs, reinforcing the belief that sins and ill luck could be expelled tangibly and vocally. In some communities, the ritual was performed communally and loudly, with song and laughter interwoven with penitence, illustrating the diversity in emotional tone that Tashlich could carry.
In Morocco and Tunisia, Tashlich often included practices meant to ward off the ayin hara (the “evil eye”). In some communities, bread was carefully prepared and even colored with saffron or turmeric before being cast into the sea. Children were sometimes tasked with throwing the bread, while adults recited prayers invoking divine mercy and protection against malicious spiritual forces. Some Jews in these regions incorporated Tashlich into a broader household purification ceremony, combining it with symbolic sweeping, washing of hands, and throwing out broken or “unclean” objects – all meant to rid the home of sin and impurity in preparation for the New Year.
Jews in Persia and Central Asia, including the Bukharan Jewish communities, often lived far from rivers or large bodies of water. Their solution was to conduct Tashlich near courtyard fountains, irrigation channels, or even small pools in public gardens. The ritual became a family-centered occasion, with children participating in the symbolic act of casting sins. Some Persian Jewish communities used leaves, pebbles, or even bits of cloth instead of breadcrumbs, associating each piece with a particular sin or misdeed to be abandoned. Often, this was followed by festive picnics in the gardens, blending solemnity and joy in a way that underscored the communal hope for renewal.
In chasidic thought, especially in dynasties such as Breslov and Belz, Tashlich became infused with mystical energy and the walk to the water was seen as a spiritual pilgrimage, with singing, dancing, and communal bonding. Some chasidic leaders even taught that speaking directly to the water could cleanse not only one’s soul, but also that of the entire community; the Baal Shem Tov himself is said to have led processions to nearby streams and encouraged meditation on divine compassion.
Rabbi Isaac Luria (aka, the Arizal, 1534-1572) was the first kabbalist to speak about Tashlich, and he and his fellow Kabbalists of Safed in the 16th century emphasized the cosmic dimensions of the Tashlich rite. He explains that there is a powerful allusion in the words m’tzulot yam (“depths of the sea”), noting that m’tzulot is an anagram of tzel mavet (“the shadow of death”) and that m’tzulot yam is another name for the Primordial Serpent and the forces of evil. In Lurianic Kabbalah, casting sins into the water mirrored shevirat ha-kelim (“the breaking of the vessels”) and the purification of divine sparks. The rite came to represent a microcosmic return to divine unity, a notion that became especially influential in later Jewish mystical thought.
Although it has become one of the most familiar and participatory rituals of the High Holiday season that is embedded in contemporary Jewish practice, the extralegal origins of Tashlich and the controversies it once generated have largely been forgotten. In fact, Tashlich was far from universally accepted in the centuries following its emergence in medieval Europe, with some of the most prominent rabbinic figures in Jewish history – including particularly the Vilna Gaon (see below) – expressing strong opposition to the rite, viewing it as theologically problematic, suspiciously superstitious, or an improper addition to established liturgical norms.
The Maharil’s authority carried weight in Ashkenaz, with his work becoming the basis for subsequent legal and liturgical codifications, and, while he does not elaborate extensively on the origins or theological underpinnings of the Tashlich custom, his inclusion of it as a legitimate Ashkenazi minhag marked a turning point. Nonetheless, Tashlich was still far from universally practiced at this stage, and it remained absent from many Jewish communities in Spain, North Africa, and the Near East.
While, over time, the ritual was included in a growing number of Ashkenazi machzorim where the verses from Micah were typically accompanied by Psalms and other biblical readings emphasizing divine mercy, repentance, and renewal, this process of standardization did not shield the practice from criticism; rather, it provoked significant resistance, especially among rabbanim with a more cautious or rationalistic orientation.
Perhaps the most formidable and influential opponent of the Tashlich ceremony was Rav Elijah ben Solomon Zalman (aka, the Vilna Gaon, aka the Gra, 1720-1797), a towering figure in the world of Torah scholarship, renowned for his asceticism, encyclopedic knowledge, and fierce opposition to what he saw as unfounded innovations or mystical excesses in Jewish ritual. According to his many students and biographers, he not only refrained from performing Tashlich himself, but actively discouraged its practice. His reasons included:
(1) Absence from Talmudic Sources. The Vilna Gaon objected to the performance of any ritual that lacked a clear basis in the Talmud or early halachic literature and, as discussed, since Tashlich was nowhere mentioned in the Mishna, Gemara, or by the Geonim, he considered it an unjustified addition to Jewish law and worship. He considered innovations without grounding in halachic precedent to be dangerous encroachments on the divine service.
(2) Superstition and Magical Thinking. The Vilna Gaon feared that the act of throwing bread or shaking out garments into the water might lead people to believe that sin could be transferred through mechanical or magical means. He maintained that this resembled pagan rites of transference or atonement, which violated the core Jewish idea that teshuvah must come from sincere internal change, not symbolic acts.
(3) Resemblance to Non-Jewish Practices. In some cases, the Vilna Gaon and his followers viewed Tashlich as potentially mimicking Christian or folk customs involving rivers and bodies of water. Jewish law has traditionally been wary of chukot hagoyim (“the ways of the Gentiles”) and the Gra believed that mimicking the form of foreign rites, even for different ends, posed a threat to the distinctiveness and sanctity of Jewish worship.
(4) Improper Behavior in the Ritual’s Performance. As the custom grew in popularity among the masses, Tashlich gatherings sometimes devolved into social outings more reminiscent of fairs and parties than solemn spiritual observances. Reports from the 17th and 18th centuries describe large crowds gossiping, laughing, and flirting along riverbanks after synagogue services, and the Vilna Gaon and other critics felt that such behavior was, at the very least, inappropriate, particularly on Rosh Hashanah, and undermined the day’s gravity.
The Vilna Gaon’s students continued his opposition, and communities influenced by his teachings – particularly the mitnagdim of Lithuania – either did not perform Tashlich or did so without many of the popular accretions like bread tossing or garment-shaking. However, notwithstanding the Gra’s prestige and influence, other rabbinic authorities defended the custom. For example, Rav Isaiah Horowitz (aka the Shelah HaKadosh, 1565-1630), author of the Shnei Luchot HaBrit, a foundational work of Kabbalistic ethics and law, enthusiastically endorsed Tashlich and emphasized its spiritual and mystical meaning. Drawing on Kabbalistic sources, he explained that the act of going to water on Rosh Hashanah aligned with the divine attribute of chesed (kindness) and invoked cosmic flows of mercy.
Similarly, Rav Moses Isserles (aka the Rema, 1530-1572), in his glosses to the Shulchan Aruch, acknowledged the custom of going to the water on Rosh Hashana and, treating it as a valid, though not obligatory, practice, he included the relevant references in his rulings without objection, signaling cautious acceptance. As he writes in his glosses to the Shulchan Aruch:
The deeps of the sea allude to the existence of a single Creator that created the world and that controls the world by, for example, not letting the seas flood the earth. Thus, we go to the sea and reflect upon that on Rosh Hashana, the anniversary of Creation. We reflect upon proof of the Creator’s creation and of His control, so as to repent of our sins to the Creator, and so he will figuratively “cast our sins into the depths of the sea” (citing Micah).
In any event, by the 15th century, Tashlich had become widespread across Ashkenazi communities in Central and Eastern Europe and, from there, it spread to Sephardic communities, sometimes with variation in timing and style.
In the 17th and 18th centuries, a wider divergence emerged between rabbinic authorities influenced by Kabbalah, particularly those of the Safed school following Rav Luria (the Ari), and those of a more rationalist, Talmud-focused tradition. For the former, Tashlich was imbued with metaphysical meaning: the flowing water represented sefirotic channels, and the fish symbolized divine awareness and fertility. The ritual, in this view, facilitated not merely symbolic cleansing, but the actual rectification of spiritual imbalance.
Public debates played out in responsa literature and community practice and, in some locales, rabbis attempted to regulate or modify the ritual rather than abolish it outright. For example, some prohibited the throwing of bread to avoid both bal tashchit (the prohibition against wastefulness) and confusion with offerings, while others, emphasizing that the core meaning of Tashlich was introspective and not performative, instructed their congregants to perform the rite quietly and with proper decorum.
The 19th century saw intensified halachic discussions about Tashlich, especially as the rise of chasidism brought new mystical enthusiasm to bear on traditional practices. Chasidic leaders, such as Rav Nachman of Breslov, actively encouraged Tashlich and integrated it into broader frameworks of hitbodedut (“personal meditation”), spiritual journeying, and divine connection. In contrast, many in the Lithuanian yeshiva world, following the Gra, continued to refrain from performing it and, in communities such as Volozhin and Slabodka, Tashlich was seen as superfluous or potentially misleading. Yet even in these communities, compromise was sometimes reached where the verses of Tashlich were recited in synagogue without a procession to water, or the ritual was performed on a private basis, stripped of any popular pageantry.
By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Tashlich had become an increasingly accepted feature of Jewish life, particularly in Eastern European and American communities. Printed machzorim routinely included the rite, and even those rabbinic leaders who had personal reservations ceased publicly opposing it, recognizing its spiritual and communal appeal. By the mid-20th century, Tashlich was almost universally performed across the world and by virtually all strains of Judaism: Orthodox congregations embraced it in public parks and riversides; and in Israel, the rite became part of the broader landscape of Rosh Hashana observance.
By the early modern period, the rite was enriched by Kabbalistic and chasidic elements, which deepened its mystical symbolism and communal meaning. Today, the opposition of the Vilna Gaon is generally acknowledged as part of a now largely settled historical debate and, while his concerns are respected, his rulings on this issue have not been widely followed. In many ways, the story of Tashlich’s gradual acceptance arguably reflects a broader truth in Jewish life: that the tension between halachic rigor, mystical yearning, and communal practice often produces rich, multifaceted traditions, sometimes in the face of initial resistance.
As Jews emigrated from Europe to the United States in the 19th and 20th centuries, they brought the Tashlich custom with them. However, adapting this ancient rite to urban American life, particularly in a dense metropolis like New York City, required ingenuity and resilience.
In the early waves of Jewish immigration from Eastern Europe (1880-1924), Tashlich was often conducted along the banks of the East River, Hudson River, and in city parks where accessible water could be found. Despite being largely a grassroots ritual, Tashlich drew large crowds on the Lower East Side, where Jews would gather at Grand Street Pier, Corlears Hook Park, and Battery Park, reciting prayers in Yiddish and Hebrew, often in boisterous celebration. There are photographs from the early 20th century depicting thousands of Jews gathered along the water’s edge on Rosh Hashanah afternoon, some in traditional chasidic dress, others in American suits, hurling breadcrumbs into the river as tugboats sailed past.
As Tashlich grew in visibility and complaints emerged about sanitation and the presence of bread attracting rats and birds, city authorities began to regulate it. In the 1950s and 1960s, some rabbanim began to encourage their congregants to refrain from throwing actual bread, instead emphasizing the symbolic nature of the act. Nevertheless, Tashlich remained a central part of urban Jewish identity as Jews from all denominations adopted the practice: Central Synagogue held Tashlich in Central Park’s Harlem Meer; Congregation B’nai Jeshurun marched to the Hudson River Greenway; and Modern Orthodox communities in Brooklyn and Queens walked to local inlets and creeks, reciting the ancient prayers with children in strollers and tallit-wrapped elders. Chabad continues to sponsor massive Tashlich events attended by thousands of Jews at the Brooklyn Promenade, with shofar blowers and chasidic niggunim.
Ignacy Aleksander Gierymski (1850-1901) was a Jewish Polish painter who was both a representative of Realism as well as an important precursor of Impressionism in Russia whose work is known for its attention to detail and its ability to convey the atmosphere of the scene. His painting, Tashlich on the Banks of the Vistula River, Warsaw, also known as Hasidic Jews Performing Tashlich on Rosh Hashanah, depicts a group of chasidic Jews gathered by the Vistula River performing the Tashlich ceremony. His other specifically Jewish works include Jewish Women Selling Lemons (1881) and Jewess with Oranges (1881).
Wishing all a shana tova u’metukah!