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I'm not Jewish. I'm not Christian, or any Earth religion, or any Gallifreyan religion, not that Gallifrey has religion any more, not officially anyway. It's been a long, long time since the age of the Pythians. I'm a Time Lord but that doesn't mean I want (or would tolerate) anyone worshiping me. I'd laugh too hard, probably injure myself. At the same time it is difficult, under the circumstances, to worship other lords. Yes, that includes Rassilon (about whom I have mixed feelings anyway).
There are some good ideas buried -- sometimes deeply, sometimes closer to the surface -- in religions. I suppose if I ever organized my thoughts properly I could even create one. That would make it an organized religion, wouldn't it? No, not really. But there are some things I believe in. I'll write them all down some day.
Meanwhile, I know that right now, on Earth, and anywhere else humans have found themselves, it is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and for some reason I always feel compelled to wish my Jewish friends l'Shana Tovah Umetukah, a sweet and good new year. Why is that, you wonder? Why specifically that? Well, not only that, but the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, considered by Jews to be the High Holy Days. They are days of reflection; what's wrong with that? We all need that. The fact that it's official for Jews does not prevent me from being especially reflective. Sometimes just a special mark on a calendar can be a good reminder to do something that could be done at any time, for any length of time. It doesn't have to be a mark connected with a religion, or a political party, or a sport, but if it is so connected, we have a better chance of noticing and acknowledging it, right? So for ten days, if I am able, if I am not busy saving a planet or an individual, or getting myself (or being got, by someone else) in or out of hot water, I try to think about why I even exist, and what I may have done to injure others, so that I may ask forgiveness, whether or not it is (or can be) granted, and what others may have done to injure me, so that I may forgive them, whether or not they ask my forgiveness.
Sometimes they can't ask for my forgiveness, for they are gone. It would be downright cheeky of me to travel back in time just to see if they would. Sometimes it is I who cannot ask for forgiveness, for the same reason. Still, in my mind, I ask. Susan. Adric. Tegan.
It's more than a ritual, and less, too, since sometimes I am a little early, or a little late, or I lose focus, but more in that I am not completing a... a... well, a commandment of some kind. I'm doing it because it is the right thing to do. No, that's inaccurate. I'm doing it because it is a necessary thing to do.
So I'm glad it's on someone's calendar. It helps.
It also helps that there is ritual language for this annual process. Ritual language can be dangerous; we should always feel deeply what we say, especially about such things, but it can also be a mantra, which aids in meditation and in this case can aid in... well, a different kind of meditation. I call it reflection. One needn't reach a different plane of consciousness to think about how one can become a better person.
Therefore it is not by rote, and not because someone said I must, or to prove to anyone, including myself, that I am a good person (which I hope I am) or an obedient person (which I know I am not), but because I mean it with both of my hearts, that I wish all of you, including but not limited to the zero point two percent of the universe's population that happens to be Jewish, a sweet and good new year, a sweet and good life, and that you may be inscribed and sealed in the book of life for yet another year.