This Week: Reflect and Return
As the Jewish year comes to a close, it's time for some deep thinking.
Dear fam,
Today was the fifteenth day of the month of Elul. Actually, as I sit here and write these words, it’s technically already the sixteenth — Jewish days turn at sundown, once three stars are visible in the sky, not at midnight as Western days do. In any case, it’s the middle of the month. In just over two weeks, we will welcome the month of Tishrei and, with it, the new Jewish year.
Elul itself carries a lot of symbolism. The name Elul comes from an ancient Acadian word, ululu, that meant something like harvest and was adopted during the Babylonian exile (somewhere between 597-538 BCE) by Jews who were influenced by the Babylonian calendar.
But the month is usually not associated with agriculture. It’s associated with reflection. Traditionally, it’s believed that on the first day of the month of Elul, Moses went up to Mount Sinai for the final time to receive the word of G-d. He would descend on the tenth day of Tishrei, the day we now observe as Yom Kippur, the day of atonement.
The month of Elul is supposed to be a time to consider the past year. Not in a harsh, punitive way (“what have I done wrong?”), but in a thoughtful, curious way (“what have or haven’t I done?”) so that we can come to Yom Kippur as prepared for judgment as possible.
This is also the month during which it’s common to rise before the sun to say the forgiveness prayers, known as S’lichot. The melodies of these prayers are so, so gorgeous. They change from culture to culture — various Ashkenazi traditions have different melodies than various Sephardi traditions — but they’re all really beautiful and meditative.
Elul is also the time for asking for forgiveness from those you have wronged. According to Jewish law, the wrongdoer must ask for forgiveness sincerely three times. The one who has been wronged has three opportunities to forgive. If they can’t do so, for whatever reason, the wrongdoer will still be absolved of their sin as long as they’ve asked to be forgiven three times. Sincerely.
I have a lot of thoughts about all this. Naturally.
First, I want to be clear that I have not, in fact, been rising before the sun to meditate on the past year. I have, likewise, not spent hours and hours during the day lost in thought about the past year, coming to deep conclusions about who I am and what I’ve done right and wrong.
The end of August is crunch time for all parents — summer camp is done, school is upon us but hasn’t started, we still have jobs, there’s a lot of pressure to get everything you swore you’d do this summer done already. Children are hot and bored and wired and need entertainment. It’s a time.
I always try to spend a little time during Elul preparing myself spiritually for Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Heck, pre-children I used to spend the month of Elul reading Yeshayahu Leibowitz’ writings — for inspiration. Honestly, though, this year has been harder.
A lot about this year has been harder.
My wife keeps telling me that I say that every year, and it can’t be that every year is harder, but I think I’m right about this specific year. I mean, sheesh. We had a second baby this year. We learned that our older kid is neurodivergent. We bought a damn house and moved into it with two little ones. Big Kid abruptly switched schools due to his neurodivergence — one week after the new baby was born. My job stopped existing mid-year. And more stuff I won’t go into.
As a kid, did you ever try to see who could tread water longer and end up swallowing a bunch of chlorine? That’s how I’ve felt all year. Like I’m treading water while some asshole older kid is dunking me underwater.
But today and yesterday, I suddenly became aware that Tishrei is about to start. I missed half of Elul. And I really love the act of reflection. It’s such a great way to get ready for the second half of the season — teshuvah, or returning.
Teshuvah is a core part of atonement. The word literally means returning: To G-d, to yourself, to your values, to how and who you aspire to be. You can’t do teshuvah without kavana (intention) or reflection. And you can’t reflect on the year and think about just the shitty things, although that’s important, too.
Here are two thoughts I’ve been turning over and over in my mind today.
First, there has been so much simple joy this year amid the chaos. Sometimes the chaos has been the joy. Going on an adventure on the NYC subway without any plan, just because Big Kid loves trains. Having a water fight in the backyard until we’re all drenched and wheezing with laughter. Planting a pineapple tree that never grew, because why not? Big Kid grew tomatoes in the backyard and learned to drum this year. Baby became a whole damn person, with attitudes and opinions and the best laugh ever. I survived months of little-to-no employment and ended up doing some of my best writing yet this year. My wife released some gorgeous new music and faced down her fears to find new outlets for her creativity. We made friends. We kept friends. We read new books and heard new music. We soaked in sunny days and jumped in rain puddles.
Second, I am wondering what happens when the forgiveness system breaks down. We all mess up, more and less. We, hopefully, ask to be forgiveness or seek some kind of restitution. But what happens when your request is not reciprocated? Or if the person you need to forgive is yourself, and you can’t do it? Or if the person you need to forgive harmed you so much you can’t bring yourself to forgive them? All of these are cases in which the book is not closed. The wound remains open. How can we find resolution and begin a new year with these ragged, open edges?
There are folks I’ve tried to apologize to each year during the month of Elul, but who never respond. And I have a lot I’m angry at myself for that I can’t forgive. And there are folks who have harmed me in ways I have trouble releasing.
Is it a matter of accepting that this is what it is? Is there a way of healing? Is it even about healing, or just about letting go?
I don’t know.
For the last few years, my wife and I have led High Holiday services at Temple Sholom of Greenwich Connecticut with our incredible friends Lihi Haruvi and Jacob Means. Which means that each year I have the honor of reciting the Hineni prayer. My absolute favorite moment of the services.
I could write a whole long essay about Hineni and what it means to me (should I? let me know in the comments), but I’ll say just two things about it now.
First, the title of the prayer means “here I am,” which I believe is perfect. To me, it means both “this is where I am at this moment in my journey,” and “here I stand as I am not pretending to be anyone other than who I am.”
Second, in the second paragraph of the prayer is the very perfect and short sentence: אהיה אשר אהיה (Eheyeh asher eheyeh), meaning “I will be what I will be.” There’s something compelling to me about a prayer that’s in future tense. I will be what I will be. How do you know what will be? The only way of knowing is by yielding to the truth of your essence. I don’t know what I will become, but I know it will be true to the core of who I am, who I was born to be. I know I will be striving each day to be as honest as I can, to own my mistakes and missteps, to be as transparent about the truth of my being. To show up in the world each day and try again, even if you messed it up the day before.
I wish for you all a week of accessing your truth and holding it close.
Shabbat shalom,
Mikhal
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