Elul 16, 5778

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker

Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 13:15) explains that there are seventy faces to the Torah, meaning that there are dozens of legitimate ways to interpret each and every verse. Just because these teachings differ or even contradict one another does not mean that they aren’t valid teachings. Just as there are multiple interpretations of scripture, Rabbi Meir offers that in the same way our voices and appearance might be different, people are going to have differences of opinion (Sanhedrin 38a). It’s natural.

It makes sense then that the Talmud (Avodah Zara 19a) teaches, “One who studies Torah from only one teacher will never see a sign of blessing.” The understanding is that if we are only willing to learn from one perspective or receive our news from one perspective and we ignore or dismiss or discredit anything else, then we are the ones who are missing out. When modern business leaders and leadership gurus repeatedly stress that conflict can be a good thing and bad decisions come when we only seriously consider one opinion, it’s not just our ancient rabbis who feel that groupthink will not lead to blessing.

As we reflect on our mistakes and seek to do better for ourselves and our families and our communities, this is one where we all can say, “Al Cheit Shechatanu – for the sin we committed.” Let’s own this one and strive to become wiser this next year, for Ben Zoma teaches, “Who is wise? One who learns from all people” (Pirkei Avot 4:1).

Elul 15, 5778

Rabbi Alan E. Litwak

Who Was I?  Who Am I? Who Will I Become?

Every day, I change. I shift, sometimes even lurch, towards my future self.
Not just me, but you, the company down the street, our government, and our society.
Ask yourself:
Am I more compassionate than than I was five years ago? More tolerant? More open to new ideas?
Have I become more inflexible? prejudiced? fearful?
Grouchy, angry, and bitter is not where you begin. It is a place you end up.
Ask yourself:
Can I intentionally choose a more trusting, hopeful, and encouraging path? Can I be more open to new possibilities and positive change?
Every day, though each choice we make, we create a society, a company, a our individual selves.
We do not become grouchy, angry, and bitter all at once. We do it in tiny daily increments.
We are always becoming, and we can always become something else, if we care enough to make that choice.
Elul is the time to begin making tiny, daily, incremental steps in a different direction.

Elul 12, 5778

Rabbi David N. Young

Titles are important. When we call someone “doctor” we are implying a trust that they know how to take care of our medical needs. When we call someone “professor” or “rabbi,” we are showing respect that they have knowledge in their field. I teach all of our nigh-13-year-olds that “Bat Mitzvah” or “Bar Mitzvah” is a title that they need to prove they deserve.

For the last 14 years I have been most proud of a title that I have tried to prove I deserve every day. That is the title, “Dad.” When our oldest was born I thought he was an ugly, screaming, poop machine, and the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. I was so in love.

I’m not teaching you any Torah you don’t know when I write that we will do anything for children. They make us angry, they make us laugh, and they provide Facebook fodder for years. They bring us to heights of pride we never knew were possible, and warm our hearts just by being asleep. We love them more than anything, even when they drive us crazy.

On Rosh Hashanah we read the creation narrative from the Torah. We reflect on how God may have created the world, saving humans for last, and creating us in the divine image. We call God, “Avinu,” (our Parent), and “Av Harachamim” (Womb-bearing Father). The High Holy Days are rife with parental imagery.

For those of us who are parents, and those of us who have parents, this imagery serves as a reminder of the love God has for us. Even when we drive God crazy.

Elul 11, 5778

Rabbi Nico Socolovsky

Shevarim, we hear... We Are!

The Kotzker Rebbe said that there is nothing more whole than a broken heart!

We live under the idea that we should try to ‘keep it together’. We are constantly preoccupied with trying to show our strengths and trying to hide our weaknesses.

However, the idea of keeping it together might be wrong sometimes.

Grief, pain, frustration, disappointment, anger, embarrassment, etc. They all have an important function in our lives.

We should give recognition to our broken pieces…. There should be a place in which we don’t fight our vulnerability but embrace it. There should be an ark in which with love and compassion we can carry the broken parts of our beings.

Denying them won’t make them disappear, it will just make them heavier, almost unbearable.

During this time of the year, we try to work with our brokenness. In fact, the name for one of the calls of the Shofar is “Shevarim” broken pieces. The Talmud also calls it גניחות groans, screams of pain and grief. The Shofar is calling and inviting through its shevarim to awaken our shevarim.

There is nothing more whole than a broken heart!

Embracing our brokenness - or shevarim - is what gives us the chance to create a whole.

Elul 10, 5778

Rabbi Heidi Cohen

Take Me to the Mountains

There is a chasidic story of a child of a certain rabbi who used to wander in the woods. His father allowed him to wander, but over time the father became worried as the woods were dangerous. The father went to the child and said, “I noticed that you like to walk in the woods each day, why do you go there?” The child replied, “I go there to find God.” The father agreed that this was a good thing but said, “that’s wonderful that you are searching for God, but, my child, don’t you know that God is the same everywhere?” The child replied, “Yes, but I’m not.”

I recently visited the California Sierra mountains and found not only God, but I found me again. I am Heidi of the mountains for I grew up in the Colorado mountains. And while I love living in Southern California, there is always a part of me that longs for the mountains. For a couple of days, I escaped into the majesty and complexity of the Sierras. I was in awe of the peaks as they reached into the clouds and the vast colors as shadows and shapes danced on the path. The sounds of the birds above and the crunching of leaves and soil below my feet. The sweet smells of grass and flowers. Within moments the scene changed as a thunderstorm moved into the valley and I was soaked by the warm rain.

It was in this space that God and I had an opportunity to reconnect. Like the child in the story, I know that God is the same everywhere, but I am not. It is these moments of being in the mountains, out in nature, even just out for a run, where I reconnect with God. Where I allow myself to turn off the noise of the world and tune in to me and the music God creates.

Find your mountains, find your space with God, find your time with you. Pause, listen, see, and breathe.

Elul 9, 5778

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker

#InspiredToLive

In the Talmud (Shabbat 153a), Rabbi Eliezer instructs his disciples to “do t’shuvah (repentance) one day before your death.” When his students protest that they can’t know when they are going to die, Rabbi Eliezer responds that it’s all the more reason to do it today. The idea of doing t’shuvah means to turn in the right direction – turning towards God or refocusing on our mission in life.

Numerous Elul teachings help us to begin thinking about our mortality, for once Rosh Hashanah arrives, the message is not subtle. “Who shall live and who shall die?” comes with the understanding that none of us will live forever. Our tradition understands this, which is why many of the prayers and rituals surrounding the Days of Awe lead us to important questions: If I die in the near future, will my soul and my conscience be clear? Am I living my values? Am I proud of me?

Elul and the Days of Awe are designed to shake us out of what’s normal and bring a sense of urgency to the act of living – at least for a little while. While we can’t change the past, may need to recognize our mistakes, heal relationships, reconnect with family or our tradition, or simply appreciate each new day. We’re only given so many new days. By acknowledging the reality of death, we are inspired to live.

Elul 8, 5778

Rabbi Benjamin Sharff

There are the recent discoveries that it takes 30 days to develop a new habit and 10,000 hours to master a new skill. Whether or not the science backs these claims up is still be studied. But what is clear is that to dedicate oneself to improvement be it of the self, the family, the community or the world demands of us the greatest gift we can give, the gift of our time. The reason for this is because, unlike God, our time is limited. However rather than look at time as a limited resource, perhaps we can follow a more kabbalistic approach and look at time like Shabbat. Shabbat is a point in time, but also a point without time. Shabbat is limited and it is limitless, which is why our tradition asks of us to commit to Shabbat: to create a point in time where there is no time. And yet, conversely, we have many time-bound mitzvot because if we do not set a time to do certain deeds, we will not do them. It is part of Judaism’s understanding of human nature. So, between the no-time of Shabbat and the time-bound nature of ritual observance, perhaps we can begin to find our answer. For example, if we do not make time for Shabbat, Shabbat will no longer exist as a pause in time. Or to think about it another way, if we do not make or take the time for ourselves, for our families, for our communities and for the world, we will find that we have no time for any of it. This season of Elul is to remind us of the urgency of time, and that there is no better time than right now.