Congregation Beth El

Elul 29/September 11
Rabbi David Young

25 years ago today, I was walking through the Jerusalem campus of Hebrew Union College when I got a call from my mother. She told me of a terrible accident in New York at the World Trade Center as I was walking to class. A few minutes into the call she said, “Oh my God, another plane just hit the other tower. This is no accident.” With those words, “this is no accident,” my world view changed.

Being 5000 miles away from home created a feeling of isolation for my wife Natalie and me as well as for a lot of our classmates. We had gotten used to experiencing terror with an unspoken understanding that we would eventually leave and return to the US where it was safe. Suddenly we felt like we had nobody to turn to. We felt so alone.

But we did find people. We found each other. Our class of cantorial, rabbinical, and education students became incredibly close as we huddled in one of two apartments for two and a half days. We watched the news, we watched mindless comedies, we held each other, and we prayed.

As we come to the 25th anniversary of that horrible time in American history, may we find our people, huddle together, hold each other, and move forward as a strong, committed community celebrating a beautiful new year. May 5787 be a year of working toward peace and working positively with those who others try to make our enemy.

Elul 28/September 10
Rabbi Alan Litwak - Perfect Enough

As Elul begins, many of us quietly take inventory of our lives. We replay conversations we wish had gone differently. We think about decisions we would change if only we could. We imagine a version of ourselves that is somehow more patient, more generous, more faithful—more perfect.

But perfection has never been Judaism's goal.

The moment that has already passed is beyond our reach. We cannot rewrite yesterday's words or relive yesterday's choices. They are what they are.

What we can do is ask whether we did the best we could with the person we were, the knowledge we possessed, and the circumstances we faced. That is not an excuse for our failures. It is simply an honest beginning.

Elul invites us to look backward, not to become trapped by regret, but to understand how we arrived where we are today. If our circumstances helped shape this moment, then today's choices will shape tomorrow's.

Teshuvah begins with accepting the past without surrendering to it. We cannot make yesterday perfect. But we can make tomorrow more compassionate, more courageous, and more worthy of the people we hope to become.

That may be the closest thing to perfection Judaism ever asks of us: not flawlessness, but the willingness to begin again.

Elul 27/September 9
Rabbi Laurence Malinger

Two and a half years ago, I went back to school to obtain my Certificate of Proficiency in Mortuary Science, as a way to enhance my rabbinate. This Elul arrives unlike any I have experienced before. Having completed both National Board Examinations in Mortuary Science and the State Jurisprudence examination, I find myself reflecting not only on professional achievement but on the deeper meaning of the work I am preparing to undertake.

Mortuary science has reinforced that every life deserves dignity, compassion, and reverence in its final chapter. Each person leaves behind a story, relationships, and a legacy worthy of honor. Elul invites a similar practice, not caring for the deceased, but engaging in cheshbon hanefesh, an honest accounting of the living soul.

As I prepare for these Days of Awe, I hear different questions than those posed on any examination. Rather than asking whether I have mastered knowledge or passed a test, this sacred season asks: Have I lived with integrity? Have I honored the Divine image in others? Have I sought forgiveness, extended compassion, and repaired what I could? Rabbi Eliezer teaches in Pirkei Avot (2:10), "Repent one day before your death." Since none of us knows when that day will come, the invitation is to live each day with intention, gratitude, and reconciliation. My career and studies have made me acutely aware of life's fragility, while Elul reminds me that such awareness is not meant to inspire fear but purpose.

May this season prepare not only my hands for a vocation of sacred service, but also my heart for a new year marked by humility, kindness, renewal, and a legacy that is shaped every day I am blessed to live.

Elul 26/September 8
Rabbi Glenn Ettman - Teshuvah as Answer

We've been taught that teshuvah means "return." And it does. But that's only half the story.

In Hebrew, teshuvah also means "answer." Same word, same root. Israelis drop it into conversation all the time — Mah ha'teshuvah? "What's the answer?" It's not a liturgical phrase. It's just how people talk.

That changes what we're doing on these Days.

"Return" implies a fixed point behind you; the person you used to be, before you drifted. Somewhere back there is a truer self and teshuvah just means finding your way to it.

"Answer" implies something in front of you. A question still open. Still waiting. And here's the part that matters: you don't know what the answer is until you give it.

You are not retrieving an old self. You are being asked something you haven't answered yet.

God has asked something of us. Our conscience has asked something of us. The person we are capable of becoming has asked something of us. And no one else can give the response.

That is teshuvah. Not nostalgia for who we once were, but responsibility for who we are becoming.

The High Holy Days are not an invitation to recover an earlier self. They are an invitation to offer an answer that has never existed before.

The question has already been asked.

Now comes the only part that belongs to us.

Our teshuvah.

Elul 25/September 7
Rabbi Jeremy Schneider

One of the most powerful moments of my recent trip to Ethiopia to visit the remaining Beta Israel Jews took place during morning prayers.

As the community gathered, many held photographs. Not prayer books. Not siddurim. Photographs.

Pictures of children, parents, siblings, and grandchildren already living in Israel. Some had been separated from their loved ones for years. Others for decades. As they prayed, they held those photographs close, asking God for the chance to be reunited.

It struck me that this is what Elul feels like.

Elul is often described as the month when "the King is in the field"—a time when God draws near and we are invited to draw near in return. At its heart, Elul is about closing distances. Distances between ourselves and God. Between ourselves and those we love. Between the people we are and the people we hope to become.

Watching Ethiopian Jews pray over photographs of family members they long to embrace, I realized that all of us carry such images in our hearts. Perhaps not literal photographs, but relationships that need healing, conversations that need to happen, dreams that have been deferred, and parts of ourselves we have left behind.

Elul asks us to hold those images before us with honesty and hope.

And then, like our brothers and sisters in Ethiopia, to pray, work, and walk toward reunion.

May this Elul be the month when we take one step toward the people, the purpose, and the Presence we have been missing.

Elul 24/September 6
Rabbi Bradley Levenberg

There is a remarkably powerful difference between two ideas, represented by two words, that are often explored in Elul. Regret, the first idea, is one of the most accessible emotions we have. It arrives quickly, it sounds sincere, and, for a moment, it can even feel like we’ve tapped into something meaningful. But regret, on its own, doesn’t ask very much of us. It allows us to acknowledge a misstep without requiring that anything actually change.

Responsibility, the other idea, is different. It has heft, because it doesn’t just ask how we feel about something; it asks what we are willing to do to address it. Responsibility might mean a conversation we’ve been avoiding, an apology that names more than it softens, or (and?) a commitment to behave differently the next time we’re in a similar moment.

Elul draws a clear line between regret and responsibility. It honors the instinct to reflect, for sure, but it doesn’t let us stop there. These holy days push us, gently but firmly, toward action.

Because in the end, growth and change and the return that we desire as expressed through the High Holy Day liturgy isn’t measured by what we notice. It’s measured by what we’re willing to do about it.

Elul 23/September 5
Rabbi Benjamin A. Sharff

One of my greatest struggles during this season is not seeking forgiveness from those whom I have hurt, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Rather, I find the hardest path to forgiveness is often towards myself. Meaning, forgiving myself for the mistakes I have made that have hurt myself psychologically, emotionally, or physically.

These are the mistakes of procrastination, self-indulgence, self-pity, despair, and denying myself the ability to be present, especially for those I most love and want to be there for. One can say this is the sacred work not just of a spiritual journey but also of therapy. It requires time of self-examination and self-reflection that often is the most difficult of journeys.

I wonder why it is so easy to recognize when we hurt others, but so hard to see when we hurt ourselves. I think part of it is because we can often see the impact. Pain in another person’s eyes is much easier to recognize than perhaps the pain in our own eyes. Also, we live with ourselves all of the time. Therefore, we can often excuse the actions we take towards ourselves, justifying them as simply part of how we navigate the day.

Lest we forget, true teshuvah, is not just turning or returning towards God and holiness, but at its core, it is also about turning towards our best selves. To do this, we have to be willing to forgive ourselves, so that we can truly find new pathways to become the people we aspire to be.

Elul 22/September 4
Rabbi Deana Sussman Berezin

Our journey towards the High Holy Days begins long before Rosh Hashanah. It actually begins at Tisha B’Av. And with it comes the invitation to recognize the key places in our lives that need realignment, a chance to turn towards something new. The work of teshuvah begins now.

Rabbi Alan Lew, z”l, taught that we begin by facing what is broken rather than turning away from it. Only when we sit amidst our own crumbling walls, amidst our own grief, can we become conscious of how to move forward in a new way.

Over the course of a year, we harm and we experience harm. We are sometimes unkind. We wound people we care about. We wound ourselves. We do not walk away from those experiences unchanged. And so, the question is not Have I been changed? Rather, we ask, How have I been changed?

Elul invites us to sit honestly with that question. Where do we bear the imprints of heartache upon souls? Have our experiences made us more guarded or more compassionate? More fearful or more courageous? More withdrawn from community or more willing to reach out?

Our experiences shape who we are. Heartbreak leaves its mark. But through the work of teshuvah, we still have a voice in who we become.

May this time of reflection and renewal give us the courage to see what is broken, the wisdom to learn from it, and the strength to realign ourselves as we walk a new path.

Elul 5786: Holy Transitions A Playlist designed to inspire and uplift as we transition from one year to the next. May these songs bring peace, hope, inspiration and comfort.