f memory serves, I have written numerous columns on the importance of Elul as a period of preparation for the Yamim Noraim. Unfortunately, many of those columns have come late in the day and borne titles like "Where Has Elul Gone?" — a reflection of the fact that their author too does not always awaken with the first blasts of the shofar.
So, this year, I'd like to get my Elul column out earlier, albeit still not early enough. For Elul is not just a period of time during which we have the opportunity to take advantage of the fact that Hashem has drawn close to us. Rather, it is an entire 40-day period that corresponds to Moshe Rabbeinu's third 40-day period on Har Sinai: It begins on Rosh Chodesh Elul and culminates on Yom Kippur.
Indeed, the Tur starts his treatment of the laws of Rosh Hashanah by citing Pirkei d'Rabi Eliezer: "On Rosh Chodesh Elul, HaKadosh Baruch Hu said to Moshe Rabbeinu, 'Go up to Me to the mountain,' in order to receive the second set of tablets. 'And the sound of the shofar was sounded in the encampment' so that the people would not err again in following after avodah zarah." For that reason, every year we sound the shofar from the first day of Elul.
There was a big difference, however, between Moshe Rabbeinu's first ascent of the mountain to receive the first set of Luchos, and the second time he went up. This second time, Moshe Rabbeinu was instructed to "fashion for yourself two tablets of stone" and "to make for yourself a box of wood" (Devarim 10:1). The first time, HaKadosh Baruch Hu Himself provided the Luchos and the Aron in which they would be housed. The second time Moshe Rabbeinu was told do so himself.
The difference, then, is the degree to which Moshe Rabbeinu is transformed into an active participant in the receipt of the Luchos. That involvement, Rabbi Moshe Hauer a"h taught, signifies the unique character of Elul. We too must become actively involved in our own teshuvah process. In his words, we must move from the "passenger seat to the driver's seat," and really take charge of our own lives.
For that reason, Rabi Eliezer, who holds that the world was created in Tishrei and will be redeemed in Tishrei, argues that the redemption process can only culminate with the teshuvah of the Jewish People. We must be active participants in order to bring about the Geulah.
The Vilna Gaon's statement that the Clouds of Glory, of which the succah reminds us, only returned to the Jewish People in the desert on the 15th of Tishrei, when construction began on the Mishkan, similarly hints to the necessity of our active involvement in the teshuvah process. Only with the active involvement of the entire Jewish People, whether in the form of their contributions or their actual work, did Hashem's final reconciliation with us after the Sin of the Golden Calf come about.
The essence of teshuvah is the refusal to continue going with the flow and the determination to take charge of our lives through a process of rigorous self-examination and the acceptance of small constant acts upon ourselves as a means of changing our bad habits.
Many years ago, a former yeshivah student, writing in Ha'aretz of all places, described the process: "Repentance in Elul does not consist of world-changing explosions, but of small decisions — to refrain from gossip, to count to ten before speaking, to pray better, to help a friend a little more." The key is to break free of routine, of the tendency to speak and act automatically, which is the great enemy of all spiritual growth.
Last year, my friend Ari Wasserman hosted a Headlines program on successful kabbalos. And lo and behold, one of the examples has actually remained in force for nearly an entire year, though, admittedly, it has required more reinforcement as the year has gone on: Don't move while reciting asher yatzar on the way to one's next destination. Rather, really focus on what one is saying rather on what one hopes to do next.
One such kabbalah, which I'm confident would make a huge difference if I could implement it, would be to not to look at the computer at all in the morning before davening. But I wonder if that might not be a step too far and require being broken down into smaller parts. (What, for instance, is the din if one arises early in the morning before alos hashachar?)
THE TENDENCY DURING ELUL is to be hard on ourselves, though that may mean no more than being honest with ourselves. But depression can be the greatest barrier to change, as it takes away our energy and makes it easier to just go with the flow. So, I'd like to also focus on something the Torah community is doing well.
When I first entered Ohr Somayach, nearly 50 years ago, one of the concepts that most attracted me was that of "working on oneself" to become a better person. Where I came from, if one spoke of "working on oneself," it was almost certainly in the form of strengthening one's abdominal muscles or developing one's pectoral muscles at the gym. As far as middos were concerned, the general assumption was that negative traits, such as a quick temper, were as immutable as hair color: They might be artificially covered up for a period of time, but could never be fully eradicated.
But that is not the world in which I now live. One of my nephews serves as my eyes and ears into the world of avreichim, and, in recent years, he has provided me with many insights that don't make the media, even the Torah world's own media. Several years ago, for instance, he told me about the growing popularity of courses on marriage among avreichim.
I was impressed to hear that avreichim, who, as a rule, have little spare cash and even less time, were expending both time and money to become better husbands and fathers because these are their highest priorities. And they are succeeding.
When I observe my six married sons, I am at once delighted and ashamed to admit that each of them is a better husband and father than I was at their age. They take on a much larger share of the household chores — shopping, cleaning, home repairs — and are hyperattentive parents in terms of taking their children on countless outings during Chol Hamoed, learning with their sons, etc.
And what I have seen in my own sons typifies what I observe in shul in terms of the desire of both young boys and older teenagers to be there with their fathers and the closeness that is evident in their body language. Of course, I know that I'm only viewing those who show up, but they definitely seem to be the majority.
Recently, my nephew, who is himself a genuine neches (asset) to Klal Yisrael in terms of his own Torah learning, told me about the growing popularity of chareidi workshops that focus on gaining insights into one's own inner world in order to change what needs fixing. He has himself been involved in one such group, first as a participant and subsequently as a (supervised) trainer of others. And he tells me he was surprised to find in his group several well-known talmidei chachamim.
It is often said that the mussar movement no longer exists. But that conclusion seems to be premature. The popularity of the groups that I have described only sketchily demonstrate that the goal of the mussar movement, of character development and gaining self-control, continues to inspire and drive many lomdei Torah.
May we all use this Elul to continue to take the driver's seat in our own lives.
Who Are the 33%?
It is probably safe to say that few Mishpacha readers know a Jew who voted for Zohran Mamdani or can understand why any Jew would. That makes a recent column by Jerusalem Post movie critic Hannah Brown, who grew up on New York City's Upper West Side and who maintains contact with many of her old friends, such an important contribution.
Her old Jewish friends, the ones with whom she grew up and went to school, almost all voted for Mamdani. His failure on October 8 to mention Hamas or its savagery, while calling for "an end to the occupation and dismantling apartheid," did not trouble them. They write it off as just a subset of his sympathy for the underdog.
That Mamdani's chic artist-influencer wife "liked" a lot of posts celebrating the murder and violation of thousands of Jews is, for them, no big deal. No one's perfect.
But what upsets Brown most is how few of her friends seem to recall what she went through on October 7 or the experience of her autistic son, Danny, who lives in a treatment facility not far from the Gaza border, in an area hit hard by missile attacks on October 7.
What Brown and her old Jewish friends had in common was how thoroughly secularized they were. Only a few even had an American-style bar or bat mitzvah. For none of them was "Judaism" an important part of their lives.
She denies that they are "self-hating" Jews. For them being Jewish is still something "cool." After all, when they were growing up, so much of American culture was Jewish: New York City mayors such as Abe Beame and Ed Koch; movie directors like Woody Allen and Mel Brooks; movie stars like Barbra Streisand, Elliot Gould, Gene Hackman; popular musicians such as Bob Dylan, Billy Joel, Simon and Garfunkel; and TV stars and comedians like Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David.
They were told when they were young that antisemitism used to exist but is now a thing of the past. And they still believe it. None are identifiably Jewish or has been assaulted on the street. Their kids got into "good" schools and have good jobs.
For her old friends, the only issue is Donald Trump. They tell her that they live in a dictatorship, but cannot name one thing they can't do under Trump.
Though avid consumers of the news, they know next to nothing about Israel. And they have little interest in finding out more.
"The gaps in their knowledge, and their lack of curiosity when they become aware of those gaps, makes it almost impossible for us to talk," writes Brown.
They know that Israel is vilified as a "settler-colonialist" state, but not that 800,000 Jews fled Arab lands in the wake of 1948, and the vast majority came to Israel. Of the 30,000 missiles and rockets shot at Israel between Israel's 2005 withdrawal from Gaza and the present, they know nothing. Nor has it occurred to them to wonder why Hamas has spent billions building an elaborate underground tunnel network, into which civilians are not allowed.
Their sense of outrage is highly selective. None of her friends uttered a word when the United States responded to 9/11 by going to war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet none managed to figure out that the 10/7 cost to Israel was the equivalent, as a percentage of the population, of 40,000 Americans killed and 10,000 taken captive.
Criticism of Israeli "genocide" in Gaza is not disqualifying for them. Yet none raised a peep about hundreds of thousands of civilians killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. Though ardent feminists all, they remain silent in the face of the Iranian regime's oppression of women. And the regime's slaughter of 30,000 protestors earlier this year elicited only silence.
They have no problem with Mamdani labeling Israel an "apartheid" state. But scant interest when Brown tells them that her specialist doctor is a Muslim, as is her pharmacist, as is the aide who works with her autistic son.
"When I talk to my old friends," Brown concludes, "I feel like a combination of Cassandra [who was cursed to see the future clearly, but to be always disbelieved] and a nudnik, constantly bringing up facts that contradict their worldview and in which they have no genuine interest."
All they know is the Trump is the bad guy and Mamdani is the good guy. "But more than anything else, they just don't want to hear about it anymore."
The result of a thoroughly secular upbringing, it would seem, is to cease to care about your fellow Jews, or even to spend a moment or two trying to ascertain why they think and act as they do.