Since the beginning of Elul our spiritual energies have been focused on teshuva; we have been working to paint a vision of the people who we want to be, and pinpoint the blocks that are keeping us from reaching that goal.

But the moment after Yom Kippur everything changes. Our slate is wiped clean with Hashem. Now is the time to feel the love.

One of our great Chasidic Torah giants, Rav Yehuda Aryeh Lev, known as the Sfat Emet, explains that the sukkah symbolizes the chupah, or wedding canopy. The Torah writes (Vayikra 22:33), “I am Hashem, the one who sanctifies you, the one who brought you out of Egypt…” The Hebrew word for sanctify, m’kadesh, is the same word for the union between a bride and a groom. The imagery teaches about the unique relationship that the Jewish people share with Hashem.

This process reaches its pinnacle on Simchat Torah. Throughout the seven days of Sukkot, a total of 70 cattle offerings are prescribed by the Torah. These 70 sacrifices symbolize Sukkot’s relations with the 70 primordial nations; it is a time when the entire world comes to Hashem’s house of prayer to give praise.

But on the eighth day, the Sfat Emet teaches, using the imagery of the midrash, we come out from the House of Prayer into the House of Study. We leave the sukkkah, the holiday for all the nations, and enter the House of Study, the private celebration between Israel and God, another aspect of the distinctive relationship that we have with Hashem, this time through His Torah.

Confronting mistakes and inadequacies during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur can leave one feeling far from Hashem; but Sukkot and Simchat Torah are the times to reconnect to Hashem’s love. It is a time to feel a deep sense of closeness with our Creator unlike any other time in the year, a true “time of our joy,” as we call it in our prayers.

A friend recently reminded me of an important distinction: Yom Kippur is not Tisha B’Av.

The focus on fasting and long hours spent in shul make for an easy comparison; the physically taxing nature of both days makes it difficult to connect to their unique messages.

But this year I want to relate to Yom Kippur as a separate day, so I revisited an article written by Rav Shlomo Aviner, the head of Yeshivat Ateret Cohanim, and the Chief Rabbi of the community Beit El.

He writes in that Yom Kippur is the pinnacle of passivity. It is a day whose essence is defined in the negative; we don’t eat, drink, engage in marital relations, wear leather shoes, or apply oils.  The message of the day is to stop.

Of all the six prohibitions of the day, removing shoes seems the least self-explanatory. Rav Aviner teaches that taking off one’s shoes is a negation of one’s humanity; shoes are the most basic item that literally gives a person standing in the world. Taking off one’s leather shoes is symbolic of stepping out of the world.

The negation is not for its own sake; there is a positive outcome from this stopping. Our constant creating and building, though essential, can drown out our inner voice. On one day a year we stop in order to reconnect to the voice of our soul.

Yom Kippur is far from a day of sadness; true, it can be difficult to face our missteps over the past year. But Yom Kippur is a mikvah (ritual bath) that gives us a fresh start; we can again hear our true aspirations and longings that can guide us in the coming year. I hope for myself and for all of us that we can experience the joy of hearing our true inner callings.

Make a Resolution of Physical Repentance

I remember in the US the constant Weight Watchers and gym advertisements every December trying to cash in on people’s New Year’s resolution to lose weight.

Yet during the preparation for the Jewish New Year the focus, at least in the synagogues and yeshivas, is on spiritual resolutions. We look back on our deeds, make apologies to friends and family for our missteps, and make promises to ourselves and to God that next year we are going to be better people.

We don’t imagine hitting our chest on Yom Kippur for the double-digit increase in cholesterol or for the lack of fiber in our diets.

Yet maybe there is a need to rethink the matter.

Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Palestine, who lived just before the creation of the State of Israel, explains in the beginning of Orot HaTshuva that an essential aspect of repentance is “bodily repentance.” The admission that negative physical habits are damaging, followed by an attempt to better one’s health is indeed an important type of repentance.

Living a religious lifestyle and eating a kosher diet does not mean that one is living a healthy lifestyle or eating a healthy diet. The significance of spiritual and emotional repentance should not be minimized; however, we cannot forget our bodies in the process.

We must also repent for the sins that we have done against our lungs through smoking, and the sins that we have done against our hearts through eating fatty foods and not exercising enough. Without physical repentance the process is incomplete.

One of my most awkward moments when visiting the US is reciting the blessing after using the restroom in a public locale. I have received many strange looks as I seemingly talk to myself for thirty seconds in the hallway.

From birth to death, nearly all major events in our lives, as well as many small ones, are accompanied by a blessing. Seeing lighting, eating a strawberry for the first time in the season, blowing the shofar; it’s not difficult to reach the desired number of 100 blessings per day. But what is the point of these phrases that accompany so many of our daily activities?

Without relating to specific blessings, I want to discuss three brief ideas about the deeper meaning behind blessings:
Simply put, a blessing allows us to recognize the source.

First, the Talmud in Tractate Brachot tells us that one who takes pleasure from God’s world without making a blessing is likened to a thief. Simply put, a blessing allows us to recognize the source. Especially with our well-stocked supermarkets, it’s easy to forget the source of our sustenance is Hashem.

Secondly, an answer that I heard from Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo is that the proper English translation for Baruch Atah Hashem is not Blessed are You God, but rather one simple word: wow. A blessing is a statement of amazement. We should look at the ordinary orange in our hand with fresh eyes and realize its beauty. Blessings allow us to maintain our sensitivity to the majesty of God’s creation.

Lastly, in the opening section of the Laws of Blessings the Rambam (Maimonides) explains that the rabbis created a multitude of blessings in order to keep God on our lips at all times. The daily grind makes it difficult to remember that we are constantly standing in front of Hashem. The rabbis instituted blessings to remind us to remain conscious of God’s presence at all times.

The danger in having so many blessings is that we can say them by rote. I hope these ideas can help us say our blessings with greater consciousness, and use them as a tool for connection with our Creator.

Judaism is a demanding spiritual path. The Torah expects exactitude in mitzvot that encompass every facet of life. Not only are we instructed to live according to the laws in their completeness, but we must do so with great joy.

But what about those of us who have not perfected our character traits, and who haven’t mastered the halachic system? Is there still a chance to achieve closeness with God for those like me who still have room to grow?

We have entered a special time in the Jewish calendar, one of my favorite times of the year called the month of Elul. It is known for focus on inner work leading up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is the time to look at our actions over the last year, to pinpoint where we have missed the mark, and formulate a plan to be a better human being, a better friend, a better spouse, a better parent.

It’s not only a time that we designate for inner work; the month of Elul itself has a unique quality that allows for great success during this time. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the author of the Tanya and the founder of Chabad Chassidut, explains this point via an allegory that in Elul the king comes out into the field.

Normally, in order to greet royalty, one has to enter the inner chamber of the palace, which can only be done by certain individuals during special circumstances. But during Elul the king comes out to the field; he steps out in the open with a wide grin and greets everyone who comes to meet him.

Normally only the pious ones, who have achieved high levels in spiritual growth, are privileged to merit an intimate relationship with God. But during Elul, Hashem comes out to meet us wherever we are. It is a time of divine kindness, a time for closeness to Hashem in whatever broken state we are in.

This closeness to God that can be experienced through inner work during Elul is not an end to itself; it is a means for spiritual growth, and can provide a deeper, more meaningful experience during the high holidays. Just as we go to greet Hashem in the field during Elul, in turn God will enter our lives and our hearts during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – no matter what state we’re in.