Adar’s Hidden Melody: Learning to Retune the Soul

You just experienced a brief awakening that lasted a day and a half.

You felt alive. You held the boundaries you had set for yourself. You were spiritually nourished, less reactive to your surroundings, and even managed to bring light into a few moments around you.

And then the next morning arrives.

You wake up exhausted. The boundaries feel distant. The sense of faith and inner lift has vanished. Yesterday’s clarity feels like it belonged to someone else entirely. What happened to that aliveness?

The Purpose of Adar: Renewal After Collapse

Rabbi Shimshon Dovid Pincus, of blessed memory, explains that the essence of the month of Adar is renewal. Not superficial happiness, but resurrection.

The Jewish people were judged in Heaven for annihilation after sinning at the feast of Achashverosh. At the very last moment, they were recreated as a people. How did this happen? Through the act of “upholding and accepting” the Torah anew. Not as a continuation, but as a rebirth.

This is the deeper joy of Adar. Not the absence of struggle, but the power to begin again after collapse.

So what do we do with the exhaustion that follows inspiration? With the sudden lack of motivation to labor for our own rescue? With the fading of faith and the sense of spiritual decline?

How does a person recreate themselves after sinking into despair that feels endless, as though all previous progress has been erased? As though everything accomplished until now was meaningless, echoing the words of Amalek: “And all this is worth nothing to me.”

The Guitar That Goes Out of Tune

Think of a guitar.

You tune it carefully. You play, and the sound is rich and beautiful. Everything works exactly as it should. Then the next time you pick it up, it is painfully out of tune beneath your fingers.

What do you do? Do you throw it away?

Of course not.

Before you play again, you tighten the strings that loosened since the last session. You tune it as if it had never been tuned before. Only then do the notes return to harmony.

This is exactly how spiritual life works.

Rabbi Nachman teaches:

“When a person falls from their level, they should know that it is from Heaven. Distance is the beginning of closeness. The fall itself is meant to awaken them to draw nearer to Hashem. The advice is to begin again, to enter the service of Hashem as if one had never begun at all. This is a great principle: a person must truly begin anew every single day.”

This teaching appears repeatedly in his works. A person must strengthen themselves and refuse to fall into despair, but instead begin again each time. If studied deeply, this principle becomes sweet forever.

Learning to Hear the Off Notes

How do you know which string needs tightening?

You listen.

You notice where yesterday you were imprecise. Where faith slackened. Whom you judged unfairly. Whom you hurt. Which mitzvah you rushed through. Which boundary you crossed despite knowing better.

These are the off notes.

Name them honestly. Regret them. Reset the boundary. Realign your intention. Only then do you begin to play again.

And it does not end there.

As Rabbi Nachman emphasized, this tuning is daily work. Again and again, before the One who fashioned the instrument, placed it in your hands, and entrusted it to you. You specifically were chosen to play it.

And finally, remember to give thanks. For the sound that still rises from your strings. For the opportunity to play at all. For the gift of beginning again.