Finding Elul in Everyday Life: Simple Moments That Draw Us Closer to God

As you make your way through the month of Elul, a variety of emotions begin to surface. One of them is the quiet awareness, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you've entered a different kind of season. It's a season of opportunity, a season that calls for action, a season that is simply too precious to waste. It's a powerful time — a season that exists entirely for your benefit. And yet, you don't necessarily make a big production out of it.

In some ways, it reminds me of a birthday. Not the kind where you're the center of attention and expect fireworks, but the quiet awareness that today is your day. You waited an entire year for it to arrive. Maybe you're hoping a friend will surprise you with a flower, or perhaps a colleague will bring you a slice of cinnamon cake. But otherwise, life goes on as usual. You go to work, come home, do the laundry, and every now and then a gentle thought washes over you: "It's my birthday today." You treasure the day, offer an extra prayer, and whisper a blessing.

Elul often feels the same. You go about your daily routine, but every few hours you gently remind yourself, "It's Elul." A few minutes later another thought follows: "What should I strengthen this year?""Maybe I should take a look through my Rosh Hashanah machzor.""Is there anyone I still owe money to?"

Of course, the quieter, less inspiring thoughts appear as well. "How much more can I possibly do than I'm already doing?" And yet, deep inside, you know there is always another screw you can tighten, another corner of your character you can strengthen. Not out of guilt or self-criticism, but simply because you know that the entire purpose of Elul is for your own good.

Seeing Elul Everywhere

I've noticed that one of the ways I experience a meaningful Elul is by turning everyday life into a collection of parables. I simply live my ordinary life while constantly translating everyday experiences into lessons about repentance, returning, drawing closer, and growing spiritually. "His kingdom rules over all." I find it delightful. It makes serving God feel wonderfully real.

Consider exercise, for example. We enjoy going out for walks. Our son-in-law, Yishai, always laughs when we announce that we're "going on a march." He insists we should simply say we're "going for a walk." We still haven't settled that debate.

Toward the end of our walk, we usually try to increase our pace to improve our endurance. My husband believes it's best to save the running until the very end so you maintain a steady workout throughout. I've discovered I'm different. When I have energy, I run. When I don't, I walk. Eventually I noticed that I run especially well downhill. So I started intentionally running downhill whenever I could.

When I finally caught my breath, I explained to my husband, "I run downhill because it's easier for me. It's sustainable. In the end, I spend more time exercising because I begin with something I know I can do well." And immediately my mind leaped to Elul. Isn't that exactly how spiritual growth works? If we want lasting change, perhaps we should begin with what feels achievable. Build momentum where success is possible. Strengthen the areas where we can actually move forward. Even after I get home, I find myself repeating the lesson: "Run downhill. Create successes."

A Painting on the Sidewalk

On our street is an apartment building that has recently been occupied by foreign workers. Last week they cleaned and painted the stairwell. On Shabbat I walked past and noticed that they had thrown several framed pictures onto the sidewalk — pictures that had once hung inside the tiny apartments they had divided from the original homes, and even some that had decorated the stairwell itself.

I stopped to take a look. Suddenly my eyes widened. There, lying on the pavement, was a framed print by Nachum Gutman. A real one. Tel Aviv. Sand. A camel.

For a split second I almost jumped. "How could they throw away a Gutman painting? They have no idea what they're discarding!"

Only a week earlier, Amnon Barzel — my husband's uncle and a renowned art curator, had passed away. He founded the Jewish Museum in Berlin and was responsible for numerous international art projects.

As I looked at that abandoned Gutman print, my Elul mind immediately turned it into a parable. They threw it away because they simply didn't know what it was worth. They had no appreciation for its artistic value. Even if they didn't personally enjoy the painting, had they known it possessed real monetary value, they surely would have kept it or sold it.

But they didn't know. They had no idea what they were holding in their hands.

Isn't that often true of people who are distant from Torah and mitzvot? They cast it aside. They dismiss it. They underestimate it — not because they have carefully weighed their value and rejected them, but because they simply do not know what they are holding in their hands.