Elul: You Don’t Have to Be Perfect to Come Back to Hashem

Some people look forward to Elul. Others would rather go to sleep and wake up sometime during Sukkot, when it is all behind them and they are already holding the lulav.

If you belong to the second group, you may want to read what the Ari wrote about this month:

“Then Hashem becomes a friend and beloved to the person who returns in repentance.”

And when you read that sentence in its full context, you discover that it is actually the conclusion of something much bigger:

“The essence of this repentance, so that it may be accepted, is during Rosh Chodesh Elul, called ‘the month of the Yamim Noraim,’ for then your prayer is heard and the gates of repentance are open, as it is written, ‘Seek Hashem when He may be found,’ and in the secret of ‘I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,’ whose initials spell Elul, for then Hashem becomes a friend and beloved to the person who returns in repentance.”

(Ari, Etz Da’at Tov)

The Door Is Already Open

A quick explanation:

“The month of the Yamim Noraim” refers here to the month leading up to the High Holy Days, rather than the days themselves. Think of the difference between studying for a test a week in advance and walking into the classroom hoping the questions happen to be about whatever you skimmed on the bus.

“Seek Hashem when He may be found” means that the prophet Isaiah speaks of times when closeness to Hashem is especially accessible. It does not mean that Hashem is unavailable during the rest of the year. Rather, Elul offers a particular opportunity to draw close.

The door is not beginning to open. It is already open.

And then there is the verse, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” whose Hebrew initials spell Elul. Notice the choice: Of all the verses in Tanakh, the Ari points specifically to a verse of love from Song of Songs.

Not a verse about fear. Not a verse about judgment.

A verse about love.

Think about the difference between walking into a manager’s office and sitting down with an old friend over coffee. The conversation might involve exactly the same difficult subjects and exactly the same things that need to be said, but you approach it completely differently.

That is the relationship the Ari describes. He does not say there is no judgment, nor does he say there is nothing we need to fix. Rather, when a person turns toward Hashem in teshuvah, the relationship itself changes from the very first step—not only once the process is complete.

You Don’t Have to Arrive Perfect

Think about your oldest friend.

You do not prepare talking points before calling them. You do not wonder whether you need to present the perfect version of yourself. You simply call.

That is the difference. You may approach a manager with a carefully worded request and a neatly organized folder. You approach a close friend as you are. They already know your less flattering sides, too.

Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi famously compared Elul to a king who leaves his palace and goes out into the field. Instead of remaining distant behind the walls of the palace, the king becomes accessible to everyone. People can approach him, and he receives them graciously.

Perhaps that is one of the most beautiful ideas about Elul: The invitation is not to arrive already fixed.

The invitation is simply to arrive.

If you wait until you feel completely ready, you may find yourself still waiting months from now.

The Month We Learned We Could Begin Again

The timing of Elul is deeply significant.

On Rosh Chodesh Elul, thousands of years ago, Moshe Rabbeinu ascended Mount Sinai for the third time to receive the second tablets. This came after the sin of the Golden Calf, after the first tablets had been shattered, and after everything seemed to have gone terribly wrong.

And yet, that was not the end of the story.

According to Jewish tradition, a shofar was sounded through the camp when Moshe ascended, marking the beginning of this new period.

The message was unmistakable: You can begin again.

That same shofar accompanies us through Elul today, awakening us to the possibility of returning.

Perhaps that is why the sound of the shofar does not have to be heard only as an alarm. It can also be heard as an invitation.

Come back.

Try again.

Begin from where you are.

And if this year has been harder than you expected, perhaps Elul is especially meaningful. This month is not reserved for people who have already succeeded, already changed, or already become the people they hoped to be.

It is for people who are still trying.

The Ari used the language of a “friend and beloved.” And a true friend does not ask you to arrive only once everything is fixed.

They ask you to come.