Ah, Chodesh Elul, hba”l (ha’ba aleinu l’tova). Here it comes again, B”H. And along with it all the intensity and nervousness of good Jewish people trying to improve. We got shofar after Shacharis, and l’Dovid a couple of times a day. Hey, the Sefardim get right into saying S’lichos right off the bat. Lots of focus and lots of work to be done – I mean, the Unesana Tokef is not messing around: who by water, and who by fire, etc. Scary stuff! And then there are the vorts – you just gotta love the classics: ani l’dodi v’dodi li; the King is in the field; remove the orla (blockage) from the heart; make Hashem king – you know the drill: not just over the whole world, but make Him king over yourself. Such good stuff.
But, like I said, it can get intense with all the teshuva and introspection. A person might feel that he’s not doing such a good job. And that’s why we need the Torah of the Chassidus of the Baal Shem haKadosh, zy”a (zechuso yagen aleinu – may his merit protect us).
To begin, we need a ma’aseh. A good Chassidisheh story – aw, who cares whether it’s true or not?! But before we begin, we need to ask a question.
In Gemara tractate Rosh haShana (18a), the Gemara proclaims that on Rosh haShana, the judgment that takes place is in a way where every created being goes before Hashem like “bnei marone,” like a flock of sheep. After briefly exploring the possible nuances of that metaphor, the Gemara informs us that however you slice it, the bottom line is that kulan niskarin b’skila echas (they are all scanned with one scan). That’s how the judgment on Rosh haShana goes down. One scan.
Wait, what? One second. I don’t know about you, but I spend a lot of time in shul on Rosh haShana. A lot. And much of that time is spent quaking in my boots, worrying about the judgment that’s taking place and the prospects for the coming year. And we know that Chazal taught us the Rosh haShana is a yoma arichta – one long, 49-hour day. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. And it’s just the beginning of the intense road until the sealing on Yom Kippur. But now the Gemara tells us, “Well, guess what. You’re not being judged for 49 hours. You don’t need to tremble and quake for days and nights. Nope. It’s just one scan, and then it’s over.” When I first learned about this reality, I was stunned. In some ways, it seemed like a relief – the judgment is quick and, I guess, painless. I wanted to request that in the heavenly spheres they could just arrange for the scan to occur at Borchu on the first Ma’ariv – then I can go home! Bottom line, the question is, from a practical standpoint, what does the Gemara mean when it tells us about this scan -- how does the scan work and what can we do about it? That’s our question.
Okay, now, we can begin with a story!
There was a chossid of the No’am Elimeilech, zy”a, and this chossid very much wanted to watch his Rebbe shlug kapporos. You know, the chicken-over-the-head thing. Or money over the head. Or a fish (a fish? Really?). The chossid went to the Rebbe Reb Meilech and begged the Rebbe to let him watch when the Rebbe shlugged kapporos. Of course, in his great humility, the Rebbe demurred, claiming that there was nothing to see – he just took a chicken and waved it around like everyone else. Of course, the chossid persisted, arguing that the Rebbe’s shluggin had to be on a completely different level, what with all the kabbalastic intentions and kavanos that the Rebbe brings to the ritual. Again, the Rebbe made light of his own avaoda, but, in the next breath, the Noam Elimeilech offered a much better idea: he recommended that the chossid travel to a nearby shenk – that’s a road-side tavern – somewhere along the road out of town. The Rebbe assured the chossid that in that place the chossid would be certain to see the proper way to shlug kapporos.
The chossid soothed his disappointment in not being allowed to see the Rebbe shlug kapporos with the excitement of the possibility that something even greater lay in store for him at the shenk. In the early evening of Erev Yom Kippur, the chossid set out on the road for the shenk, arriving there as the non-Jewish patrons were finishing their last drinks (or their last drinks were finishing them!), and the owner was doing some preliminary clean-up. After obtaining the owner’s permission, the chossid sat off in the corner to wait for the performance, whenever and by whomever it would be. Around 1:00am, the last well-mannered customer left the premises, allowing the owner to finish the clean-up by 2am. In the darkness of the far corner, the chossid waited, pushing away the doubts regarding the value of his effort and time spent on this endeavor. What could he possibly see that would surpass watching the Rebbe’s kapporos?
Exhausted and drained, the owner sat down alone at the bar. After nearly dozing off with his head in his hands, the owner snapped awake and called to his wife, who was still awake in their small house attached to the shenk. “My dear Baila Bluma Fruma Fraidle Henya Hentcha Shprintzle,” the owner called out. “Will you be so kind and do me the chessed of bringing me the notebook that’s in the bottom drawer of my dresser?” The tzadeikess was quick to respond, and the owner was quick to appreciate it. Sitting alone at the bar, the owner started reading the notebook, which was more of a journal of his life over the past year. With a lowered head that swayed from side to side, the owner tearfully recounted his sins from the past year. Well, at least the highlights. With deep feelings of remorse, the owner tearfully said, “Ribbono Shel Olam, look at what I have done to You over this past year. Look here, on 19 Cheshvan, I listened to avak loshon hara; on 7 Kislev, I got angry at my horse; on 21 Teves, I may have eaten milk soon after eating meat; on 10 Shevat, I had covetous thought about my neighbor’s wagon; on 15 Adar, I said Kriyas Shema too late in the day; etc. Oy, what’s going to become of me? Didn’t I sit here last year and promise you that I would do good. Didn’t I klahp al cheit and commit to mending my ways? What kind of chasima will I have on Yom Kippur? What will become of me?....” His sobs drowned out his words.
The chossid watched astonished from the corner, until eventually, the owner regained some composure, once again calling out to his faithful wife, “My dear Baila Bluma Fruma Fraidle Henya Hentcha Shprintzle, would you be so kind and do me the chessed of bringing me the notebook that’s in the left-side compartment in the bottom drawer of my dresser?” The tzadeikess was quick to respond, and the owner was quick to appreciate it. Sitting alone at the bar, the owner started reading the notebook, which was more of a journal of his life over the past year. But this time, the chossid watched as a different sort of dialogue took place. “Ribbono Shel Olam,” said the earnest and introspective owner as he leaned back against the chair to enable him to crane his head back, eyes facing up the heavens. “Let’s have a look at what happened to me this past year. How about last winter when You made things so cold that all my drainage pipes froze and cracked. That cost me a pretty pfennig! And then there was the time after Chanuka when my oldest son, my hard-working son – You know, the one I count on for so much help around here – he slipped and broke his ankle. It’s not like we have any major medical center around here! Let’s not forget the more than a few times that the wonderful non-Jewish clientele expressed their enthusiasm for alcohol by ransacking my place and helping themselves to a few extra drinks on the house. Etc.”
The owner sat there, eyes closed, head back down swaying side to side, for what seemed to the chossid to be a very long time. The chossid had never seen anything like it, and as far as he could tell, neither had the owner! It was as if the owner was trying to figure out what to do next. Slowly and with a deep breath, the owner placed the two-notebooks one on top of the other, and with a rope-like packaging string that he found on the ground behind the bar, the owner tied a bow around the two notebooks, held them in his right hand, looked up to the heavens, and with pure, innocent sincerity said, “You know, Ribbono Shel Olam. It’s the time of year when everyone is making amends, doing teshuva, granting forgiveness – it’s a clean slate. So, how ‘bout we agree like this: let’s call it even for the year. I don’t owe You anything and You don’t owe me anything.” Then, again with tears, holding the string in his right hand, the owner lifted the notebooks over his head and shlugged kapporos: “Zeh chalufasi, zeh temurasi, zeh kaporasi….” And he cast the notebooks into the oven and went into his home.
The chossid thanked Hashem for giving him a Rebbe who knew where to guide him.
Among the lessons we learn from this story are two huge foundations for our avodas Hashem. First, as I heard from one of my rebbes, Rav Nachum Chaimowitz, shlita, we are in a real relationship with Hashem. So much of the Torah of the Baal Shem haKadosh is based on that idea – the real relationship. A real relationship is a two-way street, hence the story’s conclusion. Hashem wants us to be in a real, living, breathing, dynamic, growth-oriented intimate, close, open, vulnerable, honest relationship with Him. Ultimately, we are responsible for our way on the two-way street, meaning that we need to be growth-oriented, open, vulnerable, honest, and real with ourselves. While that process of self-awareness is ongoing throughout the year, Elul ramps up the volume exponentially, with the volume growing louder and louder as Tishrei approaches. It is Hashem’s gift for us to become His intimate beloveds by creating the spiritual reality of Elul to foster deep introspection.
The second lesson we learn from the story is that, in truth, a Jew just wants to give Hashem nachas ruach by doing His Will, and the only reason that a Jew wants and davens for physical things – such as parnassa and health, for example – is to enable the Jew here in the physical world to have an easier time to be able to perform His Will. The tavern owner was not arguing with Hashem or, G-d forbid, looking for excuses or, even worse, questioning Hashem’s decisions. The tavern owner was, in effect, saying to Hashem, “All I want to do is learn your Torah and do your mitzvos – and I am saddened by my failures in these areas, because I want to give you nachas ruach. But, Hashem, you put me in a physical world where I need money to be able to clothe and feed my family and where I need physical health and safety to stay in the world. So, I need to beg you for as much help as possible in these areas, because anything lacking in these areas makes it practically more difficult to have the peace of mind to be able to learn your Torah and do your mitzvos!” A real relationship is a two-way street.
This is the answer to our question. The Sefer Yosher Divrei Emmess (Part I, ch. 54) writes that the kesiva (the writing) that takes place on Rosh haShana is a reproduction of the imprint on the soul generated by the intensity of the soul’s desire for deveikus (attachment) to its divine Source. This attachment is the item that is scanned, because this scan can evaluate the extent to which the person’s desire for physicality is an expression of the person’s desire for deveikus to Hashem or, ch”v, the person’s desire to enjoy the physicality as an end in itself. The practical import of this lesson is huge: the main thing is not what a person did over the past year; instead, the essence of the judgment on Rosh haShana is a person’s heart-level desire to connect to Hashem, recognizing that Hashem’s Will is the primary thing while physicality is completely subordinate. The essence of one’s davening during Elul and the Asaress Y’mai haTeshuva is to beg Hashem to help get closer to Him. To beg Hashem to help one be in a real relationship with Him where a person is growth-oriented, open, vulnerable, honest, and real with himself to help overcome the blockages that prevent him from truly connecting to Hashem. And the Sefer Yosher Divrei Emmess informs us that when a Jew is wise enough to make the primary primary and the subordinate subordinate, it gives Hashem great nachas. It all starts on Rosh Chodesh Elul.
A kesiva v’chasima tova and a git gebentch’t yor.
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