"Anyone who rises early in the morning is on his own. He gets himself over to the altar, he is Abraham, he is Isaac, he’s the donkey, the fire, the knife, the angel, he’s the ram, he is God." (“I Am the Knife,” Yehuda Amichai )

Preparing for the High Holy Days feels like this for me. Taking a heshbon hanefesh, a true accounting of my soul, means really evaluating everything. When I look back over my year and my life and my behavior, invariably I find times when I was Abraham, sacrificing another in order to prove myself. I look at those moments and I am horrified and embarrassed. There are times I am hurt and angry to find that I was Isaac, used for someone else’s purpose. Sometimes I was the donkey just standing by, or the fire consuming whatever crossed my path. Unfortunately, I was even the knife, ready to draw another’s blood. I am proud of the moments when, like the angel, I was a savior or a voice that was heard. And sometimes, like the ram, I offered myself to shoulder another’s suffering. Sometimes I even called the shots. But throughout all of those moments and all of the emotions, always I was the one who controlled my behavior. I begin by acknowledging that at each of those moments I was responsible.

During our High Holy Days we recite the Unetaneh Tokef. After the list of various and sundry ways a person might die during the coming year, we recite the words, “But repentance, prayer, and charity temper judgment’s severe decree.” These three concepts — t’shuvah, t’filah and tzedakah — are the framework for my heshbon hanefesh. I begin with t’filah. That personal review of the year is a prayerful experience for me. I do not do it alone, I look over my life while in conversation with God. As I delve into my soul I discuss with God what went wrong, where I fell down. Often this involves some justification on my part, a little arguing, and hopefully acceptance of my own behavior. This review is hard. Happily I often remember moments when I was proud of myself and felt I handled difficult situations well. Unfortunately I also always find some of the same bad behaviors year after year. Like a diet, I vow to start again to cut out those things I shouldn’t do. Sometimes I know I’ll fail even before I begin, but others I begin with honest and real intention to             change those repeat offenders in my character. Each year brings with it new challenges. When I review, there is always a new moment or moments that I know will be different, a situation that I must rectify before I can really consider my preparation for the High Holy Days complete.

The next step is tzedakah. There is no way to move forward on any level without giving of myself. This tzedakah is considerably more expensive than any check I might write. This is a giving that comes from opening up the most closed places inside myself, a giving without pride. In fact, it is giving by disregarding my pride and offering whatever I might of myself to heal my own wrongs. This tzedakah is hard. Again there are years when I get this step right and years when I know I’m not even close to ready to do what is necessary to heal what I have broken. But when I get it right, when I take the time and energy and give what is necessary, those are the years when I feel I have made the biggest strides toward being the person I hope to become, knowing I will not make those mistakes again.

The final step is t’shuvah. This one is really hard. T’shuvah is not just the reaching out, it is more than the apology, even when it is fully accepted. T’shuvah is only complete when it’s been tested. Sometimes by the end of Yom Kippur, when I dip into that kugel at the break fast, I feel changed, and I feel as though I have earned it. Sometimes I only hope that I’ve earned the kugel, and sometimes I know for sure that I’m taking something I have no right to.

Overall, I believe the most important step I take each year is that first one, where I acknowledge my responsibility. If after all my justifications and excuses I can really see that sometimes I was the fire, and sometimes I was the angel, and more often than I like I was the knife, then the work that has to happen next will reveal itself. The work is hard, but it cannot begin until an account has been taken. I pray each year that I have the strength and the courage to at least do that part well.

The story is told of a student who came to the head of his yeshivah to ask permission to leave the yeshivah and go home early. “I am leading services this year,” he explained, “and so I need to go back home and look over the Machzor (High Holy Day prayer book).” “The Machzor has not changed since last year,” said his teacher, “but you have. Better go home and look over yourself.”

Elul is a month of preparation, a time of considering what has changed in our world and in ourselves since last year. The prayers are the same, but we have changed and so we read them differently. Each year we are given the gift of reflection. We have the opportunity to look our souls in the mirror and determine whether we like what we see. Have we grown in our own esteem? Has our behavior been a source of pride or of shame? Did we use words to harm or to heal? Have we brought honor to ourselves, our families and our people?

In traditional synagogues, the shofar is sounded each morning during the month of Elul as a wake-up call, an alarm clock telling us that we need to begin the process of heshbon hanefesh— self-examination, a basic ingredient of our observance of the Days of Awe. While most Reform Jews do not hear the shofar until Selichot services or the day of Rosh Hashanah, we can imagine the sound and our primal associations with it. It calls us to cease our spiritual laziness, to pay attention to what is most important, to leave aside the trivial and focus on the essential.

The letters of the word Elul can be an acronym for the phrase from the biblical Book, Song of Songs: Ani l’dodi v’dodi li—I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. Our Rabbis taught that the beautiful poetry of Song of Songs expresses the love between God and Israel. It is fitting, then, that Elul can be the time for us to find our way back to our estranged Lover, Adonai. Our relationship with God needs attention, just like any other relationship. As we prepare for both the majesty of the High Holy Day liturgy and the intimacy of the process of true repentance, we need to get reacquainted with our divine partner.

The basic steps that we can take to prepare ourselves for the High Holy Days are both simple and complex. We need to reflect on the year gone by and how we have changed. We can hear the shofar in our heads to rouse ourselves to begin the process of soul-searching and self-examination. We can focus on renewing our relationship with God, Who turns to us in love. Each of us will do these things in our own way. Some will read the meditations in the front of Gates of Repentance, or the book Preparing Your Heart for the High Holy Days by Rabbis Kerry Olitzky and Rachel Sabath, or various online sites like www.jewelsofelul.com. Some may want to take time alone, just to think and meditate and pray, away from everything and everyone. Some may find their spiritual preparation in the physical acts of cooking and baking and cleaning for family and guests.

The key is to be open to the possibilities. No change can take place in a closed system. No shofar sound can penetrate the walls of resistance we build around ourselves. No love can enter a heart of stone. Let us prepare our souls with reflection, reassessment and relationship.

Usually I am standing on the bimah when the shofar is blown. It is a wonderful vantage point to see the power of the sound. Everyone is moved. I especially love to watch the reactions of the children, because they are completely uninhibited. Some (usually smaller children) cover their ears and cry because the sound is too loud or scary, but those about 3-10 years old get very excited. Their eyes open wide; they have half-smiles that grow bigger, the longer the sound lasts. At the end of each blast there are usually giggles with wiggling hands and bodies. While the adults don’t wiggle quite as much, their eyes also open wide with excitement, and they usually quickly fill the silence at the end of each series of blasts with “ahhs” and other comments.

Hearing the sound of the shofar focuses the congregation’s attention in a way that no other moment of the service does. There are people in our congregations who only hear the shofar during Rosh HaShanah or at the end of Yom Kippur, and there are those who also feel its power at the S’lichot service. For children, the sound is pure excitement, and it becomes a powerful symbol for the New Year—it is the sound that brings on the New Year. For adults, I think something different happens. It is exciting and it is the sound of the New Year, but it is also a reminder of the work that needs to be done. The sound might make us think of weeping or brokenness; it might remind us of sirens warning of danger, or a call from far away that needs an immediate answer. To feel all those emotions in a public place can be overwhelming, and so adults immediately start to talk or loudly sit back down in their seats in order to recover.

Perhaps, if we could hear that sound more often or earlier than S’lichot, we would be more at ease when we arrive finally at the High Holy Days. Perhaps, if we could hear it during the month of Elul, in reality or even in our heads, we might be reminded that the work starts now, before the High Holy Days begin. In order to face God during Yom Kippur with our hearts and our souls open, the way we want to meet our beloved, we must prepare ourselves; that takes time and attention.

My colleague mentioned several places to find readings and meditations for this preparation. I would add to her list A Faithful Heart: Preparing for the High Holy Days by Benjamin Levy. This book uses text study of midrash to help us see ourselves and ask ourselves the right questions to fully prepare for the season.

I do believe that the preparation has to be about more than just ourselves. Part of this time needs to be about turning outward as well as turning inward. This is the time to reach out to our community and connect at services or Torah study, to get to know those people with whom we will be sharing powerful and intimate moments during the High Holy Days. This is also the perfect time to reconnect with your spouse or partner, discuss the year together, where your relationship is heading and how it might be improved. Talk to your children. Whatever their ages, the messages of repentance and change are always important for a parent to teach. Let the spirit of the month of Elul suffuse your home and all aspects of your life.

However we prepare, I agree fully that we must open our hearts to accept the messages of the shofar and of Elul. Whether we study text, read meditations, spend time alone in reflection, or reach out to those around us, the more open we are to truly change, the better prepared we will be to hear that final t’kiah g’dolah at the conclusion of Yom Kippur.

I am grateful to Rabbi Dunsker for her beautiful statement, especially her use of the poem by Yehuda Amichai. She shows us again the power of poetry to evoke emotions and expressions beyond our expectations. It also serves as a reminder that another way of preparing for the Days of Awe is to read poetry and let our souls be moved.

There is little controversy in this topic. I cannot imagine a rabbi saying, “No, I don’t think we should prepare for the High Holy Days.  Heshbon hanefesh is unnecessary.” So we begin and end with agreement. We agree that the process is difficult and that we are reluctant to break our old habits and change for the better. It is difficult because we are human, and humans are imperfect. Our imperfections make us interesting and unique, but also subject to temptation and a myriad of vices. It is comforting to know that no matter how high the standard of behavior set for us by Torah and tradition, we are not expected to do the impossible. We strive to do our best, even to exceed what we thought we could do, but we needn’t be disappointed in ourselves when we cannot do everything. No one can—only God is perfect. 

As solitary as is the process of heshbon hanefesh, we Jews have made it a communal enterprise.  This might seem contradictory, but it follows our normal mixture of private and community prayer taking place at the same worship service, and our recitation of individual sins in the plural. When we review all the sins that we confess communally in the Al Chet, we understand that none of us has actually committed all these terrible things.  But we can find a glimmer of our own yetzer hara (our inclination to do evil) in many of them, and just reciting them may help us understand the right thing to do next time we are tempted to go astray. We also realize our connection to everyone else in the community. Our actions affect them, and their actions affect us. If we are to make the world more just, more compassionate, more hospitable, then we must consider the implications of our personal decisions on those around us. In Judaism, the personal and the communal are intertwined. 

The story is told of a rabbi who asked his students, “If I am going east and I want to go west, how can I do it?” The students gave many erudite suggestions about directions and compass points and geographical landmarks. Finally, the rabbi told them, “If I am going east and I want to go west, all I need to do is turn around!”  T’shuvah is turning. If we are going in the wrong direction, all we need to do is turn around. It is simple and it is very difficult, but it is the essence of this season—our greatest challenge.

Heshbon Hanefesh is the first part of the greater process of t’shuvah. It is not self-forgiveness at all. It is, however, the self-examination necessary to ascertain where we have done harm.

I believe that both Rabbi Weinberg Dreyfus and I were responding to the question of how one comes to the realization of where we have done harm. Once that question has been examined, of course it is critical to seek forgiveness directly from those we have harmed and to make the changes in our lives that we hope will prevent us from doing the same kinds of harm again. That is the essence of t’shuvah. It is the ultimate goal of this season, but it must begin with self-examination.

Ms. Tighe-Brown asks about the next step, doing t’shuvah, which follows the process of heshbon hanefesh. Since we were asked to write on the first step, self-examination, we did not exhaustively discuss the entire process. Nothing that we wrote suggested that one should stop after step one. Just as the process begins in the month of Elul, we don’t stop when Elul comes to a close. We continue into Tishrei, more actively engaging t’shuvah the closer we come to the High Holy Days.   

I take issue with Tighe-Brown’s characterization of heshbon hanefesh as “self-absorbed.” One must begin with the self, understanding that we have missed the mark and need to change. Only then can we reach out to those we have wronged and seek their forgiveness. To attach a pejorative label like “self-absorbed” to the honest searching of one’s soul is to diminish an important aspect of the t’shuvah process.

Many of us know the saying of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah from Mishnah Yoma, recited prior to Kol Nidrei: “For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another” (Gates of Repentance, page 251).We know that this solemn season is an opportunity to make peace with others, with ourselves and with God. Before we can seek forgiveness, we must acknowledge that we have sinned. Before we can forgive others, we must be aware of the extent of our own pain and be prepared to let go of our anger. Before we can be strong enough for any of those, we must forgive ourselves for our own human frailties and imperfections and get moving with the serious, important work of t’shuvah. We are all on a journey, taking step after step toward bettering ourselves and our world.

Last night on our way home, my three-year-old son looked up into the sky and announced, “The moon is half full!” I had to look up and double check because of the thud I felt in my stomach at his words. “The moon is half full,” I thought, “Then there’s only three weeks left until Rosh HaShanah.”

No matter how early I start to prepare for the High Holy Days, I never feel as though there was enough time to prepare as thoroughly as I would have liked. No matter how many times I check the dates on the calendar, Rosh HaShanah always seems to sneak up on me and occur sooner than I had expected. Perhaps that’s because I’m a big procrastinator, or perhaps it’s a part of the very nature of the High Holy Days.

We have spent this last month discussing preparation for change. I believe it is not possible to change without preparation, and yet once the preparation is done there’s really nothing more to do, except actually change. The longer the preparation goes on (or the more preparation one puts into it), the longer the change itself might be postponed. Thus there is something very important and necessary about having a date on the calendar for change.
 
The time we have now is for Heshbon Hanefesh (accounting of our souls) or our preparation time. Rosh HaShanah is our “change start” date, and Yom Kippur is our “change conclusion” date. Perhaps without those hard dates we might only spend our time in self examination, only preparing for t’shuvah (turning) but never actually getting around to it. This season requires us to schedule our soul clearing and mark it as a high priority.

But even with all the reminders—the phases of the moon, the shofar blasts, the envelopes containing High Holy Day tickets—only those people who regularly spend their days examining their behavior and working to change it will feel fully prepared when they look up in the sky and see the new moon of Rosh HaShanah has arrived. Personally, I can only continue to work toward becoming that kind of a person; until then, my preparation continues.

L’shanah tovah tikateivu, may you all be written in the Book of Life for a New Year full of sweetness and blessing.

In her psalm for Rosh HaShanah, Debbie Perlman z”l wrote:

Begin the cycle anew!
Turn and grow
Beneath the eye of the Eternal.

You bring us to beginnings,
Yearly, weekly, daily,
That we might be renewed,
Restrengthened, refreshed.

Begin the cycle anew!
Turn and share
The bounty of the Eternal.

You point the path
Away from past errors;
You clear the debris of regret
Away from present progress.

Begin the cycle anew!
Turn and walk,
Hand grasping hand.

Begin the cycle anew!
Start from today, from this moment.
Start from the waking that offers change.
Rise from waking to move forward.

Begin the cycle anew!
Begin from the Center that is constant;
Begin with the Care that never ceases.
Begin.

(from Flames to Heaven: New Psalms for Healing & Praise, 1998, Rad Publishers, Wilmette, IL  www.healingpsalm.com)

In our tradition, Rosh Hashanah marks the beginning of the world, the beginning of the year, and the beginning of our opportunity to make things better. The process of t’shuvah involves soul-searching, attempts to reconcile our grievances, and facing God with readiness to change. Heshbon hanefesh is the beginning of the t’shuvah process. We start with the self and then radiate out from there. The process can be painful or refreshing or both. When we forgive someone for a wrong done to us and let go of our anger, it can feel like a great burden has been lifted off our soul. We do not necessarily excuse the wrong but we move beyond it. We allow ourselves the relief that forgiveness provides. And we ask for forgiveness, admitting our own mistakes or intentional hurts, and try to heal the wounds we have inflicted.

T’shuvah is hard work, and sometimes the hardest thing is to begin. We hesitate, we backslide, we deny, we reject, we ignore; we do everything we can to avoid facing our own shortcomings.  We know that we are imperfect and that we need to change, but change can be frightening. It upsets our equilibrium and threatens our certainty. But life is change—only death is static and permanent. We change and we grow and (God willing) we improve. But we need to begin. We move forward; we continue the cycle. We must begin.

May this New Year bring growth and change and renewal for us and those we love.  May it be a year of life and peace for us, for Israel, and for all the world.