What is the essence of this auspicious month? Why do leading rabbonim change their daily schedules during this month? What are we required to do? How can we truly feel “Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li” (“I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine”)? What preparations should we undertake before Elul begins? Is an uncontrollable longing to come closer to Hashem the ideal? Why, after the sin of the Golden Calf, did Moshe Rabbenu have to re-institute each Shevet in its place? What is Teshuvah M’ahava? How is instantaneous change possible? How would the world look if everyone did whatever they wanted? These, and other questions, are the focus of our article this week.
Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li
Many acronyms of psukim and allusions appear in Torah sources for the month of Elul. However, Chazal consistently emphasized that its very essence is captured in the phrase: “Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li – I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine.” Indeed, this acronym defines the month itself.
What is the source of this allusion? Rabbenu Yehoshua Ibn Shuiv, a disciple of the Rashba (Derashos, Shoftim), and the Mateh Moshe, a disciple of the Maharshal (Amud HaAvodah, Rosh Chodesh Elul and Rosh Hashanah 778), trace it to a Midrash that is no longer extant. Rabbenu David Abudraham (Seder Rosh Hashanah) notes that this phrase was commonly used by darshanim.
Many other Rishonim and Achronim also cite this allusion: the Maharch Or Zerua (32), the Akeidah (97), Seder HaYom (Elul), the Bach (OC 581:2), the Shelah (Rosh Hashanah, Ner Mitzvah 1), and the Chida (Chomas Anach, Shir HaShirim 6:26). Leading halachic authorities also refer to it in sifrei halacha: the Chayei Adam (II:138:1), Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (128:1), Mishnah Berurah (581, introduction), and Aruch HaShulchan (OC 581:1). Since these works discuss Elul in practical halachic terms, their citation of “Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li” is certainly not mentioned as a poetic insight. Rather, it is guide to concrete, practical actions we must perform during this month.
The Shelah (Rosh Hashanah, Ner Mitzvah 7) draws a parallel: just as we begin removing and burning chametz thirty days before Pesach, so too, thirty days before Rosh Hashanah we must begin purging the “chametz in the heart.” Through genuine teshuvah, not even a trace should remain.
This spirit is reflected in our great leaders conduct during this month. The Noda B’Yehuda (second edition, CM 25) writes in response to a halachic inquiry: “I received your letter. However, because these are awesome and fearful days, the burden of the public weighs heavily upon me, the Gates of Tears are not locked, and my head is heavy upon me; therefore, I have not examined the questions that arrive, except for the most essential matters.”
Similarly, Rabbi Itzele Blazer zt"l of Petersburg was known to be in ta’anis dibbur from Rosh Chodesh Elul until Yom Kippur, locking himself in a room to devote himself solely to Torah and tefillah.
Such lofty levels may be beyond us, yet they give us a hint as to what Elul truly is.
Inner Meaning of Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li
Chazal explain that Ani LeDodi is the essence of Elul -- days of mercy and forgiveness. As Seder HaYom (by Rabbenu Machir, a great sage who lived alongside the Beis Yosef and the Ari) writes: “Of this month it is said, ‘Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li,’ the initials spelling Elul. For the Holy One, blessed be He, seeks our love, and His hand is outstretched to receive all who return.”
The Mishnah Brura (introduction to 581) explains the reason for the minhagim that mark this special time. In Sephardic communities, Selichos are recited from Rosh Chodesh Elul, while Ashkenazim blow the shofar daily. These customs are in place to remind us that Moshe Rabbenu ascended Mount Sinai on Rosh Chodesh Elul to receive the second Luchos, remaining there for forty days until Yom Kippur. The Mishnah Brura adds an allusion to those forty days, also from ‘Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li’: the final letters of each word is yud, the numerical equivalent of 10. Together, they total forty, corresponding to the forty days from Rosh Chodesh Elul until Yom Kippur in which repentance is accepted because a person’s heart draws close to Hashem. Hashem, then, draws close to him, accepting his teshuva. The pasuk, ‘And the Lord your G-d will circumcise your heart and the heart of your offspring’ (‘es levavcha v’es levav’) (Devarim 30:6) also have the initials that spell Elul, indicating a full ‘change of heart’ .
The Chida (Nachal Eshkol, Shir HaShirim 6:3) notes that in “Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li” both the initials spell ‘Elul’ and each word ends with the letter yud. This hints that the sanctity and closeness of Elul extend through the Ten Days of Repentance. In this sense, the “month” of Elul actually spans a full forty days.
Thus, the essence of Elul is to draw closer to Hashem, taking advantage of this unparalleled time of favor that Hashem has granted the world.
Where Did Elul Come From?
Let us try to understand where Elul started. The Tur (OC 581) quotes the Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer (46): After the sin of the Golden Calf, when Moshe broke the first Luchos on the seventeenth of Tammuz, he stood for forty days in prayer until Hashem agreed to give the Torah again. On Rosh Chodesh Elul Moshe ascended a second time to Heaven, and on that day, the people sounded the shofar to remind themselves not to stray again towards idolatry. Through this shofar blast the Divine Presence was exalted, as it says (Tehillim 47:6): “G-d ascends with a teruah, Hashem with the sound of the shofar.” Therefore, Chazal instituted the custom of blowing the shofar on Rosh Chodesh Elul. This minhag was adopted among Ashkenazim, who blow it daily throughout the month.
Nearly all halachic authorities bring these sources to explain the customs of Elul and define the avodas Hashem required during this period. From Rosh Chodesh Elul until Yom Kippur there are forty days of favor, days of mercy and forgiveness, paralleling the forty days when Moshe was in Heaven receiving the second Luchos.
The Tanna D’vei Eliyahu (Zuta, end of chapter 4) describes how the Jewish people feared lest they stumble again, and therefore decreed a fast on each of those forty days. On the last day, the tenth of Tishrei, they began fasting from the evening before to protect themselves from the Evil Inclination. The next morning, they arose early and stood before Mount Sinai, weeping toward Moshe, and Moshe weeping toward them, until their tears rose to the Heaven. The Tanna D’vei Eliyahu concludes:
“At that moment Hashem’s Compassion was aroused upon them, and Ruach HaKodesh brought them tidings of comfort, saying: ‘My children, I swear by My great Name that this weeping will become a weeping of joy for you, and this day will be a day of forgiveness, atonement, and pardon for you, your children, and your children’s children until the end of all generations.’”
The Jewish nation learned their lesson from the first Luchos. This time, when Moshe Rabbenu ascended to receive the Torah, they constructed a secure plan with safeguards and reminders: the blasts of the shofar, fasting during the day. They wanted to ensure that those previous failings would not repeat themselves.
Preparing for Elul
A careful study of Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer reveals another point. The Midrash describes the entire process beginning with the giving of the Torah, through Cheit Ha’Egel, ending with Yom Kippur. After breaking of the first Luchos on the 17th of Tammuz Moshe focused on correcting the root of Cheit HaEgel. Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer describes four steps Moshe took to correct the sin: burning the Calf, killing everyone who had kissed it, eradicating all idolatry from Am Yisroel, and establishing each Tribe in its place. While the first three steps are understandable, what was the importance of the fourth, establishing each tribe’s place?
Dangers of Desire
The answer lies in the essence of the Cheit HaEgel. While it ended up being a sin of idolatry, it did not come from rejection of Hashem, Heaven forbid. On the contrary -- the nation was at the pinnacle of longing for connection with Hashem. After standing at Ma’amad Har Sinai they were aflame with a desire to connect with Hashem and Moshe Rabbenu, who would lead them into Hashem’s holy land. But the Satan got involved and they mistakenly believed that their future with Moshe had ended, and that they would now have to manage on their own.
Thus, they pressed Aharon HaKohen to fashion a new leader for them, one that would enable them to connect with Hashem. Excited at the sight of the calf, after having seen a similar form at Ma’amad Har Sinai, Aharon understood that they were determined to worship the calf at all costs. He chose to delay and stall them, hoping Moshe would arrive in time, and the result is history.
The root of the problem was uncontrolled desire, yearning for spiritual heights, for that exalted state of connection with Hashem. The attempt to attain spirituality, even beyond the Torah’s limits. But spirituality without the Torah’s prescribed boundaries leads to the polar opposite.
The rectification for this is establishing the Tribes, reminding each and every individual in Am Yisroel of his designated role and place in the national goal of advancing spiritually. The collective aspiration toward holiness must be contained within the clear boundaries and unique mission assigned to each individual.
Am Yisroel can be compared to an army, charged with one common goal. Each soldier is assigned a task. A soldier might feel useless monitoring computer screens, or cleaning equipment, thinking: “I’m not doing enough to protect my country, I’m not contributing enough.” If he chooses to climb into a fighter jet and bombs enemy bases he’d be tried for treason, not awarded for heroism. Because leaving one’s post dissolves the entire process.
This was the correction of Chit HaEgel. Only once Moshe re-established each tribe in its place, redefining each individual’s role within the common goal, was the nation able, as a whole, to correct the sin.
Elul: Drawing Close to Hashem
So what is Elul -- a time of closeness to Hashem, or a time of repentance and regret for past sins?
The Chida (Nachal Eshkol, Shir HaShirim 6:3) answers simply: “Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li”. Elul is when we long to connect with Hashem in love. Elul is teshuvah m’ahava – returning to our original connection with Hashem, when Hashem accepts us regardless of where or how long we’ve strayed. All we have to do is seize the moment and call out to Him. Return home.
The Chida (Chomas Anach, Shir HaShirim 6:3) adds that the process begins with “Ani LeDodi” — we must take the first step, to reach out. This step, miniscule as it may be, arouses Hashem’s mercy. Then, two things happen: we receive Heavenly assistance, our teshuvah is accepted, and Hashem’s love, “Dodi li”, is revealed, erasing all past sins. In Elul there is no need for the usual four formats of atonement (death, suffering, korbanos, or teshuvah in combination). That process is only for one who repents out of fear, not for one who repents out of love.
What Is Teshuvah?
The author of Seder HaYom (Elul) teaches that we need the days of Elul and Aseres Yemei Teshuvah to truly return to Hashem. Lasting teshuvah can only be achieved through (Shemos 23:30): “Little by little I will drive them out before you.” Change must be gradual, one step at a time.
The Chazon Ish (Emunah U’Bitachon 4:1) explains that at first glance, becoming the perfect person seems like an overwhelming goal. Fierce struggles against a multitude of destructive traits: anger, arrogance, lust, pursuit of honor, competitiveness, revenge, envy, and so on. In truth, however, the Chazon Ish teaches that there is only one root negative trait: neglect.
One who rises in the morning and drifts through the day without awareness, simply allowing life to carry him, will inevitably become morally corrupt. It requires no effort — neglect alone brings decline.
The antidote is therefore simple: awaken your awareness. Pay attention to your actions. Do not allow life to flow unattended. Each day, take a few moments to reflect — whether at night before sleep, or in the morning over a cup of coffee: What do I want to accomplish today? What is the purpose of what I am doing? How can I be better today?
This one sincere thought, the spark of real desire to change, ignites the process of teshuvah out of love. From that instant, the light of intellect and the power of the soul propel him onwards toward good. He begins yearning for holiness after perceiving an eternal, infinite world — and, at the same time, despises all the negative traits.
Thus, the essence of the month of Elul is repentance — but its form is small, the single spark of longing to draw close to Hashem. In practical terms, it is the choice: “I want to be a person of values and morality. I do not want to enjoy the world in the materialistic way it offers itself, but to take joy in the spiritual, G-dly world.”
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
What happens when life is allowed to “run its course”? Let’s take a look at a real historic example:
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, directly on the equator, lies a tiny island of just 21 square kilometers — barely a quarter the size of Manhattan — called Nauru. Between Honolulu and Papua New Guinea, thousands of kilometers from both, it is home to only ten thousand people, yet their story carries a powerful lesson.
Life on Nauru could have remained simple and steady: coconuts, fishing, quiet island living. But then someone discovered that for thousands of years migratory birds had been stopping there, and their droppings — along with the tropical climate —produced a rare treasure: mountains of phosphate, an incredibly valuable material for fertilizer and food preservation, valued at $150 a kilo.
After foreign exploitation by Germany and Australia, Nauru gained independence in 1968. Overnight, its citizens became unimaginably wealthy. Foreign laborers were brought in to work the mines, while the locals collected salaries from government jobs or simply enjoyed direct payouts from the phosphate revenues. For a time, Nauru boasted the second-highest GDP per capita in the world, just behind Saudi Arabia.
Wealth was everywhere. People paid with $50 or $100 bills and never bothered taking change. No one thought about the future. There were no taxes, no infrastructure projects, no long-term investments. Life flowed in unplanned indulgence, a stream of comfort, here and now.
The results were devastating. Forty percent of the population developed diabetes, ninety percent became obese, and life expectancy plunged. And then the inevitable happened: the phosphate ran out. Suddenly, Nauru became one of the poorest nations on earth. Unemployment soared to 90%, and of those who had jobs, almost all worked for the government. Even clean drinking water became scarce. Most of the land was destroyed beyond repair by mining.
Nauru today stands as a tragic example of what happens when life is left to “run naturally” without foresight, without structure, without responsibility.
And the moral is clear: just as one must carefully build plans for his body — diet, exercise, health regimens, so too he must plan and strategize for his soul. Otherwise, his inner world will one day collapse just as surely as the island of Nauru.
