If Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel likened Shabbat to a palace in time, then the month of Elul is more akin to a bus terminal in time. Like at the Port Authority, there are horns blaring (in the form of daily shofar blasts), there is plenty of anxious energy to go around, and it is chock-full of people wondering, “How did I get here? Where am I headed?”
Yet unlike a bus station, where we might spend our time twiddling our thumbs, playing Wordle or scrolling mindlessly, the month of Elul marks the beginning of a season when we are meant to be intentional with our time. We look inward; we assess the path that we have taken over the previous 11 months and begin to chart a way forward. There may be no time in the Jewish year that is as desperately needed and as potentially transformative as the month of Elul.
Elul arrives exactly one month before Rosh Hashanah, and most of its practices are meant to help us enter the new year with a sense of intention and preparedness. Customs around the month include reciting Psalm 27 daily, visiting the graves of our loved ones and sounding the shofar each morning.
But the most central practice of the month is the work of cheshbon hanefesh, the soul accounting in which we seek to balance our proverbial books. Taking stock of our mistakes and our successes, our holy aspirations and our spectacular failures, is meant to leave us with a sense of possibility. The task of Elul is not to beat ourselves up or to feel weighed down by our screw-ups. Quite the opposite. The acknowledgment and reorientation that are part of the process of making teshuvah — that is repentance or return — should allow us to feel more buoyant and free as Rosh Hashanah approaches.
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Thirteen years ago, when I was entering my final year at the rabbinical school of Hebrew College, I emailed the listserv to say that I hoped to take on a practice of journaling each day of the month of Elul. I invited classmates and teachers to join me, and that year there were around 20 of us who shared our writing and our reflections as the month unfolded. With each passing year, the number of participants has grown from a few hundred to a couple thousand and now, with the help of my friends at the Jewish Studio Project, almost 4,000 of us (Jewish and friends from other faith traditions) band together, each seeking to repair what has been broken and to return to a sense of wholeness. (You can sign up to get the prompts here.) It is work best done in the company of others.
Next week, we will celebrate Rosh Chodesh Elul, beginning our month of contemplation and recalibration. The great Hasidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, who is sometimes referred to as the Kedushat Levi, once offered a teaching about the start of the month of Elul by expounding on a verse from Isaiah.
Hanoten bayam derech — zeh Rosh Chodesh Elul
“The One who makes a path through the sea,” this is Rosh Chodesh Elul.
The short teaching points to the redemptive power of Elul — the month can be for us like a dry path amid life’s rough seas. Just as in our mythic story, the Holy One opened up a liberatory path for us, Elul is also a route set out for us towards freedom and self-actualization. Yet in the Kedushat Levi’s metaphor, there is also a hint of how challenging the work can be. Seeking to understand ourselves, to take account of our actions and to make repairs can be a bit like building a path through the sea. The construction will be challenged by the rising and falling tides of our days. The path may occasionally be washed away by waves of frustration, of guilt, of hopelessness. Still, in the midst of all the tumult of these times, we are seeking out a way through the sea.
We come from a tradition that is (blessedly) non-proselytizing. Yet, there are times when I want to proclaim from a mountaintop, or advertise on a billboard or go door-to-door spreading the good word of our practices. This is how I feel about Elul. I believe that no year should begin without time for introspection. I believe that we are better off as people for setting intentions, for course-correcting. I believe that there is something special in the air this time of year that opens up the possibility of transformation.
Elul, it is taught, is an eit ratzon, a time of favor, a special time in the year where we have greater and easier access to the divine. This is a month when the walls come down, or we realize that the walls were imagined to begin with. And, a bit closer to Kadosh Baruch Hu (the Blessed Holy One), we see ourselves with more clarity and can hope that a touch of that divine mercy might rub off on us. It is a month where we seek forgiveness (from others, from the Holy One, from ourselves). Most importantly, it is a month that welcomes in everyone. Whether you are a cultural Jew or completely devout, a skeptic or a mystic, an idealist or a cynic, there is room in the month of Elul for you. Each of us, no matter our background, no matter our level of learning, sees in the turn of the year an opening and an opportunity to live more fully.
This essay initially appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Shabbat newsletter Recharge on August 8, 2026. To sign up to receive Recharge each week in your inbox, click here.
