Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

This Elul feels strange to me.

Every year as the summer ends, and Elul begins, I get excited. I love Elul. I love the energy, the drive, the possibilities and preparation.

As Rosh Hashana draws closer, the air is filled with meaningful conversations about personal growth and deeper connections. Friends and family begin reaching out to each other, trying to mend relationships and bridge gaps.

We invest time and resources in trying to break bad habits and work on creating new positive practices.

But this year feels different. We’re a third of the way through the month of Elul and, perhaps it’s just me, but I think we’re all still gasping for inspiration.

On the surface, it seems strange that not more “into it” this year. After all, the stakes have never been higher and the future of Klal Yisrael is so obviously hanging in the balance. If there was ever a time to overcome our complacency, it should be now.

The war. The hostages. Antisemitism. Iran. Hezbollah.

Our own religious aspirations and standards should be demanding a significantly heightened Elul experience this year. We should all be on fire with new commitments; with Teshuva, Tefillah and Tzedaka. We should be pounding on the gates of Heaven with our words and deeds.

And yet, we’re tired. It’s been a hard year for the Jewish people.

Perhaps we’re playing the long game, taking it slow, preserving our energy. We know that Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are coming. We know that this year, the trepidation does not end with the Shofar at the conclusion of Neilah. The Yamim Noraim this year will continue through Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah. These days will not be filled with the same exuberant relief as before. Somehow, joy and celebration will need to be coupled with the complexity of brokenness and loss. Somehow we’ll be creating a new holiday of intensity and emotion.

But even if all of that is true, I’m still concerned. I’m worried that there is something more sinister and depressing at work here. Maybe our lack of motivation right now is not simply pacing ourselves for a season of real work and growth.

At our core, the reason we’re feeling demotivated is that we’re questioning the meaning and purpose of Chodesh Elul this year.

There’s a piece inside of us that’s wondering whether it actually makes any difference if we work on not speaking Lashon Hara. Will that bring the hostages home?

If we say brachos with care and kavana, will it help the soldiers that haven’t seen their children for weeks and months? Will it make their lives any better?

Will an extra hour of learning convince Hezbollah to stop firing rockets at Jewish homes in the north?

More than any other year, we are contrasting the smallness of our own Avoda with the enormity of the challenges we face. When we weigh them up, it doesn’t feel like there’s anything we can do that will create any kind of meaningful change. After all, what hasn’t been done already?

Of course, we know that Hashem can fix the world. We know that He can make it all better. But more and more, we’re becoming convinced that we cannot.

This feeling of inability and inadequacy is a powerful demotivator; in other words it’s a Yetzer Hara. It’s a voice inside dissuading us from propelling ourselves forward as individuals and as a nation.

This is yet another element of our perpetual war against Amalek which we read once again this shabbos. Amalek is the one who originally “cooled us off” on our journey – אשר קרך בדרך.

The Mei HaShiloach (ח”א בשלח ד”ה ה’ ילחם לכם) explains that Amalek is not like the other nations in the world. Other nations try to replace Hashem. They deny the existence of an all powerful, almighty infinite God, and in His place they insert powers of their own choice and making.

But Amalek is not an atheist. He doesn’t deny Hashem’s existence; rather he denies our ability to make any meaningful change in the world. Amalek believes in God; he doesn’t believe in man.

This Yetzer Hara is seducing us to become weak willed and angry. It preys on our frustrations and failures until we do little more than sit on the couch, grumbling at the news. We are reduced to reposting in our echo chambers and pointing fingers at politicians and pundits.

But all of this despondency is an illusion.

The Torah describes the creation of Mankind in the Image of God. On this, the Nefesh HaChaim (שער א ג׳) writes that each person is entrusted with the Godly controls of their Universe. Quite literally, Hashem gives us the ability to change the world through our thoughts, speech and actions.

שכמו שהוא ית' שמו הוא האלקים בעל הכחות הנמצאים בכל העולמות כולם. ומסדרם ומנהיגם כל רגע כרצונו כן השליט רצונו יתברך את האדם שיהא הוא הפותח והסוגר של כמה אלפי רבואות כחות ועולמות עפ”י כל פרטי סדרי הנהגותיו בכל עניניו בכל עת ורגע ממש כפי שרשו העליון של מעשיו ודבוריו ומחשבותיו כאלו הוא ג”כ הבעל כח שלהם כביכול.

Just as Hashem is the Master of the powers found in the totality of all the worlds, and organizes and governs them each instant per His will, so too did He rule that man should be the enabler and disabler of many multitudes of powers and worlds via all of the detailed patterns of his large scale behavior, in every situation, literally in every instant and moment, according to his supernal root, which includes his actions, speech and thought, as if he too is the master of their power, as it were.

But if this is true, then why is it that we don’t always see it and feel it? And why do we feel that nothing we do is making a difference?

The truth is, we do see it and we do feel it. But we never see it immediately. In all of our great attempts at building and developing ourselves, success is never apparent at the outset.

We never lose weight on the first day of a diet. We never build muscle on the first day at the gym. No one ever built a fortune by saving that first dollar. No-one ever finished Shas after the first daf. But it has to begin somewhere.

The changes we make are tiny and incremental; they’re imperceptible and invisible to the naked eye. But they are as real in the world as they are in us. The compounded affect of our Avoda changes us and shapes the world around us.

There are two ways that we can approach Rosh Hashana this year. Either we will scream out to Hashem that enough is enough and it’s time for Him to save us. But we would much rather scream out to Hashem that we are a new Jewish people who are working towards a different world.

We can only utilize this second option if each one of us is actually a little different; even if the changes are too small for our eyes to see.

This perspective is not theoretical. Indeed, the Rambam (הל’ תשובה ג:ד) codifies it l’halacha, telling us that we should always see that world is hanging in the balance.

עָשָׂה מִצְוָה אַחַת הֲרֵי הִכְרִיעַ אֶת עַצְמוֹ וְאֶת כָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ לְכַף זְכוּת וְגָרַם לוֹ וְלָהֶם תְּשׁוּעָה By performing one mitzvah, one tips their balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit and brings deliverance and salvation to themselves and others.

Rebbe Nachman tells us that when Moshiach comes, he will turn to each one of us and tells us the story of our lives. He will show us how our actions fit in to the great story of Jewish history.

Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on Hashem. Klal Yisrael needs us this Elul. Pick an Avoda – It’s up to us to make a difference.