The Month of Elul and Parshas Re'eh - A Chassidic Month of Elul - Rabbi Asher Parkesh

00:01 In Elul 5635, the Rebbe Rashab, of blessed memory, was married. The wedding was not in Lubavitch but in Ovruch, where the bride was. His father, the Rebbe Maharash, did not travel to the wedding for various reasons. The Rebbe Maharash remained in Lubavitch, and many chassidim came from far away to take part in the wedding celebrations there. Among them was one of the great chassidim of that time, Reb Dovid Wolf. Reb Dovid Zev—they called him Reb Dovid Wolf Kozovnikov, Reb Dovid Wolf of Yekaterinoslav. He was a chossid of the Rebbe Maharash, and years later he told the Frierdiker Rebbe how the celebrations unfolded during the seven days of wedding festivities in Lubavitch. He said it was a great, beautiful celebration. Hundreds of chassidim came from far away, and there was tremendous joy. Throughout the week—the wedding took place during the week between 11 Elul and 18 Elul, which was the wedding week—there was, of course, great rejoicing. On one of the seven days of celebration, a large meal was held outdoors, in the open courtyard outside the Rebbe Maharash’s home. There was a large courtyard there, and a large meal was held in it. After the Rebbe delivered Chassidus and words of Torah, the chassidim began to dance. The Rebbe Maharash also danced with the chassidim for a while. Then he returned to his place, sat down and watched. The chassidim danced with great joy. There were many circles, so many... People came and danced in dozens upon dozens of circles of chassidim. The joy was tremendous. Those standing near the Rebbe Maharash—including the Raza, a member of the family—heard him say: “Ah, look, this is the greatness of joy. This is how Jews will dance when Moshiach comes.” 18 Elul fell on Shabbos. A large kiddush and a large meal were held, and there was tremendous joy. The chassidim danced, the chassidim sang,

03:06 and the Rebbe Maharash delivered Chassidus. The chassidim broke into a great dance, called the “circle dance.” The Rebbe Maharash spoke and said these words: “Elul is a month built on Chassidus. As is known, the holy Baal Shem Tov was born on 18 Elul, and the Alter Rebbe was born on 18 Elul. And this is the avodah that Chassidus refined and infused with vitality—the avodah of ‘I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.’” And he said: “In earlier times, when Elul arrived, fear and dread descended on everyone. A cloud hung over everything. That was human nature; it was a feeling of distress: a Jew arrives at Elul and knows he must do teshuvah, pray and reflect. He must do teshuvah, so he needs to take stock of himself, chastise himself, look at himself with a critical eye, and so on and so forth, until he becomes utterly clouded over and gloomy. Then the holy Baal Shem Tov came and brought in inner vitality. He illuminated the world and made the avodah of Elul full of life and joy. And the Alter Rebbe brought inner depth into that vitality, into the entire matter of the avodah of teshuvah, and revealed how the avodah of teshuvah in Elul should be done: with joy, with vitality.” This was expressed by the great joy the chassidim experienced during the seven days of wedding festivities in Lubavitch. But now let us consider Elul itself: What is the avodah of Elul? As is brought down, yes, one of the most important and central acronyms of Elul is

05:17 the acronym for Elul: “Ani ledodi vedodi li”—“I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.” What does “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine” mean? As we find in Shir Hashirim, there are two verses. There is the verse “My Beloved is mine and I am His,” and there is “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.” What is the difference between the two verses? In “My Beloved is mine and I am His,” “My Beloved is mine” comes first. As is known, “my Beloved” refers to the groom, the Master of the Universe, and “I” refers to the Jews, to the Jewish people. That is the whole theme of Shir Hashirim: it is a parable for Hakadosh Boruch Hu and the Jewish people. And in this there are two levels, two aspects: how it is in Nissan, and how it is in Elul and Tishrei. In Nissan, it is “My Beloved is mine and I am His.” “My Beloved,” the groom, the Master of the Universe, first draws close to the Jews. First comes “My Beloved is mine”; this is what Chassidus calls an arousal from above, when the Master of the Universe awakens the Jews from above. That is what happened in Nissan. As is known, Pesach was a matter of “Draw me after You”: the Master of the Universe did not wait. The Jews were worshipping idols—“These are idol worshippers and those are idol worshippers”—and were sunk in the forty-nine gates of impurity. And the Master of the Universe, “My Beloved is mine,” Himself drew close in love and revealed His love for the Jewish people. Through this came “and I am His”—the Jewish people were drawn

06:53 to Hakadosh Boruch Hu with love, and they left Egypt: “Your following Me into the wilderness.” It came first from above. Afterward came the avodah of the person. Now, when we come to the avodah of Elul, the time of teshuvah, we say the reverse. The verse says: “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine, Who grazes among the lilies.” First comes “I am my Beloved’s”—avodah that comes from the Jew himself, through his own efforts. The “I,” the Jew, leaves his present standing and situation, wherever he finds himself, and awakens to turn to Hakadosh Boruch Hu and do teshuvah: “I am my Beloved’s.” Through this comes “and my Beloved is mine.” When the Jew draws close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, Hakadosh Boruch Hu draws close to the Jew. And as the Bach brings down—yes, the Bach gives a wonderful explanation. In his commentary on the Tur, section 581, concerning Elul, he notes that “Ani ledodi vedodi li” forms the acronym Elul, and explains: “Ani ledodi”—that I draw close to my Beloved; “vedodi li”—that He draws close to me through teshuvah out of love. In other words, the avodah of Elul must be the Jew’s drawing close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Through this, Hakadosh Boruch Hu draws close to the Jew, and it is all with love. So it follows that the point of Elul is that the Jew must awaken, work through his own efforts and do teshuvah. Then there is the well-known maamar of the Alter Rebbe, the wonderful maamar in Likkutei Torah, in

08:28 Devarim, Parshas Re’eh, on page 32. As the Rebbe would say: page 32, the heart of Likkutei Torah. There the Alter Rebbe explains the avodah of “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine.” Seemingly, it is all avodah through one’s own efforts, as we said. Elul is an arousal from below: the Jew leaves his present standing and situation, works through his own efforts to take stock of himself and awaken to teshuvah, to draw close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. On this, the Alter Rebbe brings something remarkable. The writings of the Arizal say: What is the significance of Elul? The Arizal writes that Elul, all the days of Elul, is a time of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. In other words, throughout Elul, a light shines from above—a great light, a great revelation of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. This is one of the greatest lights revealed from above, and from it comes the power for abundant mercy, for teshuvah, for atonement and for everything else. We generally know that the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are revealed primarily on Yom Kippur. Here the Arizal revealed a wonderful secret: the entire month of Elul is a time of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. This raises a question, for seemingly there is a contradiction. On the one hand, we say that the avodah of Elul is “I am my Beloved’s”: that a Jew should awaken to teshuvah through his own efforts, from below upward. On the other hand, along comes

10:07 the Arizal and says the opposite: the significance of Elul is that it is a time of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. But the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy come from above. To explain this, the Alter Rebbe gives the well-known parable, the wonderful parable that expresses the depth of the avodah of Elul. The Alter Rebbe says: “It is like a king: before he enters the city, the people of the city go out to greet him.” In the parable there is a king, and before the time of his coronation he goes out into the field. Then “the people of the city go out to greet him.” All the people of the city go out to meet the king and receive him in the field. The king is now in the field. As the Alter Rebbe says elsewhere in the maamar, the king is actually in the field. He is not standing there in all his pomp and splendor; rather, he goes out and is there with the people in the field. Then all the people of the city can go out and receive the king in the field. “Anyone who wishes” can “go out and greet him”—go out and greet the king. “And he receives them all with a pleasant countenance.” When a person comes to the king while he is standing in the field, before his coronation, anyone can approach the king without any [unclear].

11:50 And the king receives everyone, “receiving them graciously and showing them a smiling face.” He greets each person with a joyful, radiant face. That is how he receives all who come, because he is in the field. Afterward, they all follow him, and when he enters the city and the time comes for him to go inside, they go with him. But when he enters the royal palace and approaches the throne, only a select few, the finest of the people, may enter. That is how it is when the king is in his palace. The Alter Rebbe brings this wonderful analogy to explain the difference between the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy that shine during Elul and those that shine on Yom Kippur. The Alter Rebbe asks: Seemingly, the entire month of Elul should be a Yom Tov. When such an awesome revelation of G-dliness shines, it should be like any other Yom Tov. What is the reason for the joy of Yom Tov? A revelation of G-dliness shines, as explained in Chassidus and Kabbalah. The same is true of Shabbos, and all the more so of Yom Kippur, when the essence of that revelation shines—that is what makes it a Yom Tov. And if we say that the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, the revelation of Yom Kippur, shine throughout Elul, then, as the Arizal says, all of Elul is like the Ten Days of Teshuvah. This is the Alter Rebbe’s question: the entire month of Elul should be a Yom Tov.

13:22 But the answer is that the king is in the field. The difference between Elul and Yom Kippur is that during Elul the king is in the field. And if the king is in the field, he is dressed in clothes suited to the field. Precisely because he is there, these are weekdays. Even according to straightforward halachah, these days are not Yom Tov; they are times when he is present in the state and setting of ordinary weekdays. This is the point of the weekdays in the field: the king dresses in field clothes, approaches the person there, and says to him, “I want to be with you. Come out to me.” That is what Elul is about. Yom Kippur, by contrast, is the king in his palace, with the royal throne and all that goes with it. This resolves the question of how these two ideas fit together. On the one hand, we say that Elul is a time of effort through one’s own strength: the person must seek out the king. On the other hand, we say that it is the time of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. The Rebbe explains: Yes, it is the king himself who comes to the field, and that is what the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy shining during Elul mean. But because the king is dressed in field clothes, it is like what happens in the physical world. When the king is present in all his splendor, when he is beside the royal throne,

14:54 when the king is surrounded by royal furnishings, dressed in royal garments, amid all the trappings and protocols of royalty, in his palace, with all the wealth and the full majesty of a king—it inspires awe and reverence at once. But when the king is in the field, dressed in field clothes, in his outer garments, his appearance does not naturally arouse fear, inhibition, or agitation. On the contrary, it takes effort to want to approach the king. At the same time, his presence gives us the strength to do so. When a person reflects that Hakadosh Boruch Hu, the King of kings, personally dresses for the field, draws near, and is there with me in the field, it awakens—like a face reflected in water—the essential love for the king. Then one wants to draw near and see him. This is the work of Elul: a person must step outside himself. Elul arrives, the time of teshuvah, when Hakadosh Boruch Hu comes everywhere and draws near to him, and he must, he must call out to Hakadosh Boruch Hu: “I am my beloved’s.” This is the heart of the Alter Rebbe’s words. It is the central point of the Alter Rebbe’s explanation of Elul.

16:25 This is the meaning of “May Hashem shine His face upon you”: Hakadosh Boruch Hu shines His face, His innermost self, toward the Jew, and the Jew must turn his face toward Hakadosh Boruch Hu. The main work, after all, is the work of “I am my beloved’s.” As we say, when the king is in the field, the work must be “I am my beloved’s.” At the same time, Hakadosh Boruch Hu gives us the strength to do that by causing the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy to shine. He comes close, makes Himself accessible, so that the Jew can be stirred to teshuvah, leave his confinement and his present state, and draw near to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. These are the Alter Rebbe’s words. The Rebbe once raised a very difficult question about this, a very interesting point. When you study the maamar, a question arises. Seemingly, the king comes down to the field for the sake of those who are in the field—and even more so, since the Alter Rebbe goes on to discuss the desert as well. There are different levels. As discussed in the maamar, there is a city, a field, and a desert. These are levels in serving Hashem. The city represents holiness, “the city of our G-d”; a Jew who studies Torah and observes mitzvos walks through the city together with the king. The field, by contrast, is outside the city, though it is still not a desert. The desert is

17:49 even worse. Yes, a desert, “where no person dwelled.” “That great and fearsome desert” represents, as the Alter Rebbe says, thought, speech, and action that are not directed toward Hashem. There is the city on the side of holiness and the desert on the opposing side. There is also a field on the opposing side: “Esav was a man of the field.” The reason the king comes to the field is that he wants to give a Jew in the field—even one in the desert—the opportunity to step outside himself. By drawing near to him and coming down to the field, the king enables the Jew to leave his desert, leave his field on the opposing side, draw near to the king, and be stirred to teshuvah. But when you look closely at the Alter Rebbe’s wording, something remarkable emerges. The Alter Rebbe says that “the people of the city go out to greet him.” Who goes out to meet the king? The people of the city. Who are they? They are the ones who are with the king all year long. Why do they need to go out to meet him? What does this mean? Here the Rebbe explains a wonderful point. In truth, the essential reality of every Jew is that he belongs to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Every Jew is, in essence, one of the select few. Every Jew is, in essence, among the finest of the people. The true desire of every Jew, as the Rambam writes—as is well known, in the laws of divorce—is

19:27 the desire of every Jew is to do everything Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants, to observe Torah and mitzvos, and especially to do so in accordance with the teachings of Chassidus. In the innermost part of his soul, every Jew is an only child of Hakadosh Boruch Hu, the King of kings. And as is well known, the Baal Shem Tov said that every Jew is like an only child to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, with a bond beyond comparison. The Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “For you shall be My treasured land, says Hashem Tzevaos”: Hakadosh Boruch Hu tells every Jew that he is His “treasured land.” Every Jew is a treasured land, full of treasures, full of things more precious than precious. That is the Jew’s inner quality. What happens, though? Throughout the year, when he is distant from the king, each person is absorbed in his own concerns, in daily life, which sweeps him along and keeps him busy: worldly affairs, business matters, worries about making a living, upheavals, and so on. Sometimes his true desire, his true inner self, becomes covered and hidden, and so he stands at a distance from the king. But in truth, despite all that, his innermost heart is wholly with Hashem; he wants to be with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. When the king comes to the field, when he comes down and draws near to the Jew in the field, there is no need to create something new. The Jew’s true inner self is then revealed.

21:06 It then becomes clear that every Jew, without distinction—whether he spends the whole year in the field or has even, Heaven forbid, stumbled into sin—is also one of the people of the city. What appears on the outside is not his true reality. What is his true reality? He is one of the people of the city. That is what the Alter Rebbe hinted at in the wording of his analogy: “The people of the city go out to greet him.” The people of the city go out to greet him—every Jew is one of the people of the city; that is every Jew’s true reality. He goes out to meet the king, draws near to him, and unites with him: “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” This gives us an even deeper understanding of “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” One could ask: What is the point of “I am my beloved’s”? Seemingly, in Elul the king goes out to the field, and what is new is the king’s revelation. So why do we say “I am my beloved’s”? We explained that “I am my beloved’s” is the work of an awakening from below: in Elul we must begin on our own, with “I am my beloved’s,” unlike on Pesach. But this explanation adds a new depth to “I am my beloved’s.” The deeper meaning of “I am my beloved’s,” which we say in Elul, is that we begin specifically with the word “I.” The first of the four words whose initials spell Elul is “I.” And the meaning is that I—

22:39 In the month of Elul, a Jew’s true “I” is revealed. That is the real “I”; it comes to light. And what is the real “I”? That a Jew wants to be one with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. As the Rambam writes about a Jewish king in general—I’m not speaking about kings now—“His heart is the heart of the entire congregation of Israel.” The king is the heart of the people; they are truly one. During the year, when a Jew is far from the king, this is hidden, and it needs to be awakened. When you don’t feel it, you don’t feel that this is your “I,” your true reality. And that is the difference between the king in his palace and the king in the field. When the king is wearing his royal crown and displaying the majesty of kingship, and that inspires awe and reverence, it still does not prove that this is my real “I.” The love or reverence—the awe of his majesty—may have been stirred not by the person himself, but by the display of majesty, the royal crown, the display of kingship. That is what stirred them. But when the king does not appear in all his wealth and splendor, and is instead dressed in simple clothes that do not themselves inspire awe and reverence, and yet, when Jews see the king there with them in the field, their “I,” their true “I,” awakens. That is—

24:10 that, deep down, I want to stand with the king all the time. That is my true desire. It has become a little dim, a little obscured; I don’t see it, but it is my true inner self, my true reality. And this, we say, is what the month of Elul is about; this is the true meaning of the work of teshuvah. The holy Baal Shem Tov revealed the true meaning of teshuvah. The true meaning of teshuvah, as explained in Chassidus, is “and the spirit shall return to G-d Who gave it.” Teshuvah means that a Jew returns and reunites with his true “I.” Teshuvah means returning. As we know, would we define teshuvah as regret? Regret is not the true meaning of teshuvah. Its true meaning is teshuvah in the sense of “and the spirit shall return”: returning to the true source of our lives, which is G-dliness, and returning to my own true “I.” Who am I, really? It means returning to my true essence, to who I am—“I.” And what is my “I”? My “I” is “to my Beloved”; Hakadosh Boruch Hu and I are one. And when the “I” unites with “my Beloved,” it is specifically through love, because the truth is oneness. This is a loving oneness, in which a Jew and Hakadosh Boruch Hu are entirely one. And then, “my Beloved is mine”—Hashem’s essential love for the Jewish people is revealed from above, [unclear]. And this is

25:42 what Chassidus illuminated about the month of Elul: Elul is a month illuminated by teshuvah, by “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine,” in which a Jew becomes truly one with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. This also explains something remarkable: Shabbos Mevarchim Elul—or, if not, Shabbos Rosh Chodesh Elul—always falls during Parshas Re’eh. It is known that the weekly parsha reflects the events of its time, as the holy Shelah writes in Parshas Vayeishev and in several other places: the weekly parsha relates to the time. And it is remarkable that we always read Parshas Re’eh either on Shabbos Mevarchim Elul or on Shabbos Rosh Chodesh Elul. This brings us back to the question we raised earlier: On the one hand, Elul is about work from below, work done through one’s own effort—“I am my Beloved’s.” Yet which parsha do we read then? Parshas “See, I am giving before you,” where “See, I” is something given from above. The first verse of the parsha says, “See, I am giving before you today.” Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “I”—I give Myself; “giving”—one who gives, gives generously. And “See, I am giving”—I give Myself, and I give Myself in a way that can be seen. How can this be? Seeing is such a powerful thing, and sight comes from above. How is it that on Shabbos Parshas

27:15 Re’eh, on Shabbos Mevarchim Elul or Rosh Chodesh Elul, we read Parshas Re’eh, and that this is the name of the parsha? Here the point of the true “I am my Beloved’s” is revealed. As we said, the point Chassidus revealed is work through one’s own effort. But what is that work? The work through one’s own effort is to reveal my true reality. And my true reality is that G-dliness, a Jew, and Hakadosh Boruch Hu—“Israel and the Holy One, blessed be He, are entirely one”—are truly one. This idea is contained in the word “see.” When a person sees something, it becomes one with him. When a person hears something, it remains at a distance; hearing is from a distance. He hears it—perhaps he did not hear it properly, or perhaps he did; perhaps he did not understand it, or perhaps he did—but it has not become one with him. When I see something and someone tells me, “No, that can’t be,” raising objections and doubts—I saw it myself. What does “I saw it myself” mean? What a person sees is right before his eyes; it is a truth he sees, and it is one with him. I saw it myself—it is one with me, and you cannot separate us. That is why it truly becomes one with him. And that is why the Gemara says, “A witness cannot become a judge.” A person who saw something, a witness, cannot serve as a judge. A judge must be able to hear arguments on both sides. When I

28:38 see something, to me it is a truth I have seen; there is no possibility of hearing arguments on both sides. It cannot be otherwise. So we say that in the work of teshuvah during Elul, a Jew must unite with Hakadosh Boruch Hu in the most complete way. This is the true meaning of teshuvah: to reveal the true “I,” and for that “I” to become truly one with “my Beloved.” This is the work of “going out to greet the king,” as the Alter Rebbe explains: going out of oneself, out of one’s sense of separate selfhood, out of one’s external “I,” out of the “I” of the animal soul, out of the desert and the field, and revealing the true “I”—the fact that one is “I am my Beloved’s.” Then they stand face to face, as the Alter Rebbe explains: the innermost desire is revealed, for a Jew’s innermost desire is for G-dliness. And through this, “May Hashem shine His face upon you”—we see Hashem’s innermost desire for Jews. And Hakadosh Boruch Hu chooses: “He will choose our inheritance for us, the pride of Yaakov whom He loves forever.” In Elul, Hashem’s essential love and innermost love for Jews are revealed, as it says later in the parsha: “You are children of Hashem your G-d.” And children—the love and the bond between Hakadosh Boruch Hu and Jews—are truly one. Through this, we can be certain that Hakadosh Boruch Hu will bless every Jew with a good inscription and sealing, a good and sweet year, a good and blessed year; that we will merit

30:06 to be inscribed and sealed immediately in the book of the righteous, and that we will merit everything we truly desire. So much so that, as the Arizal writes, one of the acronyms of Elul comes from [unclear] in the Song at the Sea. This refers to the song sung at the Splitting of the Sea, when the Geulah reached its fullness, and from which the true and complete Geulah is also drawn: “Hashem will reign forever and ever.” May we indeed merit the complete Geulah through Moshiach Tzidkeinu, and may it be a year of Geulah and salvation.