The King in the Field: How to Feel Closeness to Hashem in the Month of Elul?

00:00 For some people, when Elul arrives, they become anxious. Rosh Hashanah is coming—the Day of Judgment, when Hakadosh Boruch Hu judges the entire world. What will happen? What will the coming year be like? We need to do teshuvah. We need to think about teshuvah. Then suddenly we remember all kinds of sins and transgressions, and we know how the yetzer hara can magnify things. Wow. The transgressions we committed are enormous; there’s no way to repair them. And so we come under tremendous pressure, with a lot of anxiety and a deep inner feeling of heaviness about this month. This is where the story of the Rebbe Maharash comes in. The Frierdiker Rebbe told this story; he heard it from his father. It was connected with his father’s wedding. The Rebbe Rashab was married on Erev Shabbos, 11 Elul—or on Motzaei Shabbos, 11 Elul, according to another version. In either case, Shabbos fell on 11 Elul. During the sheva brachos, in those days, there was tremendous joy in the court in Lubavitch. The Rebbe Rashab’s father, the Rebbe Maharash, held one of the sheva brachos celebrations in the garden of the house in Lubavitch. Many chassidim came. They celebrated with great joy, and there was dancing. The joy was tremendous. After all, this was the wedding of the Rebbe’s son, who would himself become the fifth Chabad Rebbe. At that celebration, at that joyous farbrengen, the Rebbe Maharash spoke about the month of Elul through the lens of Chassidus. He spoke about something we all know: Elul is also the month in which our teacher the Baal Shem Tov was born. The holy Baal Shem Tov was born on 18 Elul. The Alter Rebbe was born on that same day, 18 Elul. We know that the revelation of Chassidus is connected with 18 Elul. The Rebbe Maharash said then: Elul is the month of teshuvah, the month of mercy and the month of forgiveness. It is the month for taking stock of one’s soul.

02:34 Until the time of the Baal Shem Tov, when Elul arrived, a kind of cloud would descend—a cloud of sadness, of anxiety, of depression, of bitterness. Oy, it’s Elul; we have to do teshuvah. What will become of us? A person would then start thinking about all the bad things he had done and how long the road was before Hashem would atone for him and forgive him. That feeling of anxiety reached its peak in Elul. The Baal Shem Tov lifted the cloud. The Baal Shem Tov brought the inner, profound message that teshuvah is not about dwelling on sins. Teshuvah is a joyful path back to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, and that illuminated the month of Elul. Elul became a month of love, a month for renewing a Jew’s bond with Hakadosh Boruch Hu, a month of “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” We all know that this is perhaps one of the best-known acronyms associated with Elul: Ani ledodi vedodi li—“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” A Jew draws close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu with love. Dodi, “my beloved,” speaks of love and closeness. A Jew’s bond with Hakadosh Boruch Hu is a bond of love, and Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s bond with the Jew is also a bond of love. And it is specifically in Elul that this love is awakened. What exactly is the deeper meaning of this love, of the bond expressed by “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine”? Today we’re going to talk about a subject that, on the face of it, may be very familiar to many of us: the meaning of Elul as the Alter Rebbe revealed and explained it, based on this teaching of the Baal Shem Tov. The Alter Rebbe gave us its depth, its inner meaning. As is well known, the Alter Rebbe said of himself that he was, in effect, the Baal Shem Tov’s pen. So to speak, he put the Baal Shem Tov’s teachings into writing; he explained them and gave expression to the words of the Baal

04:51 Shem Tov, who, as we know, spoke briefly and stated his teachings without much explanation or elaboration. In Chabad teachings—chochmah, binah, daas—the Alter Rebbe explained these ideas, unpacked them and set them out in detail. So in his famous maamar beginning “Ani Ledodi Vedodi Li,” the Alter Rebbe explains the true depth of Elul according to the Baal Shem Tov’s teaching. The substance of the Alter Rebbe’s words is fairly well known. Today we’ll try to delve into his words, to get closer to their inner meaning and to the particular words he uses. We’ll try to explain them more fully in light of the sichos and maamarim we heard from the Rebbe in our generation. The Rebbe, like every leader of his generation, every Rebbe in his generation, brought these ideas down to us, explained them and connected them to the language of our generation. There is a very fundamental point about Elul here, one we all know as “the king in the field.” In Elul, the king is in the field. In Tishrei, the king is in his palace. A deeper understanding of this wonderful illustration and analogy that the Alter Rebbe revealed to us will give us a deeper understanding of exactly what we are called upon to do this month. Many people ask: What does it mean that the king is in the field? Fine, but what does that mean? What is its significance? And what does it mean in practical terms for serving Hashem? How should it lead me to serve Hashem differently in Elul? How does that show itself? What lies beneath these words? So first, let’s see what the Alter Rebbe says in his maamar. He opens with that wonderful verse from Shir Hashirim, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine,” whose initial letters spell Elul. He says: In Elul begins the aspect of “I am my beloved’s.” In other words, Elul is primarily the time when we fulfill the first half of the verse: “I am my beloved’s.” The Jew draws close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. This is the time—or, in the language of the maamar, the person’s awakening, the awakening

07:14 of the “I” to draw close to “my beloved,” to draw close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu out of love. That avodah then prepares us for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, the Ten Days of Teshuvah, and Sukkos and Simchas Torah—the month of Tishrei—when we experience “and my beloved is mine”: a Divine revelation from above that takes us in, envelops us and embraces us with love. Another verse from Shir Hashirim that the Rebbe cites is the wonderful verse, “His left hand is beneath my head, and His right hand embraces me.” So to speak, Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s left hand represents the attribute of awe. The left hand expresses—“the left hand pushes away”—the attribute of awe, awe of the King. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Hashem’s kingship is revealed; we crown the King. Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s kingship is revealed in the world, and that is “beneath my head.” It enables a person to lift his head, reveal his soul and draw close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu with yiras Shamayim. Then, “His right hand embraces me”: the right hand represents kindness, the love with which Hakadosh Boruch Hu envelops us in the sukkah. The sukkah symbolizes the embrace, the great embrace Hashem gives the Jewish people after all the avodah of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Then comes the great joy of the momentous days of Sukkos, Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah. All of that is Tishrei. But how do we prepare for it? “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” Elul is the time when a Jew draws close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu out of love. But here a very simple question arises. Wait: those four words, Ani ledodi vedodi li, form the acronym Elul. It isn’t just “I am my beloved’s”; “and my beloved is mine” is also part of the word Elul. Alef, lamed, vav, lamed—that spells Ani ledodi vedodi li. So what are we saying now? That in Elul there is only “I am my beloved’s”: we seek the King, we seek closeness, and only in Tishrei do we have “and my beloved is mine.” That doesn’t fit. The word Elul tells us that both

09:29 In Elul, “my Beloved is mine” also takes place. So the Alter Rebbe comes and tells us, citing the Arizal, about this wondrous revelation: in the month of Elul, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are revealed. Don’t think that in Elul we are searching in the dark. We shouldn’t imagine that in Elul the King is somewhere in the seventh heaven and we have to look for Him with candles. Rather, already in Elul there is a special revelation, a special closeness, a special influence that comes from the very highest place: the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. They represent Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s great mercy, through which forgiveness and pardon come for everything. According to Kabbalah, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy come from Kesser, the supernal crown. In Kabbalah, that represents the highest level, above all the sefiros. The Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are rooted there, and from there come forgiveness and pardon. In fact, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy shine on Yom Kippur. And here is the great secret the Arizal revealed to us: already in Elul, too, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are revealed. So we ask—and this really answers, explains, why we say, “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine”: does it all happen in Elul? Because in fact, Elul contains both. There is “I am my Beloved’s,” and there is also “my Beloved is mine.” In Elul, there is a Jew’s drawing close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu—or, in the Alter Rebbe’s words, an awakening from below: we, down here, awaken to draw close to Hashem. But Elul also has the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, the Divine revelation that helps us draw close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. So “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine”—it all happens in Elul. But now comes the big question: what is the difference between Elul and Tishrei? If everything is already present in Elul, what is there in Tishrei? What is the difference between the Attributes of Mercy that shine in Elul

11:42 and the Attributes of Mercy that shine during the Ten Days of Teshuvah, especially on Yom Kippur? There is certainly a great difference. If there are major halachic differences in our practices and actions, there must also be a difference in their meaning. What exactly is the difference between the Attributes of Mercy of Elul and those of Yom Kippur? Here the Alter Rebbe gives us the wonderful analogy of a king in the field. There is the king’s coronation. Before he is crowned king over the people, there is the moment of coronation—the long-awaited, wonderful moment when the people choose the king. Everyone gathers together, shouts, “Long live the king!”, submits to him and bows before him. As the Tanach relates about the kings of Israel, a king’s coronation is a very, very important, pivotal, historic moment. But before the king is crowned, before the crown is placed on his head and he sits on his throne, there is an introductory stage, a stage of preparation. And then the Alter Rebbe says these words: This is analogous to a king who, before entering the city—before entering the royal city, the royal hall, the royal palace—is met by the townspeople, who go out to greet him and receive him in the field. All the people, the townspeople, go out to meet the king. Where? In the field. There they greet the king and receive him in the field. And when the king is in the field, anyone who wishes is permitted and able to go out and greet him. In other words, they have permission and the ability: anyone who wants to can come and greet the king while he is in the field. And he receives everyone graciously and shows everyone a smiling face. While the king is in the field, he is together with everyone, in the closest possible way. Anyone who wants to draw close to the king is received by him—and not merely received: he is received graciously,

14:09 with a smiling face, a face full of joy and warmth. The king is happy to meet him. This is the preparatory stage, when the king is in the field. Afterward, they follow him. All the people follow the king. He reaches his royal city, and when he enters his royal hall, there are the royal crown and the royal throne. At that point, not everyone can enter. Only a select few among the people, special individuals, are able to draw close to the king and connect with him. That is already something very special. Those are the Alter Rebbe’s words, and he concludes: The same is true, by way of analogy, in Elul. Elul is the time when we, the Jewish people, greet Hakadosh Boruch Hu, the King of kings, in the field. So the question is: What does this analogy tell us? What is its deeper meaning? In other words, what is the explanation here? There is the king in his palace, and there is the king in the field. What this means is that when the king is in his royal hall, he has his crown, all his garments, all his splendor and majesty. But not everyone can enter; special preparation is needed. When the king is in the field, he appears in a simpler, more accessible way. He may not be wearing his crown or all his royal garments, with all the trappings of royalty. But that is precisely what allows him to be close to the people, allows the people to feel close to him, and makes it easier for each and every person to approach the king. Elul is the month when there is a Divine revelation—the King, Hakadosh Boruch Hu. The Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are, so to speak, His face: “May Hashem shine His face upon you.” So to speak, Hakadosh Boruch Hu shows us a shining face. That is what the Attributes of Mercy are about. Hakadosh Boruch Hu, the Father of Mercy, the King of Mercy,

16:25 shows us His abundant mercy. He shows us tremendous closeness. And the King, so to speak—Hakadosh Boruch Hu, with the Attributes of Mercy—is in the field. What does “in the field” mean? In everyday life. Elul is not a holy month in the sense of holy days; it is not a time of Yom Tov or festivals. These are not days of celebration. They are ordinary workdays, with the regular prayers. There are no major changes. True, we blow the shofar in Elul, add a chapter of Tehillim, and say several chapters of Tehillim according to the custom taught by the Baal Shem Tov. But in general, Elul is an ordinary month of workdays. Yet within this month there is a special Divine revelation, a special closeness to G-d. We need to know that in this month the King, Hakadosh Boruch Hu, draws close to us specifically in the garments of the field. He does not approach us from some lofty place. And this answers the question of the difference between the Attributes of Mercy of Elul and those of Yom Kippur. In Elul, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy are clothed in the garments of the field; so to speak, the revelation is not visible. That is why we do not spend all day in shul, we do not fast, and we do not do anything so very far beyond the ordinary. The days are ordinary days. But you have this knowledge, which the tzaddikim revealed to us: during this month, the King is close to us and draws close to each and every one of us. If we just reflect on it and pay attention to this wondrous fact—that in this month Hakadosh Boruch Hu, so to speak, draws close to us with His Attributes of Mercy, waits for us and is ready to receive us—this knowledge, this idea, awakens in a Jew a feeling of closeness. And not only that: the moment we merely want to go out and greet Him, He already receives us graciously. This awakens in each and every one of us that feeling, that closeness, making it easier for a Jew to do

18:36 The teshuvah we need to do during this month is to be done with joy—teshuvah out of love. Knowing that Hakadosh Boruch Hu accepts each and every person unconditionally, with a welcoming and smiling face, awakens in a Jew what the verse says: “As water reflects a face back to a face, so one person’s heart reflects another’s.” When a Jew feels Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s closeness, love, and smile, it gives us even more strength to want to draw close to Him. So on the one hand, we understand why these are not festival days. On the other hand, we also understand why we say, “I am my Beloved’s.” The main avodah of the month of Elul is the “I” seeking my Beloved. When the king appears with his crown, all the trappings of royalty, and his royal garments, he inspires awe and fear. The king makes us want to be his servants, his people. But when the king is in the field, precisely because he is dressed in clothes suited to the field, he does not inspire awe and fear. He does not command any special honor, and perhaps he does not even stir in us a desire to approach him. There is nothing outwardly remarkable. But through reflecting on this, the Jew awakens his true “I” within himself: I am connected to the King, and in fact I have been connected to the King all year. What happened? Daily life—its worries, distractions, confusion, and difficulties—drew me away. But this is where I belong. I want to be together with the King, and that is why we say, “I am my Beloved’s.” This is a person’s avodah: drawing close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu through his own efforts. At the same time, there is certainly the “and my Beloved is mine”: Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s attributes of mercy draw close to us, and He receives us with a welcoming and smiling face. That “and my Beloved is mine” is present in the month of Elul too, but the main emphasis here is on “I”—the avodah

20:36 of a Jew through his own efforts. So how, in practice, is that avodah expressed? We asked: What do we do during the month of Elul? We go out to greet the King. There are two main points here, and they are the heart of the matter. What do we do during Elul? First, we go out. Going out means leaving our usual routines behind—going out, as in “Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house.” It means stepping out of our ordinary lives, while still living within everyday life. These are not holy days; they are specifically ordinary days. But we rise a little, step away from material concerns, rise a little above our habits, our excuses, and the things we are so used to every day. We leave our usual routines behind. “Go forth from your land.” That is the first point: to go out. And the second point is to greet the King. What does it mean to greet the King? In simple terms, it means kabbolas ol Malchus Shamayim—accepting the yoke of Heaven’s kingship. To accept the King is to come to an inner decision: Yes, there is a King. I am part of His people. I am a servant of the King of kings, Hakadosh Boruch Hu, for “We are Your people and You are our King; we are Your children and You are our Father.” Recognizing, deciding, and being aware that there is a King here, and accepting His yoke upon myself—that is what it means, in the analogy, to greet the King. We say, “Go out and greet the King.” The avodah of the month of Elul rests primarily on this point: a Jew needs to accept the yoke of Heaven’s kingship anew, to decide once again to draw close to the King. The Alter Rebbe explains in Tanya: teshuvah means to return, not merely to regret. Of course, regret is part of teshuvah, but the main thing is to return to Hashem, to accept the yoke of Heaven’s kingship, to want once again to bind ourselves and connect with Hakadosh Boruch Hu by fulfilling His mitzvos. Mitzvah is related to the word tzavsa, meaning connection: to become one with the King. This is the avodah of the month of Elul. And here comes something wonderful. If we pay attention to the Alter Rebbe’s words in the analogy,

23:04 they give us a great deal of strength for this avodah of Elul. If we look at the words of the Alter Rebbe that we quoted earlier, he says that during the month of Elul, the townspeople go out to greet the king. And this raises a simple question: the townspeople? The townspeople are with the king all year. Surely the king went out to the field so that the people of the field could greet him. If we look at what the analogy represents, we understand that the townspeople mean holy people, people of Torah, righteous people. The people of the field are ordinary people, people who in their daily lives are far from the king’s presence and do not feel it. They live amid everyday, material concerns—people of the field, people of the wilderness. So the analogy should have said that when the king goes out to the field, the people of the field go to see him. The people of the wilderness go to see him. But what does it mean to say that the townspeople go out? Why does he say that the townspeople go out to meet the king? Here is something wonderful that the Rebbe explained at one of the farbrengens. The Alter Rebbe specifically says “the townspeople” to teach us that every Jew is one of the townspeople. It does not matter where you are in your day-to-day life right now. It does not matter if today you are in the category of the field or in the category of the wilderness, if a person is in the most spiritually distant place from serving Hashem, or has become completely distant from holiness, from Divine light, from the presence of holiness. The good news of Elul comes and says: Every Jew is one of the townspeople. Therefore, every Jew has the opportunity to draw close, to see the King’s face, and to greet Him. We know that, in truth, we are all townspeople; it is only that circumstances have brought us into the field and the wilderness. But who are we really? Townspeople. “A Jew, even though he has sinned, remains a Jew.” Every Jew is in the category of Yisroel, as the Alter Rebbe explains

25:22 here in the maamar: Yisroel is a name. Hakadosh Boruch Hu is the ruler. Yisroel can be read as sar El, a prince of G-d: Hakadosh Boruch Hu is my ruler, and I am a prince in the King’s house. I went far away; now I am coming back. This drawing close is “I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine.” Then all of us will truly be among the King’s princes, able to enter His palace, crown the King on Rosh Hashanah, be together with Him in His royal palace, and connect with Him for the entire year. May each and every one of us certainly receive a good and sweet year, a good inscription and sealing, and every blessing in material and spiritual matters. May the coming year be a year of light, blessing, and Geulah—all the letters of the alef-beis, down to the last letter, tav: a year of Torah, tefillah, teshuvah, and praise. May it be a year full of light, a year full of holiness, and at the same time a year blessed materially and spiritually. And may we receive the greatest blessing, the one we are perhaps waiting for: the true and complete Geulah through Moshiach Tzidkeinu, speedily in our days, amen.