Entering Elul: I’m Not Who I Was

Like many Jews around the world, I’ve felt unprecedented anxiety over the past year. But as we enter a new period in the Jewish calendar, my levels of trepidation have skyrocketed. We’re about to begin the High Holiday cycle of Elul, Rosh Hashanah, the Ten Days of Repentance, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and finally, Simchat Torah – a day of pure joy now marred by the unspeakable horrors of October 7. As a pulpit rabbi, this season is always stressful. But this year, it’s entirely different. 

A few months ago, Hanan Ben Ari, one of Israel’s most iconic musicians, posted a picture on social media that was taken by an IDF soldier. It was graffiti on a wall in Gaza with the opening lyrics from one of his hit songs, which translates to “I’m no longer who I was, who you knew.”

When I saw that chilling picture with those profound words scribbled by that holy soul in that terrifying place, I understood the true source of my anxiety. I think many of us can agree that we are not who we were this time last year. In fact, after everything we have seen, felt, and been through, I struggle to find even the slightest remnants of who we once were. 

How many tears have we shed? How many shiva houses, hospital rooms, and burials have we attended? How much fear has accompanied our daily lives? How many hours of graphic, bloody footage of our brothers and sisters have we watched? How much shocking Jew-hatred have we witnessed from every corner of the world? How drastically has the way we look into our children’s eyes changed? Everything I once knew about myself has been challenged. Everything I once believed about the world has been shattered. 

But what has it been replaced with? A universe of unknowns. 

I know for certain that I’m not who I once was. But what has truly changed about me? Have I developed the spiritual and intellectual tools I need to gain a deeper understanding of who I am? Of what it means to be part of the Jewish people? Of the collective meaning of our survival, our existence, our destiny, our future?

I don’t know what Elul or Rosh Hashanah or the Ten Days of Repentance or Yom Kippur or Sukkot will look like. And I can’t begin to imagine how I’ll experience Simchat Torah this year. But instead of drowning in this anxiety or desperately struggling to control how it will all unfold, I’m choosing to grant myself permission to simply exist in this space. 

Instead of telling myself – or you – what we all want to hear, I’m going to open my heart and listen to the silent scream of my soul. These are screams that the ear can’t hear, but the collective Jewish soul understands these screams more than anything else.  

I’m no longer who I was, who you knew.

How could I be?