By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
Yerushalayim is the city of hidden tzaddikim, who spend their days and nights plumbing the depths of Torah and tefillah with total humility and anonymity. One such person is Rav Abish Tzainvirt. After sleeping a couple of hours each night, he awakens and learns until it is time to leave to the Kosel to daven Shacharis k’vosikin, as he has done daily for the past thirty years.
My friend heard about him and wanted to meet him and discuss some issues with him. He davened at the Kosel vosikin minyan where his rebbi, Rav Moshe Shapiro, would daven. When davening was over, he approached Rav Tzainvirt and arranged a time to meet him in his home.
As they were leaving the Kosel, my friend mentioned that he was a talmid of Rav Moshe Shapiro. He asked the elderly tzaddik if he had much of a relationship with Rav Moshe besides exchanging pleasantries following davening.
Rav Tzainvirt stopped walking and paused to think. After a few seconds, he looked at my friend with his holy eyes and said, “Ich hub geret mit em mer vi ah toisint sha’ah. I spoke to him more than one thousand hours.”
Imagine that! This tzaddik can account for every minute in his day, keeping a cheshbon of every minute of every day going back many decades.
During Elul, we, who have not yet attained those levels, should at least seriously consider how we spend our time and the words we use. Every minute and every utterance is precious and should be put to good use.
As we return to the month of Elul, the world seems like a powder keg, ready to explode at any moment. There are months associated with redemption, others with joy, and some with destruction and tragedy. Elul is the serious month, during which we examine ourselves and our place in the world as we work to repair what we find lacking. We view the world and ourselves as balanced on a scale, evenly weighted with good and bad, ready to tip in either a positive or negative direction.
Recent tragedies have added to a year already full of sorrow, continuously reminding us of the precariousness of life. Just this week, six Jewish hostages held since October 7th were found dead, shot mere hours before rescuers could reach them. Three Jewish police officers were killed near Chevron. Jewish soldiers lost their lives battling Hamas terrorists in Gaza. A dozen tragic funerals were held across Israel. And just last week, two young men—a rosh chaburah from Lakewood and an accomplished resident of Woodmere—were taken while on vacation in the Poconos. Painful funerals followed.
Israel is engaged in a multi-front war, with the specter of a devastating Iranian attack looming large. World leaders and media castigate Israel for fighting for its survival, branding it and its leaders as genocidal murderers. Airlines boycott it and world bodies condemn the tiny country, as it presses ahead with its mission of destroying its Hamas enemies.
This week, we began reciting the kappitel of Tehillim we refer to as “L’Dovid,” in which we proclaim our faith that Hashem stands by His nation as others attack us. We beg for His mercy to stand by our side and support us. Elul is not only a month during which we become serious as we reflect on the past year and think ahead to the coming one, but also the month when Hashem’s mercy is more prevalent. As we review our actions, repent for what we did wrong, and seek atonement, Hashem is compassionate to those who approach Him with humble faith and true remorse.
As we say L’Dovid, the seriousness with which we must approach life begins to take hold. Over the past few weeks, we have eased into life, reducing our stress levels and stepping back from the usual daily pressures, but now it is time to return to what life is truly about.
For some, the transition is difficult and downright depressing, but for the more thoughtful among us, Elul is invigorating, as it brings us back to a life of meaning, forcing us to contemplate why we are here and what we can do to deserve continued life, brocha, and hatzlocha.
We arrive at this state by studying the various sifrei mussar that our people have been learning for centuries. They guide and enlighten us as they have done for our virtuous forebears throughout the ages. And then we turn to our trusted teacher, the Rambam, who has been teaching and clarifying all aspects of Yahadus for Jewish people around the world for over 800 years.
In his Hilchos Teshuvah, the Rambam carefully outlines the trajectory of teshuvah in a way that deeply affects those who study his Divinely inspired words, leaving them elevated and strengthened as they begin the process that we all need to go through at this time of year.
The person who seeks improvement is struck by how the Rambam sets up and clarifies the path to living a better, more fulfilling, and successful life. He guides you from one halacha to the next, raising you as you follow along with him, moving from laziness and sinfulness to becoming an increasingly superior person.
We find ourselves giving thought to what we do and say. We no longer act out of habit, but think about what we are doing and ensure that the act is a good one that will make us and the world a better place. Before we speak, we consider what we will say and whether it is something positive or negative, whether it will help someone or hurt them, whether it is permissible speech or forbidden speech.
Hashem places us in situations to learn from them. Last Sunday, I found myself somewhere, and WCBS news radio was playing in the background. The 100-year-old New York-based station, which had been a news-only station for the past 57 years, was being shut down by its new owners. Those who grew up with that station and depended on it for traffic and weather reports, as well as its other offerings, were saddened as the station was about to close.
I listened as various news presenters, producers, and others involved with the station spoke about their memories in somber tones. As the radio played in the background, I didn’t pay much attention, but then I heard something that made me perk up. A newswriter was recounting his introduction to the station’s rules and style. He was told to minimize the use of the word “is.” I didn’t catch the whole explanation, but an editor told him that the station worked with blocks of time measured in minutes and seconds. He said, “Our time is precious, and we have to squeeze in as much information as we can into a limited period. We also have to hold the attention of our listeners. The word ‘is’ is unnecessary. It wastes time and slows things down. Never use it.”
The person sharing this memory, whose name I didn’t catch, gave an example. He said that when the announcer gave the time, he didn’t say, “The time now is 9:48,” but rather, “The time now, 9:48.”
And then it hit me, and I understood why Hashem brought me to that place as the radio played. There was a lesson in what that fellow was saying. Each person’s time in this world is limited. We must be careful not to waste our time on extraneous things and words. We must use our time wisely and think before we act or speak. If the act we are about to do is not necessary and serves no purpose, we should refrain from it. When speaking, we should consider our message and the words we use to convey it. If something is worth saying, it should be stated concisely and properly, and if the words or the message are not necessary, we shouldn’t say them.
How time flies. Rav Avrohom Pam’s 23rd yahrtzeit was just commemorated. I remember him admonishing people who would say “whatchamacallit,” because it indicates that they don’t think before speaking.
Elul is a perfect time to work on perfecting how we speak and what we say.
The Gemara in Brachos (61b) quotes Rav Yosi Haglili, who said that the righteous are guided by their yeitzer tov, the wicked are ruled by their yeitzer hara, and beinonim are ruled by both. The terminology Rav Yosi Haglili uses to make his point is “shoftom,” from the word shfot, which is generally translated as “to judge,” as in “tzaddikim yeitzer tov shoftom.”
This translation follows the Vilna Gaon (Chiddushei Aggados), who explains that the word “shoftom” is used to signify that the yeitzer is like a shofet, a judge, who decides how people should conduct themselves.
What is interesting is that we see from here that nothing a person does happens by itself or just because. Everyone is led by a yeitzer. If he is a good person, then he follows his yeitzer hatov, and if he is an evil person, then he is led by the yeitzer hara. Beinonim vary. Sometimes they follow the yeitzer hatov and other times the yeitzer hara. Nothing we do is neutral. Our actions are either good or not good. Our task is to ensure that we don’t permit faulty considerations to mislead us into following the yeitzer hara and doing actions that are silly, wasteful, and wrong.
This week’s parsha of Shoftim begins with the commandment to appoint shoftim, judges, and shotrim, enforcers. For centuries, darshanim have thundered during Elul that the posuk refers to us.
To follow the terminology of the Vilna Gaon, we can say that the posuk is telling us that we have to be able to judge each act and properly determine whether it should be done or not. Even when it is difficult for us to act on the judgment, we must force ourselves to do what is proper. We shouldn’t do anything that a proper judgment would determine has no beneficial value.
The pesukim continue with the injunction to judge properly, not to twist a judgment, and not to accept bribes, even when reaching the right decision, for doing so will lead to corruption and improper understanding. The Torah refers to judges who are ruling on cases, but the inference to our own actions is clear as well. We must not let ourselves be led astray or be swayed by influences that disrupt our balance. “Tzedek tzedek tirdof.” We must always pursue what is right and just, as a people, as a community, and as individuals.
Take a look around and see what happens when justice is perverted, when prosecutors are corrupt, when policemen are afraid to police, and when judges twist the law. See a country torn apart by a justice system that doesn’t work. See what happens when politics determines who goes free and who faces dreadful sentences. Look at the country’s big cities, where there is no order in certain areas and crime is a regular occurrence, with perpetrators being let go at an alarming rate.
Last week, it was revealed that fully half of the riders on New York City buses don’t pay the required fare. Bus drivers are afraid to confront them, so another mark of decency and the law crumbles. In California, the police are not allowed to go after criminals who steal less than $950 worth of merchandise. Blue states let criminals out without bail and don’t hand over criminal illegal aliens to the authorities, who would remove them from the country. We see the outcome of such policies.
People who fail to judge and police themselves face the same outcome. That’s why Elul is here. It is here for us to look in the mirror and say to ourselves, “Tzedek tzedek tirdof.” We must straighten ourselves out, act properly, be good, and do good.
The parsha concludes with the halachos of the eglah arufah. If a person is found dead outside of a town, the zekeinim and shoftim of the town, along with the kohanim and levi’im, must proclaim that they had no hand in the person’s death. They declare that they did not see the deceased walking through their town without offering him food or seeking to care for him. They vow that they had no remote role in his death.
This week, as we study the parsha, let us contemplate those who have been wronged, misjudged, abused, and mistreated, and let us vow to do what is right and proper. Let us stand up for those who have no one to stand up for them. Let us fight for what is right.
We must think about others and also about ourselves. Life is a test of wills, and to the degree that we follow the urge to do good, we are good. But if we let go and fall prey to urges that push aside the good in favor of temporary enjoyment, we lose out every time.
Our brothers are at war. We need to think about them and feel the pain of the grieving families, of those who haven’t been home since Simchas Torah, and of those who lost their loved ones, homes, schools, jobs, and everything else that is important in life.
Elul is a serious time—a time to think, to daven, to improve, to fix what we didn’t do right last year, and to plan ahead for the coming year.
For the next month, we will be hearing the shofar every morning after davening. Those sounds are meant to instill the fear of Hashem within us. It is not just the sound, but the act of blowing the shofar that should awaken us from our apathy. Even if the events of the past year have not been enough to shake us and remind us how temporary and fragile life is, when we hear the shofar, there are no more excuses.
Wake up! Your life depends on it.
{Matzav.com}