Developing that G-d-consciousness is the central challenge of our lives as religious Jews

T

he time period from Shavuos to Yom Kippur can be divided into the three separate 40-day periods during which Moshe Rabbeinu was on Har Sinai. From Rosh Chodesh Elul to Yom Kippur parallels the third such period.

We might think, then, that the 40-day period in which we currently find ourselves, and which culminates on Yom Kippur, coincides with Hashem’s mechilah, forgiveness, of the Jewish People for the sin of the Golden Calf. Rabbi Immanuel Bernstein points out, however, that is not the case. Already at the end of the second 40-day period, on 29 Av, the Holy One, Blessed is He, was, in Rashi’s words, “reconciled with Israel and told Moshe, ‘Carve out for yourself two tablets.’ ”

On Yom Kippur — again quoting Rashi — another element was added: “The Holy One, Blessed is He, was reconciled with Israel with joy, and said to Moshe, ‘I have forgiven in accordance with your words.’ That is why Yom Kippur was fixed for forgiveness and pardon.”

What is the difference between “reconciliation” and “reconciliation with joy”? Upon the answer to that question depends the focus of our efforts during Elul and the Ten Days of Repentance.

Rabbi Bernstein suggests that the primary avodah of the third 40-day period associated with teshuvah is working on our consciousness of Hashem, and letting that awareness of Him infuse everything that we think or do.

Developing that G-d-consciousness is the central challenge of our lives as religious Jews. As the Ramchal states in Derech Hashem (I:4:6), “the root of all Divine service consists of man turning constantly to his Creator, in order that he know and understand that he was created solely to cleave to his Creator.”

The Mabit, in his Beis Elokim, emphasizes that teshuvah means to return. But return to what? To closeness to Hashem after the rupture in the relationship created by one’s transgressions. The restoration of that relationship, and not the avoidance of punishment, is the essence of teshuvah. That renewed closeness to Hashem is alluded to in the phrase “lifnei Hashem tit’haru — before Hashem you will be purified.”

The “reconciliation” that took place on 29 Av was Hashem’s forgiveness of the punishment for the Cheit Ha’eigel and His grant of permission to Moshe Rabbeinu to fashion a new set of Luchos. But only over the next 40 days was the distance from Hashem repaired and the relationship restored to its previous closeness. That is “reconciliation with joy.”

THE AVODAH OF ROSH HASHANAH requires us to develop our G-d-consciousness. The focus of the day is to crown Hashem as King over us. That can only happen if we have thought deeply and constantly about Him.

We pray on Rosh Hashanah that Hashem place awe of Him upon every created thing, such that all mankind is bound together as one to do His will. To know what we are davening for requires an act of imagination: What would a world in which “all wickedness will evaporate like smoke” and everyone seeks to do His will actually look like? What, in short, is His Will?

Each of the five Chumshei Torah has a different character: Bereishis centers on G-d as Creator; Shemos on G-d as Redeemer, etc. The unique theme of Sefer Devarim, which we read throughout Elul and the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, writes Rav Leib Mintzberg ztz”l, is Hashem as our Father.

The difference between a son and a servant, writes the Ramchal in Mesilas Yesharim, is that a servant only wants to know what the master has commanded, and seeks to do no more than that. The son, by contrast, wants to understand the deeper ratzon, will, of his father, and seeks to fulfill that ratzon, even when it is not specifically commanded.

The definition of a chassid, according to the Ramchal, is one who seeks to do the ratzon Hashem, like a son to a father. Ascertaining that ratzon is impossible without deeply contemplating Hashem — what does it mean that He is One, what does it mean to fear Him, what does it mean to love Him?

In the Torah reading of the first day of Rosh Hashanah, Yishmael is spared from death after he cries out from thirst. Subsequently, an angel informs his mother, Hagar, “Do not fear, for G-d has heard the cry of the youth ba’asher hu sham (as he is at present).” Those last words, ba’asher hu sham, are the primary reason for the choice of this Torah reading for the first day of Rosh Hashanah; our judgment is based upon our spiritual state at that particular moment.

Depending on the state of our spiritual accounting in terms of fulfillment of mitzvos, there are limits to how much we can change that accounting in the time remaining in Elul. Perhaps we have dug ourselves into too deep a hole.

But there is one thing that we can change dramatically — our orientation toward Hashem or the lack thereof. Is consciousness of Hashem constantly with us or not?

Now obviously that consciousness is not unrelated to our level of mitzvah observance. The most effective way to overcome our yetzer hara is to imagine that Hashem is with us at that moment of struggle — He is. The greater our consciousness of Hashem and His constant presence, the greater our ability to conquer our yetzer hara.

Rav Hutner writes that the goal of Yom Kippur — indeed of the entire 40-day period in which we now find ourselves — is not to become just better people (bessere menschen), but to become entirely new people (andere menschen). The sound of the shofar, I once heard from Rav Moshe Shapira, reminds us, inter alia, of the preverbal cry of a newborn. And this time of the year offers us the opportunity of being born anew. Again, the key is developing or rebuilding our relationship with Hashem and our constant awareness of Him.

BUT WE SHOULD NOT THINK that the reorientation of which I write is easily achieved or that it is the automatic outgrowth of living an observant life. Even the most punctilious observance of mitzvos, thrice-daily davening, not even Torah learning guarantee a G-d consciousness, though all are essential for developing and maintaining it.

Rav Noach Weinberg ztz”l captured the difficulty in a joke he told frequently. A yungerman tells a friend one day that he dreamed about Hashem the preceding night. His friend finds nothing remarkable about that: “Of course, you dream about Hashem. After all, you spend your entire day thinking about Him.”

“What do you mean?” the yungerman replies. “I wake up every morning for the haneitz minyan, and I have a learning seder after that. Then I grab a quick breakfast and take the kids to school before kollel. After first seder, I daven Minchah, and rush home for a quick bite and a short nap before afternoon learning seder.” He continues describing his day, in the same fashion, with scarcely a free moment, right up until the recitation of the bedtime Krias Shema, before concluding, “You see, every minute is accounted for. When should I think about Hashem?”

Perhaps no one in our generation was so successful in instilling G-d-consciousness as Rav Noach. Rabbi Avi Geller was the only Lakewood bochur to accept Rav Noach’s offer of a free flight to Israel for anyone willing to come to teach students in Aish HaTorah for a period of time. What he found when he arrived astounded him: “Beginners were talking about G-d everywhere — in the beis medrash, while eating in the dining room, at night in their rooms.”

But Rav Noach’s desire to instill G-d-consciousness was not limited to baalei teshuvah. He paid the publisher of the popular Tefillas Kol Peh siddur several thousand dollars to print the Six Constant Mitzvos on the inside cover of every prayer book. He once asked his great-nephew Rabbi Binyamin Feldman whether he had ma’arachos (essays) on ahavas Hashem. Told that he did not, Rav Noach challenged him, “How does it feel to say twice a day, ‘V’ahavta es Hashem Elokecha — You shall love the L-rd your  G-d with all your heart,’ when you don’t even know what it means?”

Rabbi Chaim Yisroel Blumenfeld, Rav Noach’s first student from a nonreligious background, remembers, “He taught us that the only way for a person to be happy — to rise above moods, doubts, disappointments, and depression — is to be totally connected to Hashem, to be constantly aware how much Hashem loves him; to be cognizant of his mission in life and how many opportunities there are for each person to fulfill his mission.”

But that impact was not limited to baalei teshuvah. Rabbi Ahron Hoch had learned in the kollels of Chaim Berlin and Mir before ever meeting Rav Noach. And his father was an early mentor to some of the leading maggidei shiur in America. Yet he credited Rav Noach with opening him up to the most important thing a person can know: Each of us can have a living, breathing relationship with the Almighty, and He is truly “Avinu Av Harachaman — Our Father, the loving Father.”

Rav Noach’s primary tool was the Six Constant Mitzvos enumerated by the Sefer Hachinuch as encapsulating the goal to which all the other mitzvos are directed: G-d-consciousness. He viewed the ideas associated with them as spiritual barbells: The more you think about them, the deeper they enter. Whenever not immediately occupied, his mind instantly reverted to reflecting upon one of the Six Constant Mitzvos.

Not by accident did I acquire three seforim on the Six Constant Mitzvos while writing a biography of Rav Noach — one in Hebrew and one in English by talmidim of Rav Noach, and a third based on the lectures of Rav Yitzchok Berkowitz, the current rosh yeshivah of Aish HaTorah.

And I intend to take those seforim off the bookshelves and make them the mainstay of my preparation for the Days of Judgment.

Kesivah v’chasimah tovah.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1079. Yonoson Rosenblum may be contacted directly at rosenblum@mishpacha.com)