Elul, Air, and the Divine Breath of the Shofar
In this ever turning dance of the seasons, we find ourselves once again entering the month of Elul. This month begins with a peculiar and little observed day – Rosh Hashana La’Beheimot – the new year for the animals. Yes, animals get their very own new year. In fact, there are four new years outlined in the mishnah (rosh hashana 1:1). While these are primarily seasonal dates which demarcate the beginning and end of certain cycles (this day for field crops, this day tree fruits, this day public services, and this day your cattle), there is a deeper spiritual valence as well. Rosh Hashana (the big one we all know) is associated with the element of water. It falls as we move into the rainy season. It is a time of washing ourselves clean by casting our sins into the waters. Tu B’shvat is the new year associated with Earth. The trees grow from the ground, the shells of their fruit compost to make new soil, and their seeds are planted to decompose and sprout forth once again. In the spring we have the new year associated with Fire as we move into the dry season. Fire burns away our chameitz and cooks matzah in record time. And it is here at the beginning of Elul, on the new year for the animals, when we begin connecting with and calling in the Air.
So what is the connection between air and the new year for animals? Once upon a time when the Temple in Jerusalem stood, we would bring sacrifices as a means of coming closer to the Divine. When we give of ourselves we come closer, and the choice of what to offer was not random. Rather, each animal was associated with a specific spiritual condition or gratitude. A goat opens the gates of repentance from wrongdoing, whereas a sheep may be better suited for thanksgiving. Every sacrificial animal, each according to its specific nature, was turned at least in part into smoke on the altar. Flesh converted to air, the spirit released.
In addition to being the new year for the animals, Elul’s arrival ushers in the addition of certain rituals that help reorient our hearts towards introspection and account taking. Practices that prepare us for the coming High Holy days. Of these additions, the most embodied is the daily blowing of the shofar. Each morning we blow out a primal howl, a bellowing moan, a weeping sob, and a desperate cry. The horn of an animal connects with Divine breath and is transformed into a beacon of sound. Carried by the air, it calls us to wake up and pay attention. Not only is it a call to awareness, but a reminder of our holy spirit within, the precious and precarious lifeforce we renew with each and every inhalation. The shofar is the connection between animal and spirit, it is the mechanism by which we commune with Air.
I invite everyone this year to really pause when listening to the shofar. Let its cries pierce our hearts. Set aside the active time this Elul to take stock of who you have been and what you have done this past year. The good and the bad. Go back through the pictures on your phone – one month at a time – and let yourself remember. If you keep a journal, go back and read through it. Go back through your calendar and remember what was present for you at the holidays and other markers throughout the year (Rosh Hashana, Thanksgiving, New Years, etc). And as you do so, think, “what offering could I make that would bring me closer? Closer to the Divine, closer to the people in my life, closer to myself.” Maybe it is a letter to a parent or friend. Perhaps a donation to a certain cause. Or possibly a sincere heartfelt prayer. Three pathways, repentance (Tshuvah), righteous giving (Tzedekah), and prayer (Tefilah) our High Holiday liturgy offers as lessening the harshness of what may come.
We no longer bring animals to burn on the altar, but their spirit still calls out to us through the shofar. Elul is an opportunity to connect with Air, with spirit, with Divine breath. As we deepen that connection, what words, calls, and cries can we offer to help gratify, rectify, and purify our world?
About the Author, Wilderness Torah’s New Program Director
Eli Witkin is a playful and experienced educator. He spent the last ten years making his way through wilderness education, experiential programing, and classroom teaching. Whether hosting a monthly Rosh Chodesh Kumzits, guiding children through the woods, or teaching teens Hebrew Calligraphy, with Eli, curiosity and spirituality are always at the forefront. He believes that all humans are born curious, with the innate ability to learn the natural way – through wonder and exploration.
Eli first fell in love with Torah at age ten and has been studying ever since. Five years ago he helped co-found the farm at Gann Academy. There a new type of Torah began to grow, a part of what he likes to call “the great remembering.” Now Eli has a passion for bringing our ancient tradition, kept for thousands of years in books, alive once again into an embodied relationship with nature and land.
As a lover of learning, Eli holds a random array of certifications including degrees in Geology, Economics, Education, and Experiential Education. More than anything else, he is most proud that former students sometimes reach out just to have coffee.
