September 11, 2016
The other night, my freshman was busy picking out his clothes for the first day of school. He was that typical mix of nervous and excited most kids are before the undeniably huge leap to high school. Still, he seemed ready for this next stage of his life and the possibilities that await him – even for the long bus ride, the long day, and the long hours of homework when he finally gets home.
I had butterflies in my stomach, too.
It’s a fact that I get emotional about these big moments in my children’s lives. I’d be lying if I were to deny my concern about how my son is going to manage this transition, and I’d also be lying if I were to say I wasn’t leaping four years ahead in my brain to what will, by then, be our empty nest.
But what really got my attention the other night was a realization that Elul – which I haven’t been thinking nearly enough about – is a lot like the night before a new school year begins. I distinctly recall that unsettling feeling from my own experience. Every detail became outsized as we approached Labor Day weekend. Even the process of shopping for school supplies was fraught, as if the choice of backpack could either ensure or derail my social and academic success.
The cusp of a new school year also offered me the chance to figure out my personal growth agenda for the next ten months, to try to change the parts of me I didn’t like, and to attempt to alter my position in the high school food chain. I’d convince myself that this would be the year when I’d finally like science. I’d stop wrestling with math and just do the darned work. I wouldn’t let anything anyone said – teacher or student – bother me. I’d get comfortable in my own skin.
Unfortunately, change does not come easily – not to an adolescent and certainly not to an adult who has been nursing the same faults and insecurities for decades. But every year, Elul gives us another shot at it.
It is a time of both reckoning (hence the butterflies) and possibility for us mere mortals, with our good moments and others we’re not so proud of. We cannot alter the essence of who we are any more than I, a mere 5’ 1 ¾”, can suddenly turn tall, just like my backpack did not get me picked first in dodgeball. Yet the shofar wake-up call can help us focus our energy where it is able to make a difference: acknowledging where we’ve strayed and working on becoming a better, more positive version of who we are.
The morning after my son had so carefully chosen his shirt and set off on his new adventure, I watched from the front window as the bus drove off. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to go back in time and redo high school with the wisdom I now have about people and the world and myself, but quickly scratched that idea. I’m far better off where I am.
I am grateful, though, that Elul gives us this opportunity to embrace a fresh start every time it comes around. It is a blessing and a gift to reach the New Year. I am ready for the long hours and the hard work. And I am eager for the possibilities.
Shana Tova u’Metukah!