Elul: The time of our reckoning

OZZIE NOGG SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN

Elul, the month that prepares us for the New Year, begins Aug. 29.

It was the first day of Elul. The sun rose, the roosters crowed and, presently, the sound of the shofar stuttered through the village. Soon the men came hurrying from shul and rushed back to their homes and their work for there was, after all, much work to do. In only a month, Rosh Hashanah would arrive. The time for preparations had begun.

In his house, in his bed, Mendel the wagon driver pulled the covers up over his ears.

"Oy, Elul," he muttered under the bedclothes. "All month that shofar blows early in the morning. How, I ask you, can a man get any rest?"

Mendel's wife, Chava, stopped sweeping and poked the lump in the bed with her broom.

"Rest you will get in the World to Come," she said. "Here on Earth, a man has duties and obligations." Mendel, under the covers, groaned. He knew what was coming next.

"When," asked Chava, "did you last join the others at minyan? And when, please tell me, did you last open a book to study even one page? Furthermore, do you give so much as a kopek to the poor? Do you have a kind word to say about anyone? No wonder your wagon stands empty. Who wants to ride with such a one as you?"

Mendel sat up in bed. "All right! Enough!" he said. "This year, I swear I'll do better. Starting today I'll be a new man. I promise."

"Promises and more promises," said Chava. "Every year, you make them. Remember, Mendel, that promises are heavy. You never can carry them very far."

High in the Seventh Heaven, God sat on His throne of mercy while myriad angelic beings hovered around Him and sang His praises. God was also preparing for the New Year.

"Where is My book?" asked God.

"Here, Oh Lord of Compassion," said the angels.

"Have you added new pages?" asked God.

"We have added many, many pages, Oh Gracious One," said the seraphim.

"And my pen," said God. "Where is My pen?"

"Here, at Your right hand, Oh King of Kings," said the cherubim.

"Thank you," said God. And he looked down at Mendel's village.

Several weeks passed. The village was in a frenzy. Men brought tefillin (phylacteries) to the leather maker. Women carried machzorim (prayer books for Rosh Hashanah) to the bookbinder. Children ran to the scribe with parchment for the mezuzot. And then, each leather strap, each page of every prayer book, each sacred word of every scroll was examined and all blemishes erased. All defects repaired. All things were mended in anticipation of the New Year.

Debts were settled, feuds resolved, people greeted one another with words of blessing. And every morning, in shul, the men sang psalms and prayers of selichot and heard the shofar calling them to repentance.

But not Mendel. He lay in his bed with the quilt pulled over his head.

"Oy," he said. "Such rushing and coming and going and busyness. Surely someone will faint from all the tumult or, worse yet, fall dead in the street."

Chava was rolling string into a ball. "That money you borrowed from your brother," she said. "Have you paid it back yet?" Mendel lay silent under the covers. "And the quarrel with the butcher. Have you apologized?"

"Tomorrow," mumbled Mendel. "Tomorrow, I promise."

Chava stuffed the ball of string into her apron pocket. "You think promises, like pills, will cure everything. Well, you're wrong, Mendel. Too many promises, like too much medicine, can kill a person." And she left the house.

God, of course, sees everything. And on this day in Elul, He saw Chava leave her house and walk to the cemetery. He heard her weeping at the graves of her dear ones, beseeching Him to forgive her sins and keep her family in life for another year. And God watched as she walked around the cemetery, measuring it with her ball of string.

"This is a good woman," said God. The angels nodded.

"Yes, Oh Lord who pardons and delivers. She is good and truly repentant."

God smiled. Then He picked up His book and on a clean, new page, God wrote Chava's name.

On her way home from the cemetery, Chava stopped at the candlemaker.
"Here is string for the wicks," she said. "My candles will be ready, please, for yontif?"

"As always," said the candlemaker. "As always, of course." And in the forgiving spirit of Elul, he asked, "How, pray, is your husband?"

"As always," replied Chava. "He, too, is as always."

Elul was almost over. In the village, fat roosters and hens strutted in the yards, dumb to the fate that awaited them. Black striped prayer shawls, washed of stains, hung drying in the sun. The people had found stains on their souls as well, and now they waited, humble and contrite, for the Day of Judgment. Each morning they trembled at the sound of the shofar.

Only Mendel still slept.

"Mendel, wake up, I beg you," Chava pleaded. "How long can you sleep? Time is short. God alone knows what will become of you if you don't change your ways."

But Mendel didn't move.

All of this, God saw and heard. The multitude of heavenly hosts gathered expectantly around His throne.

"That man in his bed," said a very young angel. "Is he ill?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," answered God.

"Is he deaf, too?" asked the young angel.

"In a manner of speaking that is also true," said God.

"Oh, Lord," said the young angel. "In Your hand is the life of every creature. Will you not do something? How long can a man go on this way?"

"As long as he chooses," God sighed. "We can always hope."

Then God picked up His book again and on a clean, new page, He wrote Mendel's name.

Ozzie Nogg is a freelance writer living in Omaha, Neb.

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