I recently read a dvar Torah by R’Yissocher Frand, with the intriguing title “Elul – An Ir Miklat in Time.” (R’ Frand’s article is available at https://torah.org/torah-portion/ravfrand-5783-shoftim/). In this article, he talks about the arei miklat, cities of refuge. In Torah, these were places where a person could flee after unintentionally killing someone.
Why flee? Because the deceased’s next-of-kin had the legal right to murder the unintentional killer, as long as they remained outside a city of refuge. Upon reaching a city of refuge, the unintentional killer would no longer be fair game. However, they would be safe only within the walls of that city, at least until the death of the High Priest.
This meant that the unintentional killer would likely need to leave home for months or years, possibly even forever. Ending someone else’s life, even by accident, meant that they could no longer continue theirs, not the way they had been. They had to create something new for themselves, in a new place.
R’ Frand points out that one of the Torah descriptions of the cities of refuge contains the phrase “ina l’yado v’samti lecha.” The initial letters of these words spell out “Elul.” He goes on to suggest that just as an ir miklat is a place for someone to reflect on their values and actions, and hopefully rebuild their life, Elul is a time set aside for the same purpose.
The particulars of our lives differ. Not all of us are making amends for manslaughter this year. But I think this parallel between Elul and the cities of refuge offers useful ideas on the process of teshuva (repentance), regardless of what specifically we need to work on.
First of all, some safety is a prerequisite to doing our spiritual work. The unintentional killer is not asked to examine their mistakes in the heat of the moment, while dealing with the fresh trauma of a death and vengeful family members breathing down their neck. Some settling must occur before meaningful change can happen. When I’m fearful, angry, and/or defensive, I’m less able to fully understand a situation, let alone respond appropriately. Much like the unintentional killer in the city of refuge story, I need some time and security before diving into the sometimes-difficult work of self-examination.
Secondly, that self-examination is much more effective with support from others. As R’ Frand points out, it’s not an accident that the cities of refuge are all Levite cities. The tribe of Levi was rewarded/punished for its often-over-the-top zealousness by being made responsible for the Temple service, and being assigned walled cities to live in, rather than plots of ancestral land like the other tribes. This meant that the Levites were immersed in the spiritual life of the nation, and were also dependent on others for survival. Their own experiences made them good neighbors and sounding boards for people seeking refuge.
When I’m trying to change, I need help from people I trust, especially people who have had similar experiences themselves. In isolation, I’m prone to short-sightedness, obsession, and a host of other very human limitations. For me, the main way to mitigate this is to talk honestly with others about what’s going on. The “Levites” in my life today aren’t part of the Temple service. But they do give me a better perspective on my life, one that I can’t see from inside it.
Thirdly: even with our best intentions and efforts, the resolution we want may not be possible. What happens if the unintentional killer dies before the kohein gadol does? They never resume their previous life. Their family, and that of the person they killed, may never see or hear from them again. The fact is, not all endings feature a reunion, happy or otherwise. When we’ve done wrong, we’re not entitled to the satisfaction of clearing the slate, no matter how much work we’ve put in or how much we want it.
There is, however, a perhaps-counterintuitive freedom here. When I’m not trying to please anyone else, I can focus on my own spiritual principles. I can look for my part in whatever problem arose, and commit to doing something different in the future. By acting in accordance with my best self whenever possible, and leaving other people’s reactions up to them, I’m beginning to take responsibility for what’s mine, and letting go of what isn’t. Whether or not I get a happily-ever-after out of it, this allows me to move forward with integrity.
So this Elul, I hope we all experience a reprieve from pressures and fears. I hope we strengthen our connections with others and ourselves, and come to a place of increased understanding. And I hope that courage carries us toward not just the repairs we need to make, but also the meaningful and whole-hearted lives we were always meant to live.