“take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind

Down the foggy ruins of time…

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky

With one hand waving free

Silhouetted by the sea…

Let me forget about today until tomorrow." (Bob Dylan, Mr Tambourine Man)

Early morning, or is it still night? Outside my window all is dark, the sky is a soft, deep gray, as dawn struggles to break through sky’s murkiness.

Street lamps cast a soft glow upon their dark surroundings. A lone runner passes by, footsteps echoing in the stillness, before all is once again quiet, still. The tranquility of early morn, in which the events of today are waiting to unfold. It is the Present which is here now in dark stillness, waiting for the soft light of the future.

When will the morning’s glow appear? There was a Before, and there was an After. And we, as if still caught in an upside-down aftermath, are waiting, waiting, for the world to right itself back up. For cruelty to disappear, and kindness take its place. For discord to disappear, and harmony take its place. For gray shock to dissipate and a clear view of life in all its glowing colors to appear, once again.

As if. As if it could. As if we could. Blur the edges of cruelty into kindness, add a touch of light to the grayness, which might hasten the coming of the morn.

But perhaps, we can. There is a vision within each of us of what Life could, should be like. Of the potential of Man for goodness, for kindness. Of the potential for realization of life’s full magical glory. Of the possibility of full expression of our Divine self, whose voice is never stilled. In the darkness of early morn, an incessant call summons us back to ourselves, to our potential, just a step above, a step beyond, almost, almost within reach.

A feeling of waiting, perhaps for a return to the Garden of Eden, where we knew not of the evil for there was only Good. For a return to our true, innermost nature, wherein lies the spark of the Divine.

Perhaps even just for a return to a time, three years before…

Life does not go backward. It goes only forward. As a flowing river, as a passing breeze, as a storm which clearly will end, and sunshine will burst through the clouds. As a long night which certainly will end, as rays of sunshine and hope glisten softly once again upon dew-covered leaves of the morn.

It is the month of Elul. The month in which we are called each morning anew, to return. The month in which our souls call to us each morning, with the sound of the shofar, the sound of repentance, to return. An inner voice speaks to us from a place of ancient longing. Will we answer the call? At once forward, at once backward. In the cyclical rhythm of life, which spirals us into our future.

It is the month of Elul. And we have a desire, to return. To return to a place of Oneness. Of oneness within ourselves, where a storm of despair and hope, tears and laughter, can be resolved into a unity of calm, of awarenesss of Your Divine Presence in our lives. Sometimes hidden behind the veil of tears, sometimes beckoning in the sparkling dew of a misty morning, but always present.

For a return to a palpable consciousness of the Divine, for a deep appreciation of the blessings bestowed upon us daily.

The sky has lightened a bit now. Before my eyes is the soft grayness of clouds floating on a sea of indistinct lightness. The dark-greenness of towering treetops, attempting to reach higher, to join their fate with a higher destiny.

We desire to return, or perhaps to rise, to a state of Oneness. Oneness within ourselves, oneness within our nation. From where we can view one another with understanding and compassion. Where the divisions between us melt into a handshake of understanding, where discord becomes dialogue and respect. For a return to a world as it was perhaps before the Tower of Babel, when men spoke only one tongue. Or perhaps to a place where speech is no longer necessary.

Hashivenu Hashem elecha venashuva. Chadesh yamenu kikeddem.

Return us O Lord to You, and we will return. Renew our days as of old.

(Lamentations 5:21)

What would that mean? What would our lives be like, if we walked each day in a supreme consciousness of the Divine nature of life? If we breathed each moment in awareness of our Divine essence, touched by the glow of Godliness which radiates within, as it radiates without. What would our days be like, what would our actions be like, what words would come forth from our lips?

It was just Parashat Ki Tavo. When we come into the Land. Of interest, is that in the word Tavo is included the entire alphabet, the first letter(aleph), the last letter (taf), and even the letter bet, with which begins the beginning our world (Bereisheet).

We do not only arrive in the promised land, we come here. In our entirety. In our complete being. In the fullness of our hearts, in the dedication of our souls.

When we come into the Land, when we come home. To our homeland, to the Divine Blessing which is our Nation, perhaps also to ourselves.

Can we move forward? There is a place where the forward motion is actually a return, a return to our inner selves, to our Divine nature, as a never-ending stream of Life, whose source, whose beginning and end are one and the same.

It is morning, and I hear the sound of passing cars, mingled with the singing of the birds. Where are they going? Where are we going? Toward a higher version of ourselves? Toward an unfolding of the Divine destiny for mankind? Toward a return to a place of divinity, of holiness, of an awareness of the sanctity which exists in each moment, as we breathe in once again the breath of the new morning?

I listen to the birds. To their incessant calling, toward Life, toward its joys and sorrows, to the doorway of today, which gives us once again a new beginning. Our hearts are joined together in morning’s praise of Life, of the opportunity given us again this morning, to return.

May we be blessed, as it is written in the Haftara of KiTavo “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has shone upon you." (Isaiah 60:1)

It is the month of Elul, and once again, as in a dream, I will walk the streets of Jerusalem. A guitar sounds, a voice is singing. Echoing off the stones. Merging with the prayers of generations who have walked here before me. Merging with a memory. Again I am 19 years old, and Reb Shlomo Carlebach (z’l) is singing.

The music lifts my soul, adrift on the words, on the melody. A reverence for the preciousness of the moment in time, in memory, in sanctity.

Once again, a voice is singing:

“Return again, return again

Return to the land of your soul…

Return to who you are, return to what you are

Return to where you were

Born and reborn again"

(Reb Shlomo Carlebach, z"l)

It is Elul. And the voice of prayer merges with the early morning sound of a shofar, echoes in the sound of the bird singing on my porch rail this morning.

May we be blessed with the fulfillment of the prophecy of Isaiah: “Your sun shall no longer set, neither shall your moon wane, for the Lord will be to you for an everlasting light, and the days of your mourning shall be completed. And your people, all of them righteous, will inherit the land forever. They are the branch of my planting, the work of my hands, in which I will glory." (Isaiah 60:20-21)