Drash of the Week – ELUL
Turning in Place
By Rabbi Shawn Fields-Meyer
There is a place I go to, about once a year. It is a spot on the Oregon coast. And I mean, literally, a spot. When I stand on that spot, I can see the whole world. Because, the whole world comes to me at that spot.
Straight ahead, I see the Pacific Ocean, with waves coming in and out methodically, singing a calming melody with their rhythmic highs and lows. Beyond the shore, as far as the eye can see, the ocean meets the horizon, and they melt together into a line of perfect milky blue beauty.
I turn slightly to the left, and take in the huge, dark, 10-story-high jagged mountainous rocks, partially eroded by centuries of contact with the water. They are lifeless on their peaks but play host to starfish and sea anemones at their feet. Directly behind me, a neighborhood of houses. In one of them, many loved ones are collected – at this moment just waking up together, and discussing the swift recent departure of a flock of sea gulls and the possibility of finding crab shells.
Behind the houses is a forest – a deep, damp, evergreen Oregon corridor – perched just above the sea line. At my feet is a small creek, originating from that perched forest, carrying its tiny stream from far away into the great, rushing ocean. Around the creek, and in it, are hundreds of smooth stones, created from years of weathering. The stones await the arrival of my 8-year-old, who will spend hours amongst them, touching them, moving them, tossing them back into the water.
From that spot I can see the whole world. I can see life and abandonment and flight. I see unspeakable beauty and I can see years of confrontation. I can see love, togetherness, petty arguments and laughter. I can see things that never change and things that never stay the same. And I can see isolation and community, growth and stagnancy, big picture and tiny details.
And all from standing in one spot.
It is Elul. This season, we stand our souls in that spot. That place where we can see our whole world.
During these hours and days we join the rhythm of the waves of the ocean. We are baffled by the enormity of the world, with its raw, impossible beauty. We contemplate history – and note how time erodes some things and fertilizes others. We marvel at the constancy of the evergreens of our lives. We look into the house; we see family. And, sometimes, we’ll be more interested in the small trickle than in the enormous sea. And we will contemplate each rock that is part of that stream.
This is the season of turning – of t’shuvah. We turn in many directions during these days of Awe: outward, toward one another. Inward, toward our better selves. And “upward”, to God.
Think of yourself as standing in that spot, the spot from which you can see your entire world, and turning, turning, turning.
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz teaches that for tshuvah – turning – toward God, we don’t have to move and chase all over the place. We just stand exactly where we are, feet rooted on the ground. We just turn our face, and look. And in that way we begin our return.
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