Elul: The Month Of Victory
“Im tachane alai machane lo yira libi; im takum alai milchama, b’zos ani boteach.”
“If an encampment comes upon me, my heart will not fear; if war arises against me, in this I place my trust.”
These words of Dovid HaMelech, recited daily from Rosh Chodesh Elul until after Sukkos, reinforce our faith and steadfastness amidst the sounds of battle. Yet, I’ve often wondered: what is the connection between Elul—a month known for repentance, mercy, and forgiveness—and the theme of war?
Earlier this week, my wife and I took a late-night stroll with our three-year-old in the carriage, hoping to lull her to sleep. At one point, I looked up and was struck by the brilliance of the moon, glowing in its full strength on the 15th of the month. Its fullness and radiance conveyed a message, though I could not at first articulate it. In retrospect, however, the events of this week aligned seamlessly with that image.
The horrific murder of six holy souls in a bus shooting at the Ramot junction shook us to the core. The irony of a young kollel avreich—himself a newly licensed gun owner—eliminating one of the terrorists and potentially saving dozens more lives is a narrative that only G-d Himself could script. Soon after, Israel carried out a daring strike in Doha, the capital of Qatar, targeting Hamas leaders who had gathered there. The long-term consequences remain unclear, but the magnitude of the event is undeniable.
Though much remains uncertain, one thing is unmistakably clear: Elul is bound to war—not only external battles, but the inner struggle of faith and trust in G-d, who leads us in the fight against evil.
The apex of the Yamim Nora’im culminates with Sukkos and Simchas Torah. On Sukkos, Jews parade proudly with the daled minim, shaking them in every direction. Chazal compare the four species to the weapons borne by soldiers returning triumphantly from war. The lulav resembles a sword or spear, the hadassim recall a shield of leafy cover, the aravos resemble whips or arrows, and the esrog, held close to the heart, symbolizes the inner conviction that drives the soldier onward. To the outside observer, these plants appear harmless, even delicate, but in the hands of Klal Yisrael they become declarations of spiritual victory, signs that the battle is not fought with iron and steel alone but with faith, prayer, and mitzvos.
It is no coincidence that the war that began on Simchas Torah, October 7, made this connection tangible. What initially seemed like another round with Hamas quickly revealed itself as something larger: much of the world, consciously or not, siding with terror and bloodshed against G-d’s chosen people. This has always been the story of Jewish history—Pharaoh in Egypt, Haman in Persia, Antiochus in Greece, Hitler in Europe. Each enemy appeared with its own ideology and weapons, but beneath the surface it was always the same war: the nations of the world rising against the people of G-d.
In the months since, antisemitism has risen sharply—on campuses, in city streets, and across media platforms. Commentators with global reach have echoed Hamas propaganda, ignoring its proven record of lies and distortions. The world’s response has laid bare a troubling reality: Israel’s battle is not only against Hamas, but against a worldview that seeks to undermine the very existence of the Jewish people. For Jews, this is not merely geopolitics. It is a spiritual drama, echoing the very words we recite each Elul: If war rises against me, in this I trust.
Herein lies the brilliance of Elul. Chazal find many acronyms for its name, each pointing to another dimension of preparation and faith. The most famous is Ani l’dodi v’dodi li—“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine”—a verse of love and closeness. Another, drawn from the laws of the city of refuge, is Inah l’yado v’samti lecha makom—“If he did not lie in wait, I will set aside a place for you.” Elul itself becomes a city of refuge, offering shelter for the Jewish people from the hostility of the nations. The Ohev Yisrael of Apta adds that the very letters of Elul conceal a promise: aleph lul—a hidden chamber, a Divine space of protection where Jews are shielded from the storms of the world.
This duality—Elul as a season of both love and war, refuge and confrontation—reflects the paradox of Jewish existence. We prepare ourselves for judgment with tenderness, with the soft notes of the shofar calling us back to G-d, even as the world beyond reminds us that our survival is always contested. To live through Elul is to hold both truths together: that teshuvah is an act of intimacy with Hashem, and also a declaration of defiance against evil.
We close the chapter of Tehillim with the charge: “Kaveh el Hashem, chazak v’ya’ametz libecha, v’kaveh el Hashem.”
“Be hopeful toward G-d, strengthen and fortify your heart, and be hopeful toward G-d.”
This is the essence of Elul: a month of war, yes—but also a month of trust, refuge, and unshakable faith that Hashem fights for His people and will yet bring us victory.
Yochanan Gordon can be reached at [email protected]. Read more of Yochanan’s articles at 5TJT.com.
