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Elul: When the King Leaves the Palace and Enters the Field

by Ram ben Ze’ev


Elul: When the King Leaves the Palace and Enters the Field
Elul: When the King Leaves the Palace and Enters the Field

In the Jewish calendar, time is not only measured—it is lived. Each month carries its own spiritual current, its own opportunity for transformation. As we move now toward the close of the month of Av, we approach the beginning of Elul, which this year will begin at sundown on 25 August 2025.


For Jews, this is not simply another date on the calendar. Elul is the final month before the new year begins with Rosh Hashanah in September. It is a month set aside for reflection, return, and preparation. In other words, Elul is the spiritual threshold between the year that is ending and the one about to begin. That is why I write about it now—because Elul itself is about beginnings, about turning before the great days of judgment arrive.



A farmer bends among the rows of his field, sweat on his brow, soil in his hands. Normally, if he wished to see the king, he would need to travel to the capital, dress in the finest garments, and hope for an audience among countless petitioners. But in Elul, the sages tell us, the King leaves his Palace. He walks into the very fields where His people labour, meeting each one not as a distant ruler but as a presence that is immediate, approachable, and tender.


The Field as Our Reality

The field is not symbolic of perfection; it is symbolic of reality. It is where we sweat, stumble, and strain. It is the workplace, the kitchen, the traffic jam, the smartphone screen. It is the unfiltered life we live before we polish it for others. And it is exactly there, in our unvarnished existence, that the King chooses to meet us.


Too often, people imagine that to “return to G-D” means escaping from reality, reaching some spiritual perfection before we can draw near. Elul turns that upside down. It teaches us that the King has already stepped into the field. We need not be flawless; we need only be willing to look up and recognise Him.


False Kings of Our Age

Our generation is trained to chase other kinds of kings. We bow to celebrities, politicians, and influencers—modern palaces of power and illusion. They seem accessible through our screens, but they are not present in our lives. They remain behind curated walls, offering only shadows of connection.


Elul cuts through that illusion. The true King is not in the palace of spectacle. He is with us—in the quiet, in the mundane, in the struggle. He does not demand pomp. He offers presence. Real kingship is not about power at a distance; it is about love in proximity.



The Accessibility of G-D

The Holy Zohar teaches that during Elul, a flow of rachamim (רחמים – compassion) spreads into the world. This means the barrier between heaven and earth, between holiness and our daily toil, becomes thin. G-D’s love is not conditional—it is revealed.


Imagine: the same King who will soon judge all creation on Rosh Hashanah is already here, standing beside you in the unvarnished field of your life, saying: Speak to Me. Return to Me. I am already with you.


The Invitation of Elul

Elul is an invitation, not a demand. It does not require dramatic speeches or perfect acts. It asks only that we notice. That we pause in our labour and realise: the King is here. That pause alone begins the process of teshuvah.


When we rise for Selichot, when we hear the shofar sounded each morning of Elul, when we whisper Tehillim at dawn—we are not calling to a distant throne. We are answering the King who has already stepped into our field.



Reflection

This is why I write about Elul now, before it arrives. Because Elul is not about waiting until the palace gates open on Rosh Hashanah. It is about recognising that the King has already come out to meet us. The palace is for ceremony. The field is for encounter.


The King is here. The question is: will we stop, even for a moment, to look up and greet Him? For some, that moment might be a pause before speaking in anger, for others it may be the choice to offer kindness when it is least convenient. It could be a whispered prayer in traffic, or a breath taken before sleep.


The palace will wait until Rosh Hashanah. But the field—the ordinary, dusty, imperfect field of our lives—is open now. The King is already walking there. All that remains is for us to notice.


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