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On My Mind

Mrs. Aliza Feder's Newsletter

Hi friends. 

Many years ago, I heard a thought from Rabbi Frand that resonated deeply, and I want to pass it along in case someone else needs to hear it. To me, it feels particularly appropriate right now.

We are entering a very serious time of year. If you were properly taught, you know that in just a couple of weeks there will be a grand cheshbon—an accounting of our actions over the past year. What our future year will hold is decided based on the outcome of that accounting. How can one not feel at least a little frightened and stressed at this time? So we do our best: polishing our actions, taking stock of where we need to improve, and making a case to earn a good year ahead.

But sometimes we find ourselves stuck. Not because we don’t believe in what’s happening—we do. Not because we don’t want to crown Hashem as our King—we do. And yet, there’s a block that keeps us from engaging fully in the work before us.

There can be many reasons for that block, but I want to focus on one of them.

Occasionally, we drag our feet through the avoda of Elul because, consciously or subconsciously, we are angry with Hashem. Angry because we feel that we, or someone we love, or even the world itself, didn’t get what was deserved. We cried, we davened, we did teshuva to the best of our ability last year—and yet our lives didn’t unfold the way we hoped. Watching people we love suffer has a way of wearing down our trust. On the surface, we bow our heads and acknowledge that our knowledge is limited, that in the grand scheme we don’t know what is good or bad, that each soul has a complicated tikkun we cannot understand. But still, the child within us stamps his foot, tears streaming down his face, and cries: “It’s not fair.”

Let’s give that inner child his moment. Because when we rush into platitudes without acknowledging that life is hard, that parts of us are hurting, that we sometimes feel betrayed—we end up blocked. Our bodies may be in shul, but our hearts and minds are elsewhere, still sitting at the kitchen table processing unspoken feelings into honey cake. When we pause and admit, “Yes, I didn’t love how things unfolded this year,” it can be the first step toward bringing our whole selves back into the process.

But then the question remains: what do we do with those unresolved feelings? Simply acknowledging our disappointment with Hashem won’t resolve it. How do we move forward with the same enthusiasm as in previous years? How do we turn to Hashem in trust when we feel that He has also been the source of our pain? We know, of course, that everything is ultimately for the best—but integrating that truth takes time, and it rarely aligns with the Rosh Hashana timeline (or any timeline, for that matter).

What helps me personally is to Zoom Out.

If you notice, on Rosh Hashana we don’t spend much time praying for specific things. Yes, we ask for a “sweet new year,” but beyond that, the machzor doesn’t dwell on personal requests. There’s a reason: it’s simply not the focus of the day. Rosh Hashana is about dedicating ourselves to Hashem’s malchus. In other words, it’s not really about us—except insofar as we serve Him.

This shift of focus—from my desires and my life to Hashem’s kingship—can actually be a relief. I’m not denying my pain; I’m widening my lens. Yes, this year brought disappointments and hurt. But I remind myself that Hashem’s plan is vast, and I am just one small piece of it. When I release my need to control outcomes and instead accept my role as one of His creations, it lightens the burden. Hashem is in charge. He is steering the ship. My job—the most effective thing I can do—is simply to choose Him. To accept Him as King, as the Maker of my plans, as the One who runs the world.

My son shared a thought with me that he heard recently from Rav Shmuel Arieli: Elul is an especially appropriate time to invest more kavannah into pesukei d’zimrah. It’s said that the Trumas HaDeshen (Rabbi Israel Isserlin) would spend an hour on Baruch she’amar during these days. I don’t claim to know the deeper reasons behind this, but I noticed something when I slowed down yesterday. The sections from Baruch she’amar until Shema have never been the part of davening I connect to most. To me, they feel repetitive, with no direct link to Things I Need. I often breeze through them to get to the “real davening.”

But at Bais Yaakov Machon Ora’s last Shabbaton, my perspective shifted. During a panel on tefillah, Rena Lewis said something that struck me. I’m going to repeat it, but please know that the passion and feeling behind how she said it is going to get lost in translation, so if you ever meet up with her in person, please ask her to share in her own words. (Rena, if you’re reading this, you’re welcome:)). She explained that as someone devoted to her color-coded planner (guess why I like her), she naturally thrives on control and productivity. For her, Shmoneh Esrei—the place to ask Hashem for help with her to-do list—came easily. But pesukei d’zimrah always felt flowery and vague. Then she realized: those paragraphs are precisely meant to take her out of “to-do list mode.” They are not about doing, but about being. About shifting from creator to creation—just another voice among the mountains, rivers, and trees that proclaim Hashem’s greatness.

That struck me deeply. Pesukei d’zimrah sets the stage: Hashem is the King, the Master, the Owner. Everything else—including us—is beneath Him.

How appropriate is this thought as we approach Rosh Hashana. Hashem, there is only You. My past, my present, my dreams, my future—they all belong to You. My role is simply to play the part You’ve given me. This doesn’t mean we stop asking for what we need, or that we’re never disappointed (sometimes devastated) by outcomes. But it means that first and foremost, we acknowledge the truth: we serve Hashem, and He does not serve us. And when we remind ourselves of that, we find peace and our authentic desire to crown our one, true King. 

Over the next few weeks of yamim tovim I may not be as regular with my newsletters, so let me take this chance to wish us all, together with all of klal yisroel, a k’sivah v’chasima tova and year full of only revealed goodness!

Mrs. Aliza Feder