Elul has meant many things to me in the past. In my Orthodox yeshiva days it meant a month of fearful preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, where my fate for the year was to be sealed. Elul was the last chance to show God that I was serious in my devotion and practice. Hearing the shrill cry of the shofar every day after shaharit instilled dread within me, almost as if being woken from a slumber by a taskmaster. I would refrain from playing sports or other outlets; instead I would commit more time to Torah study in the Beit Midrash, and deepen my prayer life through extra concentration.

All of this was predicated on fear and a God who ruled without mercy. These practices wouldn’t last past the month (if they even lasted that long) because I would burn out from their intensity. The moment the High Holy Days completed I would breathe a sigh of relief, as I had another 11 months before I needed to be in the Elul mindset again.

But now, ten years removed from my Orthodox yeshiva days, I approach Elul with a radically different framing. It’s well known that the Hebrew spelling of אלול is an acronym for אני לדודי ודודי לי — I am my beloved and my beloved is mine (Song of Songs 6:3). This quote is understood as a statement of mutual love between God and the people of Israel, which can be seen as the bedrock value of Elul. Elul is a month of love, a month of closeness with God, and a month where we can partner with the Creator on how to be better people, sustainably and with impact far beyond the High Holy Days.

Personally, this Elul marks the precipice of two highly significant life events: starting rabbinical school at the Jewish Theological Seminary this fall, and family planning with my husband. The new chapters I embark on this month will require lifelong dedication, whether it’s becoming a rabbi or a father. I am not focused on temporary piety, I am focused on manifesting a beautiful and meaningful future.

Today, my kavannah for Elul is to deepen my relationship with the Divine and discover how I can enhance my spirituality upon a foundation of love, not fear. The seeds I’m planting in Elul are not designed to be temporary; they are designed to root, be nourished, and flourish through the year.