Returning until HASHEM

Disclaimer One

As always, I write these blogs first and foremost to myself. They are not meant, chas v’shalom, as direction or instruction for anyone else. I am certainly not in any position to do that. These are simply the thoughts and fragments that pass through my mind, helping me process the circumstances in which I find myself.

Disclaimer Two

I also need to apologize if this entry feels somewhat undercooked—because it is. Normally, my writing takes shape over several days: I jot down a paragraph or two, leave it to sit, come back the next day and add, edit, or even delete everything and start again. Only after much circling and hesitation do I finally press “publish.” This week, with Rosh Hashanah taking up so much time and focus, I haven’t had the chance to develop things as fully as I’d like. Some ideas here are still half-formed, and I can’t elaborate on them beyond what I’ve picked up from shiurim I’ve heard. Maybe at a later point I’ll revisit and expand this piece when I’ve had more time to learn and understand. For now, it is what it is—unfinished thoughts, shared honestly.

Double Concealment

In a previous blog I mentioned the verse:

"וְאָנֹכִי הַסְתֵּר אַסְתִּיר פָּנַי בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא"

This is usally translated as “And I will surely hide My face on that day.” 

(Devarim 31:18). But the literal translation of the Hebrew is:

“And I, the one who hid, will hide my face on that day.”

So we see Hashem was already hidden, and is further going to hide Himself.

The Torah uses a double expression of concealment here. And it speaks about our generation—living in a world of exile, a world without the Beis Hamikdash, a world where Hashem’s presence is not obvious.

The first concealment is the one that has existed since creation itself: nature. The very fabric of the world was designed so that one does not immediately see Hashem. Hashem wanted people to have genuine free will—either to recognize and serve Him, or to turn away.

But the pasuk adds a second concealment, one that feels even closer to home. Not only is Hashem hidden by the veil of nature, but we are also placed into environments that actively deny Him. We are exiled into societies and narratives that not only fail to acknowledge Hashem, but openly negate Him.

Just look—or listen—to the news today. It is a completely G-dless narrative. On Rosh Hashanah, we said clearly: Hashem decides which countries will be at war and which will have peace, who will live and who will die, whether plague will strike or not. And yet, when reporting on wars, disasters, or pandemics, the headlines never mention Hashem. Instead, they wheel out an “expert”: simmering geopolitical tensions can “explain” the war, a fault line is what "gives rise" to a tsunami, China "caused” the coronavirus.

That is the second hester. And one of the reasons for it is because we are still in the exile of Edom—the spiritual descendants of Eisav. And at the sharpest point of Edom stands Amalek, who in every generation seeks to deny and erase Hashem’s presence from the world.

The Angel of Esav and the Dust of Exile

This should come as no surprise, because we know from Chazal that the angel of Eisav is Sama’el. We find this passage describing our forefather yaakov's fight with the angel of Esav. Bereishis Rabbah (77:3):

“וַיֵּאָבֵק אִישׁ עִמּוֹ”

— “And a man wrestled with him” (Bereishis 32:25) —

“אָמַר רַבִּי חָנִינָא: שָׂרוֹ שֶׁל עֵשָׂו הָיָה, וְזוֹהִי סָמָאֵל”

— "Rabbi Ḥanina said: It was the guardian angel of Esav, and this is Sama’el.”

The very name Sama’el itself hints at his role. The Zohar (I:148b) explains:

“סמא-אל – סמא דמסמא, דעיוורין עינין דעלמא"

— “Sama’el — he is the blinder, who blinds the eyes of the world.”

In other words, his entire purpose is to obscure Hashem’s presence, to cloud perception, to make the world appear as though it runs on its own.

And we see this clearly in Yaakov Avinu’s struggle with the angel. The Torah says:

"וַיֵּאָבֵק אִישׁ עִמּוֹ עַד עֲלוֹת הַשָּׁחַר" 

— “And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn.”

Rashi comments:

"וַיֵּאָבֵק – לְשׁוֹן עֲבַק, שֶׁעָלָה עֲבַק בְּרַגְלֵיהֶם עַד הַכִּסֵּא שֶׁל כָּבוֹד"

 — “‘Vaye’avek’ comes from the word ‘dust,’ because the dust of their struggle rose all the way up to the Throne of Glory.”

That dust is symbolic. The angel of Esav fights not only by grappling with Yaakov, but by raising a cloud — a haze that obscures vision. That haze is the very world we live in today: a world that blinds, darkens, and hides Hashem’s presence.

The Long Night of Jewish History

“And a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn” — or as Chazal explain, “a man kicked up dust with him until the break of dawn” — teaches us something far deeper than a physical struggle.

It is describing the long night of Jewish history. Right up until the time of Moshiach, and especially in those final moments before dawn breaks, what we as Jews are truly wrestling with is not only an external enemy, but the force that raises dust — the power that clouds, obscures, and darkens.

It is that same dust which rises all the way to the Kisei HaKavod, hiding Hashem’s light from our view. This is the exile: not only the physical scattering of our people, but the spiritual haze that makes it so hard to see Hashem’s hand guiding everything.

And yet, just as dawn always follows the darkest part of night, so too this struggle is a sign that we are approaching the light of redemption.

Amalek: The Denier of Providence

The Torah describes Edom as the archetype of opposition to Yaakov, but Amalek is the distilled essence of that hostility. Their attack on Bnei Yisrael, just after Yetziat Mitzrayim when the hand of Hashem was most obvious, was not merely a military ambush. It was an ideological battle to reframe reality itself.

“Asher Korcha Baderech”

"אֲשֶׁר קָרְךָ בַדֶּרֶךְ"

 — “how he happened upon you on the way” (Devarim 25:18).

This wording is odd, because Amalek’s attack was intentional and premeditated. To say they merely “happened” upon Israel sounds absurd — as though a war was an accident.

Imagine describing Russia’s invasion of Ukraine as “they happened to be in Kyiv,” or reporting that “fighter jets happened to drop bombs on Borodianka.” (Although I am very sure this is exactly what Lavrov and RT would say). Such phrasing strips deliberate aggression of its meaning.

Rashi’s Explanation

Rashi comments:

"אֲשֶׁר קָרְךָ – לְשׁוֹן מִקְרֶה. דָּבָר אַחֵר, קֵרְךָ מִטֻּמְאָה. דָּבָר אַחֵר, לְשׁוֹן קוֹר וְחֹם, צִנְּנְךָ וְהִפְשִׁירְךָ מֵרְתִיחָתְךָ…"

“‘Who happened upon you’ — this is an expression of chance. Another explanation: he made you impure. Another explanation: an expression of cold and heat — he cooled you and made you lukewarm after your boiling fervor.”

The first explanation is most relevant here. Amalek’s attack was framed as mikreh — happenstance. That is Amalek’s essence: to explain away miracles, to strip Hashem’s presence from events.

The Psychological Battle

When misfortune strikes, Amalek whispers: “It’s just bad luck, nature took its course.” And when blessing comes, Amalek insists: “It’s your hard work, your clever investments, your good timing.” Either way, Amalek’s ideology denies Hashem’s providence — both in suffering and in blessing.

This is why the Torah commands us never to forget Amalek. Their war is not just with swords, but with words, with ideas. They seek to blind us into believing that life is random, that Hashem is absent. Our mitzvah of Zachor is to remember — and resist — that distortion.

The Ramban

The Ramban explains that Amalek’s attack was meant to cool off the awe of the Exodus, to reframe miracles as accidents. For this reason, the Torah calls their war a “milchama laHashem b’Amalek midor dor” — a war of Hashem Himself in every generation. Amalek fights not only the Jewish people but the very idea of Divine Providence. Erasing Amalek means erasing that worldview of randomness so Hashem’s sovereignty can shine through once again.

Our Task on Rosh Hashana

Of course, we live in a world dominated by a G-dless narrative — or perhaps even worse, an atheistic, Darwinistic one. Scientists claim to explain everything: the origins of the universe, the process of evolution, even the precise age of the world.

And yet, if you gathered every scientist on earth and combined all their knowledge, they could not create — or even replicate — the tiniest spark of life. Not a flea, not an ant, not even a mosquito. With all their brilliance and theories, they still cannot give life to even the most “insignificant” (in our eyes) of Hashem’s creations.

The challenge is to see through it — to pierce the dust that Edom and Amalek kick up, to look beyond the haze. On Rosh Hashana, our avodah is to recognize that so much of what surrounds us is nothing more than dimyonos — illusions. Health, wealth, success, security — all the things the Western world glorifies are fragile shadows. None of it is guaranteed; we cannot even be certain that we will be here tomorrow to enjoy it.

Rosh Hashana calls us to strip away those illusions and stand before the only true reality: Hashem as King.

Dimyonos and the World of Falsehood

The Ramban calls this world Olam HaDimyon, and the Zohar calls it alma d’shikra, a “world of falsehood.” Not because life has no meaning, but because it projects a false sense of permanence and independence.

Wealth, status, and comfort feel solid and lasting; nature looks self-sustaining. But the Torah teaches this is only a mask — a veil concealing its Source. That concealment preserves free will, but the danger is mistaking illusion for reality itself.

The Chovos HaLevavos writes that most people spend their lives chasing what looks valuable, only to discover it fades with time. On Rosh Hashana, the cry of the shofar breaks through the fog, waking us from the trance. It reminds us that possessions, accomplishments, and even fears are passing garments. What endures is Hashem’s kingship and the eternal bond of our neshama with Him.

Double Concealment and Free Will

To put it simply: there are two main obstacles that keep us from serving Hashem — and they are also the root cause of sin. Hashem is hidden, and even more than that, He is doubly hidden.

Our task is to peel back both layers so we can recognize Him clearly in our lives. Once a person truly knows that nothing is random, that every detail is guided by Hashem, then doing mitzvot and avoiding aveirot becomes far easier.

It’s like driving: if you know for certain that the metro police have set up a roadblock ahead, you buckle up and slow down. It’s only when we think no one is there, not watching, that we take risks and break laws.

Teshuva and the Names of Hashem

We now get to Shabbat Shuva. There are two almost identical verses:

The Torah says:

“וְשַׁבְתָּ עַד ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ”

 (Devarim 30:2), and the haftara:

“שׁוּבָה יִשְׂרָאֵל עַד ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ”

 (Hoshea 14:2).

Both verses say you (singular) or you (the Jewish people) need to return until G-d.

Return until G-d, your G-d. It doesn't make a lot of sense in the English.

There is also a grammatical problem. You return 'to' someone or something, not 'until'. Grammatically it should say el Hashem.

The Alter Rebbe explains: ad is precise. Teshuva is not just returning to Hashem, but returning until — until Havaya (Hashem’s essential Name of limitlessness and associated with open miracles and clear manifestation) becomes Elokecha (the Name associated with nature and concealment).

וְשַׁבְתָּ עַד --- ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ

Which means, return until "Hashem" and "Elokecha" are one an the same.

Real Teshuva is so much more than confessing individual sins. It means going deeper — uncovering the reason behind those sins. Why do we stumble? Because we don’t see Hashem clearly in this world. That perceived absence is what allows us to act with reckless abandon. It’s like driving on what looks like an empty road — we feel free to speed, imagining no one is watching. True Teshuva is to return until the moment of recognition: that the very Elokecha — the hidden face of Hashem clothed in nature and the everyday — is the same Havaya, the infinite G-d we associate with open miracles.

We need to pause here and explain the different names of Hashem. There is no way to translate this well in English, but I will try the best to explain this concept in my very limited understanding.

Shem Havaya (י־ה־ו־ה) is the Name of Hashem that expresses Him as He is beyond creation. It comes from the fusion of hayah (He was), hoveh (He is), and yihyeh (He will be) — meaning Hashem is utterly outside of time and limitation. This is the Name that represents His infinite mercy and His direct, revealed presence.

Because Havaya is above the natural order, it is also the Name associated with open miracles — when the laws of nature are suspended or overridden. Think of Kriyas Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea) or the ten plagues in Mitzrayim: events where the natural order bent or broke openly to reveal Hashem’s hand. When the Torah wants to highlight Hashem acting beyond teva, it uses the Name Havaya.

By contrast, Shem Elokim is the Name of Hashem that channels His infinite light into the framework of teva. It hides Him inside natural law — the steady rising of the sun, the cycle of seasons, cause and effect. That concealment allows for free will, but it also creates the illusion of independence.

Elokim equals 86, the same numerical value as הטבע (hateva, “nature”). And indeed, in the opening chapter of Bereishis, the Name Elokim appears 32 times  when describingthe creation of the world. This repetition is not random. It teaches that Hashem deliberately wove into creation a framework of natural laws — consistency, predictability, order. These make the world appear self-sustaining, running on its own, as though detached from its Source. But in truth, this teva is only a mask, a garment through which Hashem conceals Himself.

The work of Teshuva is to pierce through this veil — not to deny nature, but to recognize Who animates it. Shuva Yisrael ad Hashem Elokecha means returning until the distance between Havaya and Elokim collapses. To live in a world of concealment yet see straight through it, with clarity: ה׳ הוּא הָאֱלֹקִים — Havaya Hu HaElokim. 

Ne’ilah: The Final Cry

The last words of Yom Kippur, at Ne’ilah, are: “ה׳ הוּא הָאֱלֹקִים” — Hashem Hu HaElokim. We say it seven times with all our strength.

Why? Because Teshuva culminates in the recognition that there is no separation between Havaya and Elokim. What looks like “nature” is nothing but Hashem in concealment.

At the climax of Yom Kippur, the veil is torn away. We see with clarity: there is no independent power at all. It is all Hashem.

And this is precisely the ultimate point of Ne’ilah. As Yom Kippur closes, we gather the last of our strength to proclaim this truth seven times over: ה׳ הוּא הָאֱלֹקִים. It is the declaration that all of nature, all of what appears ordinary or self-sustaining, is nothing but Hashem Himself revealed.

Bread with Bread: The Hamster Wheel of Life

Let me end with a Gemrara. Bava Metzia 85b says:

“הנהו בבלאי טפשאי, דאכלי נהמא בנהמא”

 “These Babylonians are foolish, for they eat bread with bread.”

On the surface, a critique of their diet. But the deeper meaning is that they lived trapped in a cycle — working to eat, and eating to work. Today’s bread only funds tomorrow’s labour, which earns the next day’s bread. Life becomes a hamster wheel, consumed by survival, yet empty of higher purpose.

And for me, this message is not abstract. Watching my wife battle cancer has stripped away so many illusions. Health, security, plans for the future — all of them feel fragile and fleeting. Yet in that very fragility, I am forced to confront the truth: that Hashem is present in every detail, guiding each moment with purpose. The challenge — and also the comfort — is to look past the dust, the haze, the statistics and realise that Hashem Hu HaElokim. This diagnosis has forced us off the treadmill, off the hamster wheel of just getting through each day. When life suddenly feels like time is running out, there is an urgency to do what truly matters, and the haze begins to clear.

Here is a bad analogy I told my children: It’s a bit like watching a soccer match. As the game nears its end, the losing team gets more and more desperate. In the final minutes — even into extra time — they’ll throw everything forward. Suddenly all eleven players are crowded into the opposition’s goal box for that last corner kick, their goalkeeper awkwardly trying to act like a striker, everyone jostling for one final chance to equalize or steal a winning goal. It looks chaotic, reckless, almost absurd — but that’s what happens when the clock is almost out and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

Just like a desperate team in the last minutes throws everything forward, so too in our world — when you recieve a dread diagnosis — you realise the time has come to go 'all in". You turn to hashem with a different level of urgency and desperation.

Perhaps the greatest illusion of all, at least in my opinion, is the illusion of time. We convince ourselves that we’re young, that we still have years ahead, that we can always get to the important stuff later. We tell ourselves that once we’ve retired, once the kids are out of the house, once the school fees are behind us — then we’ll finally be able to learn more, to daven more, to live with focus. But Yom Kippur comes to shake us awake from that fantasy. The time to live with Hashem, to see Him in our lives, is not later — it’s now.

I want to wish everyone an easy and meaningful fast. May these words, however unfinished, be a zechus and a source of merit for a complete refuah sheleimah for Michal Chava bas Feiga Aviva.