This week’s parsha ends with the mitzva known as “eglah arufa” (the calf whose neck is broken). This mitzva is done when the murdered body of a Jew is found between two towns, and no one knows who the killer was. The procedure is that measurements are made to see which of the two towns is closest to the scene of the murder, and the elders of that town must perform an elaborate process, begging forgiveness from the victim for not having been more hospitable to him. Finally, the calf is slaughtered and this achieves the kapara that this town needs.
Rav Leib Chasman points out, though, a curious element of this mitzva: It is only done when the identity of the murderer is not known. Why? asks Rav Chasman. Why should knowing the identity of the murderer remove the need for kapara?
Rav Chasman quickly rejects a probable answer — when we know who the murderer is we can punish him, and his execution achieves the needed kapara. No, says Rav Chasman, this is not a viable answer, because we see frequently that a known murderer is not put to death, sometimes because there were no kasher witnesses at the scene of the crime, or he was not warned as per the halacha. Not to mention that the Gemara (Makkos 7a) describes in detail how the Sanhedrin could search and search to find ways not to issue a death sentence, even describing a Sanhedrin that executed one man in 70 years as being “ferocious.” And yet in all cases where the known murderer goes un-punished, the mitzva of eglah arufah nevertheless does not apply. Why are we leaving the town without kapara? What is the difference between this town and the town where we do not know the identity of the murderer, and there a whole kapara process must be done, in the form of the eglah arufah?
Rav Chasman’s answer is a revelation into human nature that has particular importance now, with the month of Elul just begun and Rosh Hashana approaching:
When a town discovers that a murder took place there, but the murderer is known, each person will ask himself: maybe there was something I could have done to prevent this? People feel a sense of guilt, and this leads to a wave of introspection that is the beginning of teshuva. This process of hakaras hacheit (searching out one’s flaws) provides the murder victim the tikun his soul requires.
On the other hand, when no one knows who the murderer was, a sense of distance sets in. People begin to wonder, maybe he wasn’t murdered — maybe he died a natural death? Maybe he was careless …” and so on. No teshuva process begins and hakaras hacheit is never reached. Therefore, the tikun of the eglah arufah is needed.
Hakaras Hacheit, concludes Rav Chasman, is an essential step to doing teshuva.
When a person lives casually, “taking life as it comes,” he may never reach hakaras hacheit. Pirkei D’Rebbe Eliezer states that this is the reason why the shofar is blown every morning for the entire month of Elul — to wake people up from their “sleep.”
Sleep in this sense means our tendency to go along with our customary routine and habits, without stopping to consider if we are doing anything wrong. The Gemara (Kiddushin 20a) goes further in saying that sometimes we know full well that we are doing wrong, only we’ve gotten used to it and have become de-sensitized. This too falls under the category of “sleep,” or, as the Talmud puts it, “it becomes as if it’s permissible.” Elul is the time to wake up and start examining one’s thoughts and behavior to see what needs correcting.
In a similar vein, the Rambam (Hilchos De’os 2:1) notes that spiritual ailments can be likened to physical ailments. The Rebbe of Slonim infers from the Rambam’s comparison that the main point of any cure, be it physical or spiritual, is the diagnosis. Just as in physical ailments, some can be taken care of with an aspirin and a good night’s sleep, while others require a complex regimen of exercise and medication or even an operation; so too in doing teshuva, the diagnosis–hakaras hacheit—is critical, as this clarifies what the teshuva process will entail. Sometimes it’s enough simply to resolve to refrain from a bad practice and say a sincere vidui. Other times teshuva will require a sea change in one’s approach to life. When dealing with bad middos such as gaavah, kaas, kinah and taavah, nothing less than amputation will suffice; merely avoiding a bad practice will only cause the disease to re-surface elsewhere.
Rav Itzele Peterburger would say in the name of his rebbe, Rav Yisrael Salanter, that the whole year should be lived as if it is Elul, but during Elul we should work even harder to improve ourselves. In Elul he and his talmidim would learn daily 18 hours straight — 12 hours of Gemara and 6 hours of mussar, in which they would focus on middos that needed correction, saying over and over the words that addressed this bad trait, each time adding new emotion and fervor to their words in an attempt to deracinate the bad trait entirely.
Once during Elul, when the Brisker Rav was outside taking his daily walk, a Jew approached him and asked how the Rav was feeling.
“We have do to teshuva,” replied the Rav.
“The Brisker Rav also has to do teshuva…?” asked the man.
When the Brisker Rav heard this he became upset.
“What sort of question is that? You don’t know that every Jew has to do teshuva? Whoever examines his ways will find things he has to improve. Why would you think such a thing — about anybody?”
May we examine our ways, find what needs correcting and do teshuvah sheleimah!