The Birth of Malchus
Rosh Hashanah 5786
Recently I came to the realization that while I learn and share many meaningful ideas about how to live, how to understand others, and how to relate to the world around me, I often resist bringing them into my day to day life. As an example, I know the importance of leaving space before I respond, yet when a child irritates me that space feels hard to hold. I try to speak to myself with kindness, though the pull toward self-criticism still lingers. Therefore, I have resolved to take it slowly and work ideas into my routine step by step.
Integration is always the challenge. How do we move from knowing to doing, from lessons that sound right when we learn them to the choices we make in the kitchen, at work, or when a child is melting down?
As I wrote in a previous post, being a tzaddik in Elul means letting go of the illusion of perfection and focusing instead on steadiness and balance. The goal is balance.
What happens after Elul, once we step out of the incubator? Yes, we took a small step toward the Master of the World, but what now?
I believe the answer lies in understanding what this incubator really is - the womb, the cocoon, the simulator, whatever name we give to Elul.
The Arizal teaches1 that Elul is an Ir Miklat, a city of refuge. It was a safe zone for someone who killed by accident, a place he remained until the death of the Kohen Gadol. Leaving too soon meant exposure to revenge. When the Kohen Gadol passed away, the statute lifted and he walked free. Rav Joey Rosenfeld explains that “we are all accidental murderers, because we all killed the dreams we accepted upon ourselves last Rosh Hashanah.”
The Ir Miklat is more than protection. It is a place to rehearse who we want to be when we step back into life.
In the Ir Miklat of the Torah, freedom comes with the Kohen Gadol’s passing. In our parallel Ir Miklat, we walk out on Rosh Hashanah. That moment raises the real questions: how do we acclimate, how do we integrate the lessons of Elul into ordinary days? Is it even something that is possible for us to do?
When the Torah describes the first six cities of refuge, it adds a detail that each city needed a buffer zone of two thousand amos in every direction. Once a person crossed into that space, he was already safe.
If you look closely at the pasuk that sets these measurements you find a unique trop, a cantillation note:2
וּמַדֹּתֶ֞ם מִח֣וּץ לָעִ֗יר אֶת־פְּאַת־קֵ֣דְמָה אַלְפַּ֪יִם בָּֽאַמָּ֟ה וְאֶת־פְּאַת־נֶ֩גֶב֩ אַלְפַּ֨יִם בָּאַמָּ֜ה וְאֶת־פְּאַת־יָ֣ם ׀ אַלְפַּ֣יִם בָּֽאַמָּ֗ה וְאֵ֨ת פְּאַ֥ת צָפ֛וֹן אַלְפַּ֥יִם בָּאַמָּ֖ה וְהָעִ֣יר בַּתָּ֑וֶךְ זֶ֚ה יִהְיֶ֣ה לָהֶ֔ם מִגְרְשֵׁ֖י הֶעָרִֽים׃
Under the word אַלְפַּ֪יִם is a note that appears only once in the entire Torah. It is called a Yerach ben Yomo, a one-day-old moon. The name itself feels unusual. It sounds less like a piece of musical notation and more like something you would hear on an Indian reservation than in the Torah.
What does this note mean, and why is it placed here?
The name hints that the safety zone is beyond boundaries in space, it is also about beginnings in time. The Ir Miklat carries its own melody, and that melody leads straight to Rosh Hashanah.
To understand this note we need to understand Rosh Hashanah.
The pasuk we repeat again and again on Rosh Hashanah says:3
תִּקְע֣וּ בַחֹ֣דֶשׁ שׁוֹפָ֑ר בַּ֝כֵּ֗סֶה לְי֣וֹם חַגֵּֽנוּ׃
“Blow the shofar at the renewal of the moon, at the appointed time for the day of our festival.”
Rosh Hashanah stands apart from every other chag as it does not arrive with the full moon at mid-month. It comes on Rosh Chodesh, when the moon is only a sliver, too small even to say Kiddush Levana. On Rosh Hashanah the moon itself is a Yerach ben Yomo, a one-day-old moon.
In Sefer Shmuel4 the Navi tells of the friendship between Yehonatan and Dovid. Shaul, Yehonatan’s father, was set on killing Dovid, while Yehonatan worked to protect him. Eventually Dovid had to run and hide. At one point he met with Yehonatan and said that tomorrow was Rosh Chodesh. He was expected to sit with Shaul, but if Shaul noticed his absence, Yehonatan should tell him that Dovid went to Beis Lechem to be with his family. The word Dovid uses for “remember” is pakod. This is the same word that shapes Rosh Hashanah itself, when Hashem remembered Sarah, and when Yosef asked to be remembered.
Dovid then told Yehonatan that he would rather be killed by his friend than return to Shaul. Yehonatan refused and promised instead to keep Dovid informed of his father’s plans. They sealed a covenant together. Yehonatan told Dovid to hide, and arranged a signal: he would shoot arrows and use them to send the message of whether Dovid was safe or in danger.
The Tikkunei Zohar5 explains that the place where Yehonatan shot the arrows points to the Yerach ben Yomo, the Sihara Kadisha—the holy moon—saying: “שכינתא דאיהי אגינת על ישראל מחוייא בישא,” the Shechinah herself shields Israel from evil. The sliver of the moon protects us from what hides in the darkness, the realm of the klipah, which is always tied to death. Rav Moshe Dovid Vali teaches6 that when Mashiach comes, there will be such an abundance of light that it will flow through all levels of malchus, the moon. It will even reach the place that never held light at all, where only klipah existed. That light will subdue the klipah and erase death itself.
The Yerach ben Yomo marks the beginning of malchus, the moment the light starts to shine, when the flow of shefa first touches the world.
It was through this image of the Yerach ben Yomo that Dovid’s salvation arrived. At the very edge of death, a new light broke through, growing brighter and opening possibilities that had never been imagined before.
(Parenthetically, the simanim of Rosh Hashanah serve as vessels to catch that first ray of light and stretch it forward into the year.)
Rav Kook in Reish Millin writes with great depth about the meaning of every letter, vowel, and note. On the Yerach ben Yomo, he explains that after the neshama completes its long journeys, through highs and lows, a small glimmer shines forth. That first spark opens new vistas, new worlds, a new direction. From there the light only grows.7
That sliver of moon is what integration feels like. It isn’t a fully lived reality yet, just the faintest ability to pause, to redirect, to choose differently once in a while. Even that is enough to begin.
The same applies to the Ir Miklat. As soon as a person crossed into the zone he was safe. Even one step counted and the same applies to Elul. If all we managed was turning toward Hashem, even a little, we are already inside the Ir Miklat. The lesson holds true not only for entering, but also for leaving.
When we step out of Elul and into Tishrei the shift can feel overwhelming. The cocoon closes behind us, and suddenly the full light of the world presses in. It can feel blinding. How are we meant to soar in that kind of world?
The moon itself answers. It begins small, and Rosh Hashanah comes when it is in the smallest form, only one day old. It reminds us that we have been on a journey, and even the smallest spark carries hope. The light will grow and we will prevail.
The Arizal8 teaches that when Mashiach comes the moon will shine like the sun and the klipah will lose all power.
Even now, when we see the sliver of moon, we know we are protected from the klipos.
Teshuvah often begins with what looks small. A small turn toward Hashem, even a slight shift, produces light that expands without limit.
On Rosh Hashanah we arrive carrying the harvest of Elul, the fruits of a month spent with the King in the Field, ready to bring them into our lives. This brings us back to the question: how do we integrate the insights of Elul into life after Elul? Rav Kook points us to the sliver of moon. It can feel abstract, though, and as my father often says, sometimes Kabbalah makes things clearer.
Integration feels daunting at first. The year stretches ahead like a blank canvas. Where do we even begin? The answer is that we do not start by drawing. We start with the middah of Keser. We begin by noticing the Yerach ben Yomo, that sliver of moon, and realizing that it is not only about the past year’s moments or struggles. It is about bringing them forward into the next year. That shift opens a larger view. When we see the bigger picture of Creation itself, we join its symphony, praising Hashem as King.
In The First Ten Days my father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber, explains how each of the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah corresponds to the Sefiros, beginning with Keser and culminating in Malchus. On Day One, Keser, he writes:
“The first and highest Sefirah is Keter. Keter literally means ‘crown.’ It is the part of the personality that connects the self with what is beyond the self, and as a result, serves as the supreme inspirational and motivational guiding force. As a metaphor, the crown connects its bearer to the lineage of royalty, or to an office which is beyond the person actually presented. The office of the king is more powerful, and therefore more intimidating, than the person who is wearing the actual crown. The Keter, or crown, therefore connects one to the larger picture that is behind the scenes.
Most actions in life begin with an idea and, if they are successful, they continue to develop until they reach physical completion. Whether we set out in life to build a house, invent a new technology, cure an illness, or be destructive—every process begins with an idea. However, there is a step that occurs even before that idea comes to our mind. There is always a hidden motivating factor which drives any creative process. The part of the process that begins with an idea is conscious and cognitive. It propels the idea onward into life where it can be articulated, analyzed, and perfected. However, the unconscious motivation that compelled us to have the idea in the first place is further afield and too deep to touch.
That motivating force derives from Keter, the Sefirah that is behind all the Sefirot and connects us to what is even beyond ourselves. Keter is the real will and desire that serves as our supreme inspirational and motivational guiding force.
Today is the first day of Rosh Hashanah. It is a new beginning, a fresh canvas. Today is not a day for planning but rather a day for digging. We must find our Keter. We must get beyond ourselves and discover what is really motivating us. We pray for health, wealth, and happiness. But we must ask ourselves: ‘What do we really want to do with that health, wealth, and happiness?’ As you journey through the day, celebrating Rosh Hashanah, remember that our unconscious desires have ultimate power over our lives.”
He suggests:
Keep asking yourself what you really desire in life.
After you answer, ask “why?” again and again.
Try to condense your deepest desire into one sentence. That sentence can become the cornerstone of your prayers on Rosh Hashanah.
When we ask “why,” we peel back layers and reveal who we truly are. The why process connects us with what lies beyond our visible selves. The more we ask, the more we uncover our Keser, and the more authentically we stand before God.
Tehillim says: “כִּירַח יִכּוֹן עוֹלָם וְעֵד בַּשַּׁחַק נֶאֱמָן סֶּלָה”9. Rashi explains that the moon is the witness and guarantor of Malchus Beit David—that as long as the moon endures, the kingship will endure as well. On Rosh Hashanah, when we crown Hashem, the sliver of the moon reminds us that Malchus stands firm even in its smallest, most hidden form.
When we see the Yerach ben Yomo, we can pause, without the need to rush in or feel overwhelmed. We only need to remember that it is part of a larger picture. In that remembering, we can offer Hashem the Keser Melucha.
Over the next nine days we slowly step out of the Ir Miklat, acclimating again to the world while carrying with us the light of Mashiach—the light that will dissolve the klipos until even the notion of death itself disappears. At that point the Ir Miklat will no longer be needed, and the full tikkun will arrive with all of Creation recognizing Hashem as Creator. Chazal10 take it further: “כל המברך על החדש בזמנו כאילו מקבל פני שכינה”—whoever blesses the new moon at its proper time, it is as if they greet the Shechinah herself. The renewal of the moon is not only a symbol. It is an encounter. Every small beginning is already a meeting with the Divine presence.
To integrate, to bring wisdom into practice, we start with the bigger picture. We remember the journey we have been on, and we notice the glimmer that will one day become the great light of Mashiach. Teshuvah means returning to life with Hashem. It begins with a single step, and when we take that step, Hashem meets us because He is the Melech.
Integration means that we notice the sliver, and act in one small place where a pause, a word, or a choice can shift. That is the Yerach ben Yomo: the tiniest beginning that already carries the promise of fullness.
May we be blessed to find our Yerach ben Yomo and realize our full potential with hashra’as haShechinah.
Pri Etz Chaim, Rosh Hashanah
Bamidbar 35:5
Tehillim 81:4
Shmuel Alef, Perek 19-20
Tikkun 13
Tehillim 72:7
Many see this as hinting to the spiritual rebirth of the state after the Holocaust.
Pri Etz Chaim, Sha’ar Keri’at Shema 24:16; Sha’ar Hanachat haRosh 6:2
Tehillim 89:38
Sanhedrin 41b
Thank you and that photo is superb.