“Venishmartem me’od l’nafshoteichem—You shall greatly guard your lives” (Devarim 4:15).
As Elul draws near, so does the sound of the shofar, echoing through our hearts. It awakens us, urging us to reflect, repair and return—not only to G-d, but also to ourselves.
We often think of teshuvah in terms of sin and forgiveness. But at its core, teshuvah means returning. It’s a journey inward—back to our source, back to who we were created to be. And for many of us, that journey includes something rarely discussed on the High Holidays: mental health.
This year, as I await the birth of my first child, I find myself thinking deeply about what it means to return—to show up for G-d not only spiritually, but emotionally. What does it mean to do teshuvah when we’re anxious, depleted or healing from invisible wounds? What does it mean to bring our whole selves to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—even the broken parts?
Mental Health Is a Halachic Priority
It’s worth reminding ourselves that guarding our lives includes guarding our mental health. This isn’t a modern twist on tradition—it’s embedded in our halachic framework. The Shulchan Aruch (OC 328) teaches that one must desecrate Shabbat to save a life, even when the danger is uncertain. The Gemara says that even doubt of pikuach nefesh overrides Shabbat.
This principle applies to mental illness, too. If someone is in emotional crisis, if they are severely depressed or suicidal, we are not only permitted but obligated to act, even on Yom Kippur. We must make the phone call. We must provide the food. We must remove the shame.
Yet, too many people still suffer in silence, afraid their struggles make them spiritually unworthy or religiously lacking. They hesitate to seek help in fear of judgment or misunderstanding. But our tradition doesn’t ask us to suffer to prove our faith. It asks us to choose life.
Elul: A Time for Realignment, Not Perfection
The month of Elul calls us to begin the process of cheshbon hanefesh—spiritual accounting. But this reckoning isn’t only about where we went wrong. It’s about realignment: What have I lost touch with? What do I need to return to?
In that sense, teshuvah is deeply therapeutic. It invites us to pause, to be honest and to repair what’s frayed—whether in our relationships, in our connection to Hashem or in our internal emotional worlds.
The Ba’al HaTanya, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, tz’l, teaches that in Elul, “HaMelech ba’sadeh—the King is in the field.” G-d comes closer to us than ever before. We don’t need to be polished or perfect to approach Him. We just need to show up, as we are.
And sometimes, showing up means saying, “G-d, I’m hurting.”
Tear Open Your Heart—Not Your Garments
In Sefer Yoel (2:13), the prophet cries, “Tear your hearts and not your clothing.” Teshuvah is not about theatrics. It’s not about saying the right words or performing rituals without meaning. It’s about honesty: emotional, spiritual and psychological.
The deepest form of teshuvah might not come from the pages of a machzor, but from a whisper in the dark: “I can’t do this alone anymore.”
This isn’t weakness. It’s courage.
As a therapist, I’ve seen how transformative it can be when someone finally names what they’ve been carrying. That act of expression—of revealing pain rather than hiding it—is profoundly Jewish. We are a nation who weeps, who sings, who wrestles and who remembers. We are not strangers to emotional depth.
And G-d, the ultimate Healer, asks for our hearts—not our perfection.
What Teshuvah Might Look Like This Year
Sometimes, teshuvah might mean making a relationship right or increasing Torah learning. Other times, it might mean:
• Calling a therapist
• Starting medication
• Setting a boundary
• Leaving an abusive situation
• Taking a day off work to rest
• Telling a loved one, “I need help”
These acts are not secular distractions from spiritual life. They are spiritual life. They are acts of teshuvah—acts of return.
The Story of Chana: A Blueprint for Emotional Prayer
On Rosh Hashanah, we read the story of Chana, a woman whose silent prayer was so raw and intense that Eli the Cohen mistook her for drunk. But she wasn’t intoxicated; she was heartbroken. And from that place of brokenness, she prayed. She poured out her soul.
Chana didn’t censor herself. She didn’t hide her pain. She brought it to G-d. And He responded.
How many people in our communities pray like Chana—silently, tearfully, desperately—yet are misread or dismissed?
Let her story remind us to see people. Let it remind us that emotional vulnerability in prayer isn’t a liability; it’s holiness.
Lo BaShamayim Hi: Torah Meets Reality
“Lo baShamayim hi—the Torah is not in Heaven” (Devarim 30:12).
The Torah was given to be lived—in this world, in the messiness of human experience. Our sages understood that physical and emotional suffering are real and that our halachah must address the realities of life.
Yet too often, mental health remains hidden in Orthodox circles. We whisper about therapy. We hesitate to mention feelings of anxiety, depression or grief. But these are real. They are as real as any illness.
And pretending otherwise is not piety. It’s denial.
A Torah that lives in this world must address this world. That means supporting each other through struggles, normalizing help-seeking, and training leaders to recognize the signs of mental health crisis.
It’s worth reminding ourselves that guarding our lives includes guarding our mental health.
Making Room for Human Stories
In my work as a clinical social worker, I’ve sat with teens who feel they are not “Jewish enough” because of their panic attacks. I’ve counseled adults navigating trauma who believe they’ve failed in emunah (faith) because they feel disconnected from tefillah.
We must say clearly: Faith and emotional struggle are not opposites.
Avraham felt fear. Yaakov wrestled. Moshe questioned himself. Even prophets experienced anguish. The Jewish soul is capacious—it holds complexity.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, zt” l, wrote, “Faith is not certainty; it is the courage to live with uncertainty.” That courage includes tending to our minds and hearts. It includes the choice to heal.
Rebbetzin Jungreis: The Goal Is Not Happiness—It’s Goodness
Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis, a”h, once said that the secular world seeks happiness, but Judaism seeks goodness. Goodness, she explained, doesn’t require us to feel happy all the time—it requires us to be real.
And real life includes sadness. It includes anxiety. It includes struggle.
Being good means choosing kindness even when we’re tired, choosing compassion when others are prickly, and choosing to care for ourselves—not out of selfishness, but out of sacred responsibility.
Healing is a mitzvah. So is honesty.
Preparing for the Yamim Noraim with Gentleness
As we prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, many of us make long lists: of wrongs to right, relationships to repair, goals to set. Let’s also make room on that list for:
• Giving ourselves permission to rest
• Attending a quieter minyan if the larger one feels overwhelming
• Journaling or speaking to a friend about what we want to release
• Seeking forgiveness from ourselves for unrealistic expectations
• Making an appointment with a therapist we’ve been meaning to call
Let’s remember that teshuvah isn’t about performance. It’s about presence.
Returning—Together
No one should journey alone. And in truth, we never really do. The Jewish people are a family. Our stories are intertwined.
If this is a year when someone you know is struggling, don’t shy away. Ask how they’re doing. Offer to sit with them in shul. Bring them soup. Share your own humanity.
Sometimes, the greatest form of teshuvah is not returning to G-d alone—but helping someone else make their way back.
In Conclusion: You Are Enough
This High Holiday season, may we all remember:
You don’t have to be perfect to come before G-d.
You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You are allowed to bring your questions, your sadness, your fears.
Because G-d doesn’t ask for perfection. He asks for truth.
And as you stand before Him—however whole or broken you may feel—may you hear in the stillness: “My beloved child, you are enough. Come home.”
May this be a year of healing, of return and of wholeness.
Shanah Tovah U’Metukah.
Ariel Rose Goldstein is a licensed social worker, trauma therapist and writer based in New Jersey who integrates Jewish values with mental health and disability advocacy.