‘Lo suchal lehis’aleim’: Do not miss the moment

I have been waking up early, before my children are up, to work on sermons. The High Holidays are coming, and as a rabbi, this is the season of intensity.

One morning, in the quiet hours before sunrise, I was staring at the blank Word document demanding my attention. Suddenly, I heard the familiar scampering of little feet. My son was running to say hello, his toothless grin lighting up the room as he eagerly shared his plans for the day.

In that moment, I felt pulled in two directions. On one side was the sermon, the responsibility of preparing for Rosh Hashana. On the other side was my son, a moment of connection.

It brought to mind a commandment in this week’s parsha, Ki Teitzei. The Torah tells us: “If you see your brother’s lost object … you shall certainly return it to him” (Devarim 22:1). A simple mitzvah of responsibility. Yet the Torah does not stop there. It adds another layer: “Lo suchal lehis’aleim, you cannot ignore it.”

This phrase is striking. Lehis’aleim is reflexive. It does not merely mean ignoring what others see. It means convincing yourself you never saw it at all. It is the little voice inside that whispers, “I did not notice. I cannot deal with this right now. I am too busy.”

• • •

How often do we do this? We catch a glimpse of someone struggling. We sense a friend who looks lonely. We hear of an organization in need, or a cause that tugs at our heart. For a brief moment it pierces us, but then we quickly bury it, even from our own conscience. We move on as though the thought had never entered our mind.

The Torah confronts that instinct head-on. Lo suchal lehis’aleim means you cannot make yourself blind. You cannot pretend not to see. You cannot bury the truth of what your eyes and heart already know. The Torah demands that we stop. It asks us to redirect the trajectory of our day to make space to do what is right.

So the question becomes: how do we train ourselves not to look away? The answer is not found in grand gestures or dramatic sacrifices.

It begins with the smallest of acts. We notice a jacket left behind in shul and return it to its owner. We check in on a neighbor who has not been seen in a while. We respond to a community need even when it arrives at an inconvenient time. Each small choice rewires us. Each act of noticing strengthens our spiritual reflex not to suppress the natural instinct to help. Slowly, we become more attuned to the inner voice of lo suchal lehis’aleim.

Elul itself carries this same message. The Rambam writes that the blasts of the shofar in this month are meant to say: “Uru yesheinim mishinaschem, wake up from your slumber.” We are called not to look away from our own lives.

We are called not to bury what we know we must face. Elul is the time when Hashem leaves His palace and enters the field. He is close and available, ready for us to notice Him. The only question is whether we will open our eyes or whether we will convince ourselves that we are too distracted and too busy to see.

The truth is that Elul is the season of lo suchal lehis’aleim. It is the time of year when the Torah calls us to stop ignoring the quiet whispers of our own conscience. We all know the areas where we need to grow. We all know the conversations we have been putting off, the relationships that need mending, the mitzvos that have slipped away. Elul says to us: do not look away. Do not make yourself blind.

That morning, I closed the laptop and smiled at my son. The sermons eventually will get written. They always do. But that moment was irreplaceable.

That moment was a gift. That is the avodah of Elul. It is to stop, to notice, and to respond. It is to train our hearts not to turn away so that when we stand before Hashem on Rosh Hashana, we can say that we have learned to truly see. To see the needs of others. To see the presence of G-d. And to see the precious moments that fill our lives.

That is the timeless call of lo suchal lehis’aleim. Do not ignore what is right before you. Do not convince yourself you are too busy to notice. Do not bury the voice that calls you to love, to responsibility, to teshuvah, and to the Almighty.

Rabbi Benny Berlin is spiritual leader of BACH Jewish Center in Long Beach.

Write: Columnist@TheJewishStar.com