The Psalm of Elul

The month of Elul arrives quietly but with a weight that every Jew feels. The summer is ending, the High Holidays approach, and with them the awesome awareness that the gates of judgment are opening. The shofar is blown each morning, reminding us of repentance and renewal. And in the synagogue, another sound fills the air, Psalm 27. The words of David’s Psalm set the tone for the weeks leading up to Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. They speak of fear and enemies, but also of courage and hope. They remind us that even in times of trembling, there is a source of strength greater than ourselves.

King David begins with a stark question: mimi ira? “Whom shall I fear?” Fear is real. And David, a warrior-king, was no stranger to danger. His psalm does not deny the existence of enemies, battles, and trials. It acknowledges them. But his declaration is that fear will not rule him, because his anchor is in God. That message reverberates through the High Holiday season. What does it mean to live without fear when danger surrounds us? Is David teaching us to ignore reality, or is he showing us that trust in God transforms how we confront reality?

The Midrash helps us understand by linking the psalm to the festivals that fill this season. Ori – “my light” – is Rosh Hashanah, the day when God’s judgment shines forth and illuminates our deeds. Yishi -“my salvation” -is Yom Kippur, when God grants forgiveness and redemption. And later, David proclaims, Ki yitzpeneni b’suko b’yom ra’ah: (Psalm 27:5).

This verse points directly to Sukkot, the festival of divine shelter. In one psalm, the entire journey of Tishrei is contained: the trembling of Rosh Hashanah, the cleansing of Yom Kippur, and the joy of Sukkot. That is why this psalm has become the prayer of the season.

There is another layer here. God’s name, Adonai, appears thirteen times in this psalm. The Sages saw this as no accident, but an allusion to the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy revealed to Moses when he secured forgiveness for Israel after the sin of the Golden Calf (Exodus 34:6–7).

Just as Moses ascended the mountain and brought down mercy, so too in this season we lift our prayers with hope of forgiveness. Each recitation of God’s name is itself an act of cleaving to mercy.

David’s heart, however, longs for something beyond protection from enemies. He expresses a single request:

What David desires is not power, wealth, or even military victory, but closeness to God. His yearning is to gaze at God’s beauty and to draw near to His Temple. This is the essence of Elul. Repentance, teshuvah, is not simply about guilt or fear; it is about returning to God, turning our faces toward Him as He turns His toward us. The psalm captures this intimacy perfectly:

The result is that Elul becomes a season of both judgment and mercy, of trembling and joy. Jewish tradition describes God during this month as a king in the field, making Himself accessible to every subject who approaches. Judgment is real, but so is forgiveness. Fear is real, but so is trust. David knew both realities: the battlefield and the sanctuary. He faced enemies around him and doubts within him, yet he ended the psalm with unshakable courage:

That final line is not simply poetic. It is instruction for how to walk through Elul and Tishrei, how to face the days of judgment and emerge with strength. Psalm 27 is not a song of easy comfort, but of courage in struggle, seeking in fear, and shelter in storms. Its message is clear: light, salvation, and refuge come only from God. Our task is to confront fear with faith, to repent with longing, and to approach judgment with trust in mercy. As we recite these words each day of Elul, we stand with King David and declare with strength: “The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”