“If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?”

-Hillel the Elder

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”

-John Donne

On the day of his death, Moshe Rabbeinu delivered a heartfelt soliloquy. He both relived the highs and lows of the 40-year desert journey, and also warned of the impending dangers of life in Eretz Yisrael. After issuing repeated cautions, Moshe reiterated the entire body of halachot and, for this reason, Sefer Devarim is referred to as “Mishneh Torah,” or Moshe’s review of the Torah.

Parshat Re’eh marks the transition from Moshe’s nostalgic recollections of the past to his review of the registry of mitzvot. Though Moshe addresses the entire nation in his speech, he intentionally uses a singular verb, “re’eh.” This choice is significant because it directs the list of mitzvot to each individual personally, rather than to the nation as a collective, underscoring that every individual bears personal religious responsibility. In the ensuing sections, Moshe lists both personal mitzvot which govern individual lifestyles and collective national mitzvot which shape our communal experience. Most of Parshat Re’eh and Parshat Shoftim contain collective laws, whereas the concentrated list of commandments in Parshat Ki Teitzei primarily addresses individual mitzvot.

Human identity is shaped by both personal and communal experiences. Each person carries the dignity of individuality, with a life story uniquely their own. Yet we live within larger frameworks which profoundly shape who we are. We belong to families, societies, nations and historical legacies, each of which contributes to our identity. Although our individual paths may vary, we are all part of a larger whole, where personal and collective identities are deeply connected. Identity and experience are shaped by both our personal distinctiveness and our shared collective existence.

This is even more true regarding religious identity. We stand before Hashem as individuals, each commanded to fulfill His will, to strive to understand Him and to shape ourselves in His image. Yet we are also part of a larger historical collective—the Jewish people—chosen to represent Hashem in this world. Religious success depends on striking the proper balance between our personal religious journey and our national identity.

By and large, life in Israel feels more collective, whereas religious identity outside of Israel tends to be more individualistic. Living in Israel, where the Jewish experience is both organic and holistic, encourages us to think more frequently about the larger community of Israel and, by extension, the Jewish people as a whole. Outside of Israel, as it is more challenging to craft a communal identity, individual religious identity often dominates.

This contrast is vividly illustrated by the differing perspectives of Rav Soloveitchik and Rav Kook. Rav Soloveitchik delved into the fabric of an individual’s relationship with Hashem, with his seminal works such as “Halakhic Man” and “Lonely Man of Faith,” focusing on the solitary individual’s role in religious identity. Rav Soloveitchik explored the religious “Man” and his profound encounter with the Divine Other.

In contrast, Rav Kook spoke in more collective terms about the larger entity known as “Knesset Yisrael,” encompassing not only the Jews living at any given time but also the cosmic Jewish people, representing a nation of Israel which spans across history. For Olim who were raised outside of Israel and then moved to Israel, the differences between individual identity outside of Israel and collective identity in Israel are unmistakable.

Striking the balance between individual religious identity and national religious identity is always demanding, but over the next two months, it will be particularly intense. The coming week marks Rosh Chodesh Elul and the beginning of the Yomim Noraim season. These days, and especially the forty days following Elul, are designated for personal introspection, moral inventory, religious improvement and teshuva. They are times for deep soul-searching and heightened religious consciousness.

Yet this year, these days carry an entirely different weight. We approach the holidays with dread, acutely aware that each step of our journey will be overshadowed by the trauma of October 7. As the chagim unfold, the manifold layers of suffering endured by the Jewish people dominate our thoughts. We can only imagine the mix of emotions we will experience during this year’s Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, wrestling with questions about how God could allow such a tragedy to occur. And, of course, no one can truly anticipate what this year’s Simchat Torah will be like.

Over the past year, our experiences have been profoundly collective and national—just as they should be. We have grappled with the echoes of October 7, searching for faith and belief amidst the turmoil. We have mourned national tragedies, weeping with an entire nation which was viciously attacked in their homeland and assaulted around the world. Together, we have engaged in heroic efforts to save our land and safeguard the security of Israel. We have delved into how these events will shape our understanding of Jewish peoplehood and identity. Never have we felt so deeply connected to our Jewish heritage and history. These emotions and reflections have been overwhelmingly collective, resonating with the shared experiences of our nation.

As Elul begins, these emotions and preoccupations cannot and should not come to an end. They should infuse our prayers and permeate our deepest thoughts, reaching the darkest recesses of our soul. Yet, during this month, we are also called to embark on a personal journey of character improvement and spiritual growth. How can we ensure that the overwhelming collective thoughts of the past year do not overshadow or diminish the essential personal transformation that is expected during the Yamim Noraim?

After standing before Hashem as a collective nation for the past 11 months, how can we transition to a more intimate conversation with Him about personal growth and accountability? How can we ensure that our individual religious journey is not overshadowed by the overwhelming national crisis we face? How can we hear Hashem speak to us not merely as a nation, but as individuals? Can we recite Viduy confessions with the same passion that we have read Tehillim chapters? How can we attune ourselves to His voice amidst the echoes of our collective experience, allowing our personal dialogue with Him to emerge with clarity and depth?

There are no easy answers to this question. We must find a way to personalize October 7. Beyond our prayers for our soldiers, our hostages, our wounded and Jews around the world, it is crucial that we also make October 7 personal. Though these are large-scale events that may not seem directed at us individually, Hashem calls us to seek personal understanding and derive individual lessons from this tragedy. What kind of personal changes and improvements does this require from each of us? What adjustments in our personal lives are necessary in the wake of such a calamity? Have we truly faced and passed the test of faith to which we have all been subjected?

There is a well-known statement of the Chatam Sofer that during the month of Elul “even the fish in the sea tremble.” This imagery captures the profound awe and reverence of this solemn period. The thought of trembling fish serves as a powerful jolt, shaking us from our religious complacency. If that weren’t enough, the plaintive daily shofar further awakens us, urging us to introspection and spiritual renewal. As summer fades and autumn arrives, we turn inward to thoughts of human mortality and religious meaning.

This year, however, we do not need the metaphor of trembling fish to underscore the gravity and solemnity of this period. We have trembled daily for the past 11 months. During Elul, while we continue to tremble together, we must also tremble alone. To tremble for the nation around us and to tremble for the soul within us.

The writer is a rabbi at the hesder Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with ordination from Yeshiva University and a master’s in English literature from CUNY. He is the author of “Dark Clouds Above, Faith Below” (Kodesh Press), which provides religious responses to Oct. 7.