Cheshvan is a month whose very name carries a profound message.
Across the world, there’s a universal gesture used to call for silence. When you want people to listen, to think, to pay attention, what do you do? You raise a finger to your lips and say, “Shhh.”
That soft sound, the gentle passing of air over the lips, is understood as the signal for quiet. Rav Samson Rafael Hirsch points out something remarkable. That sound, “shhh,” is embedded in the very word Cheshvan. The name itself contains the call to silence, reflection, and inner stillness.
Cheshvan has no holidays. That is one reason it’s called Mar-Cheshvan, “Bitter Cheshvan.” Another reason, as the Midrash teaches, is that it was originally meant to be the month in which Shlomo HaMelech inaugurated the Beis HaMikdash. Because the dedication was delayed until Tishrei, Cheshvan was left “empty.” But in the future, when the Third Beis HaMikdash will be dedicated, it will be in Cheshvan, and its bitterness will turn to sweetness.
Yet even now, there’s a spiritual depth to this quiet month. Rav Hirsch elaborates that the word Cheshvan is also related to Chushim, our senses. Think about it: all of our senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch—operate in silence. The month of Cheshvan is therefore a time to sense rather than to speak, to internalize rather than to express.
After the whirlwind of the Yamim Noraim and the Chagim—Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Hoshanah Rabbah—our souls are filled. We’ve just lived through a spiritual transformation, a complete upheaval. And now, Cheshvan arrives like a deep exhale. It’s the world whispering shhh. Time to slow down. Time to process.
We live in an age where silence has become rare. Our world hums with constant noise and distraction. I often call our phones weapons of mass distraction—and rightly so. The colors, lights, and endless notifications rob us of calm and sleep. Never take your phone to bed; and if you share a room, give it to your roommate for safekeeping. If you truly want to rest, take a book, and let your mind unwind naturally.
Cheshvan reminds us to pause, to review, quietly, all that we absorbed during Tishrei—the insights, the emotions, the resolutions. We can’t grow from experiences we never stop to reflect upon.
This idea is timeless. The Mesillas Yesharim speaks about the essential practice of hisbonenus, reflection. In our rush to do more, we often achieve less. We must carve out moments in our day to simply be. It doesn’t need to be long. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes of quiet solitude, with no people, no phone, no distractions. Just sit. Don’t even try to think. Let your thoughts come and go. That simple act can recharge the spirit in ways we can’t imagine.
This is different from Cheshbon HaNefesh, the daily accounting of one’s deeds, or reviewing what we did well, what we failed to do, what we could improve. That is essential too, especially before sleep. But hisbodedus, secluding oneself in quiet, is something else entirely. It’s the discipline of stillness. The art of listening to your own soul.
It’s not easy. The hardest part isn’t doing it; it’s making the time for it. The day fills itself, and suddenly it’s night. But if you schedule it, just a few minutes of solitude, it can transform your entire rhythm of life.
So as we make our way through Cheshvan, let us embrace the silence. After the thunder of the festivals comes the whisper of reflection. The world says, shhh... And in that quiet, our souls can finally speak.
