We've had a hectic summer. The protests, the terror attacks in the south, a deterioration of ties with Turkey, and to top it all off, singer Margalit Tzanani has been accused of criminal acts. And we haven't even broached the Israel national soccer team's disappointing season. Let's just say that there was no slow-news "silly season" this summer. But after this summer's burning chain of events, we find ourselves in the month of Elul, the month before Rosh Hashana, and we have already experienced the first rains. The first rain of the fall heralds new times. Ever since Noah's flood was followed by a rainbow, the skies have signalled the world's spiritual state, in a way that we should take heed of. The brief rain we experienced earlier this month called to mind the process of teshuva, or repentance. Teshuva is an abstract spiritual process, one that can be too abstract to put into words. In order to understand how our sins are forgiven and how one person forgives another we need more than a simple Hasidic folktale. Rain is an apt metaphor for the tremendous process of repentance and forgiveness. Rain is cyclical in nature: Vapor rises from the land, condenses in the skies, turns into cloudbursts and then pours down its life-giving, basic goodness. Rain also calls to mind a famous Hasidic story that Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach used to tell about Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev. Once, on the first night of slichot prayers, Rabbi Levi and his synagogue caretaker set out for the synagogue. As they were walking in the woods, a strong rain began to fall. They found an abandoned house and took shelter under its shaky roof waiting for the rain to stop. They waited and waited until suddenly they heard voices coming from inside the house. Rabbi Levi Yitzhak sent his caretaker to see who was causing the noise. The caretaker peeked inside and was astonished to see a gathering underway of all the thieves in Berdichev! The caretaker came back and told the rabbi the shocking news. To his astonishment, the rabbi became excited. "I can't believe it. What are they talking about-" The caretaker went back to spy on the thieves, then returned to the rabbi with his answer. "They are making calculations and telling each other how much each stole this year." Rabbi Levi let out a deep sigh and began to cry. Suddenly he broke into a run, in the driving rain, all the way to the synagogue. Once inside, he opened the holy ark, and with the caretaker standing behind him, raised his voice in prayer. "Almighty God, I am so embarrassed. Even thieves confess their sins, and I, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak am still holding onto my sins." This was the rabbi's way of proving that in every bit of evil one can also find good, and how one can find merit even in simple thieves, so that they too can receive the mercy of heaven, and return to the proper path. The merciful acts of rain and water, the soft motion of the clouds gathering in the sky before the holidays, teach us to remember that during the upcoming Jewish new year, and during other holidays in the Jewish month of Tishrei, we must attribute merit to our fellows, and of course to ourselves. Even now, three weeks before the Jewish new year, we should take the time to remember that the summer is coming to an end, and the time for soul-searching is upon us, so that we can enter the new year cleansed and with renewed freshness and vigor.