Return, Again

The time between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is called “The Ten Days of Repentance.” But how can we repent in the heart, not just the mind?

On Rosh Hashanah, the Hebrew new year, the fate of each of us is “written” for the coming year. But only ten days later, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the book “sealed,” as it were. This means that between those two days it is still possible to make changes, and even to completely erase our judgment and rewrite it. Everything depends on us—how much effort we will now make to change our ways and accept upon ourselves new and good resolutions. This is why these days are known as asseret yemei teshuvah, the “Ten Days of Repentance,” and the common blessing we say during them is g’mar chatimah tovah, “have a good final sealing.”

But what exactly does it mean to repent or, as we say in Hebrew, to “do teshuvah” or “return in teshuvah”? Simply put, teshuvah comes from the word shuv, “return.” Tehuvah means returning to an original place we have distanced ourselves from. It means leaving the negative places where we have gotten lost and returning to God, which is also returning to ourselves, to the truest and most inner self we have.

Perhaps this is why it is explained in Kabbalah that the word Kippurim (as in Yom Kippur) means “like Purim.” The purpose of repentance on Yom Kippur is the same as that of the costumes we wear on Purim: we don a new appearance in order to remove the masks that, during all other times, hide us from others and from ourselves.

Reclaiming Teshuvah

Something sad has happened to the expression “return in teshuvah.” It used to be a broad expression referring to self-rectification, self-improvement, and search for one’s spiritual roots, but has been reduced to a narrow and superficial expression describing the transition from “secular” to “religious.” From being a deep transformation in all aspects of a person’s life, it has turned into a mere sociological phenomenon, and from referring to an ongoing and multifaceted process it’s now seen as a one-time, one-dimensional step.

The expression “return in teshuvah” used to refer to self-rectification, self-improvement, and search for one’s spiritual roots, but has been reduced to a narrow and superficial expression describing the transition from “secular” to “religious.”

The transition from not observing mitzvot to observing them is certainly a significant part of teshuvah, and there must indeed be a certain decisive moment when one “goes for it”; but all this still constitutes only the most external and basic level of teshuvah. Before it, after it, and beyond it flow its deeper currents, which are primarily internal and gradual—and there lies the essence of teshuvah.

To this problem contemporary Israeli society added another one. Because teshuvah also means “answer” in Hebrew and is far more in usage in this sense than in the context of repentance, a false assumption has taken hold that to “return in teshuvah” means to stop asking questions and have all of one’s answers supplied by the Torah.  While the Torah certainly supplies us with many answers, the idea that it takes away one’s doubts and critical faculties is patently absurd. If anything, learning Torah only sparks more and more questions, not less, and these questions are a welcomed part of Torah study.

If that were not enough, from this distorted version of the term was born a further aberrant child called “to return in question”—a colloquial term referring to someone leaving religious observance. This term implies that, unlike the uncritical returnee, the apostate is all about “asking brave questions” and “not settling for cheap answers.” This expression is even worse: not only does it strengthen the misreading of “returning in teshuvah,” but it further deepens the stereotypical perception that questioning is a one-way street that leads people from faith to atheism, never the other way around.

The sad result of all of this is that everyone has somewhat lost the expression “doing teshuvah”: people who do not currently observe the Torah, even though they certainly want to always improve their ways, will not use it so as not to be seen as “becoming religious”; and people who do observe the Torah will not use it because they mistakenly believe they are “already religious”!

This double loss is tragic for all of us. Teshuvah, in its original and true sense, is the most wonderful thing that every truthful person longs for more than anything. There is nothing more exciting, moving, and joyful than returning to ourselves and to our Creator. Development, growth, enlightenment, self-improvement—these expressions are all glimpses, and aspects of, teshuvah.

The Stages of Teshuvah

All this us back to the question with which we started: what does it mean to do teshuvah? How is it done?

Well, as is known, halachah (Jewish law) does not settle for general descriptions but seeks to define things in detail. The process of teshuvah also has a clear definition, even if it is not very easy to execute. It appears in the halachic work Mishneh Torah by Maimonides:¹

And what is teshuvah? That the sinner should abandon his sin, remove it from his thoughts, and resolve in his heart never to do it again... and so, he should regret having done it... and He Who knows all hidden things will testify that he will never return to this sin... and he must confess with his lips and say these things that he has resolved in his heart.

As we can see, Maimonides breaks the process of teshuvah into three stages:

1.        Resolving to abandon the negative behavior.

2.        Regretting having engaged in it in the past.

3.        Confessing it with our lips and declare that we have left it behind.

We can note that these three stages correspond to the three parts of time: abandoning the sin relates to the future, regret pertains to the past, and confession reflects our internal state in the present.

There is no way to check if someone has truly repented for something, but there is a clear definition, and as Maimonides explicitly says, “He Who knows all hidden things” is the one who will testify if the person’s teshuvah is genuine.

But is everything as simple as it seems?

A Psychological Maze

It is well known that Maimonides wrote a book called “Guide for the Perplexed.” In a way, this is a fitting way to describe Maimonides himself: he is a guide for those who have lost their way in mazes: his Mishneh Torah teaches those lost in the mazes of the Talmud what are the practical halachic rulings they should follow, and his Guide for the Perplexed teaches those lost in the mazes of philosophy how to return to Jewish faith.

The maps that Maimonides charted for these two mazes are extraordinarily detailed and impressive, and because of this, he earned his status. However, there are additional mazes for which the Rambam did not provide us with maps to guide us out—simply because in his generation, no one had yet gotten lost in them as they have in later generations. These are the mazes of psychology, which are more winding and complex than those of the intellect, and definitions and proofs are not sufficient to rescue us from them.

The example before us—the question of how to do teshuvah—is an excellent illustration of the gap between intellectual mazes psychological ones. On the intellectual plane, it is relatively easy to speak about teshuvah: we make a willful decision that from now on we will behave differently and decide to regret what has already been done—in other words, to tell ourselves that in a “replay” we would not do the same thing again. It may be difficult, but it is not complicated. These are logical, straightforward intellectual decisions.

In contrast, when we descend to the level of emotion—and deal honestly with who we are on this level—things become less and less simple. Even if intellectually we understand that we made a mistake in a certain area, the heart is usually less easily convinced. It still yearns for forbidden things, and is not so sure it wants to leave it behind. The only thing it can do relatively easily is to confess its current state, but to regret the past is very hard for it, and even more difficult is to make decisions for the future.

The greatest difficulty comes when we soberly recognize that the very ego from which all our negative actions stem remains ever-present. This recognition, which is called “lowliness,” means then when we want to steer our lives in a new direction, we’re acutely aware of remaining fundamentally the same person, with the same built-in flaws. This recognition makes it difficult to straightforwardly fulfil the steps outlined by Maimonides: How can we presume to regret what we did yesterday if we feel that we are not fundamentally different today? How can we decide to improve our ways if we do not believe we are capable of true change?

Return, Again

Many generations after Maimonides, another “guide for the perplexed” arose, one who mapped out even the mazes of emotion. His name was Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chassidic movement, and his genius lay in exposing and treating the more subtle aspects of the heart. Chassidut offers a new reading of Maimonides’ laws of teshuvah. In particular, it enables us to re-read the two difficult clauses we pointe out—regretting the past and making resolutions for the future.

How can we regret, with clear recognition that we are still who we are and have not fundamentally changed? Chassidut says: On the emotional plane, regret need not be the presumption that today we would not sin, but something much simpler: the experience of sorrow over what was and that it could happen again at any moment. The Hebrew root of the word “regret” is חרט, charat, which mean “to engrave.” Regret is essentially the engraving of our flaws upon the tablets of our hearts—bearing them before us at all times, recognizing them as something that is an inseparable part of us, but a part we are saddened by.

This is what King David meant when he wrote the words, “For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.”² Taking this approach gradually sweetens the burden of carrying the bitter memories of our sins because they are given exactly the appropriate treatment—not denial, nor justification, but simply sorrow. This approach also eliminates within us the tendency to look down with condescending pity on other sinners. If I believe that I have completely repented from my past sins, I am likely to scorn those who are “still” tainted by similar sins; but if it is clear to me that those same flaws are still within me, I will treat other people who have them with greater compassion.

What about the resolution for the future when we do not believe in our ability to recreate ourselves? Here too, Chassidut overturns the traditional reading: On the emotional level, it says, the resolution for the future is not the self-assured decision to change, but the confident faith in God that if He sees we are truly sorrowful, He will surely give us the strength to succeed. The resolution here is the opening of our arms to the Holy Blessed One in willingness and desire to receive His help, for without Him we are incapable of doing anything with ourselves.

Regarding this reliance on God to overcome our sins, the Sages said, “A person’s inclination overcomes him every day and seeks to kill him… and if it were not for the Holy Blessed One who helps him, he could not overcome it.”³ While the engraving on the heart is an experience of sorrow, opening the heart to receive God’s help fills us with joy. The balanced combination of sorrow for the past and joy for the future is what generates teshuvah in the present moment.

In conclusion, we should note that this original interpretation of Maimonides’ words is beautifully reflected in the sources of the Sages and receives additional support from the field of gematria (numerology). The sages write in various places that the word ויהי, vayehi, which refers to the past, always indicates sorrow;⁴ that the word והיה, vehaya, which refers to the future, always heralds joy;⁵ and that the word ועתה, v’atah, which refers to the present, always indicates repentance.⁶ This beautifully reflects what has been said here, that we should feel sorrow about the past, joy about the future, and in between, in the present, we should do teshuvah. And lo and behold, if we calculate the numerical value of the Hebrew words for “sorrow” (צער, tza’ar) and “joy” (שמחה, simcha) we astonishingly find that they equal תשובה, teshuvah, repentance!

It is important to explain that the Chassidic interpretation we have presented here does not contradict the simple meaning of Maimonides’ words. His words are still and always valid on the straightforward intellectual level. The Chassidic interpretation is meant to complement them, to give the soul tools to deal with its flaws in a way that on one hand is open to change and desires it, and on the other hand recognizes its limitations. With this, perhaps, we will succeed this year in standing before God on Yom Kippur and saying, “Return us in complete teshuvah before You.”

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This essay was translated through the kind help of my Patreon supporters:

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1. Mishne Torah, Hilchot Teshuvah 2:2

2. Psalms 51:5

3. Babylonian Talmud Sukkah 52b; Kiddushin 30b

4. Ibid. Megillah 10b

5. Midrash Raba Bereshit 42:3

6. Ibid. 21:6