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 the “Ten Days of Repentance” (asseret yemei teshuvah) and the customary blessing used between people during them is “have a good final sealing” (gemar chatimah tovah).
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 which means “return” (shuv). Teshuvah means returning to our source, our origin, from which 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 to remove the masks that, during all other times, hide us from others and from ourselves.
Reclaiming Teshuvah
In modern Israeli society, something sad has happened to the expression “to return in teshuvah” (לַחֲזֹר בִּתְשׁוּבָה). It used to refer to self-rectification, self-improvement, and search for one’s spiritual roots, but has now been reduced to a narrow and superficial expression describing the transition from leading a secular-non-observant life to leading a religious-observant one. From being a deep transformation in all aspects of a person’s life, it has turned into something closer to a sociological phenomenon—a lifestyle change; from referring to an ongoing and multifaceted process it is now seen as a one-off, one-dimensional change.
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 all in.” 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 welcome 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” (לַחֲזֹר בִּשְׁאֵלָה)—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 the seemingly cheap answers provided by Torah. 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 this is that most everyone has lost sight of the true meaning of the expression “to do 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 socially denigrated as having become religious or observant; and people who do observe the Torah will not use it because they mistakenly believe they are already religious and observant!
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 leads us back to the question with which we started: what does it mean to do teshuvah? How is it done?
Well, 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 Rambam’s (Maimonides’) halachic work, the Mishneh Torah[1]:
And what is teshuvah? That the sinner should abandon his sin, remove it from his thoughts, and resolve in his heart to never 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, the Rambam breaks the process of teshuvah into three stages:
- Resolving to abandon the negative behavior.
- Regretting having engaged in it in the past.
- Confessing it with our lips and declaring 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 the Rambam explicitly states, “He Who knows all hidden things,” the Almighty, will testify if the person’s teshuvah is genuine.
Seems straightforward enough. But is everything as simple as it seems?
A Psychological Maze
It is well known that the Rambam also wrote a philosophical work titled, “The Guide for the Perplexed.” In a way, this is a fitting way to describe the Rambam himself: he is a guide for those who have lost their way in mazes. His legal work, the Mishneh Torah, instructs those lost in the mazes of the Talmud dialogue and discusses the practical halachic rulings they should follow. His Guide for the Perplexed teaches those lost in the mazes of philosophy how to return to Jewish faith.
The maps that the Rambam 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 and 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 if offered to replay our choices, 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 honestly grapple 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 them behind. The only thing it can do relatively easily is confess its current state, but to regret the past is very hard for it. It is even more difficult to make decisions and commitments regarding our future conduct.
The greatest difficulty comes when we soberly recognize that the very ego from which all our negative actions stem remains ever-present. Regret, confession, and hope for the future will simply not make it go away or even change. This recognition, which is described as a state of lowliness (שִׁפְלוּת), means that though we want to steer our lives in a new direction, we are acutely aware that we remain, fundamentally, the same person, with the same built-in ego flaws. This recognition makes it difficult to straightforwardly fulfill the steps outlined by the Rambam. 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 are incapable 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 Israel Ba’al Shem Tov, the founder of the Chasidic movement, and his genius lay in exposing and treating the more subtle aspects of the heart. Chasidut offers a new reading of the Rambam’s laws of teshuvah. In particular, it enables us to re-read the two difficult clauses we pointed out: regretting the past and making resolutions for the future.
How can we regret our past if we clearly recognize that we are still who we were and have not fundamentally changed? Chasidut argues that, on the emotional/psychological plane, regret need not be the presumption that today we would not sin, but something much simpler. Regret in a realistic and enduring manner is the experience of sorrow over what was and the acknowledgment that it could happen again at any moment. The Hebrew root of the word “regret” (חרט) also means “to engrave” (לַחֲרֹט). Regret is essentially the engraving of our flaws upon the tablet of our hearts. Engraving our past failures on our heart means carrying them with us at all times, recognizing that they are an inseparable part of us—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 forever 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 (or just other people, as we will explain). 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. I will also be careful not to feel superior to any individual for the simple reason that I am painfully aware of my failures but cannot know theirs.
What about the resolution for the future when we do not believe in our ability to recreate ourselves? Here too, Chasidut overturns the traditional reading. On the emotional/psychological level, it explains that resolve for the future is not a self-assured decision to change, but the confident faith in God that if He recognizes that we are truly sorrowful, He will surely give us the strength to stick to our commitment not to sin again. 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.
The sages described this reliance on God for overcoming our sins with the statement, “A person’s inclination overwhelms 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 the Rambam’s words is beautifully reflected by the rabbinic sages. They taught (in various sources) that the word “And it came to pass” (וַיְהִי), which refers to the past, always indicates sorrow,[4] that the word “And it will be” (וְהָיָה), which refers to the future, always heralds joy,[5] and that the word “And now” (וְעַתָּה), 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. Lo and behold, the sum of the numerical values, the gematria, of the Hebrew words for “sorrow” (צַעַר) and “joy” (שִׂמְחָה) is astonishingly the same as the gematria of “teshuvah” (תְּשׁוּבָה), repentance!
It is important to explain that the chasidic interpretation we have presented here does not contradict the straightforward meaning of the Rambam’s ruling. His words are still and always valid on the intellectual level. The chasidic interpretation is meant to complement the direct meaning, to give the soul tools for dealing with its flaws in a way that on the one hand opens us to the possibility of change and makes us desire it, and on the other hand allows us to recognize our limitations. Deepened with these chasidic reflections, this year we will be better equipped to stand before God on Yom Kippur and say, “Brings us back with complete teshuvah to You.”
[1]. Hilchot Teshuvah 2:2.
[2]. Psalms 51:5.
[3]. Sukkah 52b; Kiddushin 30b.
[4]. Megillah 10b.
[5]. Bereishit Rabbah 42:3.
[6]. Ibid. 21:6.
