Repentance: to change our behaviour or ideas?

With Yom Kippur fast approaching in the midst of war and upheaval, it has been unusually challenging to concentrate my thoughts on the traditional seasonal discussion points such as judgement and repentance. This post is a brief attempt at to correct this oversight!

While for many, the term “repentance” is associated with the somewhat narrow yet laudable process of identifying one’s shortfalls from the previous year and attempting to repair them (seeking forgiveness in the process from anyone whom one has hurt), Rambam’s Laws of Teshuvah sees it far more broadly. Barely two chapters of this work on repentance focus on what I refer to as “micro-teshuvah”, while other chapters proceed to explore matters of free-will, necessary beliefs and the World to Come.

Particularly notable for me is the final chapter, which elaborates eloquently upon the notion of serving God out of love rather than for an ulterior motive. A notion which Rambam considers to represent the apex of divine worship in Judaism.

What emerges, it seems, is a concept of “macro-teshuva” which directs us not merely to examine our specific deeds, but also to develop and focus upon our ultimate religious ideals. The sort of person we aspire to be if circumstances so permitted. Not only our day-to-day actions but also our religious, moral and spiritual aspirations would appear to be an important part of our religious personality and relationship with God.

But to what extent does repentance even for specific sins require one to repair one’s thoughts?

An early teaching in Hilchot Teshuva relates that complete repentance is known to have been achieved if one has been placed in an identical situation with the same temptation – and this time withstood the ability to sin. This appearing to show that one now has gained the requisite self-discipline that one previously lacked.

However, as my friend Eitan Kastner recently pointed out to me, certain sins may also require a change of thought and attitude as well as simple self-restraint.

In his Shemonah Perakim, Rambam notes an apparent aggadic contradiction on this subject. On the one hand there is a Talmudic statement that “even if certain commandments had not been written in the Torah, we could legitimately claim that they ought to have been”, which presumes that we are able to discern reasons and spirit for the mitzvot. This is contrasted with the teaching that “One should not say that he does not wish for non-kosher food [etc]; rather, he should say, I would like to partake of it but my Father in Heaven has forbidden it to me”. Rambam shows how mitzvot which he labels mefursamot (widespread) – i.e. those which are commonly legislated in society (e.g. not to steal, murder…) – are understood to be in accordance with the Torah’s broader spirit and we would therefore expect to be prohibited. By contrast, mitzvot which have bear no clearly apparent reason (chukkim) such as prohibitions against certain foods and clothing mixtures are observed out of obedience to God’s word.

What emerges from here is that even the desire for the sort of sins which are considered to be inherently immoral is a fault and a matter than one should seek to educate oneself to amend. This being the case, would it be correct to argue that the ultimate form of repentance for such sins would not simply be a matter of self-control, however admirable, but a process of re-education too?

I would like to take this opportunity to wish readers a Shana Tova – a year of blessings, peace and better news. And hope that you will forgive me if anything that I have written has offended.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.

Yom Kippur musings: Rambam's Hilchot Teshuvah and powerful prooftexts

 One of the central texts traditionally studied at this time of year is Rambam’s Hilchot Teshuvah: a supreme arrangement of traditional teachings on repentance, often through a Maimonidean perspective of the soul and Divine justice. Surprisingly little attention tends to be paid, however, to Rambam’s often peculiar choice of verses apparently cited in support of his teachings. I would like to present a couple of brief examples of the profound significance contained within some of these often skipped over features.

At the start of the third chapter of Hilchot Teshuvah, Rambam presents what appears to be a highly simplistic model of God’s justice system:

Each and every person has merits and sins. A person whose merits exceed his sins is righteous. A person whose sins exceed his merits is] wicked. If [his sins and merits] are equal, he is termed a Beinoni….If a person's sins exceed his merits, he will immediately die because of his wickedness as [Jeremiah 30:14] states: "for the multitude of your transgressions".

So simplistic is Rambam’s teaching, that Ra’avad jumps in with the obvious objection: we surely see plenty of wicked people living long lives. It may be instructive however to read Rambam’s teaching – including his non-obvious prooftext – in light of Rambam’s definition of “life” and “death” from Moreh Nevuchim (1:42).

There Rambam demonstrates that, in addition to their literal renderings, the terms “life” and “death” are commonly used in both biblical and rabbinic sources to refer to the acquisition of wisdom (and desirable character traits). On this basis, the sages teach “the righteous even in their death are considered alive” since they have acquired the means to maintain a connection to God, while “the wicked in their lifetime are called dead” since they lack such a connection.

The verse in Jeremiah cited by Rambam to support his teaching refers to the Jewish nation at its lowest ebb being forgotten and abandoned because of its mass of sins. This verse does not refer to literal death, but rather to a suspension of the nation’s special providential relationship with God as a result of sin (see Abarbanel among others). It can be suggested therefore, that Rambam’s choice of prooftext is subtly alluding to the metaphorical connotation of death. If this is true, it would seem that Rambam would explain aggadic teachings and prayers in the Yom Kippur liturgy to be referring to those “written in the book” of true life – ie connection to God – or true death – the lack of such a connection.

Another example of the profound nature of Rambam’s prooftexts can be found in the same passage. Rambam writes that:

This reckoning is not calculated [only] on the basis of the number of merits and sins, but also their magnitude. There are some merits which outweigh many sins as implied by [I Kings 14:13]: "Because in him, there was found something good."

While, as Rambam continues to explain, we cannot fathom God’s divine system of accounting and justice his astonishing choice of prooftext does afford us a degree of insight. Out of all of the biblical examples of righteous actions and praiseworthy deeds, Rambam highlights the actions of Aviyah, son of Yeravam. A man who is condemned to a premature death along with the rest of the wicked and idolatrous royal family. The biblical text does not reveal the nature of this “something good” through which Aviyah alone merited a respectable death and burial. The Talmud however informs us that Aviyah removed the armed guards who had been stationed to prevent pilgrims from the Northern Kingdom from traveling to the Beit Hamikdash.

Providing broader context, the political and religious legitimacy of Yeravam’s regime relied on the fact that his subjects would no longer admire and look to the Davidic leadership for guidance. Aviyah’s willingness to remove the guards and make it easier for people to travel to the Mikdash thus represented significant personal sacrifice. He was, in effect, putting his own royal position and legitimacy at risk by allowing access to Jerusalem.

What Rambam appears to be indicating through his prooftext is that, while we are capable of measuring and comparing the objectiveworth of the mitzvot, the degree of effort and self-sacrifice that a person injects into any good deed can cause it to outweigh many other merits.

[This second example was heard from Rabbi Lippa Rabinowitz]

G’mar Chatima Tova. An easy and meaningful fast to all.

First posted to Facebook 26September 2020, here.

Yom Kippur: I would fast and pray but miss the point of the day

The energy levels had been steadily climbing over the last hour or so. As we approached the conclusion of Ne’ilah, the noise reached a deafening crescendo with many hundreds of swaying worshippers praying with intense fervour. I found my entire self – somewhat light-headed from a day of fasting – swept along in this wave of ecstatic spirituality that was about to reach its feverish peak. Suddenly I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder that jolted me out of my blissful meditation.

“Shmuli – take me to toilet NOW!”

It was Chaim. A mentally and physically disabled resident of the area who used to join our Yeshiva activities from time to time. He particularly enjoyed the Yom Kippur service and was always made a big fuss of. I frantically scoured the room for members of his family or other people who sometimes assisted him before realising that there was no other option. As I helped Chaim slowly up the stairs and to the lavatory, I realised that my Ne’ilah was over. The heartfelt cries of “Shema Yisrael…Hashem hu Ha’Elokim” followed us up the stairs and crept into the heavily-overused bathroom – taunting me as I stood there helplessly, unable to participate

I was silently fuming. After an entire day of fasting and concentration I felt I had been cheated of my sacred spiritual moment – the climax of my religious year.

This episode took place close to 20 years ago. Approximately seven years ago I undertook to start studying Nach – the books of the Prophets – properly. Not just the dramatic storylines of Samson and Solomon, but to try to discern the profound religious messages and teachings that the prophets had confronted the Jewish people with thousands of years ago. This process turned my Judaism upside-down in several ways.

Most significantly, it opened my eyes to perhaps the most fundamental prophetic teaching – one that had actually been hand-picked by the sages in several Haftarot but that, as a yeshiva bochur I had paid scant attention to. Yes, my Yeshiva had always encouraged us to perform acts of kindness. But I had always viewed this as a matter of necessary compromise rather than a key religious activity. Soon after I noticed that the Yom Kippur Haftarah contained the powerful chastisement:

“Can such be the fast I choose, a day when man merely afflicts himself? Can it be merely bowing one’s head like a bulrush and spreading sackcloth and ashes? Do you call this a fast day of favour to God? Surely this is the fast I choose: To break open the shackles of wickedness, to undo the bonds of injustice, and to let the oppressed go free, and annul all perversion. Surely you should break your bread for the hungry, and bring the moaning poor to your home; when you see a naked person clothe him; and do not hide yourself from your kin.” [Isaiah 58:5-7]

It suddenly dawned on me that in that Ne’ilah many years ago, far from having been cheated of a sacred spiritual moment, God had actually been handing me one on a silver platter. I was once again silently fuming on Yom Kippur, but the target of my anger was now very different. I had been through over ten years of standard Jewish education followed by several years of traditional Yeshiva study. Yet it was left for me alone to discover and internalise the key message of the biblical prophets. Year after year school teachers had revised the precise details of the five afflictions of Yom Kippur; until which knuckle on our fingers we could wash. Graphically depicted the waving of chickens round our heads and emphasised the crucial importance of praying with fervour and teshuvah. But never once had I heard the message of this Haftarah – which the sages had clearly intended to associate strongly with Yom Kippur.

To an extent this new awareness and perspective permeated several chapters of Judaism Reclaimed which I had started writing at that time. I promised myself that, if I would ever be in a position to teach others about Yom Kippur, this is something I would seek to rectify. If there are any teachers or Jewish educators reading this ahead of Yom Kippur, this is a message that you should strongly consider sharing and spreading. Focusing Yom Kippur – and Judaism in general – back onto empathising and helping those less fortunate than ourselves should not be seen as a modern day “liberal social justice” ideology. It is a core and inalienable pillar of Judaism which is tragically under-emphasised in today’s Jewish education system.

Wishing all readers a g’mar chatimah tova. And asking forgiveness for anything I have written which has caused offense or upset.

Shmuli

First posted on Facebook 12 September 2021, here.