Teshuvah: How To Return

Parashat Nitzavim-Vayelech, Deuteronomy 29:9–31:30

David Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA 

And it shall come to pass when all these things come upon you . . . and you shall turn your heart. . . and return to Adonai and heed his voice . . . that Adonai will return your captivity . . . and return and gather you from all the nations where Adonai your God has scattered you. . . . And you shall turn and heed the voice of Adonai . . . and Adonai will return to rejoicing over you . . . if you return to Adonai your God with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deut 30:1–10, trans. R. Russ Resnik)

Why is it so hard to change? As we approach the season of teshuvah (turning, repentance) and the Ten Days of Repentance, this question is worth considering. Our mistakes are not usually one-time events; most of the time our flaws follow us like our shadow, as if they are part of who we are. Dramatic, intentional changes do happen, but they seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

Unsurprisingly, then, the conventional wisdom is that such an about-face is rare: people are who they are, and real change is, at best, an exceptional case. And how much more for a nation or people! There is much talk about nations going the wrong direction, institutions weakening, and societies crumbling. The unspoken assumption is that the movement is always monolithic and unidirectional. 

What is fascinating about Moses’ speech here is that it occupies a kind of middle ground between fatalism and the power of choice. Moses tells us, “When these things befall you . . .” not if, but when! Israel, according to the Torah, cannot avoid this future of descent into sinfulness and rebellion, nor can we avoid the resulting punishment and exile from the land.

And yet after all this, we and our children will return and heed his commands with all our hearts and souls. Repentance and return are just as assured as the initial failures and exile. 

Yet there is no guarantee that we will be the generation of return that this passage speaks of. The fact remains that change is hard. How can we overcome the obstacles, to become ba’alei teshuva, masters of repentance?

The theme of repentance is powerfully evident In the passage from Nitzavim above, though most English translations obscure the repetition of the Hebrew root shuv (turn). Writing on this passage in The Heart of Torah, R. Shai Held cites R. Shalom Noah Berezovsky (1911–2000), who “maintains that although many of us are convinced that we genuinely want to repent, most of us lack the courage required to go deep inside our inner worlds and repair what is broken. We thus prefer to tinker rather than transform.”

R. Berezovsky offers a powerful—and disturbing—parable. “The task of a person,” he writes, “is like that of a person who is building an elaborate house on a foundation of rubble.” If we are unwilling to invest the money and effort required to build a solid foundation, the building will be unstable, and cracks will appear again and again. Time and again we will spend money on fixing the latest crack, but these repeated investments will accomplish nothing because more cracks will inevitably emerge. Under such circumstances “the house remains perpetually in danger of collapse.” There is only one alternative . . .  Berezovsky avers: “to have the courage to destroy the whole structure of the house and to dig deep and strong foundations. On top of those foundations, [a person] can build and establish a strong building.” 

Doing substantive teshuvah requires, first of all, courage. It can be daunting to tear down a house to rebuild it from scratch; but to apply this strategy to our lives is downright terrifying. Why is this? Well, it’s risky to look at ourselves and honestly evaluate which parts of our identity we have been holding on to, that would be better let go. The opinions we don’t want to revisit, the negative habits we secretly enjoy, the conceits of self-image, the condescension we want to believe is warranted. The main obstacle to a good cleaning out of the messy garage of our souls is a very understandable fear of what will happen when we start pulling on those threads. The dysfunction we know seems safer than the uncertainty of wholesale renovation.

Perhaps this is why encounters with the divine in scripture so often start with the directive, “Don’t be afraid!” (see Gen 15:1, Gen 46:3, Luke 1:30). An encounter with the Holy One threatens to shatter whatever illusions we maintain about the state of our lives; fear is an understandable response. Indeed, we should probably fear more! And yet, these encounters in scripture are not expressions of God’s transcendent otherness, but are moments of intimacy and blessing. 

Encounter with God should engender fear and trembling, but also closeness and love. This paradox, found in the Torah and throughout our people’s history, is fundamental, and we should embrace both in this time of repentance: the fear that brings us to repentance, and the intimacy that gives us the courage to act on it. Our task is to internalize both fear of God and his compassionate embrace. Our haftarah describes this embrace using the imagery of being wrapped in finery:

I greatly rejoice in the Lord,

My whole being exults in my God.

For He has clothed me with garments of triumph,

Wrapped me in a robe of victory,

Like a bridegroom adorned with a turban,

Like a bride bedecked with her finery. (Isaiah 61:10 JPS)

The prophet’s response to exile is not to fear, but, paradoxically, to rejoice. Even as Israel’s house has been torn down to the foundations, Isaiah finds overwhelming joy in the hope of its rebuilding. To move forward, we need to also internalize this mind-bending reality that God holds us, and will turn to us, even as we turn to him.

Near the end of our parasha, as Moses encourages Joshua to lead the nation to the land, he might as well be speaking to us:

Be strong and resolute, for . . . the Lord Himself will go before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Fear not and be not dismayed! (Deut 31:7–8)

May these words remind us of God’s constant presence with us, and thus help us find the strength for deep and enduring teshuvah in this season.

Application

It is one thing to know some lofty idea, but quite another to actually know how to internalize it. Let me recommend this practice of hitbonenut, contemplation, to help foster an abiding awareness of God’s presence. I find it a helpful way to solidify the faith needed for action, including repentance; perhaps you will also find it beneficial. 

For clarity (and alliteration), let us break down this practice into four stages: purpose, preparation, posture, and presence. 

Purpose

The Baal Shem Tov told a parable comparing God to a great king who surrounded himself with walls within walls so that only those who sought him the most insistently could find him. In the end, however, the walls were illusory, and his subjects could have approached him at any time. Our intention in this practice is not to seek out God’s ḥesed (sustaining love), but to discover it already encircling us.

Preparation

Recite words out loud to set the stage. The siddur offers many resources for this. Say or sing texts, particularly those that emphasize God’s abiding love for his people and each of his creatures. Song or niggun (wordless melody) can help break through obstacles and distractions. Psalms or verses from them are tailor-made for this (if you need a start, try 23, 27, 100, 103, 131, 145). Repeat them multiple times daily until practically memorized, in Hebrew or English. This can be part of, or in addition to, your usual daily prayer.

Posture

Orient yourself physically and mentally in an appropriate position. Know before whom you stand or sit. Start with the way the body is postured and then have your mind and soul join it in a posture of humility and awe. Your smallness and dependence should contrast with the magnificence and absolute heart-wrenching, mind-bending otherness of the Holy One.

Presence

Finally, having made yourself aware that God is right there before you, sit in that place. Realize and accept that all of us are like grass of the field, lasting a minute before the wind blows us into nothingness—and that’s ok. Then let go. Breathe in and out and realize that the fact that you can breathe is a gift beyond hope. Accept—no, feel—the love of One who rejoices over you as a bridegroom over a bride. God’s presence is in fact there at all times; you’re just usually looking elsewhere. So try to be aware of it.

And just sit in his presence until it’s time to go.