What is teshuvah? Teshuvah is change—change of behavior, change of heart and change of mind.
When we change from cheeseburgers to chulent, from bar-hopping to beis midrash-going, and g’neivisheh shtick to kosher gelt, our new behaviors indicate (to others, but most importantly to ourselves) that other changes have taken place within us. Outside motions are sometimes nothing more than an act, but they are more often a test of our inner resolve.
Did we really have a change of heart? Did we really take stock of the gifts that Hashem Yisborakh (Blessed God) gave and gives us? Not just the sweet-tasting gifts, mind you, but the ones that make us sweat and put our shoulder to the grindstone, and the ones that make us weep. Did we stop to think about the gap between what we sense, what we intuit deep inside of our heart about what we know is the purpose of our life and what we really do, how we actually spend our time? Did we hear the inaudible scream of our heart that mourns the disconnect between our inborn Yiddishe neshamah and our lives hijacked by galus Edom (the current exile)?
Our outer changes give an indication that yes, we did. We felt, all things considered, life had to change, so we changed it. But our inner discontent, that nagging feeling that it’s not enough, that the gap is still too large, is a better indicator that our change of heart is still effective, still evolving, still pumping new life into our Yiddishkeit.
But after all this wonderful and necessary change, did we change our minds?
We all know the famous Gemara (Kiddushin 49b), that if a man says to a woman, “You are my wife on condition that I am a tzaddik,” she is married to him (if she said yes!). No matter what crimes he has done, no matter how often, no matter for how long he has been doing them, she is wife. Why? The Gemara explains, “Maybe he had a thought of teshuvah.”
He didn’t put on tzitzit or tefillin, didn’t give tzedakkah (charity) or drop his ham sandwich — yet. Nothing. But already, despite not doing anything positive, he is already a complete tzaddik because of one thought, “I will improve on my Jewishness.”
This Gemara has a flipside. If a man, even a known tzaddik, says to a woman, “You are my wife on condition that I am a rasha (villain),” she is married to him (if she said yes). Why? The Gemara explains, “Maybe he had a thought of idolatry.”
Another famous Gemara (Kiddushin 39b). A youngster climbs a tree to do the mitzvah of shiluach hakein at his father’s request, falls and dies. Acher didn’t understand how a person doing the two mitzvahs for which the holy Torah promises long life could die while doing them! The Gemara answers that the youngster had his thoughts focused on avodah zarah (idolatry). The value of what you do—including teshuvah—is set by your mind.
I once asked Reb Shlomo Freifeld zal why teshuvah is easier at the beginning stages, but becomes progressively harder as one continues his journey. He answered, “At first teshuvah is like cutting off a gangrened limb. Then it becomes brain surgery.” He was referring to the elimination of the many subtle traces of the poisonous influences that infect our motivation, our ego-worship and our greed among them.
I want to elaborate. We who have grown up in galus (exile), regardless which nation was our host, have been so attacked by goyish culture, attitudes and values that we are concussed. Without even realizing it, we have goals that our not Jewish, standards that are not Jewish, and ways and methods for dealing with ordinary (and extraordinary) situations that are not Jewish. (Of course, by “Jewish” I mean that which the holy Torah recommends or, at the very least, sanctions.)
That is, for the most part, we think like goyim. What’s worse is, we aren’t even aware that we do.
I’m not an anti-Esavian or an anti-Ishmaelite. On the contrary. I’m a member of the minute minority that holds that v’ahavta l’reiakha k’mokha means to love goyim as well. (Yes, there is such a pre-19th century deah.) Doesn’t mean I want to be one or think like one, God forbid.
The real test of our teshuvah—and do yourself a favor: be ready to be tested over and over for the rest of your life—is how we think when confronted with a challenge. Do we analyze, reflect and consider our challenge(s) solely by the Torah’s attitude? Or do we mix in some political doctrine, philosophical inquiry or scientific bias in trying to figure out what the desired outcome is and how we might achieve it?
Let me be a bit more blunt. When we have a problem, where do we go for a solution? To the Torah? Or, God forbid, to Google? When we need a modus operandi for a situation, do we search for it with a talmid chakham, a Jew saturated with Torah knowledge and experience, or some bright guy with a Ph.D.?*
Teshuvah never ends. Up to and including our dying moment, we have to be vigilant that what (and how) we do, what we want and how we see life, fits the Divine wisdom we call Torah. It’s not always easy—even with Rabbeinu zal, good friends and hisbodedus helping us—but, hey, God chose you. You can do it—if you want to.
*I am quite aware that the ability to give good advice is not produced only by knowledge and level of religious observance. It also requires seikhel!
© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148west.com
