The central theme of Yom Kippur is teshuva, commonly translated as “repentance.”   We hear so much about this term, but what, in fact does it truly mean?  

On the simplest behavioral level, writes Maimonides, teshuvah involves “returning” to a situation in which one had previously failed, and not making the same mistake a second time.  (Laws of Repentance 2:1)  It means being given a second chance.  No wonder, Yom Kippur has elements of joy.  We celebrate being given a second chance.  In too many of life’s pursuits, we are given only one shot.  If we miss, it’s all over.  On Yom Kippur, God says, “no matter if you have failed before; you can still return.”  

A chassid once asked his rebbe, “why pray on Yom Kippur, after all, we’ll inevitably sin again.”  In response, the rebbe asked him to look out the window behind him.  Outside was a toddler learning to walk.  “What do you see?”  asked the master.  “A child, standing and falling,” replied the disciple.  Day after day the chassid returned to witness the same scene.  At the week’s end, the child stood and didn’t fall.  The child’s eyes expressed the achievement of having attained the impossible.  “So with us,” said the rebbe.  “We may fail again and again, but in the end, a loving God gives us the opportunities we need to succeed.”  

The mystics understand teshuvah differently.  For them, teshuvah means “returning,” to being righteous.  But suppose one has never been righteous, what does one return to?  Says the Sefat Emet, the soul of every person is fundamentally righteous.  There may be a layer of evil obscuring the inner being, but all people created in the image of God are inherently good.  Teshuvah then, means to return to the inner kernel of goodness we all possess.  And so, we sing, and dance on Yom Kippur.  We celebrate the opportunity to discover our true selves.  

Another classic story.   Reb Zusha was on his death bed, and tears were streaming down his face.  “Why are you crying?” asked his disciples.  “If God asks me why I wasn’t like Moses or Maimonides,” answered Reb Zusha, “I’ll say, I wasn’t blessed with that kind of leadership ability and wisdom.”  But I’m afraid of another question,” continued Reb Zusha, “what if God asks, ‘Reb Zusha, why weren’t you like Reb Zusha?  Why didn’t you find your inner being and realize your inner potential?  Why didn’t you find yourself?’  That is why I am crying.”  

A third approach.  Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, among many other thinkers, understands tesshuvah to mean “answer.”   That is to say teshuvah is a dialogue.  On Yom Kippur we stand before God, a caring God who asks the question(s).  We offer the answer(s).  A God of love seeks us out.  As much as we are in search of Him, He is in search of us.  A comforting thought on Yom Kippur.   

Yet another chassidic legend.  A young girl came to the Ba’al Shem Tov – the father of chassidism – crying.  “Why do you cry?” the rebbe lovingly asked.  “I was playing hide and seek,” said the young girl, “but no one came looking for me.”  “So, too, is it with God,” reflected the Ba’al Shem Tov.  “He, too, is crying.  For as much as He is looking for us, we rarely look for Him.”   

It was left for Rav Avraham Yitzchak ha-Cohen Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel to offer an understanding related to the establishment of the modern State of Israel.  Teshuvah, according to Rav Kook, ought be understood eschatologically.  It quite literally means “go home,” to our homeland.  It is not only an individual quest, but a communal mandate to establish a land that is different from all others. A land that is a light to the nations of the world: a land that marks the dawn of redemption, a land at peace.  On this Yom Kippur -  let it be, let it be.                                                                                                                                    


Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Avi Weiss