Between October 7 and Yom Kippur
For several years now, in the days leading up to Yom Kippur, a subtle debate has been taking place in my religious social media feeds about the nature of the Yom Kippur confession — the one found at the heart of the Yom Kippur prayers, a confession repeated about 10 times by anyone who prays on this holy day. More and more people are arguing that the traditional wording of “we have sinned, we have transgressed, we have stolen” should be supplemented or even replaced by a more positive one: “we have loved, we have trusted, we have raised and nurtured.” Instead of, or at least alongside, the endless and debilitating rumination on guilt, instead of pointing out our weaknesses and failures, religious thinkers and rabbis are arguing in favor of spotlighting strengths — a counterbalance to Yom Kippur.
There is no dispute that the aim of this day is to take stock and repent. The question is: What is the right path to making amends, healing, and making things right — the path to Tikkun? Is it in the spirit of Maimonides, who emphasized recognizing sin and confronting it? He argued that we should confess even sinful habits we have already managed to drop, that confessing made us stronger and affirmed our choice to walk away from sin. Or, perhaps, it is in the spirit of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, who called on us to look for “one good point and another” within us and within others and make them bigger, little by little, until “very soon, there shall be no evil.”
The Breslov view, which argues in favor of seeing the good and emphasizing our strengths instead of our guilt, is aligned with a humanistic-liberal approach, one that believes in people, avoids suspicion and blame, rejects punishment as an educational tool and seeks instead to encourage people, nurture them, and convince them to do good. On the other hand, Jewish tradition has bequeathed us something important in its emphasis on the importance of guilt. Guilt is a powerful tool for building a moral society and moral people. It is built on empathy, on relating to others’ suffering and seeking justice. It is an approach that pushes people to meet a moral standard (or, some would say, bludgeons them into it). There is something flawed and even frightening about people who do not feel guilt. On the other hand, guilt can be a very heavy burden. Like weights tied to our legs and chest, it saps our energy and makes change very difficult.
This is, admittedly, a generalization, but it seems to me that, in this debate, people with liberal views tend toward positivity and encouragement, while people with conservative and halachic religious views tend toward guilt.
The strange and interesting thing is that when it comes to the social and political context, these tendencies are reversed.
We subscribe to two weekend newspapers. Both have clear political affiliations: one right-wing and one left-wing. The experience of reading them is usually somewhat manic-depressive: what one touts as progress, the other views as regression; what looks like an opportunity for one, the other presents as danger.
Naturally, the Rosh Hashanah editions of both newspapers dealt with taking stock and summing up the year. The right-wing newspaper embraced a distinct narrative of “lights emerging from the darkness”: stories of heroism, selfless volunteering, strength and solidarity, presented with the express aim of “raising the people’s spirit.” In the left-wing newspaper, the narrative was one of poignant criticism of past failures and an analysis of future dangers, presented with the express aim of preventing an even worse catastrophe than the one we are living through already.
There is no peaceful coexistence between these tendencies. Those who aim to lift people’s spirits accuse the critics of sowing panic, weakening us, and creating an atmosphere of gloom and doom, while the critics accuse the former of trying to anesthetize the public, closing their eyes, and shirking responsibility. Each side thinks that the other is preventing the possibility of Tikkun and, therefore, endangering the public.
On the eve of Yom Kippur, I wish to understand this reversal of tendencies. Why do those who think and teach that one always stands guilty before God reject guilt when it plays a socio-political role? Why do those who move away from sin by embracing a worldview that liberates people from guilt choose to make accusations and criticize others in the public sphere?
I have no answers that bridge the divide between the political and the religious, but it seems to me that by spotlighting this divide, one can help mitigate this harmful dichotomy. After all, anyone who confesses five times on Yom Kippur must understand why acknowledging sin and taking responsibility is a necessary step on the path to Tikkun. And anyone who argues in favor of adding positive reinforcements to prayers or education or affirmative therapy must understand the price of constant criticism and blame. Above all, each side can recognize that the other is important and necessary, and that in itself can be a big step forward.