Teshuva 5786 – The Return Home

Throughout the year, we don’t see the seriousness we observe in people during the High Holy Days. There is an awakening in the heart that makes even the jokester act properly when the Aron Kodesh is opened at Unesaneh Tokef. The obvious question is, “Where is this seriousness all year round?” This question leads us to try to understand the motivation for our way of life all year long.

A man boasted that he had never gotten any answers wrong in his entire life. Another man challenged him as he grabbed a butterfly and said, “Is this butterfly in my hand alive or dead?” He thought to himself and said, “Well, that’ll be up to you!”

Similarly, a king heard of a wise Jewish scholar. He called him and said, “Since you are so brilliant, I would like you to predict through which one of the two exits I’ll be exiting the forest tomorrow after my hunt.” The scholar wrote his answer down on paper and told the king to leave it under lock and key until he returned. As the king was about to exit the forest, psychology and reverse psychology started playing with his mind until he figured it out: he’d break the wall, and this would surely outsmart the scholar. As he came back to the palace and opened the letter, he read, “The king breaks open gates and leaves.”

How we end up living our lives is ultimately up to our ability to be stronger than our urges. We are very used to our comfort zones, and to be honest, we are somewhat in a relationship with our familiar problems—a sort of Stockholm syndrome, where we prefer not to change anything because this is what we know, and we don’t want to jinx anything to make it worse. We’ve learned the ropes and how to cope with our situation, and we simply flow through life robotically. Yes, we may be falling into the same traps for another year, and we may continue doing the very things that keep us trapped in this lifestyle, but hey, “It’s not that bad,” we tell ourselves.

Just as the butterfly will be alive or dead depending on our next move, so too will we be able to break free from our common pathways with our will to choose right. It is ultimately our courage to stand up and say, “Enough is enough; I am making a change.”

There are two kinds of shame that we face and deal with: one is of the world, and another of Hashem. These two shames should not be conflated, since we should never be afraid to cry out to Hashem the same way we feel we wouldn’t be vulnerable in front of the community. The shame we should have toward Hashem is the knowledge that, no matter how far or high we’ve grown among the ranks of mankind, we are still human and always dependent on Him. It is such humility and shame that we must develop within ourselves and never be ashamed to be real with Him.

In a city in Spain in the early 1400s, before the Inquisition, lived a Jew named Joseph Lanzano. He had a son, Shalom, who was only twelve when his father passed away. The rabbi of the shul took Shalom under his wing, and by his Bar Mitzvah, took him to the ark of the shul and pointed to three Sifrei Torah and said, “Your father didn’t just donate one; he donated all three Sifrei Torah to our shul!” The rabbi said, “You see, your father was once very wealthy; he had promised one Sefer for the name of his grandparents. Some years later, after his in-laws had passed, he donated the second one. But by the time his parents died just a few years ago, he had no money left, but still, he came to me and said, ‘Rabbi, I will, Be’ezrat Hashem, be donating another Sefer in the name of my beloved parents.’”

“He scraped together pennies, spared on meals for a few years in order to fulfill his promise. He worked tirelessly just to be able to give his parents the proper memorial they deserved.” The rabbi looked at Shalom and said, “Listen, son, I know you miss your father dearly, but when you stand before this ark, you should know that you can speak to him openly. He placed his soul in here, and I promise that he will hear your every word.”

Years went by; the rabbi had long passed, and Shalom was now in his 40s. The entire city and all the kids knew that “Crazy Shalom” talked to himself. They would often find him lying on the ground in front of the ark, crying his heart out, mumbling words to himself. So too would they find him dancing and laughing in the same spot. The younger generation would shame him, but there were a few who knew him as a true tzaddik.

At the start of the Inquisition, Shalom was an old man. The shuls started closing down, and the image of the Jewish population was unrecognizable. The community decided to move underground and take their Sifrei Torah with them. As they arrived in the shul, Shalom said with a loud voice, “Father, I am about to move you out of your home; I will come along with you wherever you go, and I will come talk to you every single day!”

The Jews in the shul all burst out crying as they finally understood what talking to Hashem really means. When you see Him not just as an abstract concept of belief but as your Father, you can talk and sing, cry and laugh with Him. People may call you crazy, but this is the best crazy one can ever wish to be.

We should never be ashamed to speak to our Father; we should talk to Him like children to their Dad. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our will to be closer to Him, and those resolutions we accepted upon ourselves should be badges of pride every single day that we wear them. Yes, it is ultimately our decision how we will break free from this forest, and if we stay strong in our convictions, we will be able to keep the seriousness of those High Holy Days for the rest of the year, and who knows, maybe even for the rest of our lives.

This is a time of homecoming. Teshuva is usually translated as repentance, but in essence, it means “return.” What does punishment really mean? The simple explanation is that instead of closeness, we receive distance. Let’s put it this way: if you and I are strangers, there is no reason for me to be close to you, let alone give you a punishment. It is only those with whom we have a relationship that we crave connection with but risk it at the same time.

It is like the young man who is scared to invest his life savings in a business or the young girl who is afraid to risk her heart for a messy boy. Yes, the reward is dreamy, but the pain will hurt so much more. But what we must ask ourselves is, “Is life without the risk even worth it?” What is the point of going another day, week, and month, grinding the same water without earning any results? It is the leap that must be taken, like jumping off the black diamond ski mountain and promising ourselves that we will do whatever it takes to stay alive.

There was a lady named Fraida in Brooklyn who, in Yiddish, would be called a “Shelo Mazal-nik.” She broke her leg getting off the bus; her bags always ripped on the way home from the grocery. Basically, wherever she went, her bad luck followed her around like a sick dog. Years went by; now in Yerushalayim, a lady walks into a chic clothing store on one of the side streets of Yafo. She can’t believe who she sees in the store: this “Lo Yitzlach” lady from Brooklyn seems to have everything under control.

She goes over to her and asks, “Aren’t you Fraida?” She looks at her, nods, and says, “Yes, and you are?” The lady tells her her name and asks, “How did you change your life around? What happened?” Fraida smiles and asks her if she wants the long version or the short version. She says, “It all started one day when I went to my sister-in-law’s wedding. During the pictures, I got cake smudged all over my gown, but, being me, I didn’t even realize until my mother-in-law yelled at me for ‘always’ ruining her family’s Simchos and pictures.” Fraida continued, “My mother-in-law got so mad that she embarrassed me in front of my children, saying, ‘You are a poor excuse of a human being. I regret ever getting to know you!’”

“It was that that woke me up. At first, I swore that I’d never forgive her for what she did to me that night. But it took some time, and my perspective changed, but I’m getting ahead of myself,” she said. “The next day, I promised myself that I would not allow myself to get my clothing dirty!” You think that was easy, but let me tell you, “After more than a week, I finally finished one whole day without those little stains on my shirt, and that’s when I told myself that I can do anything I set my mind to. I told my husband that we had to move as far away from his mother as possible; he understood, and we decided to move here, where my life has changed completely. And the best part of it all is that my mother-in-law now lives two doors down from me in Yerushalayim, and there she is, standing behind the counter, ready to ring up your order!”

There is a big step one must take to make a change. Those who overeat have to figure out a diet and exercise regimen, and those who oversleep have to reconcile their schedules and stick to it. And those who lack the strength to fight their weaknesses and urges must start with trying to keep their clothes clean for one day at a time. It is only a matter of time before we can tell ourselves that we can do anything. We have to keep on pushing and never give up.

Our duty is to return. As the Gemara in Brachos 53b states, one who ate and left must return to their spot to Bentch. Similar to one who left their wallet at home and returns to get it, so too with Birkat Hamazon. Our return to Hashem is one of love and responsibility. Yes, we should be connected to Him because He created us and gave us life and all, but we forget when life gets too good or too tough. Hashem gives us life and the responsibilities that come with it so that we should learn through our challenges how to become the greatest version of ourselves. Through the responsibility of life, we ultimately come to love Hashem even more.

All we need is a wake-up call. There was once a Ukrainian soldier who was taken from his Jewish home when he was barely 6 years old. By the time he was 20, he had long forgotten his roots and even the name of his hometown, let alone his Jewish heritage. One day, as he patrolled a certain city, the familiarity led him to walk in a certain direction. He knew that he knew where he was going, but he didn’t know where he was going to. He arrived at a doorstep where he saw a 50-year-old Jew standing. As he came closer, the Jew said, “What, are you going to take me like you took my son?”

The soldier, bewildered, told the man that something in his heart brought him back here, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t place the feeling, but it sure felt like home. After some talking, he realized that he was finally home.

All we need is to wake up, take the steps, say the words we have to say, and soon we will find ourselves home. It takes a decision and a commitment, and if only you would feel that Hashem is your accountability. You no longer have a principal in school or a father who will hold you against the wall; it is you who must take the leap and make the choice to change for the better.

The Kotzker Rebbe saw one of the people in his shul come in with a book on Erev Yom Kippur. From afar, the Rebbe gestured with his hand, questioning what that book was. The chassid said, “Rebbe, this is a diary of all my Aveiros of the last year. I don’t know how I’ll be able to get through this Yom Kippur after failing so many times!” The people in the shul noticed the dialogue taking place and tried listening in, but at that moment, they all gasped as they watched the Rebbe tear the book to shreds! Everyone was silent and in shock; they couldn’t believe what they just saw. The Rebbe picked up his holy eyes and said, “You hear this silence? That’s all you need to start over!”

Take a moment and forgive yourself for the past. Life is about your next choice. Start taking yourself seriously, and the world around you will take you seriously as well. You will see the changes happening right away as you build one success on top of another. Keep this seriousness with you the entire year by not being ashamed of talking to your Father in Heaven.

Close the distance by breaking one flaw at a time. Clean your shirt, polish your shoes, add meaning to another Pasuk each day, say one Perek of Tehillim with your Tefillin each day, say “I love you” to your wife, kiss your children every day, speak to Hashem in your purest form and most simple tongue. Remove those walls you put up in your mind and clear the noise of the past and the worry of the future by taking the risk and jumping into the ride of a lifetime—a ride that will definitely be worth it, even if it hurts you for not being better. It’ll challenge you to become greater and to push even more, but it is one day at a time, and one step more that you must take, and you will eventually come all the way back home.

Have a Meaningful Yom Kippur and a sweet new year!

David Lemmer

LemmerHypnotherapy.com