Teshuvah - Returning to a Higher Self

Rosh Hashanah family lunch, circa 1960: Matzo ball soup. Chopped liver. Challah. Mandarin orange noodle kugel. Roast chicken. Honey cake heavy as a brick. Light and fluffy sponge cake. And a heaping “side” of guilt and fear. We had just returned from synagogue, my father in suit and tie, I in a brand-new pink flair dress. The rabbi, far off on the raised bima, somberly had recited the U­netanah Tokef prayer:

“On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed,

And on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

How many shall pass away and how many shall be born,

Who shall live and who shall die,

Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not…”

I felt the cold chill of fear as I imagined the punitive, white-bearded God, sitting on his heavenly throne in judgment of my “sins.” At 13, I was a perfectionist who worried endlessly about my flaws rather than asking for forgiveness. Was I studious enough? Smart enough? Kind enough to my siblings? Respectful enough to my parents? Tidy enough to deserve another trip around the sun?

The worry, guilt and shame caused indigestion after the rich holiday meal. No wonder I gave up my synagogue attendance for decades. Then I found Beth Evergreen.

Rosh Hashanah Beth Evergreen community lunch, circa 2024: Tuna salad. Egg salad. Sweet and savory kugels. Bagels and lox. Veggie trays and hummus. Rugelach. Apples and honey. And a heaping “side” of forgiveness and hope.

At Beth Evergreen, Rabbi Jamie speaks of regrets rather sins. On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, we toss bread crumbs into a moving body of water, symbolizing a release of our regrets. We ask forgiveness from family, friends and God for any harm or hurt we caused, whether intentionally or unmindfully.

 As Yom Kippur comes to an end, Joanne Greenberg reads congregants’ regrets anonymously submitted on small pieces of paper:

“I was impatient with my son.”

“I cut someone off in traffic.”

“I lied to my girlfriend.”

“I forgot my friend’s birthday.”

“I was late to an important business meeting.”

After the regrets have been read, we go outside and burn them!  Ashes to ashes. The tradition represents the Hebrew practice of teshuvah, which can mean repentance AND returning. A chance to start over as a holier version of self.

Thanks to my practice of Mussar and my experiences at Beth Evergreen, now I can avoid indigestion at the High Holy Days.  No matter what’s on the menu, the promise of returning to a purer version of myself is much more appetizing than the fear of punishment for past sins and imperfections. Rather than looking back and beating myself up, I can look forward to becoming a better person in service to others.

Shana tova. May you be inscribed in the Book of Life!!