A teaching based on an earlier post, which I delivered at our synagogue this past Yom Kippur. If it’s not your bag, may I suggest a little podcast [literally] to chase your blues away?
OF THE MANY metaphors for Yom Kippur, my favorite is a road trip. There are: interesting sights to see, good people to see them with, a killer soundtrack – but no snacks.
Teshuvah is Hebrew for “return.” It’s how Jews make up for our sins – how we wipe them from the whiteboard of our lives, leaving only the lessons they teach us.
But what is a sin, anyway?
Some religions equate the word “sin” with something inherently evil. But the Jewish understanding is rather more nuanced.
Judaism teaches that there are three categories of sinful acts. They’re collectively described as “aveirot” (loosely translated as “line-crossings”):
1. Khet: An archery term for missing the mark, it’s an inattentive or truly ignorant error.
2. Ahvon: A “just this once” or “what’s the harm?” action.
3. Pesha: Knowing what the laws/customs/social contracts require, but deliberately breaking them.
If those distinctions aren’t clear enough, try this driving analogy:
1. Khet: Not paying attention to, or not seeing, a stop sign.
2. Ahvon: Seeing the stop sign, but – not seeing any other drivers – proceeding to drive past it.
3. Pesha: Blowing through the stop sign with a smirking, “they can’t tell ME what to do.”
To extend the metaphor, Yom Kippur may be seen as a reevaluation of our driving habits: brushing up on the California Drivers’ Handbook, say, and plotting our routes to make sure we know how to avoid the known hazards and comply with posted signage.
Why is this important? Because we’re not the only ones on the road! We share the highways and surface streets with other drivers, some of whom have differing behind-the-wheel skills. So to ensure that we all reach our destinations safely, we agree to conduct ourselves accordingly.
Torah, in its broad sense of the entire Jewish textual tradition, is just one example of a drivers’ handbook. It sets out to create a blueprint for a perfect society. Toward that end, Torah defines for us certain positive and negative behaviors: the many “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots” of the mitzvot. In addition to acting by the Torah, we are instructed to continually study it and teach it to our children.
Imagine how safe the roads would be if we all reviewed the driving laws on a regular basis, and then, actually complied with them. And how Jewishly meaningful our lives might be if we study Torah and apply it.
That said, this is not a pitch for joining Shir Shalom’s two weekly Zoom Torah study sessions (though if you are interested, you can talk to me afterward or check the links in the congregational newsletter). What I’d like to talk about instead is this: where our idealistic tires meet the experiential roadway. So let’s examine why, despite every good intention, we sometimes “drive off the road.” So to speak.
There is an ancient rabbinic teaching, based on the early chapters of Genesis, that every person has two internal urges clamoring for attention: the yetzer hatov, or urge for good, and the yetzer hara, classically understood as the urge for evil. What’s fascinating is that our sages say the yetzer hara is of extreme importance to us – as a primal drive. Without it, the rabbis say, we wouldn’t go to work, build anything, or have children.
But two relatively modern rabbis cast the yetzer hara in a different light. American Rabbi Harold Kushner views it as “the urge to selfishness.” And 19th-Century European Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch describes it as “the urge toward comfort.”
Let’s explore Rabbi Hirsch’s definition more closely.
Unlike some religious or spiritual traditions, Judaism doesn’t pit our souls and our bodies against each other – we balance them. Our sages teach that without the body, the soul would have no way to experience the world. Without the soul, the body would be inert and lifeless. After all, what good is a car without a driver?
While the Jewish soul and body don’t exactly engage in a battle for supremacy, they do have different priorities. The soul aspires toward things that uplift it, like art, music, prayer or meditation, nature hikes, even Torah study. The body, on the other hand, likes to stay put. It seeks gratification in lazing about, and by satisfying its many appetites – egotistical and otherwise. And this behavior, if unchecked, can lead to the aforementioned aveirahs, or line-crossings.
Without teshuvah, it’s easy to get bogged down by the soulless indulgences of the yetzer hara. But Judaism offers a potential remedy: what our sages call “mesirat nefesh.” Literally translated as “soul-sacrifice,” it can also be understood as “self-sacrifice” or “devotion.” Mesirat nefesh keeps soul and body, the yetzer hatov and yetzer hara, in proper equilibrium through a sort of creative affliction.
Those fasting today are already engaging in one form of creative affliction. Other forms might include giving more tzedakah than usual – making sure it hurts a bit. Going out of our way to help our fellow creatures. Studying a page or two of Torah, or listening to an inspiring podcast, when we’d rather veg out in front of a screen.
The point is not to conquer or do away with the yetzer hara, but to keep it balanced with the yetzer hatov – by getting out of our comfort zones often enough to grow. Otherwise, we stagnate – which is the very opposite of teshuvah. To revisit the car-and-driver model, we can be tempted toward, as Pink Floyd sang, “running over the same old ground, year after year.” Never knowing or even guessing what wonderful vistas we’re missing along the highway leading over yonder.
Wherever it goes, let’s all get there safely together. Gut Yontiff – and happy motoring.