V’zot haTorah

V’zot haTorah asher sar Moshe lifnei b’nei Yisrael al pi Adonai b’yad Moshe.
This is the Torah that Moses placed before the Israelites—the mouth of Adonai at the hand of Moses.

I often tell my 6th grade Bible students that just as their English teachers won’t let them use a word in its own definition, they may not use the Torah as proof that the Torah was written by God. I believe it is a Divinely inspired work, I just don’t necessarily believe in the literal meaning of al pi Adonai b’yad Moshe, from the mouth of God at the hand of Moses.
This morning we begin reading the book of Deuteronomy. It is the last book of the Torah, the fifth of the “Five Books of Moses.” It is mostly a review of the journey of the Israelites from Egypt to the bank of the Jordan River on which they stand, poised and ready to go into the Promised Land.

The book of Deuteronomy begins, “These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan.…” Twelfth Century Spanish Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra comments on the words “on the other side of the Jordan,” expounding on twelve secret verses from the Torah. Like Deuteronomy is a review, he sees it as an opportunity to review what we have learned from the remez, the hints of the hidden meaning of the text.

His comment is incredibly cryptic, so stay with me:

If you will understand the mystery of the twelve [final] verses, “And also Moses
wrote…” (Deut. 31:22), “and the Canaanites were then in the Land” (Gen. 12:6),
“and on the mountain Adonai is seen...” (Gen. 22:14), “and his bedstead of iron
is now in Rabbat Amon” (Deut. 3:11), then you will comprehend the truth.

In his introduction to the Torah, ibn Ezra writes:

The words of the Torah are never less than straightforward... therefore, if
there appears something in the Torah which seems to contradict reason or to
refute the evidence of our senses then here one should seek for the solution in
a figurative interpretation. For reason is the foundation of everything. The
Torah was not given to men who cannot reason and man's reason is the angel which mediates between him and his God.

This means we have to use his method of understanding the Torah to interpret his commentaries.

Ibn Ezra writes of understanding certain verses to comprehend the truth. He points to other verses in the Torah. In looking to these verses alone, no connection is clear. But in looking at ibn Ezra’s commentaries on these verses, he writes about a secret or refers the reader to his comment here. He also writes in his commentaries that “the wise man will be silent,” in reference to the secret he is trying to reveal. The twelve final verses are the end of Deuteronomy. They describe Moses going up from the Steppes of Moab to Mount Nebo. Ibn Ezra comments here, pointing out that the directions Moses takes from Moab to Nebo is not from the Jordan River, but from Jerusalem. Therefore the other textual references he gives, from as early as Genesis 12, are also from the perspective of coming from Jerusalem. This means the Torah at these points must have been written after the Jewish people were already in Jerusalem, already across the Jordan. This gives us internal textual evidence that the Torah was written at a later time than the happenings in the Torah.

This contradicts the belief that Torah was given to Moses by God on Mount Sinai. We would think that the rabbis who come after him would have hidden away this revelation, but they don’t! We can read it in all of his biblical commentaries. So it seems that not until modern times do we get the insistence that Torah comes directly from God, unchanged through Moses’ hands to Joshua, the elders, the prophets, the rabbis, and to us today. Who would have thought that the concept of Torah MiSinai was a modern construct—a reaction to modernity? It seems that up to the 12th Century and beyond, a faithful Jew did not need to believe that this document was actually handed to us by God. So literary criticism—the view that Torah comes from at least four different redacted sources penned by many authors—has always been a perfectly acceptable, and a completely Jewish principle.

And yet even with our critique, we still sing V’zot HaTorah at the end of our Torah service. We will declare that this scroll is our sacred work that was given to God by Moses.

Not because we literally believe it to be, but because it is the heart of our religion while we provide the head. As ibn Ezra explains, reason is a gift that allows us to understand Torah at a higher level. An angel that mediates between us and God.

So perhaps when we hold the Torah aloft and sing we are not thanking God for literally giving us the Torah. Instead we are thanking God for the angel of reason that helps us understand the words of our sacred text.

Thanks to Rabbi Stephen Wylen for inspiring this post with his article in the CCAR's "Voices of Torah."

Four is Greater Than One

It’s hard to believe it has only been a year. One year ago today I was standing in the bedroom screaming for Natalie to come and check out the television. The news program was announcing that the King was dead. The King of Pop, that is. For weeks Michael Jackson was all we heard about. It was as if every newscast had become an episode of Behind the Music. The world seemed to mourn for their king with nearly as much—if not more—reverence than for a relative. Street dancers mounted guerilla renditions of the Thriller dance or choreographed new moves to Beat It in subway stations. Suddenly people wanted to hear from the other four Jacksons again.

Today he is all over the news again. Tribute concerts are happening all over the world this weekend. Rebroadcasts of interviews with his family and people who knew him are airing. I learned yesterday that Jackson's estate was $500 million in debt when he died, but since his passing it has made over a billion dollars. Plus we can expect to see 10 posthumous albums between now and 2017. All this in just one year.

Admittedly, I was not a huge fan. I liked his music—Thriller was the first album I ever bought—but I did not mourn his passing. Nevertheless, the news of his first Yahrtzeit, so to speak, saddens me to no end. The reason I am sad, though, has absolutely nothing to do with Michael Jackson.

I am sad because today is another anniversary. An anniversary that we are all but ignoring. Four years ago today, 19-year-old Gilad Shalit was kidnapped by Palestinian militants, and he has been in Gaza ever since. As far as we know, he is still alive. The last proof of life was in September 2009, when he held a newspaper for a video camera as he read a statement declaring him “in good health and well-treated.” But his gaunt stature does not look as if he is in good health. And as far as being well-treated, he is denied the ability to communicate with his family, and the International Red Cross has been denied access to him. In fact, due to lack of access, the IDF is not 100% sure he is still in Gaza.

I am sad because we are not remembering Gilad Shalit here in America. This is not because of Michael Jackson, though Americans prefer pop culture to foreign politics. It is not even because America is not a Jewish country. Even American Jews are largely ignoring this important day. As I scrolled down my list of tweets this morning—the list of comments by those I follow on Twitter—I looked for the #Gilad that would signify people tweeting about the 23-year-old solider still in captivity after four years. I could not find it. I looked at the URJ’s tweets about child obesity, gay pride, and interfaith families. I looked at NFTY and read about local events. I looked at the RAC’s tweets about Greening Reform Judaism, Solicitor General Elena Kagan, Iran sanctions and Darfur. There is a fringe group of activists in New York City taking a flotilla around the Statue of Liberty and passed the UN building, but other than that very little about Shalit is mentioned by American Jews.

They are remembering Gilad in Israel. On Sunday morning his family—his mother Aviva, father Noam, and brother and sister will march from Mitzpe Hila in the Galil to Jerusalem to camp in front of the Prime Minister’s Residence. Thousands of people are expected to join them as they walk from northern Israel to its heart, and thousands more are donning yellow ribbons in support. Aviva and Noam Shalit say they will remain camped across the street from the PM’s residence until they receive word that Gilad is coming home.

In Judaism we focus on life. The Talmud teaches that whoever saves one life, it is as if the entire world had been saved. We are also taught that we should pay an exorbitant amount for the freedom of captives if we are asked. Every life is created B’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, and anyone who would intentionally do harm to another human being attempts to destroy the image of God. Gilad Shalit is a young man who, if allowed to live free, has his whole life ahead of him. The very notion that Gilad Shalit might still have a chance to live his life is cause for all Jews to do whatever we can to support his family on their march and to call for Israel to do what it can to bring him home safe.

In a few moments we will rise and chant the ancient words of our Aleinu prayer, expressing our hope that the day will come when all people, all over the world, will behave as one. Bayom hahu yihyeh Adonai echad ush’mo echad, “On that day Adonai will be one and God’s name will be one.” That can only happen when we treat every life as valuable, precious, expressions of godliness. I pray that the world would value the life of one young soldier as much as it does the death of the King of Pop. Until that day, we need to raise our voices in prayer and song. We need to let it be known to our friends, our families, our congress and senators, that we do not want to wait anymore. Free Gilad Shalit.

Meanwhile, we offer our prayers for Gilad and all Israeli soldiers who risk their lives every day to make our Holy Land a safer, better place.

Preparing for Shavuot

Natalie has a lot of shoes. This is by no means a disparaging statement. She’s no Imelda Marcos. Nevertheless, when Natalie and I discuss her legions of shoes lined up on the closet floor, I often suggest giving some away to make room for new ones. I have even suggested that if she gets rid of enough, I would buy her new ones myself. But for some reason she just cannot let go of a pair of shoes. At first I just didn’t get it. I threw my hands up in despair, not wanting to fight over shoes. But recently I realized that I do the same thing.

I have a lot of T-shirts. I wear at least one every day, usually two if I go to the gym. Yet I own way more than I need. As a youth worker, I acquire a lot of T-shirts at conventions and trips. People like to give me superhero T-shirts, which I love, and sometimes I will even go on line and buy a shirt that makes me laugh to read it, like “I’m with stupid” with an arrow pointing up.

Last week I had trouble shutting the T-shirt drawer after doing laundry, and I hadn’t even put them all away! So I dug around a little bit. I realized I never get to the T-shirts on the bottom of the drawer between laundry cycles. So I took them out. I made a little pile of T-shirts I haven’t worn in at least a year, and soon enough the drawer was only half-full. And I still have all I need and more. I have no plans to go out and buy more T-shirts, but at least now I have space, and Goodwill has “I’m with stupid.”

Tonight is Shavuot. The Torah tells us very little about what to do for Chag Shavuot, or the “Feast of Weeks.” We are commanded to count off seven weeks from Pesach, and to rejoice with an offering to God at the Temple. We know that the three chagim, the three sacred festivals, are all agricultural celebrations. Shavuot is when the first stalks of wheat ripen and can be brought to the Temple for an offering. We know everyone is supposed to celebrate, as we are told in Deuteronomy, “You shall rejoice…with your son and daughter, your male and female slave, the Levite in your communities, and the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow in your midst” (16:11). The whole community is a part of this sacred celebration.

That’s all we know!

Some time during the Tannaitic period, the time leading up to the 2nd Century CE, the Rabbis made the connection between the holiday Shavuot and the Biblical account of Moses ascending Mount Sinai. Exod. 19 says that the Israelites came to Sinai on the third new moon after the exodus, which is the month of Sivan. Then there is a period of getting ready. Moses goes up the mountain, talks to God, who tells him to remind the Israelites that they must obey God’s commandments. They agree, and Moses tells them not to even come close enough to touch the mountain, and to get ready to meet God in three days. These three days pass immediately, and boom! We are at Sinai amid peals of thunder, ready for Kabbalat haTorah, the accepting of Torah.

Tomorrow morning we will be here in the sanctuary, reenacting Kabbalat haTorah as a community as we take the Torah in our arms for our personal blessings. Tonight I want us to think about those three days that pass in as many words. Three days of purification and preparation for revelation that get absolutely no mention in the Torah as far as what happens during those three days. What were the Israelites doing those three days? Probably getting rid of their shoes and T-shirts.

Receiving Torah is a really big deal. In addition to preparing to receive the guide book for how to live as a people, they are preparing to meet God. The One who brought them out of Egypt is freed them from slavery is giving them the greatest gift in the world—the Torah. To do this they need to get rid of any preconceived notions they have. They cannot be thinking of God as an Egyptian deity or as a statue or stone. They must throw away these pre-monotheistic ideas and make room for God. Because just like in our closets and drawers, there is no way we can receive anything if we are full to capacity.

Just like the Israelites at Mount Sinai, we know there are great things ahead of us. We are building great things for our community, our families, and ourselves. If we do not properly prepare for what we receive, we just won’t have room for it. We need to get rid of the old to accept the new. Let go of our preconceived notions of what clothing and stuff we need, how much money we need, and how we should think and behave. Empty our drawers, our minds, and our hearts. Then we will truly be able to accept the very best that God has to offer us. We will have room in our lives for new things. We will have room in our minds for new ideas, and we will have space in our hearts for a renewed relationship with God.

As we prepare to accept Torah tomorrow morning, may we be blessed with space. May we maintain an openness that will allow us to accept the gifts that are available to us. May this Shavuot bring us closer to one another, to the Torah, and to God.

Chag Sameach.

The National Day of Prayer

Today is May 6, 2010.
As the first Thursday in May, it also happens to be the National Day of Prayer.
Following the lead of Presidents Adams, Lincoln, and others, President Harry S. Truman signed a bill into law that required every president to declare a day of his choosing as National Prayer Day. In 1982, President Reagan made that day the first Thursday in May for him and all subsequent presidents.
All morning while driving the boys to school and back I listened to what seemed like an endless stream of pro- and anti- National Day of Prayer commentary. Frankly, I can understand the opinions expressed on both sides. Our National Day of Prayer poses quite a conflict between my religious sensibilities and my liberal mindset.
As a rabbi it should be obvious that I pray. I pray all the time. During services that I lead or help lead, I find it completely necessary to seek out prayerful moments, such as during silent meditation or when the cantor is singing. I pray when I exercise, in the car, and when I change my kids’ diapers (“Please, God—let it not be messy!”) I pray out loud and to myself, in groups and alone, at mandated and random times. Sometimes I use liturgy, sometimes I make things up as I go. Because of the myriad of moments of prayerfulness that I seek out, I can appreciate the need for a National Day of Prayer. I find it comforting to know that when I lift my eyes and call out to what I call “God,” I am not the only one who believes. Maybe I am crazy to believe in a deity whose existence defies all logic, but I’m in a company of some 95% of the country whose beliefs are similar.
As a liberal, however, I am acutely aware of the perils of the other 5% and our requirement as a nation to stand up for them, too. No matter how many religions a generic day of prayer touches, even if every synagogue, church, and mosque were to log in 100% participation, we would leave out some of our country who feel uncomfortable with prayer. This is unacceptable to me. No matter how many times I defend my beliefs to my non-believing brother-in-law, I would not want to insult him by requiring he participate in prayer at the same level as we do. On the other hand, we do pressure him into joining us when we recite Hamotzi—grace before meals.
Still, there is a difference between family pressure and federal law.
Our constitution, in the very first amendment, states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof….” This is a slippery slope when arguing the establishment of a day of prayer. When I think about the 5% or more who either do not believe in God or are uncomfortable expressing said belief, the National Day of Prayer makes me cringe. Maybe it’s just the language. If we called it a day of meditation or reflection, it could hardly be construed as offensive to those who do not meditate or reflect. But the word “pray” raises the hackles of our brothers and sisters who choose not to partake in it. These same people are not bothered that it is currently Jewish History Month even though they are not Jewish, but for some reason prayer is bothersome.
Being a person of faith allows me to comfortably believe in God as I imagine God, and that faith gives me great comfort—no matter what other believe or do not believe. Therefore, I hesitate to support a law that asks people to pray. I do not want to participate in a government sponsored program that excludes some of our citizens.
The solution remains a mystery to me, and perhaps on May 5, 2011 I will have an answer.
For now, I will just have to pray on it.

From Freedom to Redemption: Our Journey Towards Shavuot

There are many suggestions as to why we might count every day from Passover to Shavuot. Historical critics suggest that during the period of the Omer, our ancestors were completely focused on their agricultural endeavors. Offerings given during these weeks expressed hope for an abundant harvest, while simultaneously thanked God for the bounty of the land.

Shavuot, throughout the ages, has come to be associated with the revelation of Torah on Mount Sinai. When we left Egypt we were slaves, still clinging to our slave mentality. We were not a people until we received Torah and in unison proclaimed that we will hear and obey. The Medieval mystics see the Omer as a time for intense spiritual preparation. The 49 days of counting equal seven times seven. There happen to be seven lower sefirot, the emanations of God in Kabalistic thought. The ultimate goal in mystical practice is to elevate oneself through the seven sefirot until one has, in essence, become one with God’s fundamental nature. Each sefirah, in turn, has seven within itself. So the mystic wishing to attain spiritual enlightenment over this period would elevate one level within an emanation each day, and one full emanation each week, allowing for complete connectedness with God at the moment of revelation. Please don’t try this at home.

Today we mark the counting with blessing. After our blessing over counting the Omer, we declare which day of the Omer it is, and we mark how many weeks and days. For example, next Friday night after our blessing we will say, “Today is the 11th day of the Omer, which equals one week and 4 days.” Some Jews will even recite Psalm 67 after the counting every night--not because it is relevant to the Omer, but because it has 7 verses, and a total of 49 words.

However we mark the counting, we all count in our own way, and our counting prepares us for that pivotal moment at Mount Sinai. Some study Torah every day to prime their minds for the receiving of Torah. Some meditate every day to imagine what it will be like to have God revealed to us. Some of us technophiles are blogging or tweeting every day to share our counting with the electronic world.

Yesterday while listening to the radio I heard a story about a different kind of counting. The story was about the oldest daughter of one of our Temple Sinai families. She is not counting specifically for the Omer, but her counting started as the Omer was beginning. She will be counting to almost 500 over the next 3 weeks, not in sheaves of grain, but in miles. Lauren Book-Lim started walking yesterday. She started her walk at the Aventura Mall, and she will end on April 20th in Tallahassee. These two locations are of particular significance to Laruen. She was sexually abused at the Aventura Mall, and on April 20th she plans to lobby for legislation to help protect children from sexual abuse at a rally at our state’s capital. Her walk coincides with April’s designation as Sexual Abuse Awareness Month. Her journey will take her from the enslavement of abuse—the fear and confusion that comes from an authority figure so horribly breeching trust—to the freedom of having her voice heard.

Lauren was sexually abused by her live-in nanny for seven years, beginning when she was ten years old. Today she is studying for her Masters in Elementary Education and she runs an organization called Lauren’s Kids, a non-profit organization that strives to educate survivors about how to heal, and encourages victims of abuse that “it’s OK to tell.”

According to Lauren, her journey from Aventura to Tallahassee “is a physical manifestation of your spiritual and healing journey.” Lauren’s freedom from the chains of her abuse stems from her willingness to tell her parents what was happening to her at the hands of her nanny. She was able to free herself with help from friends and loved ones, and now seeks to do the same for others.

As we go on our symbolic journey from Passover to Shavuot, we pray that Lauren’s journey will meet all of its goals and more. Our redemption at Mount Sinai came in the form of our written Torah. We hope that her redemption for Lauren’s Kids and all victims of sexual abuse will come in the form of stronger victim care legislation and stricter laws to deal with abusers. We know that even though we were granted freedom for our oppressors, no Jewish person can feel truly free until all people are free. May our counting throughout our journey this Omer season bring us and all people to true freedom and redemption.

Shabbat Shekalim

Today we are celebrating a special Shabbat. It goes by three different names. It is Shabbat Mishpatim, pointing to the Parashah, which is composed of a myriad of laws Moses lists for the Israelites after receiving the Ten Commandments. It is also called Shabbat Mevarchim Rosh Chodesh, which is the name for any Shabbat preceding a new month. Tonight as the sun sets the month of Adar begins, bringing with it the joy of Purim, as it says in the Talmud, Mishenichnas Adar marbim b’simchah, “Whoever enters Adar, their joy is increased.”
Today is also Shabbat Shekalim. This is the extra-special name given to Shabbat Mevrachim Rosh Chodesh Adar. It is the first of four special Shabbatot leading up to Pesach—(Shekalim, Zachor, Parah, Hachodesh).

Named after the special verse that is sometimes added to the end of the regular Torah reading. It comes from Exod. 30:11, which discusses the census of the Israelites, measured by each person giving a half-Shekel for their counting (Plaut 632).

11 God spoke to Moses, saying: 12 When you take a census of the Israelite
people according to their enrollment, each shall pay Adonai a ransom for himself
on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being
enrolled. 13 This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall
pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight -- twenty gerahs to the shekel -- a
half-shekel as an offering to the LORD. 14 Everyone who is entered in the
records, from the age of twenty years up, shall give Adonai’s offering: 15
the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel
when giving Adonai’s offering as expiation for your persons. 16 You shall
take the expiation money from the Israelites and assign it to the service of the
Tent of Meeting; it shall serve the Israelites as a reminder before Adonai, as
expiation for your persons.

At its simplest level, this is a census with taxes. The taxes go to support the governing body, which in the case of the Torah is the Mishkan. Later, this would be given to the Temple. So right around this time of year, Shabbat Shekalim, the census takers would go around from tent to tent or house to house and collect a half-shekel from each person. By the time the month was over they would be finished, and taxes could be paid. The significance of it taking a month is that next month’s Rosh Chodesh—the first of Nissan—is described in the Talmud as the New Year for Kings and the calendar. This was the day when taxes were due. Not too far off from April 15th even today—especially next year on a Hebrew leap year.

In the Middle Ages, the Jewish Community was granted a certain amount of autonomy as long as it paid its taxes. They would conduct a census and collect taxes from everyone in the community throughout the month of Adar. This was especially easy because nobody would want to miss Purim. Once the taxes were collected, a representative from the Jewish Community would take the money to the king. As a community, we regularly paid on time. Any Jewish family who could not afford or was lax in paying taxes was dealt with within the community. If a poor family was missing a few ocins, a rich family would kick n a few extra. The king’s tax collectors never knew anything except the Jews pay on time. This is actually a double savings because it means the kingdom gets its taxes in full from a whole city, and no money needed to be spent on tax collection and enforcement for that city. This practice is one of the major contributing factors to Jewish survival for two thousand years. We were a financial boon for any kingdom, so we were left alone.

Looking a little closer at the text, we can find a little more than just instructions on how to pay taxes. Take a look at verse 15: The rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel when giving Adonai’s offering as expiation for your persons. A half shekel was practically nothing to the rich and not too bad for the poor. Everyone could find a half-shekel to pay. Even those in the community who panhandled for a living could find a half-shekel to give to the Tabernacle. So no-one was allowed to give more or less than the prescribed amount.

This is one of the stranger dictates of the Torah. It would seem better to practice the way we did in the Middle Ages, and allow the poor to get by while the rich cover for them. That is because the purpose is of collecting a half-Shekel is not monetary. Collecting exactly the same amount from every Israelite served the purpose of counting. As it says in the beginning of the pericope, “when you take a census.” So the reason a rich person does not pay more and a poor person does not pay less is twofold.

First, it could mess up the census! If some people were paying more or less it makes it way harder to count the number of Israelites. Each half-Shekel was one person. It keeps things simple.

The 19th Century scholar Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch sees another side of the half-Shekel. According to him, “The equal participation of all the Israelites symbolizes that all Jews must share in achieving national goals. One who does so gains infinite benefit, because the mission of Israel is dependent upon the unity of the whole.”

In our community, no person’s work is more significant than another. No person is any more or less important than another. When we all put the same effort toward the goals of our community, we naturally become stronger and more likely to achieve our goals. The best part about this is that it doesn’t take much. As I mentioned before, a half-Shekel was something the poorest in the community was able to pay. We only need a little effort, but if everyone participates, we will be the strongest community the world has ever known.

Happy New Year!

I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions.

My friends used to hear that from me just about every year around this time: “I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions.” The reasoning behind it has changed over the years, but the result is the same, and I still don’t do New Year’s Resolutions.

When I was in high school I would say it simply to be rebellious. I thought I was cool if I didn’t do what everyone else was doing. Like any rebellion for the sake of rebellion, I had no good reason for it. I just liked to say it.

In college I said it with the qualifier, “Jews make resolutions in September.” True as that may be, the deeper meanings of repentance and self-improvement that surround the High Holy Days was not my intent. I was still just being rebellious, but I was adding Jewish pride to my yearly uprising.

New Year’s Resolutions do have a knack for getting broken. On the news today the anchors were joking about breaking them. Has anyone here already broken their New Year’s Resolution? I checked Facebook earlier today, and at 9AM a friend of mine posted that he broke his resolution. 9AM! How resolved could he have been? So perhaps it is better simply not to make a promise than to plant false hopes.

Really it is just the phrase I have issue with. It is a little silly to make a resolution only one day a year when we don’t really intend to keep it. I mentioned a minute ago that I used to say, “Jews make resolutions in September.” Perhaps that is a bit of an understatement. Over the High Holy Days we make t’shuvah, which is more than a resolution. A resolution is an attempt to fix an aspect of our self that we want to improve, like to lose weight, leave less of a carbon footprint, or fix something in the house. T’shuvah is more complete. We translate it as “repentance,” but it is literally a “turning.” When done right, t’shuvah is a complete re-inventing of the self. When we make t’shuvah there is no need to make a promise to change because the change becomes a part of us.

To say that we only do it over the High Holy Days is misleading on another level, too. In the daily Amidah, the blessings we recite during every prayer service on the week, we recite a series of four blessings that that form a step-by-step guide to t’shuvah if we pay attention to their intent.

Quick review: the weekday Amidah is composed of 19 blessings. The first three are blessings of praise to God. The last three are blessings that give thanks to God. In the middle are 13 blessings that ask for things, which are called bakashot. There are blessings for healing and world peace, and blessings for the vanquishing of our enemies and material abundance. Anything that could be requested is asked for in those 13 blessings.

The first four bakashot are called Binah, T’shuvah, Selichah, and Ge’ulah, or Understanding, Returning, Forgiveness, and Redemption. As the name for the second of these blessings tells us, this is the guide to t’shuvah. In order to truly make t’shuvah we must first understand ourselves. The Binah blessing asks God to share Divine insight with us. We ask to get in touch with true understanding of ourselves we see with great clarity what is required of us. We call it an epiphany or an Ah-Hah moment. This self-awareness is only possible when we completely understand our imperfections and are ready to change. Clearly this does not happen often, which is why we pray for it every day, and why it is the first thing we request. If and when we do get these moments of clarity about ourselves we are ready to move to the next step.

T’shuvah is the blessing that asks God to return us to God’s teaching, God’s guidance, and God’s presence. T’shuvah helps us know how to make the change. Making t’shuvah cannot be done alone. We need God’s guidance to return to a better version of ourselves, whatever that may be. We turn inward with our new-found understanding so that we might be able to return to the best self we can be.

The next blessing is Selichah, or forgiveness. Now this seems a little backwards from how we usually talk about t’shuvah. Usually we ask forgiveness first, then we try to figure out how not to repeat our sins. That is t’shuvah as repentance, but as far as resolving to better ourselves, we cannot ask forgiveness until we have a real understanding of what we have done wrong and God’s guidance to be able to fix it. A friend of mine once taught me that “I’m sorry,” isn’t an apology, it’s a line. A real apology is the ability to point out exactly what we have done wrong and how we plan to fix it. But this forgiveness is not from one person to another. This is the ability to forgive ourselves. To do that we first need understanding and returning.

Self-forgiveness is a truly remarkable thing, and once that has been accomplished we can be redeemed, which is the meaning of Ge’ulah. The fourth blessing asks that God redeem us swiftly. Redemption is a higher state of being, the betterment of self that leads to the betterment of all. It is the result of truly transforming, making t’shuvah in a real, lasting, and meaningful way.

We strive daily to make ourselves better. Every time we participate in a weekday prayer service we ask God’s help to make ourselves better. That’s the key to understanding the difference between t’shuvah and a resolution. When we make a resolution we are promising to do something on our own. When we do t’shuvah we know that we can only change with God’s help, and that if we strive to reach for it, God is with us to be our guide and to help us turn.

May we strive every day to improve ourselves. May we understand and build on that understanding not only today but every day, so that 2010 will be a year of blessing, a year of happiness and health, and a year of daily improvement and t’shuvah.