d'var Torah: Erev Rosh Hashanah

Here is the D'var Torah I gave on Monday evening. Tuesday morning we did something more interactive; I'll post the text when I get a chance. Enjoy!


There is a story told of a man who gave his son a gift of a white cloak. Before the son left to live in a far away land, the king instructed his son on how to properly care for it. The king made sure to explain that a cloak of such delicate material would need to be washed regularly in order to not accumulate stains. The son listened carefully to the king’s advice, and set off for his new life in a small, distant town.

In the first few weeks, the son took the King’s advice to heart; taking special care of the cloak, washing it regularly and with great care. However, the son eventually became tired of the ritual, washing the cloak less and less often, until he rarely bothered to wash it at all.

One day, it was announced that the king would be coming to visit the small town. As soon as the son heard the news, he immediately ran to see if he could make his cloak appear presentable for his father. At first glance, the task appeared hopeless. How long had it been since he’d washed it? He thought. It was too long to remember.

The son took a large barrel of water and dunked his cloak inside, hoping for the best. While a few stains remained, he was still able to clean off a significant amount of dirt from his cloak. What should he do? Wear the slightly stained cloak and hope for his father’s compassion? Or wear no cloak, risking his father’s disappointment?

Finally the son had an idea. He decided he would wear the cloak for his father, but bring with him the dirty water as proof of his final cleaning attempt.

The son braved the crowds at the center of town, finally moving his way up in order to greet his father. But his father did not recognize him at first glance. “Father, father!” the son called. A look of disgust and disappointment came over the king. “How could you be my son? I was sure to expect my son to be wearing a beautiful white cloak; not to be draped in dirty rags!” Mustering up the courage to speak, the son stepped forward. “Father,” he said. “I am sorry to say that I did not take as good care of this cloak as I could have over the past year. However, you must believe me that in anticipation of your visit, I have gone to great lengths to get as clean as it is today. To prove my dedication to cleansing this garment, I even saved the dirty water from this past week’s washing.”

The king looked at his son, then at the dirty water, then back at his son. Looking into his son’s eyes, he stretched out his arms to his son, embracing him with compassion and forgiveness.

Today begins the “yamim noraim”, the “Days of Awe;” the ten days of teshuva, or “repentance” from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur.

Repentance is a challenging process. The more time we spend in reflection, often the more confused or even depressed we can feel about a year not lived to it’s fullest. The overwhelming task of raking over a year’s work of actions may seem too daunting to attempt. Yet just like the King’s son, we must awaken to the season and make our best attempt. God would not ask of us something that was not possible; part of this examination is each person’s individual assertion of what he or she is capable of; the path of teshuva will be different for each individual.

Teshuva, the Hebrew word for “repentance” comes from a root meaning “to return.” It is during this season that we return to the truth of our past actions, finding a way to be honest with ourselves, and renew our lives with the new year.

The Rabbis teach that during this season, we each approach God with a perfectly balanced scale. On one side are our good deeds from the past year, on the other our transgressions. Each person is equally half-guilty and half-innocent. We must imagine each of our deeds as one that has the potential to tip the scale in favor if him or herself. Even if a person is righteous all of her days, if she rebels at the last she loses the benefit of her early deeds. But even if a person was wicked all his days, if he does teshuva at his last, his wickedness is never remembered again against him. [kiddushin 40]

As Jews, though we are expected to make regular teshuva for our mistakes, these ten days both God and our community are watching closely at our actions. Even a decree against us can still be overturned at this point.

At this point you may ask: So how feasible is this teshuva work? And is it all so heavy and spiritual? Is there a practical side to it?

A midrash, or legend, about Abraham tells about the time that he recuperating after his (adult) circumcision. As he sat and spoke one on one with God in this very holy moment, Abraham noticed three nomads approaching over the hill. Without so much as an “excuse me” to God, Abraham jumped to his feet in order to welcome the nomads, offering them food and drink. From this story it at first appears that Abraham’s immediate instinct to offer hospitality to strangers shows a turning away or even a disrespect to God. However, at second glance we come to understand that the selfless act of helping others is in and of itself an even higher level of experiencing the divine.

We walk in Gods ways both in seeking forgiveness and having an open heart to forgive others. Especially during the days of awe, we must each rise to a level that allows us to forget the details, look beyond what created the problem to begin with, and strive to behold every individual from God’s perspective.

A pupil once asked his rabbi “How far is it from east to west?” He replied “Easy, just one turn.” What we think is most difficult is in fact already within us. The most important act is pivoting our bodies in a new direction.

As we enter the final ten days of awe, I would like to bless everyone with a three-fold strength: the strength to take the first step toward repentance, the strength to emunlate God’s compassion in forgiving others, and the strength to find God in the most basic selfless actions.

Shana tova.