Perfection and the Yamim Noraim

Way back when I was in the rabbinate, someone emailed me the description of the perfect rabbi:

The results of a computerized survey indicate the perfect Rabbi preaches exactly fifteen minutes. He condemns sins but never upsets anyone. He works from 8:00 AM until midnight and is also a janitor. He makes $50 a week, wears good clothes, buys good books, drives a good car, and gives about $50 weekly to the poor. He is 28 years old and has preached 30 years. He has a burning desire to work with teenagers and spends all of his time with senior citizens. The perfect Rabbi smiles all the time with a straight face because he has a sense of humor that keeps him seriously dedicated to his work. He makes 15 calls daily on congregation families, shut-ins and the hospitalized, and is always in his office when needed.

You get the point: there's no such thing as a perfect rabbi, as much as there is a perfect teacher, lawyer, doctor or mother. Yet, ever since the first blast of the Shofar in shul last week, I've been thinking about perfectionism and the delicate balance between the dangers of perfectionism on one hand, and our concurrent need to strive for perfection.

Being a perfectionist can be extremely destructive. A perfectionist by definition is never happy. Because achieving perfection is literally impossible, one's work is never really good enough. Actually, it's never really good at all. And since it's not going to be "good" (i.e. perfect), often the perfectionist won't even bother starting a project or endeavor at all. After all, what's the point of working on something that you know will fail?

And yet, for all the dangers of perfectionism, that seems to be precisely the demand that Judaism places upon us during the Yamim Noraim. Rambam writes,

ומה היא התשובה--הוא שיעזוב החוטא חטאו, ויסירנו ממחשבתו ויגמור בליבו שלא יעשהו עוד, שנאמר "יעזוב רשע דרכו, ואיש אוון מחשבותיו" (ישעיהו נה,ז).  וכן יתנחם על שעבר, שנאמר "כי אחרי שובי, ניחמתי, ואחרי היוודעי, ספקתי על ירך" (ירמיהו לא,יח); ויעיד עליו יודע תעלומות שלא ישוב לזה החטא לעולם, שנאמר "ולא נאמר עוד אלוהינו, למעשה ידינו--אשר בך, ירוחם יתום" (הושע יד,ד).  וצריך להתוודות בשפתיו, ולומר עניינות אלו שגמר בליבו.  - הלכות תשובה ב', ג

What constitutes Teshuvah? That a sinner should abandon his sins and remove them from his thoughts, resolving in his heart, never to commit them again as [Isaiah 55:7] states "May the wicked abandon his ways...." Similarly, he must regret the past as [Jeremiah 31:18] states: "After I returned, I regretted." He must reach the level where] He who knows the hidden will testify concerning him that he will never return to this sin again as [Hoshea 14:4] states: "We will no longer say to the work of our hands: `You are our gods.'" He must verbally confess and state these matters which he resolved in his heart.

Each year, as I review these important halachot, I stop on that line from Rambam: He must reach the level where] He who knows the hidden will testify concerning him that he will never return to this sin again. Really? Never again? Can I really testify before God that I'll never revert to my past sins; that I'll never slip up? That I won't fall prey to my evil inclination, and commit a sin from my past?

Is not the obligation to "never return to this sin again" a demand for perfection? Never doesn't mean "try not to" or "promises not to" – it means never. Ever. Perfection.

Like many questions, I'm not sure that there's one good answer to this question. This year, I have come to understand that Rambam's formulation demanding a commitment to perfection represents a core aspect of Yamim Noraim that we, as imperfect beings, must confront at least once a year.

On Yom Kippur, the spiritual high point of the year, we emulate the angels. For one day, we eschew our physical selves; our hunger, sexuality, work and leisure, and spend this one day basking in the glory of God. We are, as much as we can possibly be, spiritual. At the same time, we recognize that this yearning is impossible.

That, in a nutshell, is the human condition: the desire for perfection, combined with the knowledge that it is something we will never achieve. During the rest of the year, we take refuge in our humanity, excusing our mistakes and shortcomings. But for one day, we expect perfection of ourselves, and that expectation propels us to improve, repent, return and transform ourselves into better, more perfect people.

There's a famous custom mentioned by the Rema (Orech Chayyim 583:2):

יש המדקדקים שלא לאכול אגוזים שאגוז בגימטריא חטא

There are those who are meticulous not to eat nuts [on Rosh Hashanah] for the gematria (numerical equivalent) of (the Hebrew word) "egoz" (nut) equals "cheit" (sin).

There's only one problem with this custom – or at least the explanation for it: the math is off. The words are not equal. Egoz (אגוז) is 1+3+6+7=17. Cheit (חטא) is 8+9+1=18. They're not even equal to each other!

Maybe that's precisely the point. Sin represents the definition of imperfection. Through our shortcomings, we demonstrate just how incomplete we truly are. In this simple custom, we refrain from eating nuts, to remind us of this exact point – that we are not perfect, and have much to strive for during the Ten Days leading up to Yom Kippur.

Audio Shiur: Parshat Ki Teitzei - Fighting the Good Fight

Audio Shiur:
Parshat Ki Teitzei - Fighting the Good Fight

Chazal teach us that the allusions to war in this parshah and Parshat Shoftim allude to our never-ending battle with the yetzer hara. With this in mind, we glean a number of important lessons from the nuance of the text - and especially powerful lessons from Ohr Hachayim and Netivot (Nesivos) Shalom.



Click here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.

Click to play the Shiur (or right-click to download)

Elul During Summer Vacation?

by Rabbi Reuven Spolter

Judaic Studies Lecturer


Every few years, before the Jewish calendar can adjust itself with an additional month during the spring, the summer and winter chagim arrive unusually early. This year, for example, Rosh Hashanah, which "normally" falls towards the end of September, begins this year during the first week of September. Simchat Torah ends before the end of the month! It's an "early" year in every sense.

What difference does that make? Why should the secular date that Rosh Hashanah falls on matter? It shouldn't – but it does, because much of our lives revolve not around the Jewish calendar, but the secular one.

We take our vacations not based on the Jewish calendar, but on the secular one. Our lives are often governed by work and school schedules almost always set not according to the Jewish calendar, but the secular one. For this reason, you may well be on vacation right now because your children are still on vacation, which will continue until the end of the month. This is true not only around the world, but especially in Israel. It's a yearly tradition in August for parents of young children to complain that that they don't know how to go to work while their kids are off from school.

The Jewish calendar cares not for summer vacation or secular school schedules. While we were on vacation, the month of Elul began, ushering in the first pangs of the High Holiday season.  For men who attend shul in the morning (and especially for Sephardim who recite Selichot each night), the Shofar reminds us: Rosh Hashanah is coming. But for many women, and especially for our children who are enjoying their vacation, Elul has yet to enter their consciousness.

Recently, Rav Yona Goodman, head of Chinuch Emuni at Orot, shared a short audio (link here) which got me thinking about this issue. While during a normal year, it might make sense to leave the lion's share of Rosh Hashanah preparation to our kids' schools, this year, when they begin school only a short time before Rosh Hashanah, we must take it upon ourselves to educate our children both about Elul, and about the process of Teshuvah.

When do we do it? Actually, opportunities abound. You can:

• Talk about Elul around the Shabbat table
• Do your yearly Tzedakah accounting, sharing with your children how much you "owe"
• Instead of the beach, use a vacation day for a family chessed project
• Take a family Tiyyul to a spiritual location (shofar factory?), to put us in the mood for Rosh Hashanah

Rav Yona's words were ringing in my ears as we sat down to dinner last week, and two of my children briefly entered into minor spat over some insignificant slight. While I would normally try and ignore the argument during dinner, I instead noted that it was Rosh Chodesh Elul, and entered into a short discussion around the table about controlling our anger – and that perhaps this could be a goal that we could share as a family during Elul.

In truth, Elul during the summer presents a unique educational opportunity. Because our children learn about the High Holidays in school, a danger exists that they might come to see Teshuvah not as a personal, intimate process, but instead as yet another subject that they cover in school (which is entirely unrelated to their home lives). Nothing could be farther from the truth. The very best way to counter this mistaken perception is to bring Teshuvah into our homes, and make the process of introspection and self-improvement a household affair.

Even when you're on vacation.

Should we be Worried?

As we approach the coming New Year, it seems that we've got a lot to worry about. The Prime Minister keeps beating the drum about the impending danger of a nuclear Iran; rockets are still falling on Sederot (which is pretty close to where I live), and gasoline reached an all-time high this week (what goes up doesn't seem to want to go down, either!) All of these worries don't even begin to touch on the personal concerns each of has for our families; for their health and well-being; for our children's continued growth and development. As I said, there's a lot to worry about.
But should we worry? Is worry something good and positive, or is it an emotion we should specifically try to control and minimize to whatever degree possible? The answer, of course, is that it depends on the subject of our worry.
In the classic Mussar work אורחות צדיקים, the anonymous author describes worry as a negative, destructive trait.

הדאגה. זאת המידה היא רעה ברוב ענייניה, והיא ניכרת על כל הפנים, כדכתיב (בראשית מ ו): "וירא אתם והינם זועפים"; וכתיב (נחמיה ב ב): "מדוע פניך רעים, ואתה אינך חולה". ואמר אחד מן החכמים: איני מוצא כלל באנשי נפשות העליונות סימן דאגה. הדואג על עולם זה להשיג מאומה – הוא מגונה מאוד, והיא לא נמצאת כלל באנשים הבוטחים בשם ומאמינים בו. הדאגה והיגון הם מכלים הלב, והם חולי הגוף. והדאגה הרעה שבכל הדאגות היא שירדוף אחר העבירות, ובעת שלא ימצא כל חפץ לבו – אז הוא דואג ומצטער. הדואג על עולם זה הוא רחוק מאוד מן התורה והמצוות והתפילה. לכן יחוש מאוד לתקן המידה הזאת, להסיר אותה ממנו. ואין צריך להאריך ברעתה, כי כל הטובות הבאות מן השמחה – הן היפוך הדאגה.

Worry. This attribute is almost always negative, and is recognizable on every face, as it is written, "And [Yosef] saw them and they were sad." (Bereishit 40:6) and it is also written, "Why is your face sad, and you are not sick." And one of the scholars has said, I have not seen worry in the spirits of the higher-level souls. On who worries about achieving anything in this world – this is very obscene – and is not found in those people who trust in God and have faith in Him. Worry and anguish destroy the heart and they are sicknesses of the body…Thus, a person should make great effort to fix this attribute and remove it from himself. And there's no reason to write at length about the negative nature [of worry] because all of the goodness that comes from happiness – is the direct opposite of worry.

In essence, "Don't worry, be happy."
But there is a type of worry that is positive and productive. We find in the Gemara in Brachot (4a) that although David Hamelech considered himself generally righteous, telling God שמרה נפשי כי חסיד אני – "Save my soul, for I am righteous" (Tehillim 86:1), nonetheless at the end of Chapter 27 of Tehillim (לדוד ה' אורי – which we recite twice daily throughout Elul), David seems to think differently of himself.

אל תתנני בנפש צרי, כי קמו בי עדי שקר ויפח חמס. לולי האמנתי לראות בטוב ה' בארץ החיים...

Deliver me not over to the will of my adversaries; for false witnesses have risen up against me, and breathe out violence.  If I had not believed to look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living! (Chapter 27:12-13)

On this verse the Gemara quotes David as saying to God,

רבונו של עולם, מבטח אני בך שאתה משלם שכר טוב לצדיקים לעתיד לבא, אבל איני יודע אם יש לי חלק ביניהם אם לאו!

Master of the World – I am sure that You give proper reward to the righteous in the future. Yet, I do not know if I have a portion among them or not.

What happened to the confident, self-assured Chassid? Where is the righteous David Hamelech, who declared his goodness to God? The Gemara answers: שמא יגרום החטא – "perhaps he would lose [his reward] because of sin."
David Hamelech was indeed worried. He wasn't worried about his enemies attacking him or global warming or even whether he'd be able to afford the new iPhone. Rather, he was worried about himself, and whether he'd be able to continue to serve God properly in the future.
This, says אורחות צדיקים, is the only proper type of worry.  We can and should indeed worry whether our actions over the past year have drawn us away from God. We should be concerned, even anguished over the mistakes that we've made. And we should definitely use the power of worry to keep us from sinning in the future.
It seems, then, that we're worried entirely about the wrong things.
Should we worry about Iran? That's not really in our control, and worrying about it will only make our lives more miserable. Should we even worry about our livelihoods and the exorbitant price of gasoline? Again no. We should try and work on ourselves, so that we recognize that our sustenance lies in the hands of the Creator, who "provides bread to every living creature." We of course should pray for good health and blessing, but worrying about it won't help at all.
Still, there is something we can and must worry about: ourselves. We must worry about the insidious, seductive nature of sin, so that we can learn from our mistakes and commit ourselves to improvement, return and renewal.

The Right Rosh Hashanah Video

In a previous post, I questioned the wisdom and value of a video produced by Aish Hatorah that featured cool break dancing and great scenes of Yerushalayim, but little religious value. This morning, I saw the Rosh Hashanah video that it could and should have been, produced by the Maccabeats.
I'm pretty sure that the piece will virally make its way through the Jewish world.  It's a powerful example of the strength that these videos can have simply by combining wonderful music, talented singers, clever lyrics and a sense of the story the video can tell.
We tend to compartmentalize our religious lives and our "outside" lives. When we look at the past year and the process of Teshuvah, we place our primary focus on our religious lives: how was my Shemirat Shabbat? Did I speak too much lashon hara? (Of course I did. Who hasn't?) But we don't ask the broader questions: Was I a good, sensitive spouse? Did I live a healthy life? Not only did I go to the shiur, but did I listen and use the time in the best way that I could? Was I a good employee or boss?
Rosh Hashanah really is about all of these questions, and not just how many mitzvot or aveirot I've done over the past year. Teshuvah must be about improving ourselves in all areas of our lives - in shul and yeshiva, but also at home, work, on the subway and at the gym. All represent critical areas of our lives, and all reflect our relationship with God.
This video conveys this powerful message in a strong, but meaningful way. It might even be the perfect video. If only they were filming it depicting life not in Washington Heights or Riverdale, but Tel Aviv or Modiin. Hopefully, someone as talented and insightful as the Maccabeats and their producer will come here and produce similar Hebrew language titles for a public that badly needs meaningful, beautiful, spiritually motivated media.

Parshat Netzavim-Vayelech: The Real Peace Process of Teshuvah

Audio Shiur:
Parshat Netzavim-Vayelech: The Real Peace Process of Teshuvah

Moshe's efforts to reach out to the Jewish people before his death, carries a powerful message found in Kli Yakkar for each of us before Rosh Hashanah.

Click here to download the shiur, or here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.

Now you can subscribe to this shiur as a podcast, directly from iTunes! To subscribe, click here.

Your Worst Moment - Caught on Tape

Recently, Facebook has been abuzz over a security video shot at the Kotel of a man beating his elder daughter. (I'd link to it, but YouTube removed it.) The video is simultaneously both mesmerizing and horrifying: sickening to see a man not just strike his older daughter - which is prohibited in halachah, but also push her down onto stone steps. You watch a helpless mother literally turn away, unwilling or unable to watch the man as he hits the child. Watching the video is like rubbernecking. You know that you should hit the gas and keep moving, but you can't help slowing down to get a good look.
Yet, you (the viewer) knows that this wasn't a one-time incident. Sooner or later, the man will hit his daughter again.
The video struck (no pun intended) me in another way was well. Watching the video in horror, I couldn't help but wonder: what if cameras caught me at my worst, and someone posted it for the world to see? I can honestly state that it doesn't come near the level of the video, but it certainly would be embarrassing, terribly so. The Midrash tells us that after sinning with Batsheva, David Hamelech begged God to leave the story out of the Bible, which I can understand. How would you feel knowing that every educated Jew for the rest of time would know about your worst, most troubling behavior.
All of this seems particularly relevant around this time of year. On Rosh Hashanah, we acknowledge that God sits before us in divine judgment, with the Book of Memories open to our page. But now its pretty clear to me that it's not any old book. It's an iPad. And all God needs to do is click on the link for each day of the year, to watch the YouTube video of me forgetting to bentch, yell at my kids, waste time blogging on the Internet, or any of the other things I'm not actually going to tell you.
Ages ago, Albert Brooks made a film called "Defending Your Life," which imagined that people had to watch the mistakes they had made during their lifetimes after they had died. It's not a new concept. But watching that man on YouTube at the kotel reminded me once again that the cameras are indeed there, whether we see them or not. And they are recording.

It's Elul. Take the Thirty Day Challenge.

Saw this video on the Rav Tzair blog. As he put it: this is Elul! The real question is, What's your thirty day challenge? Rosh Hashanah is in thirty days...

Selichot Conundrum: Sefardi or Ashkenazi? You Make the Call.

As arrived at shul this past Sunday morning, I saw a group of tired-looking people davening in another room. I wondered what they were doing until it dawned on me: They're Sefardim, and they've got to recite Selichot for the entire month of Elul.
Truth be told, Selichot can often feel like a real drag. I don't think that's a bad thing. There's something to be said for getting up a little bit earlier as Rosh Hashanah approaches, adding the 13 Attributes of Compassion to the davening, reciting shema kolenu every morning. My mood builds towards Yom Kippur, and when we finally reach the emotionally draining pinnacle of Neilah, when basically all we recite are a summation of all the Selichot that we've said to that point, everything comes full circle. It's a powerful, tiring, moving process. I often feel that people who have difficulty on Yom Kippur suffer from the fact that they didn't invest in Selichot. It really serves as the pinnacle of the prayer process that began two (or more) weeks before. If you haven't made the effort to truly prepare for Yom Kippur, how can you expect to achieve meaningful results from the process of repentance?
This is how I feel after starting Selichot on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah - giving me only two weeks of Selichot. Having to start a full three weeks earlier, at Rosh Chodesh Elul and reciting selichot for a full forty days - that seems like a bit too much for me.
But with the costs of following Sephardic custom come benefits as well, the biggest of course being Kitniyot. Sefardim eat all kinds of kitniyot on Pesach, and here in Israel the difference is even more pronounced with all kinds of yummy looking foods stamped לאוכלי קטניות בלבד - "For those who eat kitniyot ONLY". I sometimes think that the food companies are mocking me. I spot a nice looking chocolate pudding, pick it up to check the hechsher and stamped on the front in big letters it says: "Sorry Mr. Ashkenaz. Not for you. Too bad."
Of course there are other differences as well, including:

• Three Weeks: Ashkenazim observe most of the customs of mourning from the 17th of Tammuz, while Sefardim not only don't keep three weeks; they don't even have nine full days, observing the mourning period only on the week of Tisha B'av
• Milk and Fish: While Sefardim can't mix milk and fish (and my wife makes a great tuna-cheese casserole), Ashkenazim can
  

So then I got to thinking: what would I rather have: the benefits of kitniyot on Pesach, or the ability to sleep in for three more weeks come Elul. Would I rather have the costs and benefits of Sepharditude, or those of Ashkenazi-ness? (Of course this discussion is completely academic - unless you're a young woman contemplating marriage trying to decide whether to date Ashkenazim or Sefardim. Then it's quite relevant. But if that's a real criteria to you for marriage, you've got other issues to deal with.) In any case, which would you rather be? You may have noticed the new feature of my blog: the poll. So let me know what your preference would be if you had the choice.

The Pendulum of Teshuvah: Thoughts on Ledavid Hashem Ori

As Rosh Chodesh Elul rolls around, we add two things to the daily tefillah: the blasts of the Shofar and the recitation of Ledovid Hashem Ori - the twenty-seventh chapter of Tehillim. It's easy to understand why we blow the Shofar. It serves as a warning call that Rosh Hashanah quickly approaches.
But Ledovid Hashem always left me wondering: what does it have to do with Teshuvah? Why do we recite this specific chapter around the time of repentance?
Yet, when we take a careful look at David's powerful words, we find that it speaks not only about Teshuvah, but about the human condition. If we read his words with care and sensitivity, they can help us prepare ourselves for the coming Days of Awe.

Click here to download the shiur.