Avoiding the Question, Or "Why David Kestenbaum's Sadness Makes Me Sad"

I feel sad for David Kestenbaum.

No, I don't know Mr. Kestenbaum, who is a producer-reporter for This American Life (although he used to be a particle physicist), a popular podcast that I sometimes listen to. But I'm sad, because he's sad (or at least he was - apparently, this is a repeat episode from a year ago).

Why is Kestenbaum sad? What's got him down as he brushes his teeth in the morning and goes about his day? A perplexing question called "Fermi's Paradox". Kestenbaum explains (I'm quoting from the transcript of the show, which is a conversation between TAL host Ira Glass and Kestenbaum that I've edited for brevity):

David Kestenbaum
So the story goes that this is 1950. Fermi's visiting Los Alamos, and they're sitting around at lunch. It's Fermi and a handful of other physicists and they start talking about extraterrestrials.

Ira Glass
One of the scientists who was there remembers that they talked about some New Yorker cartoon, which had flying saucers and cheerful aliens stealing our trash cans. They joked about it.

David Kestenbaum
And then out of nowhere, Fermi says something like, so where are they?

Ira Glass
Meaning?

David Kestenbaum
The aliens.

Ira Glass
And did people know what he meant?

David Kestenbaum
Yeah, somehow everybody knew exactly what he meant. The idea was basically that, like, the galaxy is this huge place, right? Hundreds of billions of stars. It's been around for billions of years. If you believe that intelligent life is something that just arises given enough time, where is everybody? Like, there have been billions of years, where civilizations could have developed and become way more advanced than we are and traveled from star to star, sent signals or something. Where are they? If that's right, where are they?

Ira Glass
This question became known as the Fermi Paradox, which goes like this. If it's so likely that intelligent life exists elsewhere, where is it? Why hasn't anybody shown up? And of course, the simple answer to that would be, well, nobody else exists.

David Kestenbaum
And I had never thought-- it made me think, maybe we're alone. I really thought that for the first time. Yeah, it made me really sad. I had never thought about it seriously before. I had always assumed that life was everywhere. But he's making a really serious point here. He's raising a tough question. The specific thought I was having was that this would mean that there's nobody out there who knows more than we do, like, about science, about-- there are no better songs. There are no better books. This is it, you know?

Ira Glass
So for months now, when David's brushing his teeth or doing nothing in particular, it'll hit him again. Maybe we're alone in the universe. Like this morning, on the train. Like, what we know is it. What we are is it.

The thing is, no one he talks to can really understand why it makes Kestenbaum so sad. They laugh off the question. What difference does it really make if we're all that there really is? Why does this question upset Kestenbaum so much? He never really explains what bother him, and other cannot really appreciate his angst.

I think that I understand what bothered him. But to me, what's sad about the whole story isn't that Kestenbaum is sad. The most upsetting aspect is the fact that he won't allow himself to ask the deeper question, and when he does, he rejects it out of hand.

*********

To address his question, Kestenbaum turns to Melissa Franklin, his physics professor from Harvard, who he thinks will at least understand the question. After humoring him for a bit, Franklin starts to ask him some serious questions.

What exactly do you mean by being alone? Let's properly define the question here. You're talking about no intelligent life or no life at all? What if there's one crappy plant on another planet? How would you feel about that? What if advanced life like us is just a mathematical improbability, a total fluke?

Professor Franklin concluded, "And then you would say, OK, if that's the case, I have to believe in God. So that's what you're saying."

You would think that as a physicist - an empirical person trying to understand scientific truth, Kestenbaum would react seriously to this question. He would consider it and its implications, and actually wonder whether this was what's really bothering him. But no. He responds with a sad, actually pathetic argument.

David Kestenbaum
How many physicists do you know who believe in God?

Melissa Franklin
Six.

That's his answer? He's been pondering a question for months, literally walking around in a funk from a question, and as soon as a serious thinker proposes that what's really bothering him is a much deeper question of faith and creation, rather than addressing the question seriously, he scoffs at it.

His answer isn't even an answer, and is actually irrelevant to the question. What difference does it make how many physicists believe in God? Maybe they're all under the spell of some cult. What about those six? Are they crazy? Have they lost their mind. Is that how science works? You take a poll of commonly held beliefs, and ignore the actual facts entirely?

Moreover, what if they Professor Franklin only knows six god-believing physicists because that's the circle of colleagues she has created for herself? According to a HuffPost article I just found (pretty easily), a recent Pew Research Center survey, "found that the percentage of scientists that believe in some form of a deity or power was higher than you may think — 51 percent."

Kestenbaum's response immediately made me think of the very first of C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters, which is a brilliant treatise about human nature and the cause of sin. In his letter, he explains how the devil (i.e. the yetzer hara) works very hard not by arguing with us about the facts. Quite the opposite. His most effective strategy is avoiding argument.

That's exactly what Kestenbaum does. Confronted with an argument, he avoids and deflects. Rather than try and address a difficult and challenging question, he responds by scoffing at the possibility that he might actually believe in God. After all, he's a physicist! And they don't believe in God, do they?

In fact David, many of them do. And while you once were a physicist, you're not really a physicist anymore. You're a journalist. And in the NPR world that you inhabit, they really don't believe in God, and really would ridicule you if you in fact did.

The fact that you cannot in fact see this makes me quite sad.

Parshat Netzavim - Lo Bashamayim Hee - Seven Lessons to Prepare for Rosh Hashanah

Audio Shiur:
Parshat Netzavim - Lo Bashamayim Hee - Seven Lessons to Prepare for Rosh Hashanah

The phrase "Lo Bashamayim Hee" carries critical lessons, especially as we approach Rosh Hashanah. In this shiur, we discuss some of the challenges of Teshuvah and some suggested ways of approaching the Yamim Noraim using Lo Bashamayim Hee as a guide.

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

Click on the player below to play the Shiur or right click here to download)

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.

Ray Rice, Teshuvah, and The Book of Remembrances

I've been thinking recently about the Ray Rice video (showing him knocking his wife unconscious in a hotel elevator). Before the revelation of the video, he received a two-game suspension, and was set to resume his well-paying career as an NFL running back. After the release of the tape he was fired, suspended, and may never play football again, costing him literally millions of dollars in lost revenue.
What really happened this week? Did Ray Rice do anything different? Did we not think after the release of the first video  (showing him dragging his wife out of the elevator) that he had hit her? Did we imagine that she suffered from a diabetic-related sudden blackout? Hardly. The world "knew" what had happened, but without the information right before our eyes, we looked the other way. We forgot. We moved on.
That's exactly what happens to us as we approach Rosh Hashanah.
When the time comes to make an accounting of the year, in order to begin the process of repentance and renewal, suddenly things become quite fuzzy. We conveniently forget the many, many times we acted  selfishly, harshly, crudely, nastily - you name the adverb. We forget the times we forgot to pray, bentch, make a brachah, do a mitzvah. We forget our sins - or at least the vast majority of them, and when looking back at the year think to ourselves: Sure, I can always improve, but I had a pretty good year, didn't I? Sure I did, assuming that I forgot all of my blunders, mistakes and misdeeds.
There's only one problem: there's a tape, just like the Ray Rice recording. Of everything,
The Gemara in Rosh Hashanah relates a familiar but chilling image.

אמרו מלאכי השרת לפני הקדוש ברוך הוא: רבונו של עולם, מפני מה אין ישראל אומרים שירה לפניך בראש השנה וביום הכפורים? - אמר להם: אפשר מלך יושב על כסא דין
וספרי חיים וספרי מתים
 פתוחין לפניו - וישראל אומרים שירה? (ר"ה לב, ב)

Said the heavenly angels before the Holy on Blessed be He: Creator of the world, why is it that Israel does not recite words of praise (Hallel) on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur? [God] said to them: is it possible that the King sits on the seat of judgment, with the books of life and the books of death open before him, and Israel should sing praise?

The Midrash raises a number of fascinating questions, such as: what is the book of the dead? Who in fact is being judged (see here for a fascinating interpretation); why not sing praise during a time of judgment? Wouldn't that get us a better deal? But we'll leave those aside to ask another question: what's written in those books?
During Unetaneh Tokef, we get even more specific. In the context of this solemn, chilling prayer, we say to God,

אֱמֶת כִּי אַתָּה הוּא דַּיָּן וּמוֹכִיחַ וְיוֹדֵעַ וָעֵד

וְכוֹתֵב וְחוֹתֵם וְסוֹפֵר וּמוֹנֶה

וְתִזְכֹּר כָּל הַנִּשְׁכָּחוֹת וְתִפְתַּח אֶת סֵפֶר הַזִּכְרוֹנוֹת

וּמֵאֵלָיו יִקָּרֵא וְחוֹתָם יַד כָּל אָדָם בּוֹ

It is true that You alone are the One Who judges, proves, knows, and bears witness;
Who writes and seals, Who counts and Who calculates.
You will remember all that was forgotten. You will open the Book of Chronicles
 —  from it, it will be read - in which everyone's signature is. (translation from Wikipedia)

What is this "Book of Chronicles" that God reads on Rosh Hashanah while standing in judgment? What's written in it? And I don't remember signing any such book?
Actually, we've seen a similar book before in Tanach - in the Book of Esther, when the king can't sleep and has his servants read from his ספר הזכרונות - Book of Remembrances. Only then does he remember the favor Mordechai did in saving his life, and takes steps to repay Mordechai (and save the Jewish people). What's in this book? It's a detailed diary of everything - every word we've said over the past year, and over our entire lives. Every thought. Every feeling. And every action.
But the author of the Unetaneh Tokef poem only used the language and imagery available at his time. The idea of the signature connotes the undying accuracy of what's written in the book. How can you deny the veracity of a book's contents if they bear your signature. Today we'd say it differently. If we were writing a modern Unetaneh Tokef we'd say:

It is true that You alone are the One Who judges, proves, knows, and bears witness;
Who writes and seals, Who counts and Who calculates.
You will remember all that was forgotten. You will open the Divine YouTube,
 — from it, all will be viewed - in which everyone's action are found. 

There is a video. Of everything. Whether you can see it or not, there is a camera in the room. In all probability, there is in fact a camera on the device you're using to read these words. So it's not that difficult to imagine. Except that it's on, and recording, all the time, uploading to a special Sefer Zichronot YouTube site we cannot access. While we might not have access to this specific version of YouTube, it's there, and one day we too will watch it.
In the aftermath of the Ray Rice media circus, his wife Janay (who he punched) wrote, "To make us relive a moment in our lives that we regret every day is a horrible thing." It must indeed be horrible to have your worst mistake splashed on screens around the world; to have to live with the consequences of your most terrible behavior for the rest of your life.
But it's not just Ray Rice.
It's all of us. We just might not realize it yet.

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.

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Audio Shiur: Aseret Yemei Teshuvah and Parshat Bereishit - Frumkeit on the Back of My Brother

Audio Shiur:
Aseret Yemei Teshuvah and Parshat Bereishit - Frumkeit on the Back of My Brother
We often think of our own frumkeit in terms of the relationship we have with God, giving little thought to how our spirituality affects those around us, and those that we're closest with. The story of Kayin and Hevel has a great deal to teach us not only about brotherly love, but about our yearning for spirituality, competitiveness in religiosity, and the need for repentance and improvement.

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

Audio Shiur: What's Your Mitzvah?

Audio Shiur:
What's Your Mitzvah?
We live in an era of specialization: professional, rabbinic, medical, legal – but what about religious? Is there such a thing as a religious specialist? There really is. Have we ever considered becoming religious specialists? When we take a closer look, we find that the notion of "specialization" in spirituality is actually a rather common theme that spans much of Jewish thought.
After listening to this shiur you yourself might be wondering: what's my mitzvah?

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

The Chain of Choice

At 8pm Last night, Brachah (she’s imaginary) sat down at her computer to check her email. When she looked up, it was 1am and she was playing Farmville on Facebook. She had skipped her regular shiur, failed to do the laundry, and would now need to wake up early the next morning to make her kids’ lunch, leaving no time to daven before rushing to work.

Where did Brachah go wrong? Easy – when she decided to play Farmville. But that’s only half the story. A number of different choices led her to Farmville, some good, others less so. Along her “chain of choices”: the choice to have internet access in her home; the choice to join Facebook; the choice to check her email; the choice to logon to Facebook; the choice to play Farmville; the choice to keep playing until 1am. You could argue that her only bad choice was the last one. But Brachah has a weakness for the internet. It might not be a good idea for her to have internet in her home. If she needs internet access at home it would make sense for her to have set aside a specific time during the day to check her email. Or maybe she should avoid sites on the internet that tend to suck up time.
Each choice in life leads to yet another choice that ultimately leads to the final, wrong choice. And, the closer we got to the final choice, the harder it becomes to make the right choice. Brachah’s (and our) problem lies in the fact that she didn’t really think that sitting down to check her email at night was a choice. It’s just part of life, something we do automatically, without thinking. That’s the root of the problem, and also a fundamental point made by Rambam in Hilchot Teshuvah.
Our ability and freedom to make choices in life form the foundation of Jewish though. Rambam devotes two entire chapters of Hilchot Teshuvah to the principle of Freedom of Choice. He writes,

רשות כל אדם נתונה לו: אם רצה להטות עצמו לדרך טובה ולהיות צדיק, הרשות בידו; ואם רצה להטות עצמו לדרך רעה ולהיות רשע, הרשות בידו... אל יעבור במחשבתך דבר זה שאומרים טיפשי האומות ורוב גולמי בני ישראל, שהקדוש ברוך הוא גוזר על האדם מתחילת ברייתו להיות צדיק או רשע. אין הדבר כן, אלא כל אדם ואדם ראוי להיות צדיק כמשה רבנו או רשע כירבעם, או חכם או סכל, או רחמן או אכזרי, או כיליי או שוע; וכן שאר כל הדעות. (רמב"ם הלכות תשובה פרק ה' הלכות א-ב)

One has a free choice to follow either the good ways and to be righteous, or to follow the bad ways and be wicked…Do not even consider what the stupid gentiles and most of the idiots of Israel say, that the Holy One, Blessed Be He, decrees upon each person at the time of birth whether he will be good or bad. This is not so - every person has the potential to be as righteous as Moses our Teacher, or as wicked as Jeroboam, clever or stupid, merciful or cruel, misery or noble, or indeed to possess any of the other temperaments. Nobody can force one, decree upon one, or lead one into one of the ways, but one should choose a way out of one's own free will. (Maimonides Laws of Repentance Chapter 5, 1-2)

Without choice, Teshuvah loses all meaning. What difference would my choices make if they weren’t really my own? But Rambam also makes a larger point: Every action is a choice, and it’s up to us to remain aware of this critical fact. Our choices also compound each other. The sooner we make a good choice, the better off we are. The longer we push off the right choice, the harder it is to make. A person really can achieve greatness (or the opposite, God forbid), if he makes the right (or wrong) choices at each step of the way.
This principle is critically important to us as parents? Do we teach our children that everything in life is a choice? All too often as parents, we make the small and large choices for our children, in order to guide them on the proper path. But if we set overly restrictive limitations on them, we rob them of the opportunity to learn how to make good choices. Obviously, life is about finding the middle ground: choosing for our children when necessary, but giving them enough space, especially as they grow older, to choose for themselves.
Most importantly, we must always remind them that what happens to them depends on the choices that they make, and the sooner they make the right choice, the better off they’ll be.

Being There for Our Children - Thoughts for Rosh Hashanah

As my children have grown I they prompt me to think about Teshuvah in terms of my role as a parent. Parenting (like Jewish life), is an endless task. The demands seem infinite, whether in terms of financial obligations (especially if you live in chutz l'aretz and have to pay for yeshiva tuition) but even more so in time and energy. I find myself wondering: Do I do enough? Do I spend enough time with my children, es pecially the older ones? Am I helping them develop properly? And, as my older son recently celebrated his bar mitzvah, I ask the opposite question: Am I too controlling? Am I allowing and encouraging him to develop on his own?

Click here to download the shiur.

Thoughts for Shiva Asar B'Tammuz: Can't We All Just Get Along?

Last week as I entered the Beit Midrash of Torat Hachayyim (the local yeshiva in Yad Binyamin), I noticed that on the computers in the front of the Beit Midrash, a couple of the bachurim were watching a shiur by a rav that I did not recognize (and don't remember his name). When I asked my chavruta about it, he not only told me the rabbi's name (which I forgot), but also that he's a very well-known rabbi in the world of "nistar", and that his message was stern and frightening: bad things are going to happen. Apparently, the death of Rav Mordechai Eliyuha gave us a three month reprieve, but things aren't looking good for us.
"So what are we supposed to do?" I asked.
"Teshuva," my chavruta told me.
That's not enough for me. Just Teshuva? For what? If you just tell people to repent, improve, change, I think that's such an overarching, far-reaching goal, that it's difficult to know where to start, and hard to feel that my general repentance will actually make a difference.
"No," I said. "I need something more specific. Give me an area, a general direction. What should we be doing teshuva for?"
I think I know. At least for the next few weeks.
I was listening to Rabbi Berel Wein speaking on JM in the AM, and after he described his Talmud Yerushalmi project, Nachum Segal asked him what he thought of the whole Emmanuel issue, and whether he felt there was a historical precedent that he could relate. He said that it reminded him of the Jews during the Second Temple era. So much Torah. So much learning. But so much divisiveness and derisiveness for others who are not like we are.
Today is Shiva Asar B'Tammuz. We recited Kinot this morning for the breaching of the walls, leading to the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash. But the real walls - the important ones - fell long before, when the Jews lost trust in one-another; when they began to distrust each other more than their enemies. When they forgot what united them, and the fact that all of them were supposedly acting in the service of God.
This, I think, is a proper teshuva for us all that we can begin right now.
This Three Weeks, I think we all, starting with myself, need to work on our unity. I generally try not to bash other groups, but through Tisha B'av I'll try especially hard. I'll make an effort to see the good in other Jews with whom I often do not agree. I'll try to accentuate the positives, making an effort to see the side that I often disregard. I'll try and build, and not tear down.
And I hope you will too.

Stopping Crime Before it Starts: My Conversation with a Convicted Felon

Earlier this week, I posted a piece about Sam Antar and the importance of apologies. I posted the article at 9:35am Israel time. At 9:40am, Sam sent me an email in which he wrote the following (by the way, he gave me permission to share his correspondence):

My point is that many people are victimized by criminals when they accept their apologies at face value. Too often apologies are never followed by redemptive behavior. That is why I am very skeptical about apologies when I discuss the issue in public. I don’t want people to be victimized by phony apologies and I want them to exercise caution against empty gestures of redemption. Hashem cannot be fooled, but people are often fooled and victimized by criminals taking advantage of their desirable trait of forgiveness.

Most interesting is his signature (which he also uses on his blog):

With great respect,
Sam E. Antar (convicted felon)

I don't know about you, but most of us try to run away from our past; we hide our indiscretions and try and present a front to the world of, if not perfection, normalcy. Sam, on the other hand, seems to have decided to define himself by his crime. At least for now - and for the past fifteen years - he has defined himself as a "convicted felon". I've been thinking about Sam quite a bit since that morning, and especially the notion of apologies, redemption and forgiveness.
The Mishnah (Sanhedrin Chapter 2) lists several types of people who the rabbis prohibited from serving as witnesses in a Jewish court of law. The list includes people who loan on interest, professional gamblers of various types as well as thieves. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 25b) wonders about the rehabilitation of a professional gambler. When does the gambler become sufficiently rehabilitated to allow him to testify? The Gemara answers:

ואימתי חזרתן? משישברו את פיספסיהן ויחזרו בהן חזרה גמורה דאפילו בחנם לא עבדי

And when are they rehabilitated? When they destroy their cards and repent so completely, that they don't even play for free.

Rehabilitation is possible. But it's not enough to just say, "I'm sorry." The gambler must take specific, concrete action to demonstrate his own rehabilitation.
Reading Sam's website and listening to him talk made me think of that passage. How many of us would have the courage to sign our emails, "Reuven Spolter, former embezzler", or "Reuven Spolter, unconvicted tax fraud"? Or, being more honest, "Reuven Spolter, yeller at children when I'm upset"? When does Sam - or any of us for that matter - cease from being a "convicted sinner"? When do we get to erase our past and move on?
One could argue that he will always be a convicted felon. It's part of his past. He did the crime, and even though he did the time, you can't erase facts. You have to live with your past. But the very idea of Teshuvah seems to contradict this idea. If I repent wholeheartedly, my Teshuvah has the power to turn back the clock and somehow undo that which I've done, to revise my history and no only erase my sins, but actually elevate them.

אמר ריש לקיש: גדולה תשובה, שזדונות נעשות לו כשגגות, שנאמר +הושע יד+ שובה ישראל עד ה' אלהיך כי כשלת בעונך. הא עון מזיד הוא, וקא קרי ליה מכשול. איני? והאמר ריש לקיש: גדולה תשובה שזדונות נעשות לו כזכיות, שנאמר +יחזקאל לג+ ובשוב רשע מרשעתו ועשה משפט וצדקה עליהם (חיה) +מסורת הש"ס: [הוא]+ יחיה! - לא קשיא; כאן - מאהבה, כאן - מיראה.

Said Reish Lakish: So great is Teshuvah that [after repentance] intentional sins are transformed for him into unintentional sins, as it is written (Hoshea 14) "Return O' Israel to Hashem your God, for you have stumbled in your sinfulness." We see that a 'sin' is [the term used to connote a sin committed with] intention, and yet the verse calls it a 'stumble'. But did not Reish Lakish [also] say: So great is Teshuvah, that his intentional sins are considered merits, as it is written (Yechezkel 33), "And when the wicked returns from his evil and performs justice and charity upon them he shall live"? This is not a question. This [second statement] refers to Teshuvah from love, and this [first statement] refers to Teshuvah out of fear.

This represents one of miraculous aspects of the gift of Teshuvah that God grants us. Repentance has the incredible power not only to erase but to transform the sins we committed into merits for us. When a person uses his sins to make the world a better place, although he is a "convicted felon," in a very real sense he is not. He's no longer that person, but a different, better person.
Sam needs to continue to call himself a "convicted felon". Maybe that's how he presents himself to give himself credibility when talking about criminal behavior. But I think that it's more than that. Maybe for Sam Antar, the title of "convicted felon" isn't so much a badge a shame anymore, but a description that continues to spur him to teach about and combat white-collar crime. It's a way of saying, "Look what I was, and now what I've used my sins to become."
In anyone's book, that's what Teshuvah is really all about.

In our short email exchange, I told Sam that I wanted to ask him a few questions. He soon called me and we had a fascinating discussion. To be continued...

Teshuvah and Remorse

Remember the Crazy Eddie's chain of electronic stores from the mid-1980's? They had ads featuring a guy screaming - literally screaming about how crazy Eddie was for selling all kinds of stuff at such low prices. Well, it turns out that Crazy Eddie's was a hotbed of white-collar crime, from simple tax skimming all the way to securities fraud. I listen to an NPR podcast called "Planet Money", and a while ago they featured a story about Eddie's nephew, Sam Antar, who worked behind the scenes at the company, got himself arrested, turned state's witness, and got off with a slap on the wrist. It's a fascinating story, and a worthwhile read.
But what truly caught my attention came at the end of the interview. The reporter asked Sam, "Are you sorry? Do you feel bad for what you've done?" He said basically the same thing that appears on his blog:

Do I have any Guilt and Remorse?

Did he ever have remorse? "Never ... We simply did not care about any one of our victims. We simply committed crime because we could. During the conduct of my crimes I never lost one nights sleep or spent one moment caring about the harm I was inflicting on others.

Apologies are irrelevant. They don’t change anything. It does not undo any crimes. Does an apology really erase the effects of past criminal behavior? As a person who used words to deceive and lie to others in the commission of my crimes I say you must judge people by their actions and not by their kind words. Too often we are moved by well meaning but empty words.

As a criminal I used well sounding words too exploit you in an effort to commit my crimes. I knew as good human beings you would feel compassion for me. However, the white collar criminal uses your humanity such as compassion as a weakness to be exploited. For example if I apologize for my actions, how do you really know if I am contrite or if anyone else who apologizes is really contrite? Therefore, judge people more by the actions they take after a mistake or error rather than their well sounding apologies.

Indeed, why does it matter to us if a person apologizes? What difference does it make what a person says? Shouldn't we care more about his actions than whatever he says?
And yet, Judaism teaches us that saying "I'm sorry" forms a critical component of the Teshuvah process. We must confess our sins to God, and express our remorse, shame and commitment to never repeat that behavior. Equally significantly, when addressing sins which we perpetrated on our fellow man Rambam (Laws of Teshuvah 2:9) writes,

But sins between man and his fellow man, such as one who injures his friend, or curses his friend or stole from him or any similar act - he is not forgiven, ever, until he gives his friend that which he is obligated and appeases him. Even though he returned the money that he owed him, he must appease him and ask him for forgiveness."

Clearly, apologies are important. It does matter whether a person asks for forgiveness. But what about Sam Antar's point, that words mean nothing, and actions speak much louder than words? How can you ever know whether an apology carries any deeper meaning than mere words?
In a way, you cannot know.
Certainly, God expects us to apologize sincerely. He wants us to truly feel remorse and regret, and humbly ask for forgiveness. And He knows whether we mean it or not. On Yom Kippur we specifically confess for the sin of וידוי פה - "confession of the mouth" and not of the heart. Despite the possibility that our apology was only lip service, God accepted it anyway. But even if the apology comes not from a deep feeling of shame, but more from a fear of punishment, retribution, or even a desire for public rehabilitation, apologies still have value. When asking for forgiveness, a person needs to lower himself in the eyes of his neighbor, in essence subjugating himself and begging for absolution. That act of submission in and of itself is humbling.
We should apologize with sincerity. That's really the idea of an apology. But even if we don't really mean it, it's still "Hard to say "I'm Sorry'". (With apologies to Chicago). And that struggle is part of Teshuvah as well.