It's a sad-and-funny thing that something like 97% of new year's resolutions evaporate within months, sometimes within weeks or even days - and then they are solemnly resolved again the following January.
Are we kidding ourselves year after year? What's going on here? And if Rosh Hashanah the Jewish New Year is analogous to January 1st, then are all our words of prayer hypocritical?
Rosh Hashanah is all about teshuvah - turning around, turning back, returning... in other words, about re-volutions. Classically, teshuvah refers to the process of regretting an action, saying you're sorry, and intending not to do that regretful action again in the future.
Another way to think about the process is as an inward spiral: Teshuvah is about coming back again and again to who we really are, who we are meant to be. This true self has nothing to do with how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved (the focus of typical American New Year's resolutions). The process of teshuvah is not about "self improvement" in the pop culture sense. It's more about polishing off your beautiful soul that has been encrusted with a lifetime of less-than-perfect words, thoughts and deeds. It's not a one-time thing; it's a lifelong process.
Here's a familiar story: Moses goes up Mount Sinai to receive from God two stone tablets upon which are engraved the ten "utterances" - commonly known as the ten commandments - central to the longer list of instructions that Moses received while on the mountain. Rabbinic tradition claims that this receiving of divine word happened on the festival of Shavuot, in the spring. The tablets and the words written on them were entirely of God's making.
Moses comes down the mountain and discovers the people at the base of the mountain in the process of worshipping a golden cow that they had created in his absence. Enraged, he shatters the two tablets.
When Moses returns to the top of Mount Sinai to plead on behalf of the people after this tragic communal sin, he receives a second set of tablets. But this time, there is a subtle yet profound shift in the instructions. God has learned a lesson. This time, God says to Moses - YOU carve the tablets out of stone, and I will write on them.
In other words, this time it is a mutual endeavor, a partnership. And so this time it is something that humans can handle. Rabbinic tradition claims that this second tablet-making episode occurred on Yom Kippur.
What does this ancient story have to do with us, and with new year's resolutions?
In the words of my teacher Rabbi Art Green: "This is the season when each of us renegotiates our covenant with God. We carve our second tablets, remaking the infinite divine demand into one with which we are prepared to live. This is the time when we decide what we will keep of the tradition and what we will set aside for the while..., what major charitable gifts we will give and which we will put off, what mitzvot we will do in the human realm, and whom we are ready to forgive of those who have done us wrong. It is not only God who makes major decisions in this season of the year. God may decide whether we will live, but we have to decide how we will live the life we are given."
So if we are to make Jewish new year's resolutions, they ought to be of this sort. In conversation and partnership with the deepest and truest aspect of our selves (that some call God), we have the opportunity to refashion our covenant. How shall we live the life we are given?
There is a breathtaking poem by Mary Oliver, called "The Summer Day," which ends with this line: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
As we approach the High Holidays, it is again time to ponder this question. Let it rumble around inside you, and see if an answer arises from somewhere within. It's not a question about self improvement. It's not about how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved. Mary Oliver's question points us back to our souls, to our innermost sense of what we are called to do and be in our all-too-brief time on earth. This is the essential question of Rosh Hashanah.
Yes, teshuvah is about regretting past actions and saying we're sorry... and it's also about spiraling inwards to uncover the light of our soul and what it longs to do with its one wild and precious life.
Are we kidding ourselves year after year? What's going on here? And if Rosh Hashanah the Jewish New Year is analogous to January 1st, then are all our words of prayer hypocritical?
Rosh Hashanah is all about teshuvah - turning around, turning back, returning... in other words, about re-volutions. Classically, teshuvah refers to the process of regretting an action, saying you're sorry, and intending not to do that regretful action again in the future.
Another way to think about the process is as an inward spiral: Teshuvah is about coming back again and again to who we really are, who we are meant to be. This true self has nothing to do with how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved (the focus of typical American New Year's resolutions). The process of teshuvah is not about "self improvement" in the pop culture sense. It's more about polishing off your beautiful soul that has been encrusted with a lifetime of less-than-perfect words, thoughts and deeds. It's not a one-time thing; it's a lifelong process.
Here's a familiar story: Moses goes up Mount Sinai to receive from God two stone tablets upon which are engraved the ten "utterances" - commonly known as the ten commandments - central to the longer list of instructions that Moses received while on the mountain. Rabbinic tradition claims that this receiving of divine word happened on the festival of Shavuot, in the spring. The tablets and the words written on them were entirely of God's making.
Moses comes down the mountain and discovers the people at the base of the mountain in the process of worshipping a golden cow that they had created in his absence. Enraged, he shatters the two tablets.
When Moses returns to the top of Mount Sinai to plead on behalf of the people after this tragic communal sin, he receives a second set of tablets. But this time, there is a subtle yet profound shift in the instructions. God has learned a lesson. This time, God says to Moses - YOU carve the tablets out of stone, and I will write on them.
In other words, this time it is a mutual endeavor, a partnership. And so this time it is something that humans can handle. Rabbinic tradition claims that this second tablet-making episode occurred on Yom Kippur.
What does this ancient story have to do with us, and with new year's resolutions?
In the words of my teacher Rabbi Art Green: "This is the season when each of us renegotiates our covenant with God. We carve our second tablets, remaking the infinite divine demand into one with which we are prepared to live. This is the time when we decide what we will keep of the tradition and what we will set aside for the while..., what major charitable gifts we will give and which we will put off, what mitzvot we will do in the human realm, and whom we are ready to forgive of those who have done us wrong. It is not only God who makes major decisions in this season of the year. God may decide whether we will live, but we have to decide how we will live the life we are given."
So if we are to make Jewish new year's resolutions, they ought to be of this sort. In conversation and partnership with the deepest and truest aspect of our selves (that some call God), we have the opportunity to refashion our covenant. How shall we live the life we are given?
There is a breathtaking poem by Mary Oliver, called "The Summer Day," which ends with this line: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
As we approach the High Holidays, it is again time to ponder this question. Let it rumble around inside you, and see if an answer arises from somewhere within. It's not a question about self improvement. It's not about how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved. Mary Oliver's question points us back to our souls, to our innermost sense of what we are called to do and be in our all-too-brief time on earth. This is the essential question of Rosh Hashanah.
Yes, teshuvah is about regretting past actions and saying we're sorry... and it's also about spiraling inwards to uncover the light of our soul and what it longs to do with its one wild and precious life.