The Gates of Repentance

Perhaps it isn't said simply because it's so obvious, but we'll say it anyway. The greatest problem we have with G-d is the fact that He's... well... invisible.

If it weren't for that little fact, the struggle for goodness would be so much easier. It would all be clear. We'd do everything asked of us by Him in order to grow in our spirits. After all, He'd be right there. And we'd go out of our ways not to do anything to embarass ourselves in front of Him.

For as Rabbeinu Yonah points out, we're very cautious not to embarrass ourselves in front of friends and co-workers. We squeeze ourselves into tight clothing, for example, or act painfully polite and neat in company. Simply because we'd be ashamed to be seen for what we really are.

Some people go out of their way to avoid embarassing themselves for other reasons. They might be ashamed to be seen wearing certain designer clothing, drinking certain wines, or driving certain cars. Simply because they try to live by "higher standards". While others go out of their way to live up to certain professional, artistic, or academic high standards. And the lot of them would be ashamed to be caught off-the-mark.

Interestingly enough, though, higher standards are invisible, too. Those who live by them seem to take them very much to heart, however, and to just know when they're acting below standard. As if some huge, intimidating Standard-Thing were right in front of them, shaking a finger at them when they'd gone off.

Of course Standard-Things don't exist, yet standards are kept to all the time. Why? Because individuals with standards have internalized them. Because they mean so much to them, and touch a very deep point in their hearts.

Why is it then that we lapse into spiritual mediocrity from time to time, and aren't ashamed for example to pray listlessly, or to give nothing to charity? To phrase the question another way, what is it that has us overlook invisible G-d, and not live up to His standards for us?

Rabbeinu Yonah offers that it's simply because don't take Him seriously. In his own words, it's "because G-d is removed from our innermost being."

The righteous and those in search of spiritual excellence are sometimes simply *mortified* in G-d's presence when they catch themselves living below standard. That moves them to teshuva (to return to Him), and it should move us to teshuva, too.

And in reference to what we said at the very beginning, perhaps this isn't said either simply because it too is so obvious, but we'll say it too. The greatest problem we have being righteous is the fact that spiritual mediocrity is... well... too visible. And too alluring.

So Rabbeinu Yonah offers this practical advice in our quest. We'd do well to sequester ourselves from time to time in order to reflect deeply upon G-d's real (albeit invisible) presence in the world. And upon how deeply connected we are to Him as He watches over us, reads our hearts, and knows our every dream.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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This week we delve further into the psychology of the righteous. The righteous are a "misunderstood minority" on many, many levels. For one thing, they're taken to be mythical entities from the distant past, when they're not (thank G-d). And for another, they're taken to live ever blissful and serene lives, when they don't. What separates them from us, for the most part, is that they worry and fret over things that truly matter, and then act accordingly; while we worry and fret over *frivolous things*,... and then act accordingly.

Picture a room full of sculptures at work, if you will. Imagine the rush and tingle of creativity in the air, the cries of "Yes!" as each comes upon the very form that best expresses an experience he or she wants to set in clay, and the like. Imagine also, though, their gnarled brows, the odd and neurotic way their toes tap, and the "harumphs" they make as they punch down their clay in failure. Imagine, too, the rank and tangible air of *worry* in the room when they determine that they simply can't sculpt.

They worry if they'll ever create again, if they'd ever actually created anything of value in the past, if they'll ever want to create again, if they'll ever be asked to create, and on and on. They worry *a lot*. Why? Because sculpting matters to them, because it can be a noble act of self-expression and self-fulfillment, and because the very thought that they might never engage in it again *threatens* them.

Now, you and I wouldn't worry about that simply because we're not sculptors. And, frankly, we'd think they were overreacting, since they're very likely to create again. But all *they* can do is worry.

In a way, that's the lot of the righteous. They too worry about their creative acts-- of righteousness and holiness. Will they ever be righteous again? Were they ever truly, selflessly righteous in the past? Would they have the courage to be righteous in a decidedly unrighteous world again? They worry a lot.

You and I "know" a person really can't be righteous in this world, so we wonder what they're worried about in the first place. And besides-- we say in all naivete-- once you're righteous, you're always righteous, right? Wrong. For if that were so, the opposite would be true as well: once you're sinful, you're always sinful. And that would preclude teshuva (the act of returning to G-d after having sinned) altogether.

So it seems the righteous have as much right to worry about their spiritual stature as we do about ours. And they do, while we don’t.

Rabbeinu Yonah also cites a verse that subtly uncovers another difference between the righteous and ourselves. It indicates that while the righteous fret about their ways and judge themselves rather harshly in the process (in that they worry about how they'd failed spiritually in the past, and how they just might fail again in the future), they never do that when it comes to others. They overlook others' faults, and always give the benefit of the doubt. While we're guilty of quite the opposite. We're quite sure we're right on target, and just as sure that everyone else is wrongful, mean, and of bad intention. The contrast between those who have every right to criticize others and to praise themselves, and ourselves, is quite stunning.

We're also informed about what moves the righteous to seek spiritual excellence. It seems their primary impetus is the stark realization of just how generous G-d has been to us all, and how indebted we all are to Him as a consequence. The righteous dwell upon the reality of that in their lives, and wish nothing more than to repay their Maker for all His graciousness.

And finally while they, like us, could very well settle for an "adequate" degree of closeness to G-d by simply fulfilling the minimum requirements of teshuva (returning to Him)-- which comes down to just expressing remorse, admitting the harm you've done to other's directly to them, and getting rid of the sin-- they prefer to delve deeper and in a more heartfelt way within their beings, and to follow through on all 20 of the principles of teshuva that Rabbeinu Yonah is laying out in this work.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.

What sets the Jewish faith apart from others is that Judaism focuses on action as well as knowledge and faith. It asks us to take our heartfelt convictions by the hand, if you will, and to lead them gingerly outside the self, into the cold and chaotic world. For while there may be no atheists in foxholes or in the privacy of prayer, there seem to be many in the whirligig of social and professional life.

So we're challenged to *manifest* our heartfelt longings for spiritual excellence; to practise and act out of our convictions.

After all, if I truly want to do teshuva (to return to G-d) I'd need to act a certain way as well as feel it. As the expression goes, I'd need to "walk the walk" not just "talk the talk".

So we're told here that if we'd lapsed somehow into spiritual mediocrity, it wouldn't do to just anguish over that. We'd need to manifest that anguish somehow or another, depending on where within us we'd lapsed.

Rabbeinu Yonah cites the revelation of our sages that the two greatest agitators of sin are the heart and the eyes. After all, the heart longs for and prods us onto things which the eyes then prettify and idealize. As such, it would seem to be wise to somehow use those two crafty "agens provocateur" as means of *returning to G-d*. Which is to say, to somehow or another long for and be prodded on to goodness which we'd come to see as prettier yet and more ideal than sin.

We're thus taught that the best way to rectify the errors of a heart that longed for and prodded us on to spiritual mediocrity would be to *actually and manifestedly* stew for a while in heart-bitterness and contrition. To sit stunned and taken aback for a time by how banal of spirit we'd allowed ourselves to be. And to thus rectify and metamorphize the heart from the outside in. To allow our heart-bitterness and contrition to seep into the curves and bends of the heart itself, and touch it deeply.

We're also taught that the best way to rectify the errors of the eyes that prettified and idealized spiritual mediocrity would be to *actually and manifestedly* weep for a while. To sit in a corner of the room somewhere for a time and cry from the depths, And to thus rectify and metamorphize the eyes from the outside in as well. To allow our tears to wash our eye-lenses, if you will, and allow us to see wrong and spiritual mediocrity for what it actually is.

There's another point being made here as well. As we'll discover at a later juncture, the sages addressed a theme in teshuva known as "temurah" (exchanging). And our principle touches upon the idea in some way. The "temurah" process involves using the very same agent that had done wrong to do good. Common examples might be speaking well of people rather than speaking meanly of them; using the wits and cunning you'd garnered to be a thief to discourage young people from stealing; using your experience as an alcoholic to help others recover; etc.

The point here is that if we'd lapsed by means of our heart, our eyes, and the like, it would do us well to use that very same agent to its best advantage step-by-step. By first growing heart-sick and crying, and thus cleansing the agent involved. And to then use it to do good.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.

One practical way of assessing our own personality is to ask ourselves what makes us happy. For by determining that, we're essentially determining our values and inner convictions. If we're gladdened by coarse, small, and wrongful things, we're essentially coarse, small, and wrongful; whereas if we're gladdened by holy, majestic, and G-dly things, we're essentially holy, majestic, and G-dly. And the same goes for what saddens us.

Rabbeinu Yonah offers that we'd do well to be saddened by our lapses into spiritual mediocrity. And to sigh and mourn for the loss of the chance for spiritual excellence and closeness to G-d the way an investor would be saddened, sigh and mourn for the chance he or she had lost to become rich. Simply because we value spiritual excellence and closeness to G-d as much as another soul might value wealth (though there's really no comparison).

Of course Rabbeinu Yonah wouldn't be advocating growing depressed or dolorous. He seems to be alluding to the sort of sadness that lies somewhere between the kind of wistful sadness we'd feel recalling a past loss; and the deeper-blue sort of sadness we'd feel ruminating about what "might have been", and might have made our lives better. He certainly wouldn't be advocating an ongoing self-castigating sort of deep sadness. After all, it's hard to strive for spiritual excellence if you're that sad all the time.

Nonetheless, Rabbeinu Yonah asserts that the sort and degree of sadness he's advocating is in fact a sign of a pure soul, a clear mind, and seeing eyes. For as we indicated, it would be based on a sudden realization that you'd lapsed into spiritual mediocrity and suddenly turned away from G-d. Only "a refined, sublime soul", as Rabbeinu Yonah puts it, would be saddened by that.

This section ends with a rather touching quote from an ancient holy supplicant, who addressed G-d thusly: "Since I sigh in awe of You, dear G-d, please remove my other sighs; and since I worry about my shortcomings in Your service, please remove my other worries."

What this holy person was implying so pointedly is that it's so very human to sigh and worry. In fact, we spend much more time sighing and worrying than we'd like to imagine (though it seems that some of us are more "gifted" with those skill than others). As such, it would do us well to channel those natural inclinations into our pursuit of spiritual excellence. That is, to sigh perhaps over a chance we'd overlooked to do good, or to pray especially well; and to worry, for example, about whether or not our children will dream of growing close to G-d.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.

Logic would seem to dictate that if we're to mend our ways and do teshuva (return to G-d), that we'd need to simply take it upon ourselves to stop doing the wrongful thing we'd done.

But would we actually be better advised to first concentrate on realizing just how remorseful we are for having done it (which would bring us back to last week's principle), and then stop doing it? After all, how serious would my resolve to stop doing the wrongful thing be if I hadn't really come to regret it?

In essence, the answer lies in what drove us to lapse like that in the first place. After all, sometimes we sin on a whim; other times, we sin by force of habit.

Rabbeinu Yonah draws an arresting picture of the inner-process we go through when faced with the choice between spiritual excellence and spiritual mediocrity. The process would resonate only too well with a sensitive soul who'd quickly catch him- or herself being thrust into the same maelstrom from time to time.

Every once in a while we lapse into spiritual mediocrity unwittingly. There it is, right before our eyes-- the chance to do something we'd be better off not doing-- in all its glory! Somehow or another, the forbidden or ill-advised seems to dazzle and delight the imagination. No matter how pedestrian or even soiled it may actually be, it suddenly becomes pretty, charming, inviting.

As Rabbeinu Yonah puts it, our impulses become intensified and start to overwhelm us, we find ourselves facing an onslaught of emotions and rationalizations, we're suddenly thrust into a veritable ocean of cravings, and we're abruptly ravaged by quick and chill winds. And we're caught-- speechless and victimized by our own heart's-draw.

It's not like we set out to do wrong. We didn't for example determine that morning to go out there and hurt someone's feelings by three in the afternoon. (There are of course people who *do* do those kinds of things; but they don't subscribe to classes entitled, "In Search of Spiritual Excellence"!)

In such instances, Rabbeinu Yonah counsels, we'd do well to work on fostering true, heart-felt remorse for what we did; then to work on our relationship with G-d Almighty all the more so, and draw close to Him again. Done in the right spirit, and coupled with a resolve to once again strive for spiritual excellence, we're far less likely to "fall for that" again. We'd thus have rid ourselves of that particular sin on a very deep level.

In other instances, though, we'd be better off following another plan. If we're *entrenched* in a pattern of misbehavior; if we do something clearly off-the-mark repeatedly, energetically, lovingly, and purposefully; and we simply want what we want, right there and then, as usual-- then the following holds true.

In this instance we'd be better off simply dropping the bag, so to speak, right on the floor. To not set ourselves aside to dwell on the deeper notions of remorse and existential abandon. But rather to simply stop, and take it upon ourselves right there and then to never do that thing again. And *then* we'd do well to foster heart-felt remorse and re-establish our relationship with G-d.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.

Remorse is a very deep and all-encompassing series of realizations and reactions. It begins with your suddenly catching yourself doing something untoward. It goes from there to your being stunned by the fact that you'd actually done what you thought you'd never do. And it ends in a whirlwind of dissonance and sorrow, often culminating in the cry, "What have I done?"

Many a sensitive soul has suffered the pangs of remorse. But Rabbeinu Yonah asks us to go a step further, and to consider what our misdeed has done to our search for spiritual excellence, and most especially, how it has affected our relationship to G-d.

His first point is that "What have I done?" should mean, "What have I done to my relationship to G-d?"

He writes that we're to realize just how "bitterly wrong it was to have abandoned G-d"-- to have caused a rift in our relationship with Him, to whatever degree. And to know as well that there are "consequences to be paid" for that. Which is to say that not only would we have caused a rift, we'd *know* it too. We'd soon sense a certain chill in the relationship, in that we'd find it harder to address Him, and He'd find it harder looking at us full-face (so to speak).

But while Rabbeinu Yonah's first concern is that relationship, and justifiably so; our first concern is usually our own personal standing. So Rabbeinu Yonah addresses that, too.

In that light "What have I done?" takes on a whole other perspective. It suddenly metamorphises into, "What have I done to *myself*?"

Everyone knows the price to pay for having eaten that too-large piece of cake, for example. Not only is there a sense of remorse, but there are actually chemical, biological consequences to our having eaten it. As we all know, there are a lot of calories to contend with, all that fat and sugar, etc.

Fewer realize the price to pay for having lied to someone who then discovered the truth, for example. Our word is tainted, our reputation is besmirched, our motivations are thrown into a bad light, our actions are watched closely, our sincerity is questioned, etc.

And fewer yet realize the existential and personal price to pay for lapsing into spiritual mediocrity. The steam goes out of our spiritual practise, we become blase about our beings, we settle for rationalization and small-mindedness, etc.

In order to re-inspire us toward spiritual excellence Rabbeinu Yonah points out that we have a lofty, a veritable *Divine* mission in life; a "career goal" of the highest magnitude, if you will. And that it's cheapened and compromised when we settled for spiritual mediocrity.

For that goal is "to be conscious of G-d", which is to say, to realize viscerally and deeply that G-d is present all the time, right before our eyes, so to speak. We're to "fear" Him, a highly misunderstood term, which means to say that we're to react in the very core of our beings to the reality of G-d's presence all around us. And we're to "reign over our bodies", which is to say, to know our being and its expected reactions well enough to do everything we could to avoid harming it either physically and spiritually.

And though Rabbeinu Yonah doesn't say as much, its seems logical to assume that doing teshuva after our realizations and remorse would then allow us to say, "Look what I've done!"

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.

As we indicated early on, this paragraph serves as the end of Rabbeinu Yonah's "introduction" to "The Gates of Repentance", and it reiterates his point that what teshuva is, is the process of drawing closer to G-d. From here on we go to the major thrust of this first gate-- the 20 principles of teshuva.

What those principles will prove to be are means of going deeper into ourselves to discover what our spiritual motivations and ideals are, and means of achieving spiritual excellence.

We'll discover that they're not a linear, ordered list of issues we'd need to delve into and work on. Because there'll be times when principle 13 (for example) comes into play, to be followed by principle 3, perhaps.

They'll also prove to be *barometers* of where we stand on a particular spiritual plane at any one time. I might find (for example) that I've already come to realize principle 5, but that I'm nowhere near having realized principle 19, perhaps.

And Rabbeinu Yonah's other point in presenting us with the 20 principles is to indicate that there are *degrees* of teshuva and consequent closeness to G-d; that they go from slight and surface-deep, to intense and all-encompassing; and that we each waiver in our closeness to Him from time to time in various and complex ways.

At different times in the very same life-period, year, day, *moment*, we go from level to level of closeness to G-d. In fact, there are moments when we're actually on two different planes at the same time.

But in order to lay out the degrees of closeness to Him in a linear fashion we'd offer that there are times when we merely acknowledge G-d's presence; others when moved to call upon Him; others when we enjoy a more palpable awareness of Him; others when we have a rather clear, intimate awareness of His presence; and others when we perhaps enjoy a full-throttled, deep and fulfilling closeness to Him.

Rabbeinu Yonah makes a couple of final points here. One is that teshuva involves the *cleansing of your heart* till it glistens. For each one of us is either spotted, streaked or stained in our beings. We might have sullied our words, done what we'd later regretted having done, dwelt upon unthinkable things, or perhaps been mischievous inside and out, by degrees. We'd do well to change course knowing that.

And his final point is that training in teshuva is best started when one is young. When he or she is free enough to dedicate the necessarily hours and years to the fine and subtle art of self-knowledge and self-mastery. But that every rung up the ladder is an accomplishment, nonetheless; and that each one of us is capable of spiritual excellence.

From this point on, we'll be discussing the principles of teshuva in terms of our spiritual status, as we've been doing all along. But also in terms of our purity of heart at any one moment, and in relation to our closeness to G-d.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

For any comments, questions or topic requests, please contact Rabbi Yaakov Feldman.

Excellence, Copyright © 2000 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Project Genesis, Inc.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman and Torah.org.