The Gates of Repentance

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.

Many tzaddikim (great and holy ones) like Rabbeinu Yonah seem to transcend space and time, and to speak to the ages. After all, they're divulging immortal truths rooted in Divine Will, and needn't concern themselves with whom they're addressing, or at what point in the continuum their readers live. Other times, though, they speak directly to their generation.

This week we find Rabbeinu Yonah expressing his disappointment in his contemporaries. It seems they'd slipped into spiritual mediocrity and insensitivity in particularly onerous ways. And they were being told just where they went wrong.

It seems, among other things, they were sometimes disingenuous, insensitive, impious, stingy, slanderous, hateful, haughty, and the like. And they were being advised as to how to get back on-course.

What proves to be most off-putting to those of us "overhearing" all this is that we find ourselves falling into the very same ruts, steering off-course the very same ways.

Who among us isn't sometimes disingenuous and can't quite be taken at his or her word? Who isn't insensitive to others' feelings? Who's always pious and never goes off the mark? Who's not stingy and ungiving from time to time? Who never takes comfort in citing others' faults? And who's never "full of himself"?

So, what's a person who's slipped into such patterns to do? Rabbeinu Yonah's advice both for his contemporaries and us is to keep a record of the day.

In point of fact, many people keep journals that cite the more prosaic or accomplished moments of the day. But the kind of record Rabbeinu Yonah seems to be talking about is closer to the diaries many of us kept when we were younger that listed our fears and triumphs, dreams and realizations.

We're advised to keep a sort of "state of the spirit" diary each day. One in which we'd recount just where we'd striven for spiritual excellence that day, and where we'd settled for mediocrity.

And to read from it from time to time in order to stay the course, and to allow for the deepening of the self that is teshuva (the process of returning 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 Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

We often delude ourselves, or at least misjudge ourselves. Yet in order to achieve true spiritual excellence we'd need to know who we are at any given moment, the circumstances we find ourselves in just then, and what effect we're having on others that very instant.

That's to say, we'd need to develop self-awareness and other-awareness. But on two levels: spiritually and materially. Let's explain.

In short, "spirit" is the heart of the matter, a thing's inner presence, its electric center. While "matter" is the full and wide range of things associated with that thing. In human terms that refers to a person's heart, soul, and intentions, as opposed to his or her circumstances and surroundings.

When we're self-aware on a *spiritual* level, we know our hearts, our souls, and our intentions. And when where other-aware, we're sensitive to others' heart, souls, and intentions.

When we're self-aware on a *material* level we're aware of our surroundings, the way we affect others, and how much our actions matter to the other person. And when we're other-aware on a material level we're aware of the other's surroundings, how he or she is affecting us, and how much what he or she is doing is affecting us.

But, again, we often misjudge ourselves and those around us-- both materially and spiritually-- simply because we're often not self- or other-aware.

As such, we very often undervalue the things we do, and forget the good intentions we have, and the kindly and sensitive ways we respond to others in many situations. And contrarily we oftentimes overvalue ourselves, and discount our untoward intentions, how often or to what extent we hurt others or lapse into wrongdoing.

Among the many things Mussar (Jewish ethics and values) teaches us is the art of self- and other-awareness. And it places great weight on those skills, in the belief that each one of us is ultimately reponsible for his or her spiritual station at each and every moment. As such, we'd need to be aware of what we have in mind, what we're feeling, and what effect we're having at any given moment if we're to do what's right.

Now we begin to understand the significance of Rabbeinu Yonah's statement here that "if you repeat a sin ten times over (for example) you're considered to have committed ten separate sins".

At first glance this seems to be as redundant as saying, "Do ten things wrong and you've done ten wrong things." But the truth behind this statement-- its spirit-- comes through once we understand it in light of what we said above.

Its point is that when a person is *oblivious* to self and others on both a spiritual and material level, he tends to look at things broadly and superficially. So if he happens to mock people insensitively, when pushed to own up to his faults he'd only claim to have one: he sometimes mocks people.

"Shoot me!" he'd say, "So I make fun of people sometimes!"

Rabbeinu Yonah's point is that if such a person were to somehow be moved to teshuva (i.e., to draw closer to G-d) he'd need to become self- and other-aware enough to realize that *each instance* of mocking someone was itself a sin. Everyone he'd mocked would have to be apologized to, for each incident. And that the converse is true as well-- each instance of *goodness* would itself be an incident of spiritual excellence.

If we're wise we, too, would be self- and other-aware enough to realize how shallow we sometimes are in our moral assessments.

By Rabbi Yaakov Feldman

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

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

Subscribe to Spiritual Excellence and receive the class via E-mail.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.