A 'Sin is Out' Redux

I have, for the most part, attempted to maintain a non-sectarian approach in writing this blog. It’s certainly clear that I’m Jewish, and as a religious Jew, I can only address the subject of religion from that deepest recess of my mind and soul. Having come through the calendrical period that Jews call the yamom nora’im, the “days of awe,” including Yom Kippur, I cannot but reflect on my “Sin is Out” blog through the lens of this most recent experience. So at the risk of turning this blog into a Jewish religious humanist blog—which it was never intended to be—I offer this redux on “Sin is Out.”

Summary:

Sin is selfishness, not in the colloquial sense of wanting everything for one’s self, but more a focus on a lonely and isolated self. Teshuvah, return, repentance is the subduing of self; to free ourselves of the oppression of self- ishness and, in imitation of the divine, to enter the flow of humanity and allow our true light to shine.

Full text:

Yom Kippur is the climax of a weeks-long period of what is called in Hebrew teshuvah, turning, or return, often erroneously translated “repentence.” It is a return to God, but also a turning to oneself in the form of introspection, self-reflection and what is called heshbon hanefesh, taking an accounting of one’s life and deeds. As noted in “Sin is Out,” I have become skeptical of the constant refrain of personal guilt that penetrates the liturgy of Yom Kippur at every turn. We are guilty. We steal. We cheat. We deal falsely with others. We commit acts of violence. We slander. We’re arrogant, stiff necked, destructive, and on and on. As a consequence, we stand in fear and awe as we are personally and individually judged by a God who can only fall back on the divine attributes of mercy and compassion to get us through the crisis of our failure.

I have come to a point when I can no longer repeat this litany verbatim, a litany that recurs some five times during the course of the day-long fast. I have to put the prayer book down and allow my thoughts to well up—thoughts that I attempt at least to remain focused on this theme of personal failure and accountability.

So often these thoughts revolve around the theme of personal mission, and my ability to discern and carry out that mission. More than that however, is the struggle to maintain faith in myself and in the God I serve in that mission to give me the foresight to avoid the anxiety about my ability to fulfill the mission. Am I capable? Do I have the skill? The time? The energy? The perseverance? In these moments of self-assessment, I reach for that faith in myself, in my role and mission, and in God who assigns the role and mission.

This year was different. What struck me this time was upon reflecting on the myriad of misdeeds that we recite, they are nearly all reflections of a human selfishness, not so much in the colloquial sense of wanting everything to go our own way, but a true self- ishness—a focus on a rather lonely, isolated self; a self immune to the existence of other selves and to a sense of empathy and solidarity with other selves. Indeed, it is as lonely, isolated selves that we stand in judgment. We contrast this embrace of a lonely, isolated self with the love and graciousness of God, in effect, God’s selflessness, a selflessness that allows the divine to transcend our self- ishness and offer us a way back.

We are hard-nosed (lit. strong of countenance),

 But You (God) are gracious and merciful.

We are stiff-necked,

But You are long suffering.

We are full of iniquity,

But You are full of merciful love.

Our days are like fleeting shadows,

But You are eternal.

It struck me that being hard-nosed and stiff-necked  are ways we immure ourselves from the world and from humanity; they are retreats into self, and leave us as fleeting shadows. But the selflessness of the divine, the long suffering love, mercy and compassion are windows into eternity.

As these thoughts floated through my consciousness, we began reading the haftarah, the reading from a prophetic book. For the morning of Yom Kippur, this comes from the latter half of the prophet Isaiah.

This is the fast I desire?

To untie the wicked fetters

To release the bonds of oppression

To let the oppressed go free

To break every yoke

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry

To bring the homeless into your home

When you see the naked, to clothe him

And not to hide from your (fellow) human

Your light will break forth like the dawn

And your healing will quickly flourish…(Isaiah 58:6-8)

At first blush, this reads as a basic ethical demand. Be good toward your fellow human and you’ll be restored. But I think it is more than that. Perhaps we are the oppressed. Perhaps we are bound by wicked fetters. Perhaps we are yoked. Perhaps that is the self- ishness—the focus on self—to which the litany of misdeeds applies, and it is oppressive. If we can let go, if we can let our full humanity simply flow instead of being damned up by the quotidian needs of an isolated and lonely self, then perhaps we can break away from the fleeting shadow and enjoy the full warmth of the divine light. As lonely, isolated selves, we are judged. Free of the shackles of a lonely, isolated self, we “break forth like the dawn.”