Teshuva

I used to really dislike the High Holy Days. First of all, I had to dress up (which I hated), and spend hours in a synagogue where I felt ill at ease. Then, there was the Yom Kippur fast, which was anxiety provoking when I observed it and equally stressful when I did not. Finally, there were the hours passed contemplating all of my shortcomings for which I was supposed to atone: I had not been a sufficiently devoted daughter; I hadn’t called my grandmother often enough; I’d told lies; I had withheld myself from my friends. And, of course, there was the eating disorder, the biggest sin of all. Every year, I would vow to make the coming year the year when I would “really” recover; and yet, when the next Yom Kippur rolled around, I was forced to admit that once again, I had failed.

Looking back, it’s no wonder to me why those High Holy Day experiences were so overwhelmingly negative. One thing that might have helped would have been an understanding of the real meaning of teshuvah, one of the central themes of the time between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. I’d been taught that teshuvah meant “repentance,” which inevitably led me to feel remorse and regret. Recently, however, I learned that what teshuvah actually means is, “return.” The idea is that within each human being is a divine spark of G-dly potential. This is our true self, but it gets buried underneath superficial deeds and concerns. Teshuvah is the process of reconnecting with our inner light, of returning to our connection with Hashem.

When I understand teshuvah in this way, instead of experiencing guilt and sadness, I feel joy and hope. Judaism teaches that even when I am feeling hopelessly far from holy, the divine spark still burns inside of me and links me to Hashem. My job is not to sit and lament all of my misdeeds; rather, my task is to actively find ways to clear out the clutter and fill the space with mitzvot, which then bring me closer to Hashem.

There was a long time in which I was so full of self-hatred that I couldn’t have seen my inner light if it had been shining directly into my eyes. Ironically, it is the process of recovering from my eating disorder (formerly Sin with a capital S) that has led me to recognize the potential of my true self and the strength of my desire for connection with Hashem. This year, I enter the time between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur with excitement. I am finally able to be fully engaged in the journey back to my divine source, and the endless possibilities of what I might discover along the way have me feeling energized. What I hope for myself in the coming year is not that I be “better” than I was in years before, but that I be “truer.” May we all experience truth and reconnection in the year to come. Shana tova!