Torah_Musings_Digest_RH-5775

Weekly Digest from TorahMusings.com 

Torah Musings Digest 

24 September, 2014 | A Window into the Orthodox Jewish Intellectual’s World| Edited by: Rabbi Gil Student 

The Limits of Teshuvah 

by R. Gil Student 

Teshuvah, repentance, breaks through the heavenly barrier, reaching 

the divine throne and tearing evil decrees. However there is a large 

distance between heaven and earth. Does teshuvah have this same 

piercing power in the earthly realm? Is there a Jewish concept of 

parole or even dismissal of charges due to repentance? 

I. Teshuvah and Theodicy 

Tosafos (Kesubos 30b sv. din) ask the traditional question why bad 

things do not always happen to bad people. Someone who commits a 

sin that merits execution should be smitten by God. Yet we see many 

such people living long lives. Today, when many find it difficult to 

accept that truly bad people exist, the common question is why bad 

things happen to good people. Traditionally, however, the more 

frequent question was about the success of the wicked. As Jeremiah 

(12:1) asks, “Why does the way of the wicked prosper?” 

Tosafos offer two answers: 1) the wicked repent and in response God 

lessens or entirely removes the punishment; or 2) a merit of the 

wicked, some good deed they performed for which they deserve 

reward, delays their punishment. I do not believe that these answers 

are intended as comprehensive theodicies. I suspect that Tosafos 

would accept other answers, such as those suggested by other 

commentators. 

II. Teshuvah and the Commutation of a Sentence 

Regardless, Tosafos’ first answer raises another question. A wicked 

person’s teshuvah removes the sin or even transforms it into 

something positive. This change leads God to lighten or even remove 

entirely the punishment. Does teshuvah similarly relieve the 

perpetrator from human punishment? For example, should a (duly 

authorized) religious court execute a murderer who undergoes a 

religious transformation via teshuvah or should it set him free? The 

Noda Bi-Yehudah (1:OC:35) puts it this way: If witnesses to a murder 

only come forward decades after the event, and in the meantime the 

murderer repents and completely turns his life around, should the 

court convict and execute him for the murder? 

R. Yaakov Weil of fifteenth century Germany (Responsa Mahari Weil, 

Dinin Ve-Halakhos 61) states that a blood avenger (Num. 35; Deut. 

19) retains his right to revenge even if the murderer repents. Mahari 

Weil assumes that the earthly punishment is not averted by teshuvah. 

However, he does not explain why. 

R. David HaKohen of Corfu (Responsa Radakh 30:2) was asked 

whether a mourner for a converso father has the same priority as 

other mourners. In a time when only one person recited kaddish at a 

time, priority was important. If a mourner for a sibling was present, 

would the mourner for a converso take precedence because he is 

saying kaddish for his father? Or does the fact that his father was a 

converso, who under fear for his life converted to Christianity, 

remove the obligation to recite kaddish and therefore remove all 

priority for the mourner. The Radakh rules that the mourner has full 

priority as someone mourning for his father. 

In the course of this discussion, the Radakh points out that criminals 

are required to confess immediately prior to their executions. 

However, we still treat them like wicked people even after their 

deaths, forbidding their family from mourning or burying the 

deceased in family plots. The Radakh suggests that mere recitation of 

a confession does not constitute repentance. However, a truly 

penitent criminal, after his execution, is buried among his family and 

is mourned. R. Yosef Engel (Gilyonei Ha-Shas, Makkos 13b) points out 

that the Radakh would still have the court execute a repentant 

criminal. The lenient treatment does not undo the sentence. 

R. Engel (ibid.) discusses three reasons why the court should not 

absolve a repentant criminal. 1 However, I am not convinced they all 

survive scrutiny. 

III. Who Knows? 

The Mabit (Beis Elokim, Teshuvah ch. 2) offers two reasons why a 

court must still punish a repentant criminal. One of these is that the 

court cannot know who truly repents. I find this the most surprising 

of all reasons because courts already have a procedure for detecting 

penitents. Indeed, the responsa literature indicates that communities 

have needed to use this procedure over the ages. 

Men who engage in wicked behavior are invalid as witnesses in court. 

The Gemara (Sanhedrin 25b) describes how such men regain their 

credibility. In theory, all they need to do is repent. However, in 

practice they must prove their repentance by going in the other 

extreme. Gamblers must destroy their gambling paraphernalia and 

not even play the gambling game without money; interest lenders 

must tear up their contracts and refrain from lending with interest in 

even permissible situations; merchants who sell forbidden fruits of 

the Shemitah year must pass another Shemitah year without 

succumbing. Jewish law allows for criminals to demonstrate their 

changed ways, to prove their teshuvah. 

Similarly, chazzanim and shochetim, cantors and slaughterers, who 

are caught sinning must be removed from their positions and can only 

regain their jobs after demonstrating their teshuvah. As can be 

expected, many such cases have arisen over the years, leading to 

wide discussion of general principles and specific cases. 2 The bottom 

line is that religious courts already recognize repentance and have a 

mechanism for determining its sincerity. Therefore, this reason seems 

difficult. 

IV. Then What? 

The Noda Bi-Yehudah (1:OC:35) argues that if courts commute 

sentences for penitent criminals, they will effectively undermine the 

entire judicial system. Of what purpose is a law if we do not enforce 

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it? God intended the punishments as a deterrent. If no one is ever 

punished, and a convicted killer can easily say that he repents, then 

the divinely ordained punishment is undermined. 

This seems to be a combination of the previous concern of being 

unable to determine true repentance and another concern about 

deterrence. We already responded to the first issue. This would mean 

that not just anyone could claim to repent. Such a claim would have 

to be accompanied by appropriate behavior. But even then, someone 

wishing to avoid execution could falsely change his behavior. While a 

cantor wishing to regain his job could fake repentance, presumably 

someone awaiting execution has greater motivation. 

However, it seems the validity of this concern is a debate between 

Rashi and Tosafos. Rashi (Makos 5a sv. mai ta’ama) states that a 

criminal who confesses before witnesses testify against him in court 

exempts himself from punishment. Tosafos (ad loc., sv. de-be-idna) 

argue that this position would nullify all punishments. Criminals could 

simply immediately confess their crimes, thereby avoiding 

punishment. This seems to be precisely the Noda Bi-Yehudah‘s 

concern about repentance. 

R. Tzvi Hirsch Chajes (Glosses, Makkos, ad loc.) defends Rashi on two 

points. First, he notes that the conclusion of the Gemara in Bava 

Kama (75b) is that someone who confesses to a fine (as opposed to 

physical punishment, which is Rashi’s extension) is exempt from 

paying the fine, but only if his confession obligates him to pay the 

principal amount. A confession that totally exempts one from paying 

anything is too easy. Similarly, R. Chajes contends, Rashi is arguing 

that someone who confesses to murder will still be punished, just not 

executed. The court will find a lesser punishment to impose. 

However, R. Ya’akov Ettlinger (Arukh La-Ner, Makkos, ad loc.) 

convincingly argues that Rashi on Bava Kama reads the Gemara 

differently and allows for a confession that completely exempts the 

perpetrator. 

R. Chajes makes another point that indirectly responds to the Noda 

Bi-Yehudah. The Sages were not concerned that courts would only 

administer the Torah’s punishments infrequently. To the contrary, 

they embraced the concept. The Mishnah (Makkos 7a) states that a 

court should execute at most once a decade, or even less frequently. 

It seems that allowing repentance to remove an execution sentence is 

consistent with this Talmudic attitude. R. Chajes suggests that this 

explains Rashi’s view that a criminal is exempted from punishment if 

he confesses, even without full repentance, before the court receives 

testimony against him. This would also seem to respond to the Noda 

Bi-Yehudah‘s explanation for the reason that courts punish a penitent 

criminal. 

V. Sin and Punishment 

The Mabit‘s second reason why a court must punish a repentant 

criminal is that all sin requires punishment. Even after teshuvah, the 

sin must still be punished. Either a court will punish the criminal or 

God will. The Mabit explains that this is why Tosafos say that God will 

lighten the punishment of a penitent sinner. He must still administer 

some punishment. And so must a human court. 

However, this approach seems to ignore a key phrase in Tosafos. 

Tosafos explicitly state that God either lessens or removes the 

punishment. There is at least some case in which God refrains 

entirely from punishing a repentant criminal. R. Ya’akov Emden ( 

She’eilas Ya’avetz 2:9) goes so far as to disagree with Tosafos over 

this phrase. R. Emden believes that every criminal must be punished. 

Allow me a brief digression to describe R. Emden’s case because it is 

so interesting. One of the attendees at R. Emden’s private minyan 

reluctantly went to the main shul in town and saw someone treat the 

shul disrespectfully by smoking a pipe at the entrance during service. 

This man objected and knocked the pipe out of the other man’s 

mouth. This other man then pulled out a knife and stabbed the first 

man fatally, in shul. Apparently, there was insufficient evidence to 

convict the killer so the local (gentile) court was willing to acquit him 

if he swore his innocence. The perpetrator’s rabbi ruled that he was 

allowed to swear falsely to save his life. R. Emden wrote this 

responsum to argue that this murderer, even if penitent, must be 

punished and may not swear falsely in court. 

VI. Inadmissible 

The Maharal (Nesivos Olam, Teshuvah, ch. 2) offers two related 

reasons why a court cannot change its sentence based on the 

perpetrator’s repentance. First, earthly courts only focus on the bad, 

the crime. In contrast, the heavenly court looks at all sides of the 

issue, including the good. I think this means that God considers all 

extenuating circumstances, including mindset and subsequent 

developments. A human court can only look at the facts of the crime 

and not the broader picture. 

Maharal adds that teshuvah brings an individual closer to God. It is a 

change in the relationship between an individual and God. Therefore, 

only God can accept penitents and no one else. A human court has no 

place in this personal relationship. This second, mystical approach is 

difficult to understand given the practical reality of accepting 

penitent chazzanim and shochetim. The human court is not accepting 

teshuvah but recognizing its effect on the perpetrator. 

Perhaps the Maharal means that teshuvah is inadmissible in a 

criminal trial in a religious court. Certainly American judges are 

limited in the evidence they can consider. Evidence obtained illegally 

or otherwise inadmissible cannot be utilized in reaching a decision. 

We can easily transfer this concept to a religious court and suggest, 

based on the Maharal, that repentance is inadmissible in a Jewish 

criminal trial. However, in determining rehabilitation, which is not a 

trial, repentance is admissible as a character assessment. 

The Mishnah (Avos 1:6) tells us to judge every person–all the 

person–favorably. Some commentators (e.g. Sefas Emes) interpret 

this to mean that we must look at a person and consider his whole 

personality and his complete circumstances rather than looking at a 

specific incident. From what we have learned, this is a divine 

perspective. Human courts are procedurally limited in their focus. On 

a personal level, though, we are asked to look more broadly, to see a 

person’s bigger picture which is usually more positive. 

As we enter Rosh Hashanah and the season of heavenly judgment, we 

pray that our own larger picture be taken into account. Our many 

merits should lighten the load of any misdeed we may have 

committed. In preparation, we can consider how we can judge others 

with this heavenly perspective. By acting more divinely, we can see 

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the world more positively and, in return, be judged favorably as well. 

1. I first became aware of R. Engel’s discussion from a Shabbos 

Shuvah lecture by R. Ephraim Kanarfogel over 20 years ago. ↩ 

2. See Magen Avraham 53:8; Shakh, Yoreh De’ah 2:11; Pischei 

Teshuvah, Yoreh De’ah 2:5; Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah 

119:15; Taz, ad loc. 16. ↩ 

Beyond Words 

Beyond Words: The Dance Between Knowing and Not Knowing 

Hashem 

by R. Yehuda Krohn, Psy.D. 

This is for anyone who, even as Rosh Hashanah approaches, faces 

doubt – in particular questions of Emunah/belief. The source of doubt 

could be one’s own uncertainties or perhaps those of someone we 

know. 

Questions may arise about Hashem’s existence, the compatibility of 

science and Torah, or the presence of suffering and evil in the world. 

They may involve measuring the congruity of Torah values with those 

modern values we would not wish to dismiss (e.g., inclusivity). The 

questions may derive from a comparative religion course we once 

took. 

The list is not exhaustive, but for many who try to find inspiration and 

connectedness in the month of Elul, it can be exhausting – or at least 

depleting of the spirit. It may as well lead to a sense of alarm, shame 

and/or isolation. Something along the lines of “Why do these 

questions bother me? Given that I entertain them, can I even consider 

myself Frum? How would others in my community relate to me, if 

they knew what went on inside my head?” 

I would like to suggest a limud zechus/positive reframe for anyone 

who, despite his desire to be observant and to belong, is being 

gnawed at by doubt. It starts with a Gemara toward the end of 

Makkos (23b, 24a). 

Rabbi Simlai expounds: Six hundred and thirteen Mitzvos were 

said to Moshe – 365 negative commandments, corresponding to 

the days of the solar year; 248 positive commandments, 

corresponding to the limbs of a person. (I will assume that up to 

this point, most of us are familiar with the material.) Rav 

Hamnunah adduces a Biblical proof: Torah was commanded to 

us by Moshe, an inheritance to the congregation of Jacob 

(Devarim 33:4). The word “Torah” has a numerical value of 611; 

[whereas] the commandments of “I (am your G-d)” and “You 

shall have no (other gods)” we heard directly from the Mighty 

one (i.e., G-d himself). 1 

So, 611 Mitzvos – corresponding to the word “Torah” – were conveyed 

to us through Moshe Rabenu and 2 Mitzvos came directly from 

Hashem. It would seem odd, given the above, that the one word with 

which we try to capture the essence of the Five Books of Moshe – 

namely “Torah” – points to an incomplete number of Mitzvos. 

Moreover, the Mitzvos that are excluded from the count arguably lie 

at the very foundation of all other Mitzvos. Why should this be? 

Perhaps, the two Mitzvos we heard directly from Hashem are indeed 

fundamentally different than the others. More specifically, they were 

encoded in our collective conscious/unconscious differently than were 

all the others. 

Har Sinai was not simply an awe inspiring event for the Jewish 

people. It was traumatic – particularly the moments that Hashem 

commanded, “I am your G-d… You shall have no other gods…” We 

would have been absolutely and utterly powerless as the words 

thundered down upon – or, more accurately, surrounded – us. It was 

not just a near death experience. The Rabbis teach us that our souls 

did, at least temporarily, take leave of our bodies, only to 

miraculously return. 

Trauma is encoded differently than are other memories. Typical 

memories are verbal in nature and tend to be recalled, in relation to 

time, as would be chapters in a book. Trauma, in contrast, is 

imprinted, in iconic fashion, on a different part of the brain. It 

typically resides as a group of loosely connected images, sounds and 

tactile impressions. Most significantly, we typically don’t have access 

to trauma, when trying to recall it. Yet, it may intrude, as a flashback, 

when we are not trying to recall it. This leads to trauma being 

unknown at a verbal, semantic level, while being intimately known at 

a visceral level – one that is disconnected from the dimension of time. 

For some reason, Hashem chose to impart to us the fact of His 

existence – Anochi Hashem – in a manner that we simultaneously 

recall and don’t recall, know and don’t know. Perhaps it would be too 

easy (Nahama Dikisufah/humble pie) if we had the more 

conventionally typed experience of his presence. Alternatively, in 

order for the Jewish people to withstand the challenges they’ve faced 

over millennia of exile, they need a belief or, more accurately, a faith 

that is safely ensconced in a realm beyond both time and reason. Our 

Emunah would, thus, be shielded from, what at different points of 

time, would seem to be overpowering logic-based counterargument. 

Either way, the word “Torah” (e.g., equaling 611), which also means 

“teaching”, cannot fully capture the two commandments that we 

recall, but don’t recall, know, yet don’t know, given the traumatic 

manner they were seared into our brains. Even as we listen in Shul to 

the narratives of the Sinai experience, the primarily verbal, temporal 

nature of the Kriah/reading, would not and could not fully connect 

with our collective memory of the event – one that is beyond both 

words and time. 

For many individuals, the knowing, yet not knowing is experienced as 

uncertainty and doubt. The challenges they face with Emunah are less 

a function of waywardness, and more a natural, almost expected 

outcome of the manner that Hashem chose to reveal Himself. 

All the same, persistent, gnawing doubts tend to deplete our energy; 

denial of access to vital memories robs us of our sense of 

connectedness. This is where Rosh Hashanah and the Shofar come to 

play. 

Rabbah says. God has said “Say before me [verses corresponding 

to] Kingship, Memory and Shofar; Kingship so that you may 

coronate Me; Memory so that memories of you should come 

before Me for the good; and with what? The Shofar.” (Rosh 

Hashanah 34b) 

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According to Rabbah, the Shofar is the vehicle, not only for invoking 

good memories, but for the coronation of Hashem. How fitting! 

Shofar represents sound without speech. (Hence, Kol Shofar and not 

Divrei Shofar.) It is the unarticulated sound of the Shofar that bathes 

and nourishes our timeless, wordless memories of Sinai. Moreover, 

the Shofar of Rosh Hashanah bridges 3300 years and sets resonating 

our collective memory of the Shofar of Sinai and, with it, the 

memories of our most direct experience of Hashem. 2 

It is conceivable that we would not be consciously aware of an 

“Emunah surge” during the Shofar blowing. All the same, it is hard to 

imagine that this primal, visceral Mitzvah not touch us in ways that 

leave an impression… and perhaps a sense of being a little bit less 

alone. 

May we all merit this Rosh Hashanah to reconnect Be’emunah 

Shelaimah to our experience of Hashem’s Kingship and to be granted 

a Kesivah VaChasimah Tovah. 

1. In fact, the language of the first two commandments indicates 

that Hashem is speaking directly to the Jewish people, whereas 

the language of subsequent commandments indicates that 

Moshe is referring to Hashem, as he conveys the 

commandments. ↩ 

2. We may homiletically add that, in this context, the Gemara’s 

term Zichronos/Memory refers to our own memories (not 

Hashem’s awareness of us) traveling and transcending the 

limitations of this world, such that we can approach The Good 

One, whom we understand to exist beyond time and space. ↩ 

A New and Old Wind is 

Blowing 

by Shmuel Winiarz 

Is the “Yeshiva world” too insular? Does its single-minded focus on 

Talmudand codesstifle its members from exploring the world of ideas? 

One graduate of Volozhin expressed that very notion in a poem he 

wrote in 1898, entitled Hamatmid. Chaim Nachman Bialik writes of 

his profound ambivalence towards the schools of his youth. He 

expresses his admiration for the dedication of yeshiva students to 

their Talmudic studies on the one hand, while critiquing what he 

viewed as a narrow world that was insular to broader intellectual 

ferment. Yet many people would dare to disagree and a recent 

seminar that took place in Long Island serves as ample proof that 

Bialik would need to update his famous poem were he alive today. 

Perhaps Hamatmid 2.0. 

Certainly the Internet has made knowledge available on an 

unprecedented scope. Unstructured online learning through 

searching, reading and watching educational videos offers insular 

yeshiva students the opportunity to stretch their intellectual wings. 

But even before the Internet, public libraries enabled yeshiva 

students to take books out and read them in their free time. In 

Volozhin, studying disciplines beyond the yeshiva curriculum was 

generally discouraged although some students could be found 

clandestinely reading literature of the haskalah. However, times have 

changed and the curious student in many yeshivos find the time and 

tools to learn about the world and its great thinkers. Granted, some 

yeshivos actively discourage intellectual exploration. But this 

ideological closedness is hardly a uniform policy. However, what’s 

missing in this autodidactic universe is structure and the guidance of 

experts. A recent small seminar took a big step in filling this gap, with 

the goal of training a cadre of future community leaders. 

An overview of the seminar is needed to grasp the surprising 

magnitude of this modest event. Under the aegis of the Tikvah Fund, 

the seminar invited 17 promising young men (average age in the late 

twenties) who spent significant time in yeshivos such as Ner Israel, 

Mir & Shaar Hatorah (and one person who took an uncommon path 

from Bais Hatalmud to Bar-Ilan) to spend a week immersed in 

non-standard Torah study, engaging with the contemporary internal 

and external issues that face our Torah communities. Led by R. 

Yitzchak Adlerstein, R. Mark Gottlieb and R. Jonathan Rosenblum, the 

program began each day with a presentation on the weltanschaung of 

various Torah thinkers, some of whom are often neglected during the 

standard yeshiva zman, including R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, R. 

Yisrael Salanter, R. Yosef Dov Soloveitchik and R. Avraham Yitzchak 

Kook. Presentations were geared toward the rigor of yeshiva 

students, beginning with classical texts and proceeding to extract 

from them approaches to the great issues of Jewish thought, with 

spirited debate all along the way. Issues including rational versus 

mystical approaches to Judaism, the proper role of academic Jewish 

studies (such as the traditionalist Wissenschaft of R’ David Zvi 

Hoffman) and how to relate to the non-Orthodox and gentile worlds 

were raised and a genuine milchamtah shel torah echoed through the 

Glen Cove Mansion in Long Island where the seminar was held. 

The second part of the program exposed the students to sophisticated 

thought in the fields of economics and social and public policy. Dr. 

James Otteson delivered presentations on the thought of great 

economists such as Adam Smith and Friedrich Hayek, as well as the 

moral foundations of free markets and competing visions of political 

economy. Ryan Anderson, co-author of “What is Marriage? Man and 

Woman; A Defense,” laid out his argument for protecting marriage’s 

traditional definition which avoids religious claims and resonates with 

a wider audience. Dr. Vincent Phillip Munoz, a political science 

professor at Notre Dame, lectured on John Locke and the origins and 

evolution of American political thought through Abraham Lincoln and 

its relevance to contemporary issues of religious liberty. The 

students’ exposure to political and economic theory introduces these 

future Jewish leaders to the tools and vocabulary necessary to 

formulate public policy. 

One idea that struck me as particularly timely is the notion of 

religious liberty. Our faith community derives its value system from a 

Torah and halacha that doesn’t always conform to the contemporary 

zeitgeist. Issues such as bris milah (ritual circumcision), shechitah 

(ritual slaughter) and medical ethics have been flashpoints of conflict 

in recent years between Orthodox communities and parts of the 

broader world. Understanding the meaning of religious liberty (not 

just using it as a catch-phrase), both in its historical context and 

present usage, is invaluable when advocating for tolerance and 

acceptance of faith practices in the modern era. 

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In between presentations, a marketplace of ideas flourished as 

like-minded budding scholars debated the hot topics of the day. With 

animated exchanges typical of the yeshiva study hall, abstract 

theories were applied to real situations in order to clarify the issues 

and resolve communal problems. Topics included effective advocacy 

for Israel, organizational challenges facing Jewish agencies, the 

differences between Torah communities in Israel and the United 

States and the meaning, application and limitations of the oft 

misunderstood term “daas torah”. On Shabbos, R’ Meir Triebitz 

presented a multi-discipline vision spanning many earlier discussed 

topics, formulating a philosophy of Halacha and arguing for a Jewish 

theology of politics and economics. In many ways, this aptly capped 

the seminar, demonstrating how a wholly traditional talmid chacham 

can incorporate the many different perspectives into a single, Torah 

framework. 

Yet now thinking back on the seminar, two themes resonate as 

particularly significant. First, responsibility for the entire Jewish 

community or to coin a phrase, having a klal conscious. Because the 

seminar’s participants all aspire to find a place in the public square, 

the seminar included presentations about R’ Moshe Sherer and R’ 

Nathan Birnbaum, two leading Torah spokesmen of recent times. 

These larger-than-life leaders articulated compelling narratives for 

the entire Jewish people. They rejected a utilitarian view bent on the 

narrow goal of accessing the public coffers, but rather advocated for 

a deeply Jewish moral responsibility to speak out. They insisted that 

the traditional Jewish voice must be heard on both issues that are 

particular to Jews and concerns that are universal to humanity, of 

which we also have societal interest in engaging. Sadly, their view of 

askanus, public advocacy, has lost currency today and cries for 

revival. 

The second key takeaway is the rejoinder to Bialik. A choice is often 

presented between breadth and depth. Some rabbinic voices claim 

that the only way to become a talmid chacham is to focus intensely 

and solely on Talmud and codes, to the exclusion of any other field of 

study including Jewish History, Jewish Philosophy and even Tanach. 

But that choice is a false dilemma. One can achieve breadth without 

significantly altering the yeshiva curriculum by finding opportunities 

outside its schedule. Each participant in this event for expanding 

horizons was already a yodea sofer, well read in a broad range of 

traditional texts. Each came firmly grounded in the tenets of our faith 

yet open to explore new areas of knowledge. 

From Volozhin until today, the yeshiva study hall, at its best, nurtures 

intellectual curiosity so its brightest stars succeed in traditional 

Talmud study and find additional time and opportunities to ameliorate 

their unquenchable thirst for knowledge. As I looked around at this 

seminar, I saw in its participants and some of its distinguished 

presenters living proof that intense Talmud study of the most 

traditional kind does not preclude great breadth and depth of 

knowledge. 

The Experience of Rosh 

HaShana 

by R. David Brofsky, excerpted from Hilkhot Mo’adim: Understanding 

the Laws of the Festivals 

Rosh HaShana in Tanakh 

Rosh HaShana, as it appears in Scripture, is somewhat mysterious. 

The Torah commands: 

And in the seventh month, on the first day of the month, it shall 

be a holy convocation [mikra kodesh] for you; you shall do no 

servile work; it shall be a day of terua for you. (Num. 29:1) 

While the celebration of Rosh HaShana does not entail the pilgrimage 

component of the other festivals, it shares an issur melakha, the 

prohibition of labor, as well as the title of “mikra kodesh.” The 

uniqueness of Rosh HaShana seems to lie in its being a “yom terua,” a 

“day of terua,” the ululating sound that is variously described in 

Scripture as emanating from the shofar, trumpets, or human throats. 

Similarly, the Torah teaches elsewhere: 

And God spoke to Moshe, saying: “Speak to the Israelites, 

saying: In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, it 

shall be a solemn rest for you, a terua memorial [zikhron terua], 

a holy convocation. You shall do no servile work, and you shall 

bring a fire-offering to God.” (Lev. 23:23–25) 

Here, too, Rosh HaShana is described by the term “terua.” While our 

sages understand this to refer to the mitzva of shofar, the Torah uses 

the term to describe the day itself. In what way does “terua” 

characterize the day? What does blowing a shofar or trumpet 

symbolize? 

Throughout Tanakh, we can identify two distinct, yet apparently 

contradictory descriptions of these sounds, and thus, of Rosh 

HaShana itself. On the one hand, the prophet Zephaniah describes 

the horrors that will befall the Jewish people as follows: 

Hark…the great day of God is near; it is near and hastens 

greatly, the sound of the day of God, wherein the mighty man 

cries bitterly. That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and 

distress, a day of waste and desolation, a day of darkness and 

gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of shofar 

and terua, against the fortified cities, and against the high 

towers. (Zeph. 1:10, 14–16) 

The terms “shofar” and “terua” are clearly employed here to depict 

alarm and distress. Similarly, Amos describes the blowing of the 

shofar and the people’s response: “Shall a shofar be blown in the city, 

and the people not tremble? Shall evil befall a city, and God has not 

done it?” (Amos 3:6) Indeed, when the Jewish people go out to war, 

they are commanded to make this sound: 

And when you go to war in your land against the adversary that 

oppresses you, then you shall sound a terua with the trumpets; 

and you shall be remembered before Lord your God, and you 

shall be saved from your enemies. (Num. 10:9) 

These verses strongly imply that “a day of terua” is a day of alarm, 

5 



crisis, and distress. 

On the other hand, the trumpets are also sounded on festive days, as 

the very next verse in Numbers notes: 

And on the day of your joy, and on your appointed seasons, and 

on your new moons, you shall blow the trumpets over your 

burnt-offerings and over the sacrifices of your peace-offerings; 

and they shall be for you as a memorial before your God: I am 

Lord your God. (Num. 10:10) 

Similarly, we find the following description of Ezra’s joyous reading of 

the Torah on Rosh HaShana: 

And Ezra the Priest brought the Torah before the congregation, 

both men and women, and all that could listen with 

understanding, on the first day of the seventh month…. And 

Nechemia, who was the governor, and Ezra the Priest, the 

Scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the 

people, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; neither mourn 

nor weep!” For all the people were weeping, as they heard the 

words of the Torah. Then he said to them, “Go on your way. Eat 

the fat, and drink the sweet, and send portions to him for whom 

nothing is prepared; for this day is holy to our God; do not be 

sad, for God’s gladness is your strength.” So the Levites stilled 

all the people, saying, “Hold your peace, for the day is holy; do 

not be sad.” And all the people went their way to eat, to drink, to 

send portions, and to make great joy; because they had 

understood the words that were said to them. (Nech 8:2, 9–12) 

Nechemia commands the people to overcome their grief over their 

failure to keep the Torah. Instead, it is time to celebrate, because 

“this day,” Rosh HaShana, “is holy to our God.” 

In summary, Tanakh portrays Rosh HaShana as both “a day of terua”– 

of fear and apprehension – and a day of great joy. 

Hallel and Simchat Yom Tov on Rosh HaShana 

The uncertainty regarding whether Rosh HaShana is a day of alarm 

and distress or one of happiness and joy continues in the halakhic 

literature. The Gemara instructs us to recite Hallel on the festivals 

and the eight days of Chanukka. The Gemara then questions why 

Hallel is not mandated on other special days, such as Rosh Chodesh, 

Chol HaMo’ed Pesach, and Purim. Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur 

seem to meet the requirements for Hallel; they are “appointed 

seasons” with a prohibition of labor. Why are they excluded? 

R. Abbahu said: Is it seemly for the King to be sitting on His 

Throne of Judgment, with the Books of Life and Death open 

before Him, while the people sing joyful praises to Him? 

(Arakhin 10b) 

From the fact that the Gemara asks why Hallel is not recited on Rosh 

HaShana, it seems to assume that it would certainly be appropriate, if 

not obligatory, to recite the joyous prayer of Hallel on Rosh HaShana. 

The Gemara’s answer, however, is somewhat unclear. Does the 

Gemara intend to deny Rosh HaShana any aspect of joy or happiness, 

or merely to temper it by omitting Hallel? Interestingly, Rambam 

writes: 

However, we do not recite Hallel on Rosh HaShana and Yom 

HaKippurim, as they are days of repentance [teshuva], fear [yira 

], and dread, not days of excessive joy [simcha yeteira]. 1 

Rambam describes Rosh HaShana as a day of repentance, 

characterized by “fear and dread,” yet he still implies that there is 

some mitzva to rejoice. 

Indeed, the Rishonim disagree as to whether the mitzva of simchat 

Yom Tov, the command to rejoice on the festivals, applies to Rosh 

HaShana. The Torah instructs, “Vesamachta bechagekha” – “And you 

shall rejoice on your holiday” (Deut. 16:14). Is this mitzva limited to 

the consumption of the shalmei simcha, the joyous peace-offerings 

brought on the Shalosh Regalim (the Three Pilgrimage Festivals) for 

the purpose of rejoicing, in which case it would not apply to Rosh 

HaShana, or does it extend to other expressions of happiness as well? 

Tosafot assume that the obligation of simchat Yom Tov may only be 

fulfilled through the consumption of shalmei simcha. The obligation to 

rejoice on the festivals nowadays, in the absence of the Temple, must 

be rabbinic in nature. 2 On the other hand, Rambam writes: 

A person is obligated to rejoice on these days – he, his children, 

his wife, his grandchildren, and all those who have joined his 

family – as the Torah states, “And you shall rejoice on your 

holiday.” Even though the Torah is referring to the obligation to 

offer and consume peace-offerings (the shalmei simcha), 

included in this obligation to rejoice is for a person and his entire 

family to rejoice in the manner that is appropriate for him. How 

is this practiced? One distributes parched grain, nuts, and 

delicacies to the children. One purchases, depending on what he 

can afford, clothes and beautiful jewelry for the women in the 

family. The men eat meat and drink wine, as there is no rejoicing 

without meat and wine. 3 

Rambam expands the parameters of the mitzva of simchat Yom Tov to 

include other expressions of joy as well. Clearly, Tosafot cannot 

maintain that the obligation to rejoice on festivals applies to Rosh 

HaShana, when there is no obligation to offer shalmei simcha. 

Rambam, however, who expands the definition of simchat Yom Tov, 

might apply this mitzva to Rosh HaShana. Indeed, as we saw above, 

he describes Rosh HaShana as a day without excessive happiness, but 

with happiness, nonetheless. Furthermore, he implies elsewhere 4 that 

the mitzva applies to festivals other than Pesach and Sukkot, 

seemingly referring to Shavuot, Rosh HaShana, and Yom Kippur. 

Rabbi Aryeh Leib ben Asher Gunzberg (1695–1785) discusses this 

issue in his Shaagat Aryeh, 5 concluding that there must be a mitzva of 

simchat Yom Tov on Rosh HaShana since one is allowed to perform 

certain types of labor necessary for producing food (“okhel nefesh”) 

on Rosh HaShana. If not for the commandment to rejoice, he 

assumes, it would be prohibited to cook on Rosh HaShana. 

Mourning on Rosh HaShana 

The Mishna discusses which holidays preempt the first seven (shiva) 

and first thirty days (sheloshim) of mourning observed after the burial 

of a close relative (Mo’ed Katan 19a). The Chakhamim and Rabban 

Gamliel dispute whether only the Shalosh Regalim cancel shiva, or if 

Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur do so as well. 

Rabbi Achai Gaon explains that Rabban Gamliel, who rules that “Rosh 

6 



HaShana and Yom Kippur are akin to the festivals,” maintains that 

the commandment of simchat Yom Tov also applies on these days. 

Rabbi Achai Gaon clearly assumes that it is the mitzvato rejoice that 

cancels shiva. 6 

Ramban derives from the verse in Nechemia cited above that there is 

“simcha and a prohibition to be sad” on Rosh HaShana, and the 

observances of shiva and sheloshim are thus put to an end by Rosh 

HaShana. 7 The Shulchan Arukh rules in accordance with Rabban 

Gamliel; Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur cancel shiva and sheloshim. 8 

Fasting on Rosh HaShana 

The halakhic ambivalence toward the nature of Rosh HaShana is 

found once again regarding one’s demeanor while eating on the 

holiday. The Shulchan Arukh writes: 

They eat, drink, and rejoice, and they do not fast on Rosh 

HaShana and Shabbat Shuvah. However, they should not eat to 

satiety, in order that they not become lightheaded – “that the 

fear of God should be upon their faces” [cf. Ex. 20:16]. 9 

The Mishna Berura explains that although Rosh HaShana is a “day of 

judgment,” the commandment of simcha obligates one to eat and 

drink, as stated in Nechemia. 10 

Rema, 11 however, cites the Terumat HaDeshen, 12 who asserts that 

some consider it “a mitzvato fast on Rosh HaShana.” Magen Avraham, 

in his introductory comments to this chapter, cites Bach, who relates 

that Maharshal would not eat fish on Rosh HaShana, as he especially 

enjoyed this dish and he wished to restrict himself in some way. 

Magen Avraham also cites a discussion regarding the propriety of 

eating meat and wearing festive clothing on Rosh HaShana. 

In opposition to this opinion, the Mordekhai 13 cites Rabbi Nachshon 

Gaon, who prohibits fasting on Rosh Ha-Shana due to its inherent 

simcha, and Taz 14 and Mishna Berura 15 concur. 

Tefilla on Rosh HaShana 

The question of the nature and experience of Rosh HaShana may also 

impact upon the text and recitation of the day’s prayers. Rosh 16 and 

his son, the Baal HaTur, 17 record different customs regarding the text 

of the Shemoneh Esreh and Kiddush of Rosh HaShana. They cite 

Rabbi Sar-Shalom, Rabbi Paltoi Gaon, and Rabbi Shmuel ben Chofni, 

who report that in the two major Babylonian yeshivas, the standard 

Shalosh Regalim formula was recited on Rosh HaShana, thanking God 

for giving us “mo’adim lesimcha, chagim uzemanim lesasson” – 

“appointed seasons for rejoicing, holidays and times for jubilation.” 

Tur concludes, however, that the custom is in accordance with Rabbi 

Hai Gaon, who omits the references to simcha. Clearly, these scholars 

are debating the very nature of Rosh HaShana. 

Interestingly, the posekim also discuss the manner in which one 

should pray on Rosh HaShana. The Kitzur Shulchan Arukh, for 

example, records that some are accustomed to praying the silent 

prayers of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur while bowed, with their 

heads lowered. He personally recommends praying upright, with a 

“bent heart and with tears.” 18 

Rabbi Ovadia Yosef also discusses this issue: should one pray with 

happiness and elation, or out of “fear of judgment,” while crying? 19 

He cites Rabbi Chaim Vital, who testifies that the Arizal would cry 

during his Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur prayers. Alternatively, he 

notes that the Vilna Gaon maintains that one should not cry during 

the prayers on Rosh HaShana and that the cantor should lead the 

prayers with a traditional festival melody. 20 Rabbi Yosef concludes 

that one who is naturally overcome by tears may cry, but one should 

not bring himself to weep; rather, one should pray with happiness and 

great focus. 

Conclusion 

Rosh HaShana surely emerges as a confusing holiday. From the Sages 

to the later Acharonim, our greatest minds have grappled with its 

nature and experience. It would seem that this confusion is no 

accident. In fact, all service of God, as King David relates, reflects this 

dialectic. In his Tehillim, we find both, “Serve God with joy; come 

before His presence with singing” (Ps. 100:2) and “Serve God with 

fear, and rejoice with trembling” (2:11). Midrash Tehillim asks: 

“Serve God with joy” – another verse says, “Serve God with 

fear.” If [one serves] with joy, how is it with fear? And if [one 

serves] with fear, how is it with joy? 21 

The Midrash records different resolutions to this quandary. R. Acha 

suggests that one should serve God in this world with fear in order to 

reach the next world with happiness. Similarly, R. Aivu distinguishes 

between tefilla, during which joy is the primary feeling, and other 

activities, during which fear dominates. The Midrash suggests 

another type of solution as well: “‘With joy’ – is it possible without 

fear as well? The verse therefore teaches, ‘with fear.’” In other words, 

joy and fear do not necessarily contradict each other; rather, they are 

crucial and complementary components of our service of God. 

Rosh HaShana is “yom harat olam,” “the day of the world’s creation,” 

during which we coronate God as King over humanity. Standing 

before God and accepting upon ourselves His service inspires not only 

feelings of fear and trepidation, but feelings of joy and happiness as 

well. These seemingly contradictory feelings are natural for one who 

truly experiences and internalizes Rosh HaShana, setting the proper 

tone for the entire year, during which our service of God vacillates 

between simcha and yira, and at times is even made up of both. 22 

1. Hilkhot Megilla and Chanukka 3:6. ↩ 

2. Tosafot, Mo’ed Katan 14, s.v. aseh deyachid. ↩ 

3. Hilkhot Yom Tov 6:17–18. ↩ 

4. Ibid. ↩ 

5. Sha’agat Aryeh 102. ↩ 

6. She’iltot, Parashat Chayei Sara 15. ↩ 

7. Ramban, Mo’ed Katan 24b. ↩ 

8. Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah 399:6. Rabbi Soloveitchik 

addresses this issue as well in his Shiurim LeZekher Abba Mori. 

↩ 

7 



9. Ibid., Orach Chaim 597:1. ↩ 

10. Mishna Berura 597:1. ↩ 

11. Rema, Orach Chaim 597:3. ↩ 

12. Terumat HaDeshen 245. ↩ 

13. Mordekhai, Rosh HaShana 708. ↩ 

14. Taz, Orach Chaim 597:1. ↩ 

15. Mishna Berura 597:12. ↩ 

16. Rosh, Rosh HaShana 4:14. ↩ 

17. Tur, Orach Chaim 582. ↩ 

18. Kitzur Shulchan Arukh 129:2. ↩ 

19. Yechave Da’at 2:69. ↩ 

20. Maase Rav 207. ↩ 

21. Midrash Tehillim 100, s.v. ivdu. ↩ 

22. I heard this analysis in 1992 from Rabbi Michael Rosensweig. ↩ 

On Regret, Annulment, and the 

Essence of Teshuvah 

Va-Yechal Moshe: On Regret, Annulment, and the Essence of 

Teshuvah 

Part of a Shiur by Ha-Rav Joseph Dov Soloveitchik 

Congregation Moriah, New York, NY, Dec 1 st 1956 

Edited by Rabbi Basil Herring, Ph.d 

Editor’s Note: What follows here is not a verbatim 

transcription, but a summary of the main ideas of the Rav in 

this lecture. The material constitutes the concluding section of 

a larger shiur on the Gemara (Berachos 32a), dealing with 

related subject matter. The endnotes are supplied by the 

editor. The full audio presentation, in its original Yiddish, can 

be accessed here: link 

Va-Yechal Moshe (And Moshe pleaded) before Hashem (Ex. 

32:11). Said Rava: Moshe pleaded with God until he was able to 

annul God’s vow (Rashi: “His declaration ‘I will destroy them’ 

(vs. 10)”). For it is written here Va-Yechal and it is written 

elsewhere (Numbers 30:3) “lo yacheil devaro (he shall not annul 

his vow). The master has explained that this teaches that while a 

person who takes a vow cannot himself annul it (as it says “he 

shall not annul” it), others can do so. (Berachos 32a) 

This Gemara is difficult to understand. How can one compare a 

rabbinical court annulling a personal vow to Moshe annulling God’s 

vow to destroy Israel for worshipping the Golden Calf? 

The Nature of Kol Nidrei and Hataras Nedarim 

We can begin with the Tikkunei Zohar 1 that explains the reason we 

begin Yom Kippur with Kol Nidrei: on Yom Kippur we seek to annul 

God’s vow to punish the Jewish people for its many sins during the 

preceding year. Therefore at Kol Nidrei we establish a beis din of 

three dayyanim (i.e., the Shaliach Tzibbur with two men at his side) 

and in so doing facilitate God’s forgiveness on that holiest of days. 

The source of this passage in the Zohar is Rava’s statement in this 

Gemara. 

The Torah teaches us that when a person takes a vow and then 

regrets it (i.e., has charatah) a beis din can void it completely. How 

can a beis din nullify an actual event, declaring that it never took 

place? This can be explained as follows. Generally, regret for an act 

one has performed can take one of two forms. The first occurs when 

someone changes his or her mind, in light of new realities that make 

it clear that the earlier action is no longer appropriate. For example 

we see today how in light of new geopolitical realities the US State 

Department regrets having cooperated so closely with the European 

powers, and is seeking to align itself with the Asian and African 

nations. 2 According to the Ran in Nedarim such a change of mind 

cannot allow hatarah (annulment). Hatarah requires charatah 

me-ikara, i.e. the person who took the oath must feel that the vow was 

mistaken to begin with, as even under the original circumstances it 

was unjustified. Only thus can one feel the bushah (shame) that can 

undo that earlier action, leading to its annulment by the beis din. 

Therefore in hataras nedarim we declare (as the hataras nedarim text 

puts it) boshti ve’nichlamti (I am ashamed and mortified). So too 

regarding repentance in general – it is not enough to change one’s 

behavior because new circumstances lead to the conclusion that it no 

longer pays to do that aveirah (as would be the case when a 

businessman becomes a Shomer Shabbas upon his retirement). Real 

teshuvah requires one to realize that the preceding behavior was 

completely wrong and inexcusable from the very beginning. 3 

The Real Self and the Pseudo Self 

Moreover, teshuvah requires one to disassociate from the “self” that 

performed those earlier acts. 4 One must feel that the person 

committing those actions was not the real “me,” because “I gave in to 

an ‘out of character’ impulse.” Take for instance someone who suffers 

from uncontrollable anger. I myself used to be subject to angry 

outbursts, which after much hard work over many years I have 

learned to keep under control for the most part (although even now I 

can get angry when someone kricht arein in mein kop, i.e. gets inside 

my head). 5 But in the days when I would be overwhelmed with such 

outbursts, I would after a while experience deep remorse, with a 

feeling that I had been overtaken by an alien spirit, or possessed by a 

demon – what Chasidim call a dybbuk. It is similar to when a person 

acts “under the influence” of an intoxicant and does things that he 

would normally never do. 

So too sometimes we think we know someone, but in due course come 

to realize that the real person was hidden from us, and we were 

misled by external appearances. I myself can recall people whom I at 

first held in high regard, only to subsequently understand that my 

first impression had been completely mistaken. There were two 

completely different persona’s: an outer person and an inner one. So 

8 



too the Gemara (Berachos 58a) says that Rav Sheshes turned a 

certain Sadducee into a gal shel atzamos “a pile of bones.” Could it be 

that Rav Sheshes was guilty of taking someone’s life? Of course not! 

It simply means that whereas initially he had thought highly of the 

Sadducee, he subsequently came to realize that he was a worthless 

person, i.e., like a pile of dried bones. From this we learn that in 

evaluating people it is important to distinguish between a misleading 

outer image and the real person. 

So too when it comes to teshuvah: one should feel that even though a 

transgression occurred, it was not the real “me” that was acting, but 

rather a “pseudo-me” – such that my deepest self was not implicated 

in those acts, and thus has remained in its pristine state. For this 

reason we declare every morning neshamah she-nasata bi tehorah hi, 

“the soul You have implanted in me remains pure and guiltless” no 

matter how much we may sin. We must strive to be true to our pure 

neshamah, which is our real self. 6 

Avoiding Hypocritical Behavior 

Don’t we all know people who live multiple lives with contradictory 

personalities or selves? At home they act one way, but in public they 

act very differently. In the synagogue they act righteously, but in 

business they are dishonest or exploitative. The Gemara (Pesachim 

68b) relates that on Shavuos R. Yosef would have three calves 

prepared, and declare “were it not for Shavuos (when the Torah was 

given) I would be like these three calves and there would be three 

Yosefs in the marketplace, not just one.” What did he mean by this? 

He was declaring that without the Torah his life would have been 

filled with contradictions and multiple persona’s, like animals that 

may be placid in the barn, ravenous in the pasture, and aggressive 

when provoked. For R. Yosef it is the Torah that keeps us true to 

ourselves at all times, the Torah that maintains the consistency of our 

inner and outer personae, and the Torah that strengthens us to resist 

the temptation to live fragmented and inconsistent lives. This is the 

very opposite of people I have known who in public were respected, 

upright, and charitable, but who in their private lives were menuvalim 

(despicable). Such people are like three Yosefs, no like fifty Yosefs! 

The Torah essentially demands that we overcome the natural 

temptation to put on appearances tailored to specific settings. For 

such is human nature. I know rabbonim who when praying at home 

finish the Shmoneh Esrei quickly – but in public recite it at great 

length. For this reason my grandfather R. Chaim always opposed the 

widespread notion that a Rav should cultivate a distinctive public 

image. For this reason he would wear the same simple clothing both 

at home and in public. This is the real meaning of shivisi Hashem 

lenegdi samid (I have placed God always before me; Psalms 16:8) – 

i.e., I have been shaveh, consistent, in my actions before God, tamid, 

in every circumstance). This lesson was taught by R. Yisrael Salanter 

who was once traveling with a wagon-driver when they came upon a 

large pile of unguarded hay in a field. When the driver started to steal 

some of the hay, R. Salanter called out, “What you are doing, you are 

being watched!” Thereupon the driver desisted and anxiously climbed 

back on the wagon. After a while, he said “There was no one there, 

why did you say I was being watched?” To which R. Yisrael answered, 

“You were indeed being watched – by God!” That is, in all our ways, 

and in all circumstances, public and private, our behavior must be 

consistent, for we are always in the presence of an all-seeing God. 

Thus at the very outset of the Shulchan Aruch Orach Chaim the Rema 

comments: 

This is a great Torah principle characteristic of the righteous, 

insofar as normally a person does not act at home as he does in 

the presence of a great king, nor is his speech when with his 

family as it is were he to be in the ruler’s palace. How much 

more so that when one realizes that the King Whose glory fills 

the cosmos is watching him … one should feel fear and shame, 

and not be embarrassed in front of people who might mock him 

for serving God… 

The Foundation of Teshuvah 

And so, when a Jew sins, we consider it as if he has two “selves,” two 

Yosefs. While the external one may have sinned, the other which is 

the real self, has remained pure, no matter what. And when that Jew 

comes to beg for forgiveness, we say that the inner, core Yosef never 

sinned, only the superficial one did. This is the yesod of teshuvah (the 

foundation of repentance). Were it not so, how would it be possible 

for anyone to experience remorse? Surely it is the pure self which 

experiences charatah, regret. Otherwise how could that person be 

motivated to repent out of nowhere? Nothing comes from nothing. 

Let me further illustrate the point. I have known people who in spite 

of their Torah upbringing stopped keeping Shabbos, kashrus, and the 

like, only to return to a life of Torah many years later. When I would 

ask them what had happened during those interim years they would 

say “Rebbe, it wasn’t me who acted that way. Something else 

possessed me, and made me do those things.” 

The Rambam expresses this idea exactly when he writes in Hilchos 

Teshuvah (2:4) that a baal teshuvah must declare that “I am a 

different person, not the one who did those things.” In other words in 

order to do real teshuvah one must feel that one was under the 

influence of a foreign spirit, dybbuk, or ruach ra’ah (evil spirit), and 

thus resolve to expel or control every such force in the future. In 

Samuel (1 18:10) we find a similar phenomenon: King Saul sought to 

kill David on account of what the verse calls a ruach ra’ah, an “evil 

spirit” that overtook him. After all Saul was a great person, a bechir 

Hashem (chosen by God). Only an overpowering spirit inimical to his 

true self, could have caused him to act that way. 

So it is with us when we sin. In hindsight we sometimes think to 

ourselves, “Where was I, what was I thinking, how could I have done 

such a thing?” What do we mean by this? After all we know very well 

where we were and what we did. What we really mean is that I am 

better than that, and “the real ‘me’ could not have done those things. 

It must be that I was ‘possessed’ or overcome by something else.” 7 

Thus according to Rava in our Gemara the phrase Va-Yechal Moshe 

(Moshe annulled) teaches us how Moshe argued with God on behalf of 

Israel. He said “Just as You gave a beis din the mechanism to release 

a Jew from his vows on the grounds that his real self was not fully in 

control at the time, I hereby declare that the Israelites did not act in 

accordance with their real selves, but merely under some external or 

foreign influence. 8 Deep down their real selves have remained pure 

and sinless. Therefore, they are not deserving of punishment or 

destruction, and I am able to void Your punitive decree that held them 

responsible for something they did not do.” Thus did Moshe annul 

9 



God’s vow, and avert the decree. 

Interestingly, this very idea constitutes the basis of all modern 

psychotherapy, i.e., a person’s actions do not necessarily reflect or 

emanate from his real self, but from a pseudo-self. 9 Thus it is that a 

person can change behavior, and experience positive change and 

personal growth. 

Practical Consequences of this Principle 

This is not simply a philosophical principle, but something that has 

practical consequences for every rabbi, teacher, and parent. 

Especially in our time, we should each strive always to appeal to 

people’s better, deeper, and more authentic selves that are not 

always apparent to others. I have often said that there are two kinds 

of mussar, rebuke. The first tells the sinner that he has done bad 

things and must renounce his erroneous ways. The problem with this 

approach is that it does not always work – and can even be 

counter-productive. This is especially true in our time whether in 

Israel or here, for if we tell the modern Jew that he is a sinner, a 

heretic, a bad person on account of his being (for instance) a Shabbos 

violator, we will not bring even one person back into the fold. Today 

we must favor the second approach, which is the way of Moshe in 

Va-Yechal, when approaching sinners. We should speak to them with 

words that convey that they are not as bad as they think, that their 

errant actions are not consistent with their core selves which remain 

unsullied and pure at all times. We must be very cognizant of the fact 

that today if someone believes that he is a bad person or an 

inveterate sinner, there is a good chance that he will find it 

impossible to change for the good. The prophet Yechezkel described 

such people as declaring u-nemakosem ba-avonoseichem (you shall 

pine away in your iniquities; Yechezkel 24:23), i.e., being 

overwhelmed by your many transgressions you will feel that it is 

hopeless to even try to change, and thus you will conclude that the 

gates of repentance are closed to you. I know people who would like 

to become ba’alei teshuvah but who feel that it is simply impossible 

for them to change. For this reason we declare that God is 

Ha-pose’ach yad la-poshim (He reaches out to sinners with an open 

hand). How does He do that? By allowing the sinner to sense that he 

can improve his ways, insofar as his real self has remained untouched 

by sin, and is ready to reconnect with God. Granting an “open hand” 

bestows the ability to open oneself to discovering the self that was 

heretofore hidden, and closed off. Conveying this lesson to 

transgressors is not an easy task, but it is the hallmark of a real 

leader. So too in our time, I believe that this approach can bring many 

Jews back to Yahadus. 

Interestingly, this was the original approach, and the real strength, of 

Chasidus, especially that of Chabad. Their way was to teach that 

kedushah (holiness) can be found in every place and in every person, 

even in the klipas noga (the tainted outer shell). They taught that 

because a spark of holiness resides in all such places, our task is to 

liberate and raise those hidden sparks to their original place. The 

great contribution of Chasidus was to proclaim that no matter his or 

her past, a Jew can be saved; that we must never despair of any Jew, 10 

for otherwise he or she might well be lost to us forever. 11 

This approach to teshuvah was adopted by the Gedolei Yisrael 

throughout the generations – indeed it was the foundation of their 

entire approach to Yahadus. And it is the approach we must take in 

our own day, especially with regard to raising our children. 

1. Zohar, Raya Mehemna, Parshas Pinchas 255:1 ↩ 

2. The Rav here refers to the Suez Canal War that had occurred in 

the months preceding this lecture, in October and November 

1956. When Israel attacked the Egyptian forces in the Sinai in 

response to Egypt’s threats to Israel’s existence, France and 

Britain bombed the Egyptian forces that also threatening their 

interests in the Suez Canal. This led to the complete defeat of 

the Egyptian army, to the chagrin of its Soviet patrons. The 

United States, in partnership with the Soviet Union, and in 

opposition to its erstwhile allies France and Britain, 

co-sponsored a UN resolution forcing the withdrawal of Israeli, 

French and British forces from the Sinai. ↩ 

3. A feeling of bushah (shame) is integral to the process of 

complete repentance. See the Rambam, Hil. Teshuvah 2:2. ↩ 

4. At this point, the Rav’s analysis takes a dialectical turn that 

seems to turn the preceding point on its head. Until this point he 

had emphasized the essential need for the sinner to take 

personal responsibility, and feel profound shame and guilt for his 

actions, without any attempt at self-justification or shifting the 

blame. Now the Rav posits that, having taken responsibility and 

expressed deep anguish and guilt for his actions, in order to 

avoid feelings of despair or a spiral of spiritual paralysis, the 

sinner must recognize that his “real” self was guilty only of 

allowing himself to fall under an extraneous influence. It is this 

realization that will allow the sinner to summon the inner 

resources to find his way back from the path of sin. ↩ 

5. As a teacher, The Rav was known to be extremely tough on his 

students, especially in his younger days, when he would inspire 

genuine fear and trepidation among them. It would appear that 

in referring to his powerful anger, and his sustained efforts to 

control it, the Rav here was acknowledging his effect on his 

students (and possibly others), and felt sufficient remorse that 

he sought to temper his emotional response to their 

shortcomings. Indeed as he grew older his teaching style in this 

respect softened significantly. In any case it is remarkable that 

in this shiur the Rav was prepared to bare his soul in a way that 

acknowledged what he considered a personal flaw. Such 

intimate reflections and self-critical honesty only added to the 

emotional power and impact of his public lectures. They allowed 

him to speak critically of others, including rabbinic leaders, as 

we find him doing in this shiur, albeit never identifying them by 

name. ↩ 

6. On another occasion (at a lecture in Boston Sept. 6 1972, and 

referenced in the Rosh Hashanah Machzor Mesoras Harav, p. 

247), the Rav expressed this idea in the context of Psalm 130 

that is recited throughout the Ten Days from Rosh Hashanah 

through Yom Kippur. Mi-Ma’amakim kerasicha Hashem, is 

usually understood as calling unto God from the depths of 

despair or distress. But it can also be taken as referring to one’s 

deepest, most hidden, mysterious, and truest self, one that is 

10 



unaffected by sin. In this sense, the psalmist is declaring “even 

though I have sinned, there is deep within me my real self that 

remains pure and unaffected by my transgressions, and it is that 

which can serve as the springboard for me to return to You. 

Therefore Hashem shim’ah be’koli – God please hear my real 

voice, and annul the sins of my pseudo-personality.” This 

alternate understanding of the Psalm is entirely appropriate to 

the required mindset of the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah. ↩ 

Chasidus is a repeated theme in his lectures. Throughout this 

shiur, there is a remarkable blending of such widely-disparate 

intellectual sources. Thus he quotes halachic and aggadic 

sources; anecdotes relating to his grandfather R. Chaim as well 

as R. Yisrael Salanter of the Mussar Movement; teachings of the 

Misnagdim and the Chasidim; little-noticed passages in Tanach 

and the Zohar, as well as erudite references to the teachings of 

secular psychology. ↩ 

7. Of course there is a danger in this disassociative approach to sin. 

One can come to shift the blame for one’s actions onto others, be 

they other people or specific circumstances that “made me do 

it.” The archetypical instance of such thinking is the very first 

human sin, in which Adam blamed Chavah (“she gave it to me so 

I ate it”), and even shifted responsibility to God Himself (“You 

placed her at my side”), while Chavah in turn blamed the serpent 

(“the serpent induced me to eat it”). It is all too easy and facile 

to deny personal responsibility for one’s actions, for such is 

human nature. That is how it has always been since the creation 

of man. 

The Rav’s analysis here, however, avoids this problem by 

focusing on the ability of the individual to immediately recognize 

his responsibility to overcome those superficial or exterior 

factors that led to the problematic behaviors. It is not simply that 

the real me is blameless. It is rather that the real me must 

prevent that from happening again. Because my innermost being 

remains pure and uncompromised, I have the ability to rise up to 

the challenge, and am not hopelessly compromised or sunken in 

sin. As always, the real me must strive to do the right thing in 

spite of everything, and I am not free to abdicate responsibility 

for my future actions. ↩ 

8. Although the Rav does not at this point makes reference to the 

so-called erev rav (the 3,000 members of the mixed multitude 

who went forth from Egypt with the Israelites) that many 

commentators consider the instigators of the event, one might 

consider them to be a prime example of such an external 

influence, as the Rav here describes it. ↩ 

9. See for instance Freud‘s late theory of the ego as the product of 

identifications, which render it a false self. So too Erich Fromm, 

who in his The Fear of Freedom distinguished between original 

self and pseudo self — the inauthentic nature of the latter being 

a way to escape what Fromm called the loneliness of freedom. 

Much earlier Kierkegaard had claimed that “to will to be that 

self which one truly is, is indeed the opposite of despair” — the 

despair of choosing “to be another than himself”. See 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/True_self_and_false_self. ↩ 

10. The point is amply analyzed by the Rav elsewhere. See for 

instance our presentation in Torah Musings (Tishri 5774) of the 

Rav’s shiur on Elisha b. Abuya, who failed to understand that 

even an inveterate sinner such as he could repent, insofar as he 

misunderstood the heavenly voice that proclaimed the power of 

repentance by even one such as he. ↩ 

11. The Rav’s profound affinity for, and indebtedness to, Chabad 

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