IF repentance is strictly a matter between me and myself, or between me and G-d the likes of introspection, resolution and renewal probably most of us have already traveled this route. We know its difficulties and rewards. If repentance is a matter of fixing our relationships with other people, then we know that drill, too. This does not make it any easier, but the idea is clear.
What if, however, repentance is something else? Rabbi Chaim Walkin sets forth a larger and different context of repentance in his book, The World Within.
I find the best path into his thinking is via a parable.
Say that I notice that my neighbors lights never go on at night. I say hello to him as we each head off the work, so I know hes home, but something seems strange. The lights arent on. His air conditioner is never on, even when its 98 degrees in July. Then one day something strikes me about his clothing. Its old, tattered.
A light bulb goes on. Maybe my neighbor is having financial difficulties. Maybe he cant pay the utility bills, cant keep up.
Gently I raise the issue, with the intent of helping him out, or finding out about help from utility companies or other public or charitable entities.
My neighbor is not offended, and I can tell by the look in his eye that Ive hit the nail on the head. Hes in trouble.
But in response to my question as to whether he needs financial assistance, the only thing he says to me has nothing to do with what were discussing. He says;
I like the neighborhood.
What?
SOMETHING like this non-sequitur occurs in a passage in the book of Kings. A response that seems to have nothing to do with the discussion at hand concludes the discussion. Under the sharp eye of our sages, this answer/non-answer actually reveals an enormously helpful teaching about repentance or return.
This teaching is timely. Rosh Hashanah, the holiday of repentance, is next week, and this weeks Torah portion articulates the commandment of repentance. You shall return to the L-rd your G-d and listen to His voice (Deut. 30:1).
This is the passage in II Kings 4:8-13. Note the seeming non-sequitur at the end.
And it happened one day that Elisha passed through Shuneim, where there was a woman of great note, and she pressed him to eat bread. And so it was that whenever he passed through he turned aside there to eat bread.
She said to her husband, I perceived that this is a holy man of G-d, who passes by us continually. Let us make a little upper chamber with walls, and let us set for him there a bed, table, chair and lamp, and it shall be that when he comes to us that he shall turn in there.
And it happened one day that he came there, and he turned into the chamber and he lay there. And he said to Gechazi, his servant, Call this Shunamite woman, and he called her, and she stood before him. And he said to him, Say to her: How much trouble you have gone to for us. What is to be done for you? Would you like to be spoken for to the king or to the general of the army?
She said, I dwell among my people.
I dwell among my people. How is this a response to an offer for help (for repaying the Shunamite woman for her efforts on behalf of Elisha) any more than I like the neighborhood? Whats going on?
THE basic book of Jewish mysticism, the Zohar, observes: The one day that Elisha offered to help the Shunamite woman was actually Rosh Hashanah. Elisha was asking her, Is there any special request of the king the King of Kings that I can make on your behalf?
Her answer, I dwell among my people, meant: I do not want to be singled out, but rather to remain within my people, for he who puts his head among the people will not be noticed or remembered or singled out for the bad.
Rabbi Chaim Walkin elaborates:
By associating oneself with the the Jewish community, one is assured that the merit of the community will protect him. So when Elisha asked her if she had a special request of the King of Kings, Who was sitting in judgment on Rosh Hashanah, she preferred not to be mentioned individually. Her security lay in belonging to the community.
As the Zohar states: At the time judgment prevails in the world, it is not worthwhile for a person to be singled out before G-d. On the contrary, a person is assured of a favorable judgment through associating with the community. That is, ones personal negative deeds will be swallowed up in the favorable judgment of the community as a whole.
How does a person belong to or associate with the community? By seeing the world as half worthy of G-ds favorable judgment and half condemned, and by seeing himself the same way. One good deed of his, therefore, will tip the scales for himself and for the world.
HOWEVER inadequate the metaphor, the meaning is clear: I belong to the community to the extent that I take responsibility for it, that I see its fate as dependent on my actions, that what I do (or fail to do) is decisive.
That is why, all year long, Jewish prayers are formulated in the plural. I pray for more than myself. I believe in the power of my prayers.
In the Rosh Hashanah season, the advice of the Shunamite woman is to up that ante, to counter self-deception and self-centeredness.
Sure, Im part of the community.
I wrote a check.
I volunteered for three hours.
I did more than the next guy.
I went to a meeting.
I went to shul.
I did my part.
I did my part. Yet, I am still mostly involved with my trivialities and desires, with food and clothing, with Twitter/Facebook/email, the latest from the Broncos, all the evanescences of the Snapshot world.
However, like the Shunamite woman, when I realize that my actions pertain to the community and its fate, that in some sense the entire world depends on me, I welcome the opportunity to reach a higher level, to put aside a bit of the necessities that arent necessities. I dwell among my people. I repent.
Rabbi Meir would say, How great is teshuvah, return! The individual who repents absolves himself and the entire world with him. Talmud Yoma 76b
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