“…When We Sin Against Ourselves”
For years (decades really) before we prayed out of these Mishkan HaNefesh prayerbooks, at Yom Kippur we would pray from “Gates of Repentance” (fondly referred to as “Gates of Red due to the binding) reciting the following words during our “vidui”—our confession:
“We sin against You when we sin against ourselves.”
Our sins were organized into categorical failures: failures of truth, failures of justice, failures of love—ways in which we unequivocally missed the mark. The words “sin” and “failure” can elicit a strong physical reaction—externally we have traditionally beaten our chests so that our confessions reverberate to our core, internally we tremble during these High Holy Days of judgment. Feelings of fear, anger, and disgust may appear when we face parts of our lives and ourselves of which we are not particularly proud. While we generally bless God as the One True Judge—Baruch Dayan HaEmet—there is often no harsher judge of our own accounts than ourselves.
As a child, I used to wince when I would read a line in these confessions where I recognized myself: issues with disrespecting parents or teachers, harm caused through impulsive acts, wrongs created through moments of sheer oblivion. The knowledge of the fact I might have hurt others consciously or accidentally weighed heavily on my overanxious and strongly self-judgmental mindset. As I grew older, I recognized myself as I confessed rigidity, inflexibility, and consistently using self-deprecation as the sharpest instrument in my toolbox.
Our current prayerbook—Mishkan haNefesh—empowers us to acknowledge our wrongdoing both internally and externally: as a community reading “al cheits” or individually skimming our pointer fingers over the poetic “personal confessions” on the left side of the pages. We acknowledge in a more tangible way that we have “wronged” (a verb that lands slightly easier than “we sinned” or “we failed”), we apologize repeatedly for the wrongdoing—asking for forgiveness in three ways s’lach lanu (forgive us) m’chal lanu (pardon us) kaper-lanu (lead us to atonement)—and in an ideal world, we amend our actions, so that we’re able to grow and change moving forward.
On Erev Rosh Hashanah, I introduced the idea of cheshbon hanefesh—a self check-in that increases our presence during the Yamim Noraim—the Days of Awe. As we review our year, our actions, and ourselves, these confessions challenge our cheshbon hanefesh as we teeter between hakarat hatov—recognizing the good, and embodying gratitude where we can—and recognizing our yetzer hara—our evil inclinations that got the best of us, the ones that we hope to turn from during this time of teshuvah.
However, even the Cheshbon HaNefesh in Mishkan haNefesh brings us back to facing our failures—challenging us not only with self-introspection but also with self-judgment, self-doubt, and self-criticism. Negative reinforcement isn’t usually the best motivator for lasting change—and yet, each year, we are forced to hold a mirror up to the worst of our actions. However—I wonder, if this year, we might be able to look at ourselves more deeply—and through a different lens.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (z”l) wrote: “It is easy to be a critic, but the only effective critics are those who truly love—and show they love—those whom they criticize.” When we are giving feedback to those whom we really believe in, we find that it may come more easily to find kind words for those people who have the potential and ability and willingness to grow. Change, when motivated and mentored, comes with effort—but comes more easily when it comes from a place of love and understanding. What if we could do this for ourselves? What if we could see this potential and ability and willingness within us?
Rabbi Akiva, one of the most educated sages of his time claimed that love formed the most central principle of the Torah—“V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha”—that you should love your neighbor as yourself. While we normally read this Levitical law as an injunction to treat our neighbors kindly, there is also an inherent assumption that we are kinder to ourselves than we might be to others. Today, I challenge that assumption: I believe that this law has something to teach us about our unwillingness to forgive ourselves as compassionately as we do our social circles. As you’ve forgiven your neighbors, your friends, your families in these past ten days—how easy has it been to grant yourself that same level of forgiveness? How much love and compassion have you shown yourself? Would you talk to another person—even one that you were in the process of forgiving—as you do in the recesses of your own mind?
This is the challenge that comes up with having Vidui—our confessionals—during Yom HaKippurim—a day in which we are taught to literally bodily afflict ourselves as we are able in order to endure the psychological and spiritual demands of the day. And yet—we may leave these halls today harder on ourselves than we were when we walked in. While it is lovely to break our fasts by nightfall, it doesn’t taste as sweet when we continue to let ourselves feel broken down by the difficult deeds for which we ask forgiveness.
Gates of Repentance reminded us mid-confession that we are not alone in feeling lost in forgiving ourselves for these misgivings and misdeeds. Instead, we need someone to help us to overcome them. So at the time of Vidui, we read together in unison:
“Teach us to forgive ourselves for all these sins, O forgiving God, and help us to overcome them.”
Engaging in an active and mindful practice of apology, I share with this kahal a simple threefold practice that I learned as a chaplain in the hallways of the New York Presbyterian pediatric wards. Acknowledge, apologize, and amend. These steps parallel and complement our concluding Vidui pleas.
S’lach lanu: Forgive us. By reading through these confessions communally or individually, we acknowledge our past incidents and conflicts. We face them as we are now, and open up our hearts to the knowledge that we can do better, that we will do better, that we know we did wrong and are looking toward teshuvah, toward turning it all around.
M’chal lanu: Pardon us. Repeatedly we ask for forgiveness, we apologize to those we hurt and express remorse for our wrongdoings. Whether we are forgiven or not is beside the point—it is on us to take the apologetic steps toward atonement—toward a fulfilling at-one-ment—that can help us move to our next step.
Kaper lanu: Lead us to atonement. These confessions and cheshbon hanefesh work best when we are then able to amend our actions—making a change so that we don’t repeat the behavior that has us confessing in the first place. Our intent matters, but the impact of our actions matter more—or, as my mother and grandmother taught: don’t tell me you love me, show me you love me. Our teshuvah is complete as we intentionally amend our actions, supporting our prior and present acknowledgments and apologies.
So as we continue to set our course, confessing before God and each other, communally or internally, I invite you to lovingly embrace these three steps—acknowledge, apologize, and amend—with each refrain of our three requests for forgiveness: s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kaper-lanu.
We sin against all when we sin against ourselves—when we do not uplift both sides of that central Torah commandment: V’ahavta L’reiacha Kamocha: Love your neighbor as yourself. Let those Ashamnu taps be slightly more gentle this year. And remember: there is always the opportunity to turn towards the good and recognize yourself—those handheld mirrors are stronger than they first appear.
Gmar chatimah tovah: may we all be sealed well in the Book of Life and in our attempts to live a life well lived all year long.