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Throughout the Book of Deuteronomy, Moses consistently expresses his concern that this new generation of Israelites will stray from God and suffer the consequences. It is not that God might have left them, but rather they abandoned God. Returning to God will also restore God’s favor. And the word for returning? Teshuvah.  This week’s Torah portion mentions the word twice, and commentators have offered a meaningful explanation of the doubled usage. The first stage is to recognize that our behavior is wrong and change course. The second is to return to God as the appropriate expression of our remorse. How timely indeed that the week before Rosh Hashanah the Torah portion deals with the subject on our minds. 

This month of Elul creates the opportunity for each of us to review our deeds of the past year and devise a path that enables us to become an even better version of ourselves. This process increases in intensity with Rosh Hashanah, as the Ten Days of Penitence, Aseret Y’mei Teshuvah, commence.  We humans are by nature imperfect beings, prone to error. Sometimes it takes the form of harming someone unknowingly by word or deed. Asking forgiveness from everyone in our lives is the logical step after one month of introspection. Saying we’re sorry is never easy, because admitting our fallibility is not the norm. Judaism suggests that this should be the norm.  Breaking through the bonds of haughtiness puts us on the path towards an even better version of ourselves. 

This ten-day period reaches its acme on Yom Kippur. Having completed our making amends to others, we turn our attention to God. Just as our admission of unknowingly harming others is noble, even greater is the responsibility to admit our failings to God. If we have erred in our relationships with our fellow human beings, how much more so is it likely that we’ve strayed from God? Thus Yom Kippur, a twenty-five hour fast day devoted to one singular purpose: seeking forgiveness from God. Yet despite the singular nature of our failings, the confessionals are all in the plural. Why might that be? Imagine that you were to stand and publicly admit only the ways that you believe you have strayed from God. Most of us would not want to literally stand naked before the congregation and God admitting our sins. The use of the first person plural eases the singular burden, enabling all of us to recite the confessionals as a community without knowing if anyone else had sinned in a particular way. Even if we believe that a particular sin does not apply to us, we beat our chests and admit it anyway, providing space for those who sinned and those who did not. 

Judaism provides us with a time-honored framework towards becoming better versions of ourselves. It cannot provide sincerity nor genuine desire. That is entirely up to us. Deep down each of us knows if we are merely going through the motions or sincerely want to change. And so does God. May the coming High Holy Days provide each of us with the tools to become better.  God needs us. The world needs us.