Divrei Torah/Torah Talks

In recent months, I've been pondering the many times when, in order to pay for something or to register for something online, I have to click a little box that says "I am not a robot." I think this is odd, even if, as far as I know, I am not a robot. 

And then there are those frustrating little verification tests to prove that I am not a robot — when I have to decide whether the top corner of the helmet of the person riding the motorcycle qualifies as one of the squares that contains a motorcycle. And why sometimes do I have to do three of these little tests? Did I fail the first two? 

I learned recently that what we are really doing when we fill out those little verification puzzles is training some artificial intelligence somewhere (what we are training them to do, I'm not sure). But whatever it is I am doing, in the end I do believe that I am telling somebody somewhere that I am not a robot.

There is really nothing else, besides not being a robot, that I have to regularly say that I am not. There are many, many things that I am not — I am not a teapot; I am not a tree; I am not a sailor or an accountant or a movie star. But mostly no one ever asks me to confirm those things.

Instead of affirming what I am not, as we enter into these Yamim Nora'im, the Ten Days of Teshuvah, maybe the better question I could ask myself is, "What am I? Who am I? Am I the person I think I am, or want to be?" And beyond clicking "I am not a robot," what is the best way to approach that question? 

I received one intriguing answer as I was driving to my silent retreat this summer. I passed a church that had this written on a sign outside: "All of you are perfect just as you are, and you could use a little improvement." This saying by the Zen master, Shunryu Suzuki, was new to me. "All of you are perfect just as you are, and you could use a little improvement." This strikes me as not just a Zen koan, but also a wonderfully Jewish teaching. Because in the eyes of our tradition, both are true. 

"All of you are perfect just as you are": While Rosh Hashanah is often referred to as the birthday of the world, in rabbinic tradition this day marks the 6th day of Creation, the day on which human beings were made. And so we celebrate the creation of human beings, when, according to the Torah, God exclaimed that we were "good"! The Torah is adamant that we are created "b'tzelehim Elohim," in a godly image. Jewish tradition affirms this divine aspect of our being in a daily blessing, Elohai Neshama – which we sang this morning – in which we say that the soul within us is pure, placed within us, metaphorically speaking, by the Source of Creation Itself. No matter how beaten down, how internally shmutzy we may feel, that godly, pure spark lies at the core of our being. 

So — we have godly perfection at our core. And at the same time — "you could use a little improvement." By the 6th chapter of the book of Genesis, God realizes that these human beings, which started out so perfect, are anything but. They have within them the capacity for great damage and destruction. God's response is a tad dramatic — a massive Flood that wipes out all of humanity, in order to start all over again with Noah and his family. The rest of the Torah involves God and the various humans God interacts with trying to figure out if it's possible to do better, with many, many mistakes made along the way. The Torah affirms that – just as we are created in a godly image – we are also, as the Buddha said, subject to delusion, ignorance, hatred and greed. Our negative impulses battle with the better angels of our nature. While there is so much that is wonderful about the human race, there is plenty of evidence of the extent to which we could use a lot, not just a little, improvement.

So what does it mean, in practice, to hold "You are perfect just as you are" with "you could use a little improvement," as we start our journey of teshuvah? 

It is exceedingly easy to feel far from perfect. We can identify so strongly with our shortcomings that we come to consider them part of our personality: I am impatient, I am an angry person, I am fearful, I'm not so smart, I've failed in this way or that. There are so many labels that we attach to ourselves. And once we've decided on our personal brand of shortcoming, we can go in one of two directions. We can make ourselves into an endless fix-it project, honing in on each of our limitations as a hill to conquer, an enemy to wrestle with, a flaw to wrestle to the mat. This can be exhausting, and literally self-defeating.

The other option is to shrug and give up — this is just how I am, and I – and other people – will just have to learn to live with it.

But — what if every day we had to click a little box that said, instead of "I am not a robot," "I am perfect just as I am"? That is, I am fundamentally a good person. My soul is pure. For all of my endless shortcomings, I am a human being made in the image of the divine, and as such I'm worthy of love, worthy of respect, worthy of care. 

There is a recurring theme in Hasidic stories about this time of year involving a child of the King, a prince, who has become estranged from their parent. They wander far away, they forget who they are, they even forget their native tongue. And then one day, they remember that they are the child of the King, and they make their way back home.

In these parables, the King is God, and the child of the King is each of us. Our souls go astray, and we forget our "native language," our innate ability to connect with the holiness within and around us. We become estranged from our true Source, from our essential nature as godly creatures, and we need to find our way back. These parables illustrate the notion of teshuvah as a "return." We are not being asked to become new people. We are not instructed to become something we are not. Rather, we are invited to find our way back to our essential nature. There is something of divinity that is our birthright. This is understood as a return to the palace of the Divine — a place of refuge, of awareness, and of love. 

And here is where the paradox of the koan comes in: to return to our true, godly nature, we need to acknowledge our humanity, our imperfections, all the ways in which we have missed the mark. We need to become aware of just how far from the palace of the King we have wandered. 

In a wonderful talk about the individual and communal effort needed to overcome institutionalized racism, the rapper Jay Smooth taught that we need to "re-conceptualize being a good person, and keep in mind that we're not good despite our imperfections; it is the connection we maintain with our imperfections that allows us to be good. Our connection with our personal and our common imperfections – being mindful of our personal and our common imperfections – is what allows us to be good to each other and be good to ourselves." 

I love this teaching: "It is the connection we maintain with our imperfections that allows us to be good." Not identifying with our imperfections, and not denying them, but staying in relation with them, understanding them, in order to transform them into something more positive. We need to do this for ourselves, and for the sake of connecting with others as imperfect as we are, if we are to do individual and collective teshuvah.

In a similar vein, the Zen Buddhist teacher Zenju Earthlyn Manuel writes:

We have, down through the ages, developed many means to attempt to heal, mend, and atone for our actions. Yet while our spiritual paths have assisted us, our aspirations to be 'better' human beings may inadvertently hinder us. To be 'good' people we tend to bypass the messiness of our lives in order to enter the gate of tranquility…[But] no matter which way we approach peace, it seems we must cross the burning threshold of human conditioning to enter it. So, before we leap to the universal, the true essence, or spirit, why not start where we are as human beings? We must carve a path through the flames of our human condition. (The Way of Tenderness: Awakening through Race, Sexuality and Gender)

For Manuel, "carv[ing] a path through the flames of our human conditions" means sitting with all of the types of harm that we have encountered, that have affected us, and that we may have contributed to. From that place, to begin our spiritual journey. We need to start in the place of imperfection, in this place where we are.

The teaching by Shunryu Sukuki, and the deepest teachings of our tradition, want us to avoid two extremes. One extreme is to actually think we are perfect; that if we are having any problems, it's inevitably caused by those around us. This attitude manifests, for some of us, in an uncanny ability to see the flaws in others, and an inability to see the same in ourselves. I am perfect exactly as I am, and all the folks around me need a little improvement.

The other extreme is the kind of self-doubt that makes real change impossible. It's the self-loathing that leads to frustration and to despair, and that can end in harm to oneself or others. 

Somewhere between these two extremes is the dance of "you are all perfect exactly how you are" paired with "you could use a little improvement." 

There is another Hasidic teaching, brought by Martin Buber, that echoes this message:

Every person should know and consider the fact that you, in the particular way that you are made, are unique in the world, and no one like you has ever been. For if someone like you had already been, there would be no reason for you to be in this world. Actually, everyone is something new in this world, and here we must work to perfect our particular being, for because we are still imperfect, the coming of the Messiah is delayed! (Ten Rings: Hasidic Sayings)

It is both intimidating and inspiring to think that no one like me has ever been; that I – that each one of us – has a crucial, unique role to play in creating a better world. No one else can do what I am here to do. I am not sure what it means to "perfect my particular being," but I'd like to think of it as an invitation to live into my best self, rather than fixating on all the ways I've gone astray. It's an encouragement to enhance the gifts I bring to this world, and to explore the obstacles I've erected to becoming the person I really want to be. 

I am not a robot. You all are not robots. We are human beings, and we've been both beautiful and highly problematic for a really long time — maybe forever. We are created in God's image, and we are collectively responsible for a world that is on fire. We love and we fight. We are brave and we are afraid. We are capable of vast good and devastating harm. 

As we begin this ten-day journey of teshuvah, I hope that we can use the time we're given – the time here together in this sanctuary, the hours and days in between gathering together – to connect to both our perfection and the ways we can improve. If you tend to dwell on all the ways in which you miss the mark, all the flaws and mistakes you've made, perhaps you can spend some time with "you are perfect just as you are." Put it on your phone and click on it a few times a day. Pretend that you really think so. Imagine a gorgeous movie star saying it to you. Notice what happens when you say it to yourself. See if you can let go of any resistance that arises. You are perfect, just as you are.

Or maybe you need to listen to the voice that says, "and you could use a little improvement." Know that this doesn't mean dwelling on every mistake you've ever made. It's not a home improvement tear-down. Instead, think of it as an invitation to do what, in Jewish tradition, we call cheshbon hanefesh — a soul accounting. Take some time, over this next week, to reflect on one area where you'd like to do better, get stronger. Maybe it's fostering a quality of patience, or of kindness. Maybe it's practicing small gestures of generosity or compassion, to build those particular soul traits. Maybe there's one relationship in your life that needs some attention, or an overdue apology to be made. 

Maybe there is something getting in your way that you can release into the waters during Tashlikh tomorrow afternoon — a fear, an unhealthy habit, an old story about yourself that no longer serves you. Or maybe there is some damage you have caused that calls for attention and repair in this new year. Just remember that it is the connection you maintain with your imperfection that allows you to be good, that shows you the path of teshuvah.

May we, may all the Jewish people, may all of humanity be written for health, for abundance, for wholeness and repair in this new year — l'shanah tovah tikkateivu!
 

Rabbi Toba Spitzer
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5785