Divrei Torah/Torah Talks

Earlier this year, I received a powerful teaching from my colleague, friend and teacher Rabbi Shefa Gold. It is called "Closing the Door to Blame: A Rigorous Spiritual Practice for our Time." Rabbi Shefa writes:

Years ago, I stood before the Torah and before my community in the holy space of Aliyah, and I made a vow to close the door to blame. That sacred moment changed my life in ways I could not have imagined at the time. From that moment on, when the impulse to blame arises (and it does quite often), I remember that I have vowed not to go through that door. Always, another door opens. The other door that opens is the door of uncertainty, the door of curiosity, the door of compassion, the door of wide perspective and vision, or the door of creativity.

She goes on to say:

Rabbi Diane Elliot says that blame arises from the shame that is so very hard to carry and know and feel. She offers the possibility of sitting with that shame and allowing it to transform. And with support and faith, it will. Otherwise, it will be projected outward as blame. When we blame, we invite resistance rather than compassion. We further the argument, entering into the illusion of winning, of being right… and yet we lose connection; we damage relationships. As all of our energy goes into what we are against, we inadvertently alienate and further trigger our supposed enemies, and even some of our friends.

I wanted to bring Shefa's message here tonight, as we do the work of teshuvah, of turning onto a more wholesome path in the new year, both individually and collectively. As we recite the Vidui, the confessional, the long list of wrongdoings that we may have participated in this past year, the possibility of both shame and blame arising is real. We may blame ourselves for difficulties we are facing; we might experience shame, and either internalize that shame or direct it outwards at others, to relieve ourselves of the pain. But what if, as Rabbi Shefa suggests, I do not go through the door of blame, whether self-blame or blame of others, as I review my actions in this past year? What other doors might open? 

There is a beautiful teaching from the great 18th century Hasidic master, Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav, who understood sin, transgression, in a somewhat surprising way. For Rebbe Nachman, the problem was not that we cause harm — that is to be expected. It is rather our tendency to let our failures lead us to despair that is the real sin. As Rabbi Eliezer Shore explains, Rebbe Nachman taught that "if a person has fallen a thousand times, it means that they have also tried rising a thousand times, thus making the fall an indispensable part of each new beginning. Starting again is so important – Rebbe Nachman would say, the most important thing – because it partakes of God's own essence as the fountain of life and renewal."

From Rebbe Nachman's perspective, then, if we close the door to self-blame, we open the door to renewal. We can understand every transgression, each misstep, as an opportunity for repair. As we call on the Divine during Yom Kippur as Rachamana, Compassionate One; as we chant Adonai Adonai El rachum v'chanun, erekh apayim v'rav chesed – Adonai, Adonai, Divine source of compassion and grace, patience and lovingkindness – we are given the opportunity to step away from blame and into the embrace of Compassion itself. And as Rabbi Shefa describes, this is also a doorway into curiosity and creativity, an invitation to explore how we might respond in more wholesome ways when our negative impulses threaten to get the better of us. We can forgive ourselves, and take the next step.

Closing the door to blame is also a very powerful challenge in this historical moment. Shefa shared her piece about blame on a rabbinic listserv a few months after the October 7 attack on Israel. She wrote:

Lately, I have been challenged by the pressure to take sides, to blame one side or another by people that I love and respect. When someone says that the war is to be blamed on the policies of the Zionist Nation State, then I'm tempted to say, "But what about Hamas? Didn't they start this war? Aren't they also to blame?" I can hear the tone of voice in my head, and I recognize that I have been lured into the argument, enticed by my own self-righteousness to step through the door of blame.

She continues:

And then I remember… that door is closed. So, I step back into the power of uncertainty, curiosity, compassion, vision and creativity. I lean into a vision of peaceful, loving possibilities. I align myself with those possibilities. I put my focus there. I bring attention to what I want, what I believe in, rather than what infuriates me….The question I ask is, "Where do I want to put my energy?"

I wrote to Shefa after reading this, and I asked her how she defines "blame" in relationship to the work of peace and justice. I wondered, given that there are forces and institutions that contribute to and benefit from violence, from oppression, how do we shift away from blame while not losing the power to discern and name the root causes of injustice and harm? She offered this response: 

By closing the door to blame, I don't mean losing the power of discernment or ignoring the root causes of injustice. I'm talking about a quality of presence that you bring to that work…What I have learned about myself is that holding to a vision, putting my energy into loving support and radical creativity… aligns with my soul purpose, whereas standing against (even standing against injustice) sends me to blame, reactivity, self-righteousness, "othering" and the illusions of certainty. I don't like who I become through that standing against stance…I know that it has to start inside. It has to be a moment-to-moment practice. I ask [myself], "what will I do with the anger that rises in me in response to injustice? It is energy. How shall I use that energy in joyful, loving, creative ways?"

On so many issues, in so many realms, the voices surrounding us on social media, the messages coming at us from all directions, are prodding us into a frenzy of blame. I want to take seriously Shefa's teaching that we do not need to walk through that door. Rabbi Shefa describes this as a "moment to moment practice," and her words echoed for me when I had the opportunity, earlier this week, to learn from two Buddhist teachers who live in Israel, one Jewish, one Palestinian, in a Zoom call sponsored by the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center. I was particularly moved by the Palestinian teacher, Muna Shaheen, an activist and mother of three who leads a Palestinian sangha, meditation community. She raised the question: how can we aim for justice, for human rights, and still hold on to the practice of cultivating peace and love in our hearts and minds? 

Muna spoke about the importance of enacting those values in our everyday lives, of not closing our eyes to our own suffering or the suffering of others that we encounter. As a person who is often the target of injustice, Muna's instruction was to start with one's self, with compassion for self, before attempting to extend compassion outwards towards others with whom we are in conflict. She gave the example of being at a demonstration, and witnessing demonstrators being beaten by the police. The practice she chose for herself in the wake of witnessing this violence was to ask: Who is the beaten person within me? Who is the policeman within me? And then she worked to bring compassion to those aspects of herself — the one who is beaten, the one who does the beating. She did this not to forgive the actions of the police, but to assert her ability to show up in the ways that she chooses in the world, and to turn an experience of violence into an opportunity for deep inquiry and self-care. 

For me, Muna's practice speaks to the power each of us has to choose how we respond, in any given moment, to that which threatens us or destabilizes us. It models as well an incredible courage to look deeply into the ways in which any and all of us, as human beings, harbor the potential for ill-will and doing harm. 

Muna also spoke powerfully about keeping our hearts in the right place when we are working for justice, avoiding falling into the binary of the "good ones" vs. the "bad ones," when we so desperately want to be on the "good" side. We can make space for our anger, even our hatred, when it arises, she taught, we can notice it and investigate it, without letting it take us over. While our control over what happens in the world around us has limits, we do have control over who we are and how we show up in the world. We can decide, for our own sake as well as for the sake of those around us, which doors we choose to enter. 

There is a lot of hurt in the Jewish community, in our community, in response to the events of this past year. We need to attend to the ways we are hurting — whether we are overwhelmed with grief for the tens of thousands of lives lost, Jewish, Palestinian, Lebanese, and more, since last October 7th; whether we are hurting and fearful from our encounters with antisemitism; whether we are feeling shame and anger at the actions of the Israeli government. We may be experiencing anger, fear, despair in response to events closer to home, to the threats we face here in the U.S. What I have learned from Shefa, from Muna, from my own practice, is that we can make room for all of these feelings, we can honor and attend to them, without needing to walk through the very tempting door of blame.

Throughout the course of Yom Kippur, we have a practice of tapping on our hearts as we recite the litanies of chataim, of the ways we and others have gone astray. Some do this with a gently balled fist; others with an open hand. As we touch our chests this Yom Kippur, perhaps we can take a moment to connect with our own hearts, to feel what is within them, and to bring compassion to whatever is there. And perhaps we can, as well, imagine what doors might open for us if we can keep our minds and hearts open to the possibility of "curiosity, compassion, vision and creativity." The possibility of standing with, rather than standing against. 

May the door of compassion, the door of healing, open for us in the new year. May the door of tzedek, justice, the door of shalom, peace, wholeness, open for us in this new year. May we have the curiosity and the courage to walk through these doors, and find new sources of strength and renewal as we do.
 

Rabbi Toba Spitzer
Kol Nidre 5785