As the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) fast approaches, Jews are called to reflect and renew. The blowing of the ram's horn, also known as the shofar, is a sound that wakes us both to our potential and make us aware of our failures so we can be the best version of ourselves. To do that sort of deep work, we need both courage and honesty. In a world where preserving image often takes precedence over truth, it is often honesty that ends up being the first casualty in the modern world.
Why? It is one of the most ancient human forces: the ego. The ego exists to protect us, whether it is from shame, rejection, criticism, guilt, vulnerability, or even the painful fact that to err is to be human. The ego convinces us that if we admit fault, we risk getting hurt; we can lose love, respect, fame, prestige, or face. Instead of confronting, the ego directs us to deflect and avoid. Blame is not new. It is what got Adam and Eve kicked out of the Garden of Eden. What has happened is that over time, this tendency has intensified to new levels and social media has intensified this tendency to new all-time highs. We live in a broader culture where blame-shifting is often rewarded and normalized, whether it is blaming our upbringing, the boss, genetics, trauma, the government, systemic racism, social media, the economy, or societal expectations.
My former rabbi, Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld, wrote a book called Renewal where he called this mindset towards giving excuses the "Avimelech Syndrome." The Avimelech Syndrome is inspired by the biblical story in Genesis 21. Avimelech, the King of Gerar, behaves in a way that is morally questionable and arguably duplicitous. While he claims ignorance, he ultimately deflects blame rather than owning the impact of his actions, which Rabbi Herzfeld interprets as a moral failing. Instead of taking responsibility, he ends up saying, "It wasn't my fault. There were mitigating circumstances."
Why does this script sound familiar? Because most of us have succumbed to this mindset at some point or another, myself included. I am not here to say that circumstances do not matter because they play a role, and sometimes a major one. However, we cannot stop at blaming our circumstances.
Teshuvah, which is the Jewish concept of repentance, begins with the terrifying words of "I was wrong." Rabbi Herzfeld finds the Avimelech Syndrome so problematic because when we say "it is not really my fault," it is not merely about evading guilt. It is a spiritual paralysis that stymies personal growth. We cannot begin to transform our thoughts and actions if we spend all of our energy defending our ego and our faults. In describing the Avimelech Syndrome, Rabbi Herzfeld provides three steps to overcome the Avimelech Syndrome:
1. Acknowledge our errors and mistakes. To make real change, we cannot make excuses for our behavior. Without recognizing where we have erred, we cannot move forward or improve. We have to take the time to ask what errors we have made, whether large or small.
2. Make a clear commitment to doing better. In the Avimelech story, Abraham signs a treaty with Avimelech that Abraham can dig wells at Be'er Sheva. The treaty should have held at least for a few generations, but Avimelech's henchmen closed up the wells shortly after Abraham's passing (Genesis 26:15-18). This breach of trust shows us how not to act. Teshuvah is not simply about saying sorry, as I pointed out in 2014. It means making meaningful change in our lives. Herzfeld suggests picking one thing and committing to it. It can be practicing gratitude, an act of kindness, or a certain Jewish ritual.
3. Trust the larger process. The beginning of this Torah portion about Avimelech begins with the phrase "G-d remembered Sarah" (Genesis 21:1). Remember that Sarah had previously laughed when G-d said He would give her a child (Genesis 18:12). After all, she laughed because she gave up hope on ever having a child. Can you imagine that G-d had abandoned you? In the end, Sarah did have a child. Rabbi Herzfeld reminds us that "The message is not that [G-d] will always give what we ask for. If we fully commit to [G-d], then we will gain enormous spiritual strength from that relationship and it will be a source of empowerment for us throughout our lives." Whether we call it G-d, the Universe, or transcendence, the idea is to trust the process. Our goal is effort, not outcome, as difficult as it can be to remember that. By remembering this key factor, we can avoid despair when things more slowly or not at all.
As strong as this framework is, we cannot stop at commitment or with one act. We need to take it a step further: personal responsibility. To paraphrase self-help author Mark Manson, "Even if it is not your fault, it is your responsibility." None of this means that we are necessarily to blame. There are things that happen to us that are unfortunate and unfair. However, we have the agency in how we respond, repair and grow from that hurt. If we cannot address what transpired, led to the present moment, or what is holding us back, we cannot move forward.
Teshuvah is a process that begins internally, but needs to extend outwardly to be effective. It asks us to assess the damage we caused with our errors and mistakes in order to make amends and do right. It asks us to change so we behave differently in the future and do better than we did last year. This takes time, effort, awareness, patience, humility, and grace. It is in this personal responsibility in which we become our best and truest selves. Teshuvah is not rooted in guilt, but rather power and self-agency.
It is ironic coming from a perfectionist, but this time of year is not to be a time of perfection. It is meant to be a time of courage. It is courage to tell the truth, even when it is inconvenient. It is courage to face the wrong you have done instead of ignoring it. It is the courage and discipline to change, to grow, and to improve. In a world that encourages denial and deflection of blame, teshuvah is an act of rebellion and courage of one of the highest orders. It is also an act of faith, to believe that we are not defined by our worst moments and that we have the ability to change.
This year, we should ask ourselves, "Where have I hidden behind excuses?" What conversation have I been avoiding?" "What would it mean to truly take responsibility?" This year, we should not only hear the shofar, but respond to it. So how will you respond to the shofar this year?
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