I'm sure we can all come up with personal examples, but the idea is the same: we want to do better, but life gets in the way. And by the time we come back and try to accomplish the goal again, the structure we began to build beforehand has already collapsed. I recently went to a shiur (class on a Torah topic) with a Jewish organization called Hadar. This class offered a different suggestion. Perhaps the metaphor isn't simply turning around or returning. Perhaps it is rebuilding.
When Moses was at the Burning Bush, he asked G-d the deceptively simple question of "What is Your name?" G-d's answer was אהיה אשר איהי (Exodus 3:14). This phrase has been elusive. It has been translated as "I am that I am" or "I am that I will be." What is interesting is that regardless of translation, the word איהי is a verb.
This grammatical concept can be helpful with viewing teshuvah. We tend to imagine ourselves as if we were finished things that merely need occasional fixing. But we remain works in progress, shaped by experience and capable of revision. Part of teshuva, therefore, is the recognition that becoming is part of becoming human.
There is a Midrash (Tanhuma 11:8) that complicates the metaphor of building in a fascinating way. During the dedication of the Miskhan (Tabernacle), Moses repeatedly dismantled and reassembled the Tabernacle. That is a strange picture of construction: building something only to take it apart again.
R. Shalom Noah Berezovsky, in his text Netivot Shalom, takes that metaphor and applies it to the spiritual work of a human being. We, too, build structures in our lives. Sometimes, they collapse. The answer he suggests is not to despair, but to rebuild.
That means teshuvah is not just a theoretical exercise. Even after reflection, there is a point where we have to do something with that knowledge. We prepare, we build, we repair, and sometimes, we have to dismantle so we can build something better. Sometimes taking something apart is not proof that the building was a mistake, but a lesson on learning to build it properly.
That's where the metaphor gets messier. The hardest part of teshuvah might not be recognizing what needs to change. It may be what happens that even when we put in our best efforts to try to change, it doesn't hold. Or even worse, it collapses. The old habit reemerges. A relationship or job falls apart. At that point, it is all too easy to conclude that failure proves that we cannot change for the better.
To channel Chumbawamba, "I get knocked down, but I get up again. But you're never gonna keep me down." For me, that nostalgic line is reminiscent of better days, but it reminds us that getting back up is not easy. And it's not supposed to be. Sometimes, it can mean taking the beating of your life, accepting that something we worked towards has been decimated, and then deciding that collapse of said vision or goal will not be the end of the story.
Teshuvah is not about not falling down. If anything, falling down at some point is inevitable because to err is to be human. It is the willingness of persevering when we do fall down.
But rebuilding does not mean constructing something the same exact way as you did before. If something collapses, we should learn something from that collapse. Maybe the structure was too weak. Maybe it was too ambitious or the design was wrong. Maybe the building was unsustainable.
Whatever the reason, teshuvah shows us that we should take the reason(s) seriously. But we don't necessarily return to that blueprint. We can revise it the best we can for our lives. Rebuilding is not repetition, but revision based on the new information. Teshuva doesn't ask us to build perfectly. It asks us to be better builders.
And that brings us to the New Year. Rosh Hashanah offers us a beginning, but not a clean slate. The previous year is with us, whether it is our successes, joys, failures, emotional baggage, or whatever lessons we learned along the way.
So we don't need to promise to ourselves "This year, I will get everything right." We can instead say something more modest and honest: "I know more than I did before. I know what some of my failures cost. I may still fall, but I am willing to build again." Starting with what we have learned might lead us to a more durable form of hope and faith.
As much of a Type-A perfectionist that I am, perhaps this year I need to ask if I can finally get everything right. Perhaps a better question may be: What am I willing to build, even if I know that some of it may eventually fall apart?
As scary as it sounds, I don't know what will endure and what will not. None of us do. But we can choose how we respond when something collapses. We can walk away, or we can get knocked down and then we can get up again.....to build.
