anger · authenticity · faith · forgiveness · grief · growth · Jewish · possibility · spirituality

T’shuvah

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(In my vague and limited Jewish knowledge) T’shuvah refers
to the time in the Jewish calendar between Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish New
Year—and Yom Kippur—when our names are sealed in the “Book of Life” by G-d for the next year.
T’shuvah literally means to return, but most interpretations
take it to mean a time of repentance. A time of atoning for our “sins,” and to
acknowledge where we’ve “missed the mark” of our own moral target.
I’m not one for “sins,” or for “atoning,” or for asking
forgiveness from a spiritual entity. In my own spiritual practice, there is a
habit of taking note of where we’ve been wrong and amending that behavior,
whether through direct conversation with someone we’ve harmed or through
choosing to act differently in the future.
But, the idea of asking a “higher power” to forgive me for
anything at all has never sat well with me. I simply don’t think that anything
that has the power to create life and death and change and love would need my
asking. I believe that whatever “G-d” is, “it” is much too loving or
non-personified to ever require me to ask it to forgive my behavior.
As I said, I still think the process of taking stock of my
behavior and righting my own wrongs is very important to my emotional wellbeing
and my personal relationships. But on the spiritual plane, G-d would never need
me to ask for forgiveness. There’s nothing to forgive – there’s only love,
acceptance, and a desire for me to be my best self.
That said, I have been reflecting that this week of t’shuvah has certainly been one of returning. I
feel that my actions are those of a woman returning to herself and her values;
returning to my true nature, and returning to ideas and hopes that were feared
or abandoned.
I am in a musical. I’ve returned to that dream of acting and
singing, despite the fears and self-judgments it still brings up in me.
I have officially announced this week that I am moving on
from my office job. Again, a return to my true desires, my internal compass. I
have stopped hitting the Snooze button on my instincts and drives.
No matter what comes of it, disaster or “success,” I am
trying something brand new for me. And that is certainly a return to curiosity,
innocence, hope, and creation.
I told my coworker that I boycott Yom Kippur these days. The
fasting and the communal atoning of sins. I shun this day and its activities
because the idea is that by atoning for our sins, we will be “inscribed in the
Book of Life” for another year.
According to the Jewish calendar, in 2012 the evening
closing Yom Kippur was the moment of my Leukemia diagnosis. I spent the day of
Yom Kippur in an ER. And closed the chapter of that day with cancer. I was 30 years old.
I have done a lot of work around turning that diagnosis into
the seeds of a new life. But I will never deny that I have a few wheelbarrows
full of anger and grief that still need … sorting or composting or alleviation.
Or simply time to feel them, and then to let them go, perhaps, if that’s what
happens.
But for me, the idea that on one of the most holy days of
the Jewish year, on the day when a person is either granted another year of
life or is not, I cannot hold the tragedy of being told half my blood was
cancer on that same day. 
And, I imagine, my feelings toward all of this will
transform, lessen, or evolve. But, for now, I boycott Yom Kippur.
I have used this week of T’shuvah to take stock of where I
am desirous to return to and acknowledge and rejoice in the truth of my soul,
and to note where I already am. I have used this week to affirm that life can
be new and different and fulfilling.
I will never need the forgiveness of an entity that is
either made of benevolence or simply is the indifferent force of Life itself.
My week of T’shuvah is and has returned me to a place of
excitement and possibility. I don’t need a communal atonement to reward me for
how exceptional that is. 
That said. Shanah Tovah u’Metukah — May you have a good (tovah) and sweet (metukah) year, friends. And may we write our own Books of Life. 

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