Return Return Return

Dear friends,

Every day we pray for return. We remind ourselves that God wants us to improve, that we want to be better, that the self we have grown alienated from is calling us back. In the prayers of this season, which culminate in Yom Kippur, we keep repeating the mantra:

Adonai Adonai, el rahum vechanun, erekh apayim verav chesed ve’emet, noseh chesed la’alafim noseh avon vafesha vechata’ah venakeh.

“Adonai! Adonai! God, Compassionate and Gracious, Slow to anger and Abundant in Kindness and Truth, Preserver of kindness for thousands of generations, Forgiver of iniquity, willful sin, and error, Cleanser of all.”

The mantra works as a reminder that we, like God, are capable of compassion, of forgiveness, of return. It reminds us that return is always available to us. It is, as philosopher Erich Gutkind suggested, “a perpetual possibility.” After all, Gutkind wrote, the state we wish to return to, that of “a clairvoyant perception of truth,” is a human faculty that each of us possess, “like eyes and heart.”

But how does one begin the process of teshuvah, return? We are clouded by our circumstances, our suffering, our patterns of behavior, our ideas of what we want and need. Reaching that clear perception of truth is hard. Where might we start?

In our meditation chevrutah this week two answers were offered. The first avenue was the senses. We sat and noticed what we hear, smell and see. Without judgement or even thought if we can, we simply observed. Over and over we returned from our wandering panting minds to the simple reality we are in. In the next exercise we worked on the breath. Return to the breath. “Return, return, return,” Michael guided us. If we are able to create small islands of presence, with them may come the islands of peace that will help us step out of our spirals and anxieties, and come back to ourselves. When I listened to the sounds, I heard the cicada’s for the first time this summer. At that moment I knew for a minute that I am in and a part of the cycle of nature, that everything is in its right place, including me. I became aware of the greater reality I live in. I returned home to the world.

That kind of awareness can be painful. When Nehemiah receives a report from his brother about the ruinous state of affairs in Jerusalem, his and our spiritual home, “the city where my ancestors are buried,” as he names it, he breaks down. For days he fasts, prays and self-examines. He works hard to admit his wrongs, to pull himself back to a place where he might be able to do something about the situation that is breaking his heart.

“Lord, the God of heaven, the great and awesome God, who keeps his covenant of love with those who love him and keep his commandments, let your ear be attentive and your eyes open to hear the prayer your servant is praying before you day and night for your servants, the people of Israel. I confess the sins we Israelites, including myself and my father’s family, have committed against you. We have acted very wickedly toward you. We have not obeyed the commands, decrees and laws you gave your servant Moses.”

A few weeks ago we learned that mindfulness in the Buddhist tradition is infused with memory. And indeed a crucial piece of his return has to do with memory.

“Remember the instruction you gave your servant Moses, saying, ‘if you return to me then even if your exiled people are at the farthest horizon, I will gather them from there and bring them to the place I have chosen as a dwelling for my Name.’”

He is speaking to God, or to himself. He is gathering courage to believe in the possibility of a better world, a stronger self, a rebuilt Zion, a home that isn’t broken.

He manages to act with tremendous courage and insight. He convinces the king of Persia to send him to Jerusalem to rebuild its walls. But this process of listening, coming in touch with the greater reality, especially the brokenness, and out of it springing into action against the odds, will repeat itself over and over again on his journey. Return, return, return, he hears.

We hear it too. Return to the reality of the Taliban’s war against women. Return to the reality of global warming. Return to the reality of poverty and homelessness in our city. Return to the reality of two thirds of the world’s population that has not been vaccinated, primarily in the least wealthy countries. Return to the reality of a stalled return:

And all the while, again and again hear the call of our infinite compassion, of our ability to contain the difficulty and the beauty, to work on ourselves and the world, to return home:

Adonai Adonai, el rahum vechanun, erekh apayim verav chesed ve’emet, noseh chesed la’alafim noseh avon vafesha vechata’ah venakeh.

Now begin.

(P.S — to join one of our chevrutah learning pods, three of which inspired this piece, Meditation, Erich Gutkind the Forgotten Jewish Philosopher and Nehemiah’s Return, Click HERE)

(Link to share this letter here.)

Wishing you a shabbat of peace and gentleness.

Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Misha