I’ve seen it before. The beauty, the simplicity, and success
of it. I’ve wanted it before- the lifestyle, the perspective, the culture that
revolves around it. I’ve dreamt of it, the actions and consequences, and the
redeeming reward that follows it.
Yes, I’ll admit it; I’ve wanted to sin. I’ve craved the art
of sinning multiple times, but not in the crime committing way. I wanted to sin
in the ways that my Christian and Catholic friends sin, where there is always a
direct pathway leading back to the relentless love of God in the end. I wanted
to sin so that my rabbi could assure me that my God loved me enough to excuse
me from my wrongdoing. I wanted to admit my errors, cheated test answers, and
gossip stories within the dark walls of a confessional booth and move on with
my day knowing that I was instantly forgiven. I wanted to walk forward from my
synagogue pews with my daily sins to the bimah
to become saved by God in front of my community.
While my non-Jewish friends can always bask in the gift of
eternal love, my community seems to prefer the “sin and suffer” model, a system
in which every ethical decision is accompanied by copious amounts of guilt.
After our every action, we replay all the potential outcomes and consequences
in our minds until the very sin we had committed dissolves beneath all our
man-made guilt. While my friends seemingly felt no shame in calling themselves
sinners, my community hid behind that truthful title; while the Christians in
my life confidently confessed their flaws to God and their congregations, the
Jews chose to deal with their sins behind closed doors, resulting in an endless
process of self-guilt.
I’ve asked Judaism for this glorified Christian culture of sinning
and saving, but was unfortunately rejected. Through the guidance of a few
rabbis and pastors, however, I learned that perhaps we are blessed with the long
process of forgiveness in Judaism. Our tradition, unlike other religions, takes
us on a life-changing journey known as teshuvah
that teaches us how to transform our sins into opportunities of rebirth and
rejuvenation. Judaism uses sin as outlets in which to express and refocus our
love for God, rather than holes from which only God and His/Her clergy can
“save” us. Perhaps Judaism’s cycle of sinning was not designed to be
instantaneous or glamorous; perhaps our trail to forgiveness from both God and
our loved ones was intended to be as deep and consuming as the very sins we
commit.
Our sins are meant to open our own eyes. We have become so
skilled at seeing the sins—and salvations-- of others that we forget to look
into ourselves. There may be a sense of comfort for some people in knowing that
their sins will immediately covered by the arms of a savior, but do they,
themselves, truly see the opportunities to save themselves? So many people in
the world can approach an altar with open hearts before large congregations,
but could they approach their own mirrors the same way? I’m not pointing
fingers because I, more than anything, envied this method. It took years of
sinning and forgiving, however, to realize that some of my most vulnerable and
genuine moments of teshuva occurred
when I faced my sins alone, bereft of any applause or congratulatory
hand-shakes. Above all the consequences and grounded weekends, it took the feelings
of pure disappointment and grief with myself—isolated from the world-- to see
the power of a real apology.
Each sin we commit opens the eyes of those who see us.
Self-introspection is merely the first step. Throughout the month of Elul, I
try to absorb myself in what Judaism calls Cheshbon
HaNefesh, the accounting of the soul. It is during that month where I look
back on the Emily I was in the world all year and align her to the Emily I want
to be in the next year. While my mirror may hold my deepest emotions,
epiphanies, and feelings toward my sinful actions, it does not hold my
relationships. After realizing the faults and ways to grow in my own behavior,
it is my responsibility to strengthen my relationships with the ones who have
been affected by them. Accepting my sins and my own apologies will never be
enough—I must reach every person I impacted on a personal level and rebuild the
foundation of trust that I threatened. This act of forgiveness, one that can
only exist in solid relationships, tests my faith more than black confessional
booth ever will; it reminds me each day that the people around me, loved ones
and strangers alike, can see and define me by my very actions. It takes my
efforts and actions in rebuilding myself to open the eyes of those who see me.
Each sin we commit opens our eyes to God. For some, God’s
unconditional love can lie at the core of every sin. For some, each moment that
they missed the mark is really just a confirmation that they will always be
sinners, saved and protected by their god’s love. For Judaism, God’s love does
not work so easily. Instead, we must strive to transform our sins into moments
of deep reflection, growth, and humility. While any sin, regardless of size,
can leave Christianity sighing in relief when realizing that their god will
love them relentlessly, Judaism must shift apprehensively in knowing that our
every action impacts a relationship far greater than that of endless love. Our
sins do not expose us to God’s instant forgiveness, but rather a life-long
relationship, complete with its moments of happiness, fear, guilt, and
disappointment. Our sins—and our faith at large—do not expose us to God’s love
for us, but rather our love for God, and how to manifest that in our evolving
relationships with Him/Her. Our sins are only one of the many components in our
multi-faceted relationships with God; learning how to step back and transform
our sins into actions of kindles helps create the balance we need in this
relationship.
Judaism’s process of sinning and forgiving, while perhaps
not as efficient as a confessional visit or glamorous as a community wide altar
call, teaches me to step back, stare into the mirror, and realize that I must
take responsibility for both my sins and my relationships. While this system is
far more grueling, the result—a growing love-centered relationship with my
God—is worth every sin.
