Sin-A-Gogue

by David Bashevkin

  His pessimistic view of the underlying motivation for religion is shared by many philosophers. Ernst Becker, in his Pulitzer Prize winning book The Denial of Death, flatly declares that “religion solves the problem of death.” No doubt, this view is best encapsulated in Karl Marx’s often cited declaration that “religion is the opiate of the masses.”327 An opiate does not bring its users truth, of course; it is a specious solution for the harsh pain of a harsh world.

  Long ago, Maimonides was also concerned with this issue. In his Laws of Repentance (10:2), Rambam makes an important distinction regarding the proper motivation for religious commitment:

  Whoever serves God out of love, occupies himself with the study of the Law and the fulfillment of commandments and walks in the paths of wisdom, impelled by no external motive whatsoever, moved neither by fear of calamity nor by the desire to obtain material benefits—such a man does what is true because it is true…

  The ideal form of religious commitment, according to Maimonides, is founded upon truth as opposed to the solace religion proves in the face of calamity. Of course, he readily concedes that most will never achieve such purity of motivation—but it stands as an ideal nonetheless.

  In 1967 Gordon Allport wrote “Personal Religious Orientation and Prejudice,” an important essay that invoked a similar dichotomy in religious motivation to that of Maimonides. According to Allport, religious motivation can be characterized based on two binary poles—intrinsic versus extrinsic motivation. He succinctly defines this scale as follows:

  Perhaps the briefest way to characterize the two poles of subjective religion is to say that the extrinsically motivated person uses his religion, whereas the intrinsically motivated lives his religion. As we shall see later, most people, if they profess religion at all, fall upon a continuum between these two poles. Seldom, if ever, does one encounter a “pure” case.328

  Using Maimonidean terminology, those motivated by truth could therefore be considered intrinsically motivated while those motivated by fear of calamity or, for that matter, by social, emotional, or any other form of temporal comfort could be typified as extrinsically motivated. Thus, what plagues Jonah is his insistence on pure intrinsic motivation.

  The story of Jonah can be read as the narrative of a frustrated outreach professional. As a prophet Jonah has proclaimed God’s impending wrath to wayward communities and time and again he sees them repent out of fear. When confronted with his own mortality, man finds comfort in the community and eternal promises offered by religion. Jonah, however, grows tired of serving as the temporal haven for man’s fear of crisis and transience. If religion is only a blanket to provide warmth from the cold, harsh realities of life, do concerns of theological truth and creed even matter?

  God’s Comfort

  What is God’s response to Jonah’s religious torment? The story of Jonah ends abruptly. God provides a tree for the ailing Jonah to find shade. After momentarily providing Jonah comfort, God summarily destroys the tree. Jonah is crestfallen. With the sun beating down on Jonah, he pleads for death. God, in the closing statement of the story, rebukes Jonah for becoming so attached to the comfort of the tree while still failing to develop any empathy for the religious struggle of the people of Nineveh.

  Comfort, God reminds Jonah, is a need inherent in the human condition. The comfort provided by a tree no more obscures the role of God than the comfort that religion provides. The means through which we find solace need not obscure the ultimate source from which all comfort derives.

  Christian Wiman, a noted American poet, knows that his religious motivations are looked at with suspicion. After living as an atheist for much of his teens, he rediscovered God following a bout with cancer. As he acknowledges in his brilliant collection My Bright Abyss: Meditations of a Modern Believer, “That conversions often happen after or during intense life experiences, especially traumatic experiences, is sometimes used as evidence against them.”329 As he surely was accused of himself, “The sufferer isn’t in his right mind. The mind tottering at the abyss of despair or death, shudders back toward any simplicity, any coherency it can grasp, and the man calls out to God.”330 Wiman, however, does not accept this skeptic narrative of religious motivation: “To admit that there may be some psychological need informing your return to faith does not preclude or diminish the spiritual imperative any more than acknowledging the chemical aspects of sexual attraction lessens the mystery of enduring human love.”331

  Religious motivation, however fleeting, however fearful, can still beget dignified religious commitment. Many people seek out religion just as Jonah thousands of years ago desperately sought shade. Few, if any, are purely and intrinsically motivated by theological truth—but the story of Jonah teaches that their stories are still endowed with religious depth and significance. Perhaps this is why the story of Jonah is read on Yom Kippur. People come to synagogue for all sorts of reasons on Yom Kippur; many come only on this day. Reading the story of Jonah is an apt reminder that it doesn’t matter what brought you to synagogue, be it comfort, truth, or otherwise.

  Religious integrity is not determined by the door through which you enter or even the length of your stay. Our momentary religious experiences are meaningful regardless of their motivations or durations. So whatever brings you to prayer on Yom Kippur, know that your presence has meaning. We’re glad you’re here.

  SECTION III

  RESPONSES TO SIN AND FAILURE

  12

  I KIND OF FORGIVE YOU: HALF APOLOGIES AND HALF REPENTANCE

  Don’t turn your head.

  Keep looking at the bandaged place.

  That’s where the Light enters you.

  —Saki Santorelli, Heal Thyself

  Corporate Confessionals

  Sometimes when you try to fix something you only make it worse. Few things highlight this principle better than a botched apology. A poorly formulated act of apology compounds the guilt. Not only did you fail, your attempt at restitution failed as well. And the art of apologies is no longer the exclusive domain of broken friendships or personal relationships—increasingly they are being carefully crafted and strategized in the corporate and government sector. Particularly in the corporate sector, a rich body of academic literature has been developed analyzing the ingredients of a successful apology.332 There may be no single formula for a well-executed mea culpa, but there are certainly commonalties in those that fail.

  “If any of my comments or actions have indeed been unwelcome, or if I have conducted myself in any way that has caused any individual discomfort or embarrassment,” said former Senator Bob Packwood in 1992 in response to allegations of sexual impropriety, “for that I am sincerely sorry.”333 This formulation of contrition was doomed by the first word he spoke: if. He was roundly condemned for his attempt at contrition, which some commentators explained gave the impression that “only in the event that someone should choose to take offense, why then he is sorry.”334 Another common refrain found in empty apologies is the vapid expression, “mistakes were made.” This phrase, especially popular among politicians, was once mockingly described as “the past exonerative.”335 Whether it is a carefully placed if or the flat “mistakes were made,” both formulations accomplish the same thing: namely, avoiding responsibility. This is in stark contrast to apologies that have emphasized personal culpability and ownership of the mistake. One frequently cited example of a responsible display of remorse is the letter Reed Hasting, CEO of Netflix, sent to his subscribers following a very public misstep of the company. “I messed up,” it begins. He acknowledges that many of his actions may have “lacked respect and humility.” He closes his letter with an affirmation of the importance of apologies: “Actions speak louder than words. But words help people to understand actions.”

  The connection between corporate crisis management and the religious rituals of repentance is not entirely lost on professionals in the communications sector. Dr. Keith Michael Hearit, a professor at Western Michigan University, wrote
the book Crisis Management by Apology, which examines the ways corporations and institutions express remorse in times of organizational crisis. His book quite deliberately appropriates language and religious ritual and considers them in a corporate setting. In fact, each chapter in the book begins with a citation from Scriptures. Hearit, citing Kenneth Burke’s The Rhetoric of Religion, sees the act of corporate apology as a “ritualistic form of communication.” Even the term scapegoat, used to avoid responsibility, derives from the Yom Kippur ritual.336 Apologies are not just speeches but carefully choreographed rituals that purge organizational guilt and restore social legitimacy. Indeed, nearly all literature on crisis management points to two separate objectives of strategic crisis communications. Firstly, following an organizational lapse such as a leadership scandal or financial fraud, the corporation or institution needs to address the immediate cause of the failure. A second, higher-order step is also necessary. It is not enough to focus narrowly on the current crisis—a broader form of organizational learning is also necessary. The latter step does not just consider the preceding incident but considers the future and opportunities that have been created through the crisis. No wonder, as many have pointed out, that the symbol for crisis in Mandarin is also dangerous opportunity.337

  Just as crisis management uses religious language, as demonstrated by Hearit, the act of repentance in a religious context can learn from corporate crisis management. Religious repentance can sometimes be considered somewhat transactional. A sin requires an act of repentance. But just as with corporate crisis, it is not enough to have a minimalistic focus on the preceding sin; repentance requires a more holistic approach that considers restoring the sinner’s reputation for religious integrity as well as optimizing the opportunities for improvement that emerge in times of personal crisis.338 Sin, like a corporate scandal or malfeasance, needs to be rectified on more than one level. No thinker more clearly articulated the dual nature of sin and repentance than Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik (1903–93).

  Restitution and Restoration

  There are two distinct terms used to describe the cleansing process of Yom Kippur. “On this day,” the verse in Leviticus (16:30) states, “I will atone for you to purify you.” These two terms—kapparah , meaning atonement and taharah , which means purification—appear throughout the Yom Kippur service. Based on these two terms, Rabbi Soloveitchik developed a creative perspective on the distinct components of sin and repentance. According to Soloveitchik, sin has two components. Firstly, sin obligates. Much like the imagery of sin as debt discussed earlier, the act of sinning incurs a debt of sorts that obligates repayment.339 Second, sin also defiles. Sin creates an existential impurity that distances man from God. The two words of repentance each respectively correspond to the two effects of sin. Kapparah, a word which derives from the formal legal act of withdrawing a property claim, rectifies the obligation that sin incurs. Normally an act of sin requires a punishment; kapparah absolves the obligation of punishment. In this regard the sin and repentance process is quite transactional. The sinner has debt; kapparah removes the sinner’s obligation to repay that debt. Taharah, however, provides purification. This act addresses the impurity caused by sin. On Yom Kippur we hope to rectify both residual effects of sin— .

  Typically the process of repentance is divided into four stages: ceasing the act of sinning, remorse, resolve not to repeat the wrongdoing in the future, and verbal confession. This is the process Maimonides presents in his Laws of Repentance (2:2). Rabbi Soloveitchik contends that this process suffices only for achieving kapparah, the obligation of sin and absolution from punishment. Purity, however, requires a much more drastic transformation. For taharah Rabbi Soloveitchik points to Maimonides’s description in the Laws of Witnesses (12:5–8) which prescribes a much more drastic atonement process. In order for a reformed gambler to become eligible to testify in court, Maimonides insists that the gambler not only cease from gambling, but he also must destroy any remnants of his past, be they his dice or cards. Why is this added level of repentance necessary? Shouldn’t the process detailed in The Laws of Repentance suffice to allow the reformed gambler to be accepted as a witness in court hearings? Here again Rabbi Soloveitchik returns to his distinction on the dual effects of sin and the commensurate forms of repentance. In order to achieve purity, a more serious form of repentance is necessary. Kapparah may absolve punishment, but “[m]etaphysical sin on the other hand, becomes part of man’s existential experience and the deeper the sin, the deeper the experience of repentance which follows.”340

  Like a corporate crisis, sin requires a multifaceted approach. Some have suggested that the dual approach of sin and repentance should be considered in the secular legal system. Stephen P. Garvey, a professor at Cornell Law School, suggests that the secular model of punishment should embrace aspects of the religious model of atonement. Crimes contain elements of harm and moral wrongs, but our criminal justice system, he laments, “makes amends for the harm the wrongdoer does, but not for the wrong he has done.”341 Garvey advocates adopting a secular model of atonement in which criminals are afforded the opportunity to seek secular atonement—not from God but from the community. In a subsequent article in a Fordham Law journal, Samuel Levine presents Garvey’s model of atonement in a Jewish context.342 There, Levine applies Rabbi Soloveitchik’s dual approach to sin and repentance. The irony of Garvey’s innovative suggestion being rooted in traditional Jewish textual interpretation is not lost on Levine. As he concludes:

  Ultimately, it is perhaps ironic that, in providing a new theory of punishment for American legal thought to consider in a future millennium, Garvey has in fact looked back to theories of atonement and teshuva that have spanned millennia of the past. The path to teshuva may indeed provide insight in formulating a new perspective on the notions of punishment underlying American law.343

  Half Repentance

  Can someone only half repent? In Rabbi Soloveitchik’s dual typology of sin and repentance, he seems to take it for granted that kapparah can exist without taharah, but taharah cannot exist without kapparah. In other words, one can fulfill the more basic elements of repentance and achieve kapparah while still falling short of the existential transformation required for taharah. Ostensibly this makes sense. It is perfectly conceivable that a sinner may have sufficient remorse to be absolved from punishment yet still lack the more transformational change in identity needed to attain true purity. Interestingly, some uncommon cases may also allow for someone to achieve taharah while still missing what is necessary for kapparah. For instance, a child who commits theft as a minor may still begin adulthood with the freshness of taharah, but returning the stolen item is still required for a proper kapparah.344 Similarly, a convert who sinned before converting may still be considered a new person in terms of the purity of their newfound religious identity yet retain the obligations to rectify their prior sins for the process of kapparah to be completed.345 Sure, such cases may not be common, but they have important implications for our conception of repentance. Repentance, much like our earlier discussion of sin, is not binary. The process of atonement is not a zero-sum game that is either won or forfeited. In fact, in his treatise on repentance the medieval scholar Moshe ben Joseph di Trani (1505–85) explicitly distinguishes the legal prerequisites for repentance from legal requirements found for other commandments. Whereas tzitzit, as he points out, requires strings on all four corners of a garment and is meaningless if there are only three—repentance is different. There may be several steps in the legal process of repentance, but even without completion of each step there is still religious value.346 Sin comes in many shades and repentance purifies with different hues. Indeed, as the text of our silent prayer suggests, we ask God for forgiveness and then ask God to return us to Him. They may not always occur simultaneously, but we pray to realize both in our lives.

  Half Apologies

  One of the most essential components of repentance is verbal confession.347 When the object of a sin
is another person, the offender is required to ask the person offended for forgiveness. Consequently, there is always that one guy who walks around before Yom Kippur asking everyone he bumps into for forgiveness. Perhaps even more common than the haphazard apology is the half-accepted apology. “Sure, I forgive you.” Begrudged, insincere acceptances of apologies happen all the time. Are they worth anything? More precisely, if someone responds to a request for forgiveness with an insincere acceptance, is the petitioner absolved from the requirements to ask for further forgiveness? This question was posed by Rabbi Yosef Engel (1858–1920). In his glosses to Talmud Kiddushin (49b) Rabbi Engel points out that the Talmudic legal principle that unspoken feelings do not have any legal significance should apply to instances where forgiveness is insincerely offered. Since unspoken feelings do not have legal significance in Jewish law, forgiveness granted even disingenuously is still efficacious.

  Some have questioned the effectiveness of an insincere apology. Rabbi Avraham Genichovsky (1937–2013), a brilliant Talmudic scholar little known outside of the cloistered Israeli Yeshiva world, added a cryptic remark about the ruling of Rabbi Engel. In a small pamphlet collecting Rabbi Genichovsky’s Talmudic thoughts, he writes regarding Rabbi Engel’s novel suggestion, “And I have what to respond, but I don’t want to.”348 Arguing on the ruling of Rabbi Engel, he explains, could be dangerous. Once a ruling has already been issued validating insincere apologies, “I don’t want to ask any further questions for perhaps the Heavenly Court has ruled so as well and it will turn out that (by challenging the ruling) I will cause others to forfeit their absolution.” Rabbi Genichovsky never makes it clear what exactly is his objection to the ruling of Rabbi Engel. It is likely based on a notable exception to the rule that unspoken feelings are not legally binding. In some circumstances unspoken feelings are deemed legally significant. For instance, as Rabbi Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski, the famed Chief Rabbi of Vilna (1863–1940) points out, someone who intends to convert but harbors reservations about their commitment to Judaism—such reservations, even unspoken, may hinder the conversion from taking effect. Essentially, when the entire legal matter is contingent on an internal commitment then even internal hesitations have legal ramifications. Applying this logic to the case of insincere forgiveness, assuming that forgiveness is primarily a matter of securing an emotional commitment, then unspoken feelings in the case of forgiveness would also be legally significant. So it turns out half forgiveness may not provide much forgiveness at all.