Every durable belief system, religious or secular, must answer one particularly uncomfortable question: What do we do about what’s broken? This may be broken people, actions, even worlds. We have many words to describe this state of brokenness — sin, karma, trauma, oppression, ignorance — while the label changes, the problem does not. Some systems focus on the here and now while others focus on the hereafter. Eastern practices extend the focus in the opposite direction, to past lives.
The objective in all cases is generally referred to as repentance and redemption. We must take responsibility for the things we’ve done — or even will do — and make amends. Amends takes many forms, ranging from punishment to understanding, but make no bones about it: a belief system without redemption isn’t a worldview, it’s a diagnosis without a treatment plan.
Past Lives – Karma
Many Eastern frameworks see our present life as a continuation of lives lived previously. Our present is not the beginning of the problem but rather the continuation. Suffering is how we work off debts accrued over many lifetimes, lesson by lesson, life by life. Redemption is iterative; it is as though there is a cosmic ledger that is balanced over many lives.
The Hereafter
Classical Western religious systems tend to place ultimate resolution beyond this life. That which we do in this life matters profoundly, impacting the afterlife but redemption itself is deferred, perfected in the world to come. These systems generally do not embrace the many-lives theory, instead focusing on this life as a trial in the lead up to what follows.
The Here-and-Now
This is the realm of modern secular ideologies, therapeutic models, and political movements. There is a focus on repairing the present: healing trauma, correcting injustice, optimizing behavior, or restructuring society.
The Here-and-Now is where Judaism’s concept of Teshuvah sits firmly.
What is Teshuvah?
Teshuvah is a Hebrew term meaning, “return” (from the root “shuv”). It is often translated as repentance but, as a concept, there is so much more meaning here to explore. Teshuvah signifies a return to G-d and one’s true, pure self after straying from the path of righteousness. This encompasses not only repentance but redemption, salvation, and a holistic balance.
The modern concept of repentance is essentially a sincere apology. We take responsibility for whatever it is that we’ve done, express honest remorse, and move on. Of course, there is an equally sincere intention to “sin no more” but the process largely ends there.
Teshuvah, on the other hand, includes that but extends the concept.
Sin is seen as losing one’s way or forgetting one’s true nature (which is inherently divine). We carry the spark of divinity within each of us and the goal of life is to live up to that spark. This basic tenet of Judaism is referred to as “Tikkun Olam,” repairing the world. This is the moral and practical responsibility to improve society — through justice, ethical behavior, kindness, and community. It’s not so much about utopia as it is about reducing harm, restoring balance, and aligning human action with divine order. We can think of it as mending fractures in creation itself.
This is our true nature, yet we stray from the divine nature of self, oftentimes engaging in profoundly destructive behaviors. Therein lies the power of Teshuvah — acknowledge the sin, regret it, resolve not to do it again, and effect repair. That which has been broken is never returned to what it once was, and pretending so is dishonest. However, as the Japanese art of repair (kintsugi) teaches: the cracks become part of the story, not a flaw to be erased.
There is beauty in Teshuvah; a beauty that goes beyond simple repair. The Talmud teaches: In the place where a Baal Teshuvah (one who has returned) stands, even the completely righteous (tzaddik gamur) cannot stand. Through true Teshuvah, we evolve and grow into something much more, coming home to our authentic self and the divine.
In Practice….
For many, “sorry” is an emotion. We feel guilt, perhaps remorse, and see to assuage these feelings while easing the pain we’ve caused others. That’s not a bad start but it’s also not what Teshuvah is actually all about.
Maimonides (Moses ben Maimon, c. 1138-1204), later known as the Rambam, was a towering 12th-century Sephardic philosopher, physician, Torah scholar, legal codifier, and prolific writer. He is among my absolute favorite philosophers. The Rambam defined Teshuvah not as a feeling, but as a disciplined process. This structured action is necessary to bring about the sought after realignment with G-d, self, and community.
Maimonides taught these basic, but essential, steps:
- Abandoning the Sin (Azivat HaChet) — Cease the ongoing transgression and break the harmful pattern.
- Regret (Charatah) — Feel genuine remorse for betraying your better self, understanding the negative impact of your actions.
- Confession (Vidui) — Verbally acknowledge your transgressions and ask the divine for forgiveness.
- Acceptance for the future/Resolution (Kabbalah L’haba-ah) — Commit yourself to not repeating the sin.
He extends this by two more steps when the sin is against another:
- Make Amends — You must try to appease the person wronged and repair the damage done.
- Seek Forgiveness — Make sincere efforts to apologize and reconcile, understanding that if the wronged party remains unforgiving after sincere attempts, the responsibility for repair shifts.
Unsurprisingly, these steps align well with modern, secular approaches to accountability and restoration. Therapeutic systems guide patients through the same steps — breaking the pattern and ending destructive behaviors, accepting responsibility and processing trauma through integration, repair and reformation through personal growth and self-actualization, and moving forward not backward.
But When?
Teshuvah is typically the focus of new year practices. In general, we look forward to the new year as a reset — a time for starting over. There is celebration of the end of trials, new beginnings, and resolutions for a brighter tomorrow.
Judaism takes the same approach (where do you think secular New Year’s practices originated?). Each year, during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur — the Jewish High Holy Days — adherents undergo a transformation. This is part of a structured yearly cycle. Done properly, it is not merely a celebration of the new year, but a period of sustained effort: a moment for clarity, for seeing oneself raw, honestly, and without excuse.
It is in this space that the custom of Tashlich appears. Shortly after Rosh Hashanah, one goes to flowing water and symbolically casts away sins. This act does not replace forgiveness, nor does it complete Teshuvah; sins are not disposed of through mere gesture. Instead, Tashlich serves as a threshold moment — the externalization of one’s decision to recognize and accept responsibility for sin. It is the final symbolic act before the real work of repair begins.
There are ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur; that is no accident. This is the time when apologies are made, harms addressed, destructive patterns confronted, and relationships repaired. Judaism ritualizes moral transformation, personalizing Teshuvah and insisting upon at least yearly practice.
What’s Next?
Teshuvah is not simply a one-and-done ordeal, nor is it strictly an end-of-year practice. Rambam tells us that the High Holy Days intensify Teshuvah but do not define its limits. Truly, the end of the year marks a unique time when the ongoing practice of Tikkun Olam surges with a focus on Teshuvah, but there is no magic in the days themselves. Postponing the practice is inviting its own consequences, gambling with one’s very moral state. A pre-ordained time for observance is merely a failsafe against never-ending deferral, not the primary system.
Ritual informs, habitualizes, and structures. Teshuvah, however, demands attention whenever it is needed. After all, we are not breaking things only toward the end of the year.
There is great wisdom in the philosophy behind Teshuvah; timeless wisdom that transcends a theology constrained by narrow framing. We all share a desire to improve the self, and one way we do this is by recognizing our shortcomings, taking responsibility for them, and elevating the future. I have yet to meet a person who enjoys doling out suffering and destruction, and those who do so inevitably seek redemption. This idea — the process of Teshuvah — provides a roadmap for the serious individual to return to a better self, a truer self, one closer to the ideal.
Teshuvah does not offer absolution on demand, nor does it flatter with easy narratives of growth. It demands clarity, responsibility, and change — in that order. Once a person understands what has been broken, neutrality is no longer possible; tacit acceptance of imbalance is not an option. One either returns, or makes a conscious choice to remain misaligned. While Teshuvah is rooted in Jewish thought, the moral discipline it describes — the refusal to deny harm, the insistence on repair, and the demand to change direction — is not uniquely Jewish, even if Judaism articulates it with uncommon clarity. That, ultimately, is the seriousness of Teshuvah: not merely as a religious practice, but as a moral stance — not that it forgives, but that it refuses to let us pretend we do not know what we are doing.
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