When Teshuvah Feels Impossible
Posted on
Noam Blauer, Rabbinical School 2026
Are we really being set up for success for this whole teshuvah business? We might commit to doing all the preparation鈥攋ournaling, going to shul, talking to therapists, chatting with rabbis, calling up hurt family and friends, New Year鈥檚 resolutions, etc.鈥攁nd it still feels inadequate. Am I actually morally transformed? I am some infinitesimally small fraction of a hypermodern, global, complex network. My actions bear consequences for people on the other side of the globe I will never meet and whose names I will never even know. I still need to bring teshuvah to bear on my most intimate relationships, but is this millennia-old process suitable to the messiness and uncertainty of modern moral life?
This seemingly modern plague of angst and cynicism is actually described in ancient Jewish texts, albeit in different terms. A halakhah in Tosefta Bava Kamma (10:14) reads:
讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛专讘讬诐 讞讬讬讘 诇讛讞讝讬专 诇专讘讬诐. 讞诪讜专 讙讝诇 讛专讘讬诐 诪讙讝诇 讛讬讞讬讚, 砖讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛讬讞讬讚 讬讻讜诇 诇驻讬讬住讜 讜诇讛讞讝讬专 诇讜 讙讝讬诇讜, 讛讙讜讝诇 讗转 讛专讘讬诐 讗讬谉 讬讻讜诇 诇驻讬讬住谉 讜诇讛讞讝讬专 诇讛谉 讙讝讬诇谉.
One who steals from the masses is obligated to return [the object] to the masses. Stealing from the masses is more severe than stealing from just one individual, because one who steals from just one individual is able to appease that individual and return to him his stolen object. [In contrast,] one who steals from the masses is unable to appease them and to return to them their stolen objects.
This text addresses the severity of stealing from a broader community, which consists of many unknown people. Here are some contemporary examples: using an accessible parking space without a placard, holding onto a library book indefinitely, and riding the subway without paying the transit fare. These cases constitute theft from the masses in the broad sense鈥擨 don鈥檛 know my victims and have no idea how to make proper amends.
But once we identify the essential quality of this wrongdoing against unknown鈥攁nd unknowable鈥攙ictims, we can find more frequent occurrences than these. For instance, active or tacit engagement in political causes that, I鈥檝e realized upon reflection, have actually had adverse impacts on others. Consumption of products that were produced in unethical and harmful ways. Actions taken that led to needless environmental devastation, felt by communities thousands of miles away. In trying to fathom the sheer number of unknown victims of my actions, whether in my own neighborhood or anywhere in the world, I might be convinced that I am truly awful and unworthy of teshuvah, thereby succumbing to an intense moral nihilism about my impact and the broader world.
Another passage from the Tosefta (Bava Metzia 8:26) has something powerful to say about this kind of response:
讛讙讘讗讬谉 讜讛诪讜讻住讬谉 转砖讜讘转谉 拽砖讛, 讜诪讞讝讬专讬谉 诇诪讻讬专讬谉, 讜讛砖讗专 注讜砖讬谉 讘讛谉 爪专讻讬 专讘讬诐.
鈥淐harity and tax collectors鈥攖heir teshuvah is hard. They return [stolen objects] to the people whom they know, and as for all the rest, they put it toward public needs.鈥�
When this passage is cited in the Talmud (Bava Kamma 94b), Rashi makes clear that these are charity and tax collectors who defrauded the public and have no record of who they have wronged. The text affirms that their teshuvah is indeed hard. This simple wording from the Tosefta may be exactly the language we are looking for to describe our own situation: in modern society, our teshuvah is also hard. While not an endorsement of outright nihilism, there is a healthy acknowledgment of legitimate despair concerning living a righteous life in the face of moral complexity. Being in relationship with so many unknown people around the world is unfathomably hard; and despite our most serious efforts, teshuvah in that context is very hard, too.
Without dismissing or belittling this challenge, the Tosefta tempers this despair with a necessary measure of optimism. Even when teshuvah is hard, we must nonetheless return stolen items to the people whom we can identify as victims and give back broadly to public need. Rashi describes an example of the latter in which an individual helps build a cistern to provide fresh water to the community. While it may fall short of repaying the people I鈥檝e specifically wronged, it enables me to engage in a kind of reparative mirror; I can positively and constructively engage in a moral act that will help people I don鈥檛 know and will never meet. This is a far cry from the heroic righting of wrongs I nobly imagined when I first embarked on this process. But it is something I can do and a deeply positive action worth holding onto.
In the spirit of these texts, bring this nuanced mindset entering into this holiday season: pursue teshuvah for all your wrongdoing, while being honest about the inexhaustible nature of this work. Be kind to yourself when acknowledging the many constraints and limits that lead to some moral failures and make up for them鈥攈owever imperfectly鈥攖hrough heartfelt gestures of communal involvement and civic action. In short, turn teshuvah into a sacred opportunity to humbly affirm all the inherent joy and pain of what it means to live as human.
