Jewish learning Debut Excerpt:
Returning Higher
Returning Higher: Hasidic & Neo-Hasidic Inspiration for the High Holy Day Journey is a two volume collection from Panui. Co-Edited by Rabbi Aubrey Glazer and Rabbi Or Rose, Founding Director of Hebrew College’s Miller Center for Interreligious Learning and Leadership, the collection features essays, commentary, and reflections from Hebrew College rabbinical students, faculty, and alumni. Returning Higher accompanies readers on their journey through the High Holy Day season, from Elul through the end of Shemini Atzeret-Simḥat Torah. Volume 1, spanning from Elul to Rosh Hashanah, is available now for purchase. The excerpt below is Rabbi Or’s introduction to the volume.
Introduction: Returning Higher
Or N. Rose
“In the place where returnees (ba’alei teshuvah) stand,
even the completely righteous cannot stand.”
–Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Berakhot 34b
Turning and Returning: The Centrality of Teshuvah
According to Hasidic lore, a young devotee once approached his master, Rabbi Menaḥem Mendel of Kotsk (d. 1859), with a question that has echoed through the generations: What does it mean to be a Ḥasid? Without hesitation, the Kotsker Rebbe responded in his characteristically acerbic manner: “To work on yourself (arbetn oyf zikh).” This response captures something fundamental about the human condition: We are all works in progress. We are all both fallible and capable of growth.
This lifelong process of working on ourselves finds its deepest expression in classical Jewish thought through a concept that bears a rather simple name: teshuvah, meaning “return.” But the apparent simplicity of the term belies its complexity. Teshuvah encompasses the full arc of human development — the moment of recognition when we see ourselves clearly, the courage required to acknowledge our mistakes, the painstaking work of making amends, and the ongoing commitment to embrace change. It is simultaneously an individual and a communal responsibility, as well as a psychological process and a spiritual discipline.
The ancient rabbis internalized the importance of this concept so deeply that they taught that God created teshuvah before fashioning the world itself. This teaching suggests that the capacity for repair is not an afterthought but foundational to divine creation. The sages simply could not imagine a world in which teshuvah was not woven into the very fabric of existence — a world without the possibility of reconciliation and redemption. In choosing the Hebrew term “teshuvah,” our ancient forebears were communicating their belief in the latent goodness of humankind. When we engage in authentic acts of repentance, we renew our relationships with others and return to this inner place (or point) of goodness.
“To Everything There is a Season — Turn, Turn, Turn”
One of the most striking demonstrations of the importance of teshuvah in Jewish religious life is its role as the animating theme of the High Holy Days — Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur. These are not merely ceremonial occasions, but rather carefully coordinated ritual experiences designed to guide us through the process of return and renewal. Beginning a full month before the Jewish New Year, during the month of Elul, we are enjoined to begin this journey of soul-searching (ḥeshbon ha-nefesh) and making amends. This experience gradually intensifies, leading into and reaching its crescendo during Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur, also known as the “Awe-striking Days” (Yamim Nora’im, usually translated as “Days of Awe”) — a phrase that captures the gravity of this season.
At the same time, there is a popular teaching that the name of the month of Elul (the final month of the year, spent in preparation for the Days of Awe) should be read symbolically as the acronym for the scriptural phrase Ani Le-Dodi Ve-Dodi Li, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine” (Song of Songs 6:3). The implication of this playful reading is that God and the people of Israel are partners in a loving relationship, and that the month of Elul is a time to reconnect or deepen our relationship with the Divine. This interpretation can be helpful in framing this season of return as one in which we lovingly attempt to better ourselves and improve our relationships with others. It also serves as a complement to other, more hierarchical images of God in the High Holy Day liturgy such as “King,” “Judge,” and “Father.”
The rabbis were equally insistent that teshuvah should not be confined to this special season alone. They spoke in direct and often challenging language about the need to make return a daily practice — to take responsibility for our misdeeds, to seek forgiveness from those we have wronged, and to open ourselves to the sincere apologies of those who seek forgiveness from us. This daily dimension of teshuvah acknowledges that spiritual and ethical growth cannot be relegated to annual retreats or services but must be integrated into the ordinary rhythms of life.
At its heart, teshuvah rests on two interrelated beliefs: that people can indeed change and that forgiveness ultimately flows from the Divine.
The Prophet Jonah and the Possibility of Change
Perhaps nowhere is this vision more clearly illustrated than in the prophetic Book of Jonah, which is traditionally read on Yom Kippur afternoon. As the contemporary Hasidic writer Rabbi Menachem Posner observes, “G-d spared the people of Nineveh although He had already decreed that they would be destroyed because of their evil ways. This teaches us that no matter our past behavior, G-d’s benevolence and mercy awaits us if we only repent full-heartedly.” The timing of the reading of the Book of Jonah during the Afternoon (Minḥah) service of Yom Kippur is itself significant. As the day begins to wane and physical exhaustion sets in after hours of fasting and prayer, one might wonder whether all this spiritual labor accomplishes anything. The Book of Jonah provides an emphatic answer: Yes, our work matters. Even divine decrees can be overturned through genuine repentance. The ironic tone of this ancient narrative serves a powerful psychological purpose: it reminds us that spiritual work, while serious, need not be sullen — that even God, it seems, appreciates the absurdity of the human condition while remaining committed to our potential for growth.
Part of the irony of this biblical novella is that while Jonah succeeds in his mission, he quickly grows angry, feeling that God has acted too kindly towards the Ninevites (4:1). In his dismay, the prophet confronts the Divine, saying, “I knew [from the moment of my calling] that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity” (4:2). As the contemporary scholar Devora Steinmetz notes:
Change, it seems, has no place in Jonah’s religious paradigm. Jonah is a man of truth. His full name, Yona ben Amitai, means “Jonah son of Truth (Emet)” … Jonah, son of truth, criticizes the God who shows mercy — willingness to change the divine decree in response to human change — rather than emet.
In fact, in his complaint to God, Jonah references Exodus 34:6-7, in which the Divine shares with Moses (following the sin of the Golden Calf) the words of supplication the Israelites should use when seeking God’s forgiveness. In rabbinic literature, these verses become known as the “Thirteen Attributes of Mercy” (Shelosh-Esrei Middot Ha-Raḥamim) and emerge as a core part of the High Holy Day liturgy (and other services throughout the year). The Book of Jonah teaches us that while truth is vital, it cannot stand alone; the world also needs compassion. Further, truth is not static: it may be that the people of Nineveh were sinners, but it does not mean that they will always be so.
“Where are You?”: The Need to Take Responsibility
While the Book of Jonah illustrates God’s capacity for Raḥamim, it also highlights the need for human responsibility. We do not know what the Ninevites did wrong, but we do learn that the whole city engaged in a collective process of teshuvah (chapter 3). The need for individual atonement is articulated powerfully in the following rabbinic teaching:
Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya was a broken man because of his sinful ways. He asked the mountains and hills to petition God on his behalf … He asked the heavens and earth to petition God on his behalf … He asked the sun and moon to petition God on his behalf … He asked the stars to petition God on his behalf. After all of them refused to come to his assistance, he finally realized: “Only I can do teshuvah; it’s not up to anyone else.”
While the moral of this story is obvious, anyone who has struggled with acknowledging a serious mistake knows how profound and challenging this realization can be. There is something deeply human about our tendency to look everywhere but inside ourselves when confronting our failures — to blame circumstances, other people, social systems, even cosmic forces, rather than taking responsibility for our choices and their consequences.
The pioneering Neo-Hasidic thinker Martin Buber (d. 1965) uses the biblical story of Adam and the “forbidden fruit” (Gen. 3) to illuminate the human tendency toward evasion:
“Where are you?” (3:9) Whether God’s question is addressed to Adam or to some other person, God does not expect to learn something God does not know … Adam hides himself to avoid rendering accounts, to escape responsibility for his way of living. Each of us hides for this purpose, for each of us is Adam and finds ourselves in Adam’s situation. To escape responsibility for our life, we turn existence into a system of hideouts.
Buber’s insight penetrates to the heart of the human condition. Whether it is God or another person calling us to account, teshuvah requires us to abandon our elaborate systems of avoidance, to step out of our carefully constructed hiding places, to stand vulnerable in the light, and to take full responsibility for our actions and their effects on others.
Hasidism and Teshuvah: Uncovering the Divine Spark Within
Hasidism, the great 18th-century mystical revival movement that emerged in Eastern Europe, brought a distinctive approach to the practice of teshuvah. While building on various classical Jewish foundations — especially those of earlier Kabbalistic traditions — the Hasidic masters infused the process of repair and return with distinctive psycho-spiritual insights and emphases. The Kotsker Rebbe’s instruction — “to work on yourself” — captures the characteristic Hasidic focus on rigorous personal development and unflinching self-examination as the basis of an authentic religious life. But for the Hasidic masters, teshuvah transcends the correction of past mistakes. It represents nothing less than a return to one’s authentic self and a reconnection with the Source that exists both within and beyond. Following prevailing Jewish mystical teachings, the Hasidic masters insist that in making this turn the devotee also helps to restore balance to the Godhead and renew the flow of blessing throughout the cosmos.
Given the emphasis in Hasidic thought on divine immanence — “God’s glory fills the whole earth” (Isa. 6:3) — it is not surprising that one of the key images in the discussion of teshuvah is of the divine “spark” (nitztotz) that is present within the human being (and throughout all of creation). The Hasidic masters insist that this spark can never be extinguished, no matter how far one has strayed from the path of righteousness. This symbolic language intensifies the focus on teshuvah as a process of repair through rediscovery. The work is not to create something new, but to uncover what has always been present, allowing the soul to shine with renewed brilliance. As the renowned Polish Hasidic master Rabbi Yehuda Leib Alter of Ger (d. 1905) writes: “[There is] a point (nequdah) that exists within each thing, an imprint or sign that reminds us of its divine origin. It is this force that gives life to all.”
Beginning with the Ba ‘al Shem Tov (BeShT, d. 1760) — Hasidism’s paradigmatic holy man — many masters taught that one should undertake the journey of return with joy (simḥah), as it will lead to the reunion of the soul with its Source. The following teaching attributed to the BeShT, however, deserves careful attention: “Even if one falters in sin, one should not be overly sad, such that it negates one’s worship. Rather, one should be sad about the sin [and through it] return to rejoice in the Creator …” This nuanced approach acknowledges the appropriate place of regret and sorrow, while refusing to allow these emotions to become spiritually debilitating. The goal is not to eliminate sadness about our failures, but to transform that sadness into a catalyst for renewed connection and joy. Rather than viewing mistakes as dead ends or sources of permanent alienation and disgrace, they become potential turning points — opportunities for deeper self-knowledge and a more authentic relationship with the Divine and all others.
Citing the BeShT, his grandson Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Efrayim of Sudilkov (d. 1800) teaches that authentic spiritual life is inherently dynamic, characterized by recurrent experiences of “ascent” (Aliyah) and “descent” (yeridah) — periods of clarity and connection and of confusion and separation. This insight challenges conceptions of spiritual development as a linear progression toward ever-greater states of certainty and bliss. Instead, the Rebbe of Sudilkov teaches that not all spiritual insight or wisdom emerges from experiences of joy and ecstasy. There are divine insights to be discovered in bewilderment and sadness, which are inevitable parts of any genuine spiritual journey. This approach is further developed in the foundational Hasidic teaching about “alien thoughts” (maḥshavot zarot) that arise during prayer and meditation and disrupt one’s concentration. When such disturbances appear, one should not seek to suppress or cast them off but engage in an honest process of discernment (beirur). Why do these thoughts or feelings appear at this moment? How might they relate to my life beyond the hour of prayer? If a thought of lust or greed enters my mind during this sacred time, how can I work to uplift or transform it from its current, “fallen” state, thereby restoring it to its proper place in the Godhead (as love or rigor)? This psycho-spiritual insight anticipates various contemporary teachings about the counterproductive nature of denying the existence of these unwanted inner stirrings. Instead of fighting them off or pushing them down, the Hasidic masters urge us to view these “intrusions” as keys that can open doors to deeper understanding.
Intentionality and The Sacred Theater of the High Holy Days
The High Holy Days represent the spiritual summit of the Jewish year, a time when the themes of return and renewal take on special urgency and power. This is the time to contemplate life and death, and to determine how we wish to live out our remaining days on this earth with gratitude and purpose. Jewish tradition teaches that during these days, the “gates of heaven” (or “mercy”) are open wide, creating uniquely auspicious conditions for repair and movement forward (or upward, or homeward). Every element of the High Holy Day observance is designed to facilitate this process of transformation. The prayers are longer and more emotionally intensive than during the rest of the year. The rituals are charged with heightened meaning and symbolic power. The elemental blasts of the shofar (ram’s horn) serve as both a wake-up call and musical accompaniment to the soul’s journey. The confessional prayers (Vidui) provide structured opportunities for acknowledging specific failures. Customs like Tashlikh, the symbolic casting off of our sins into flowing water, offer embodied ways of releasing what no longer serves our spiritual and ethical growth.
The Hasidic masters place special emphasis on the kavvanah (intentionality or directed consciousness) that practitioners bring to these, and all other, ritual performances. They consistently ask purpose-driven questions: What do you hope to accomplish through these sacred acts? How can engaging with this mitzvah bring you into closer connection with God? How can external ritual become a vehicle for internal transformation? This emphasis on intentionality reflects the broader Hasidic understanding that religious practices are not merely behavioral obligations, but opportunities for consciousness-raising and relationship-building. Channeling the spirit of his Hasidic forebears, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (d. 1972) writes of prayer: “The goal … is not to utter a maximum of words with a minimum of reflection. The goal is to rise to a higher level of consciousness, to evoke a sense of the presence of God.”
Hasidism thus offers a distinctive vision of teshuvah that is both rigorous and compassionate, attentive to the painful human and cosmic realities of our failings, yet unwavering in its conviction about the possibility of transformation. Rabbi Naḥman of Bratslav (d. 1810), the great-grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tov, captures this idea succinctly in the following statement: “If you believe that you can damage, believe that you can repair.” Rebbe Nachman, himself no stranger to melancholy, here articulates the conviction that human beings have the capacity to affect real change and that God awaits such transformative action.
The Intentions of This Volume: Widening the Circle
The idea for this edited collection emerged from a conversation between friends and study partners in the fall of 2023 and from a shared recognition of both opportunity and need. Our goal has been to provide a broad readership with a rich treasury of textual resources that can serve them throughout the Yamim Nora’im season and beyond — materials for private study, group discussion, and meditative practice during the preparatory month of Elul and continuing through Rosh Ha-Shanah, Yom Kippur, and beyond.
In the recent decades, there has been a remarkable proliferation of both scholarly and popular works on Hasidism, and yet many of its treasures remain inaccessible to English-speaking readers or those unfamiliar with this mystical tradition. Furthermore, relatively few such works focus specifically on the High Holy Days (or the year cycle as a whole). The present volume attempts to address both these gaps, while also demonstrating the continuing vitality and relevance of Hasidic wisdom for contemporary spiritual seekers. This collection intentionally includes contributions from a diverse range of writers and artists representing different points along the spectrum of Jewish religious and cultural life. Despite differences in belief and practice, the contributors all share the conviction that the texts and traditions of Hasidism are worthy of serious engagement. While the vast majority of our contributors do not live within traditional Hasidic communities, several have spent significant time in such settings and/or identify themselves as part of the evolving project of “Neo-Hasidism” — a movement of creative adaptation that began in the late 1800s. Given the dominant role men have played as public leaders in both Hasidic and Neo-Hasidic contexts, we have made a deliberate effort to widen the circle of contributors to this volume to include individuals of different genders, ages, and life experiences. This commitment reflects our conviction that the wisdom of Hasidism can be authentically engaged by people from a broad range of backgrounds and orientations.
This engagement requires thoughtful reflection on several inherited ideas and practices, including gender roles, but also the relationship of Hasidim to non-Hasidism, Jews to non-Jews, and the rebbe-ḥasid (master-disciple) relationship. How do we thoughtfully apply insights from democratic, feminist, and other sources of contemporary wisdom in cultivating vibrant, engaging, and responsible communities? Our goal is to live out the best of our inherited teachings and traditions in productive dialogue with post/modern ethics and mores. We view this tension as a key facet of Hasidism itself (and of Judaism more broadly), which as a popular mystical revival movement has included intentional acts of continuity and innovation from its inception. As editors of this anthology, it is our commitment to engage the spiritual technologies of our forebears with both respect and honesty. We seek to apply the same standards to the work of Neo-Hasidic leaders and groups, past and present. This requires honest assessment of our missteps and mistakes, including occasions on which we fall short of our own stated ideals and commitments. If teshuvah is, as our mystics insist, a spiraling cosmic process, it requires of us sincere and ongoing engagement. In our day, this includes attention to best practices in such fields as psychology, pastoral care, and restorative justice.
We also wish to acknowledge that this volume was conceived of before the horrific events of October 7th, 2023, and its devastating aftermath, and that most of the materials in this anthology were written before the scope of the ensuing destruction in Gaza, the West Bank, and Israel was known. We pray that the materials in this anthology provide some help in sorting through the heart-rending demands before us. The need for individual and collective introspection — to mourn our losses, to take responsibility for our transgressions, to assess our safety needs, and to recommit ourselves to peace and justice — weighs heavily on us in a time of trauma and reckoning. Further, we hope that this work contributes to the strengthening of positive Jewish identity in a time of resurgent antisemitism throughout the world. May we have the strength to overcome this latest wave of hatred and the empathy to support others who also face bigotry and degradation.
While this volume began, essentially, as a collection of Hasidic teachings accompanied by contemporary commentaries, we have made the choice to include complementary (and, in some cases, challenging) sermonic, poetic, and prayerful materials, along with visual art from individuals who view themselves as being in meaningful dialogue with Hasidism. We have incorporated these different forms of creative expression both to honor and extend the essential early Hasidic understanding that there are a variety of forms through which to serve the Divine— “Know Him in all your ways” (Prov. 3:6). From the very beginnings of the movement, Hasidic masters viewed embodied practices like storytelling, singing, and dancing as powerful vehicles for religious experience and expression. [49] This sensibility strongly influenced the work of various Neo-Hasidic figures — Buber, Zeitlin, Heschel, Zelda, Schachter-Shalomi, Green, etc. — over the last century or so, as well as many other writers, musicians, and artists who have found in Hasidic teaching sources of inspiration and guidance for their own creative endeavors. This is the case with all the contributors to this volume, regardless of their location within the Jewish community and their chosen form of expression. One of the joys of editing this anthology has been to bring these Hasidic, Neo-Hasidic, and “Hasidic-adjacent” voices together across generations, and to observe both the commonalities and differences as they seek to enter meaningfully into the High Holy Day season and the ongoing journey of teshuvah. It is our hope, therefore, that this collection will serve not only as a resource for the Yamim Nora’im, but as an invitation to ongoing appreciative and critical engagement with one of Judaism’s most vibrant and psychologically sophisticated spiritual traditions, which, while historically and culturally specific, continues to offer profound insights into the human condition.
Rabbi Or Rose, founding Director of The Miller Center of Hebrew College, serves as a senior consultant to Interfaith America. Among his recent publications is the award-winning, co-edited volume With the Best of Intentions: Interreligious Missteps & Mistakes (Orbis Books), and My Legs Were Praying: A Biography of Abraham Joshua Heschel (Monkfish Book Publishing) for teen and young adult readers.