Writing as an Act of Teshuvah

How setting the record straight can be an act of repentance and restoration

The essay I’m currently working on covers a time in my twenties when I was decidedly, and based on flimsy reasoning, anti-Zionist. (I have come around to being a kind of grudgingly pragmatic Zionist instead: I wish it weren’t necessary for there to be a place Jews could escape to when we once again find ourselves refugees, but I recognize that there has never been a time in our history when the world was that way. I still believe it is both our obligation and in our best interest to work toward a world where people fleeing violence and oppression can find sanctuary in safer places whether they are Jews or not, but I’ve given up hoping there will ever be a time when political violence itself is eradicated.) During that time, I said many stupid things, informed by fringe sources and a little in love with my own sense of being “one of the good ones” in my group of radical lefty friends. In playing this role, I helped to enable the antisemitic rhetoric of the left and gave cover to those who espoused the worst of it. And while very few (but not none) of my lefty friends went on to become people who set policy or hold much sway, it still contributed to the current climate in which Jews find themselves unwelcome in some of the politically progressive movements we helped to found.

I still have a fraught relationship with the idea of Zionism, and particularly with the current Israeli government, but I no longer lend my voice as cover to antisemites.

It’s been unpleasant to revisit this time and own my mistakes. It’s been even more unpleasant to realize these mistakes were the result of believing fringe theories because I was praised for championing them—the exact loop that has given us Q-Anon and such. Several times, I’ve put this particular essay aside, assuring myself that the book doesn’t need it. But it does. It’s part of the larger question of what it costs us when we work so hard to assimilate into a place that doesn’t welcome Jews that we become the Jew antisemites can use to cover their own antisemitism. I can’t tell you the number of times I heard “Look, even Sarah agrees the state of Israel is an illegitimate colonial power, and she’s Jewish, so don’t call me antisemitic.”

I’m intentionally working on this essay during these days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we are called on to do the necessary acts to right the wrongs we have done, because I want the writing to be inflected with the need to publicly own the harm and for the essay itself to fulfill Maimonides’ steps of teshuvah:

1. Verbally confess your mistake and ask for forgiveness (Mishneh Torah 1:1).

2. Express sincere remorse, resolving not to make the same mistake again (Mishneh Torah 2:2).

3. Do everything in your power to “right the wrong,” to appease the person who has been hurt (Mishneh Torah 2:9).

4. Act differently if the same situation happens again (Mishneh Torah 2:1).

I feel comfortable that the writing can at least partially fulfill the first, second, and fourth requirements, but I am uncertain how—given that I have harmed all Jews, really, with this action—it can, or I could otherwise, fulfill the third. I’m open to your suggestions.

How have you used your writing to right wrongs, friends? When have you set the record straight, and did it actually serve to create more justice? I’d love to hear about your experience!