blogs/rabbi-huberman

Parashat: Beha’a’lotcha

Regrets and Second Chances

It began just a few minutes after we arrived at Ben Gurion Airport. A feeling. A pain. A sense of betrayal. And a single word.

A few weeks ago, as we were leaving the Western Wall, my wife turned to me and asked: “Do you have any regrets?”

The Western Wall has that effect. Since 1969, I’ve visited Israel 18 times. This was my wife’s ninth trip. And each time a profound question has emerged. Each time, as I’ve pressed my palms against the stones of Judaism’s most revered site, it feels like a homecoming—a time to check in with God.

Many become ecstatic, others deeply introspective, as they stand just a few dozen yards from where the Ten Commandments were originally housed.

Over the years, people have asked me what I feel there. And I answer, “It’s more of what I hear.” As I press my fingertips upon the stones, I hear the combined voices of millions who have poured out their hearts.

I sense the rising letters of those personal prayers tucked in the Wall's cracks. I feel the pain of those—from peasants to princes -- who have perished in battle. It is that cacophony, which consistently defines my Wall experience.

The Wall has a unique effect on everyone who stands before it. So, it was not surprising with another birthday approaching, that my wife would ask me, early on that Shabbat morning, “Do you have any regrets?”

I thought for a moment and replied, “Yes, I do.” But, as I quietly considered the question, anything I’ve done in error, those I have hurt or disappointed, acts of arrogance or ignorance -- especially in my youth—have, perhaps, led me to be a better person.

We call that acquiring wisdom.  Hopefully, over time, I’ve apologized or tried to make right what needed to be revisited and corrected. That process, for each of us, is ongoing.

I thought about the conversation we had in Jerusalem this past week as I reviewed this week’s Torah portion titled Beha’a'lotcha—“when you light the lamps.”

It deals with the original menorah that was lit more than 3,000 years ago at the Israelites’ first communal place of worship and continues to shine in virtually every synagogue since.

It also refers to the eternal light which collectively glows within the Jewish people -- even when circumstances around us appear dark. As the Torah later predicts, through time, countless nations will attempt to eliminate or silence us. But that light—sometimes dimmed—returns brighter.

Someone recently commented to me, “These deplorable October 7 attacks have enabled us to become stronger ‘October 8 Jews’.”

Indeed, we are a nation of rebirth and renewal. How interesting that so much of that teaching extends to this week’s Torah portion, which I call “the parashah of second chances.”

Two stories inspire me:

First, we read how Miriam, Moses’ sister, is punished after gossiping about Moses’ choice of a new wife. After the marriage of Moses and Tziporah fails, Moses remarries. Whether it is racism, or a longing for her former sister-in-law, Miriam has a few choice words about Moses’ new bride, who hails from North Africa.

“He married a Cushite woman!” she states, with some attitude. God is not pleased with Miriam, and soon she contracts a skin disease. It’s an interesting metaphor. How often have we spoken words we’ve later regretted? That feeling of regret creeps under our skin.

Miriam is banished to the outskirts of the camp for seven days where she recovers physically and spiritually. She is then welcomed back with full status. God gives her a second chance.

And then there is the invention of the “Second Passover.”  Have you ever been unable to celebrate a holiday or an important event -- traveling or otherwise occupied?

The Torah understands this. It teaches that it is the intent of the holiday or event that should ultimately be honored. For those who do not have a chance to observe Passover in its time, the Torah creates a second opportunity—known as the Second Passover (Pesach Sheini.)

The Torah again promotes the idea of second chances. And that, perhaps, even extends to the mistakes we’ve made or regrets we have. It means that over a lifetime, we can expect to make errors.

We will have made some mistakes that, hopefully, over time, we can address and correct. In the words of the great sage, the Vilna Gaon, part of life’s ultimate purpose is to turn ourselves into something better.

This past week, I received a remarkable email from Rebecca, 36, the daughter of my cousin, Celia. We attended Rebecca’s bat mitzvah many years ago, and were so happy to have been there. But for 23 years she has been bothered because she never sent a thank you card.

How amazing that on this week of second chances Rebecca sent me this message:

“Dear Cousin Irwin. I never sent you the thank you note from my Bat Mitzvah! I am so sorry about that. As we are packing up my room, I wanted to show you where the text of your card still lives to this day -- on my white board haunting me every time I go home, reminding me that I had one last thank you to copy down and mail.

“I had written all of them on my white board first to practice. It's gotten slightly erased over the years, but I think the body of the text still shows. Thank you.” Even though the idea of a thank you card never occurred to me, it was one of the nicest messages I’ve ever received.

And yes, I am fortunate that, relatively speaking, I have few regrets. But while I am still on this earth, I—like all of us -- possess the capacity to address those previous errors, often committed, as the Yom Kippur service defines them, "due to a confused heart."

This week’s Torah portion inspires us to consider that Judaism believes in new beginnings—from the light of the original menorah to the successes and failures we have experienced, from the words we utter in vain to apologies or thank yous overdue.

Life doesn’t allow you to play it safe. But through each challenge, success and failure, we grow. This week’s parashah inspires us to consider that life is sometimes about second chances.

So, hopefully, when we leave this earth, we will do so with few regrets. And thank you, Rebecca, for your wonderful teaching. Again, Mazal tov.

Shabbat Shalom, v’kol tuv

Rabbi Irwin Huberman