This piece is part of Exploring Judaism’s 5785 High Holiday Reader. Download the whole reader here.

Much of this essay is drawn from my book, Ethics at the Center: Jewish Theory and Practice for Living a Moral Life (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2024). Essays on Judaism’s approach to specific moral issues can be found in that book and in these other books of mine: Matters of Life and Death (on medical ethics); To Do the Right and the Good (on social ethics); and Love Your Neighbor and Yourself (on personal ethics). 

The question of living a good life draws from our understanding of ethics. Even the words we use contribute to our understanding of what that entails and help us plan what we should and should not do.  

Repentance vs. Teshuvah 

English was created by Christians, and to this day the vast majority of people who speak it as their native language are Christian.  It should not be surprising, then, that many English words have Christian meanings, not only words like “salvation” and “Messiah,” which are central to Christian theology, but also words like “prayer” and “repentance.”    

The “pen” in “repentance” is based on the Latin word for punishment, as in the English words “penalty” and “penitentiary.”  “Repentance” thus implies that you cannot make up for what you have done wrong until you are punished.  

In contrast, the Hebrew word “teshuvah,” meaning return, has nothing to do with punishment and instead refers to returning to proper conduct and to the good graces of God and your community. The steps that Jewish tradition lays out for that kind of return include acknowledging that you have done something wrong, apologizing, compensating the victim to the extent that that is possible, and then taking steps to avoid repeating the offense.  That process is often hard to do, but it does not involve punishment. 

Western and Christian Conceptions of Who We Are and Ought to Be 

American ideology and that of other Western democracies views human beings as individuals with rights. The American ideal, then, is individualism, where people can maximize their own desires for the kind of person they want to be. To its credit, this vision produces freedom and creativity. Communities, though, are completely voluntary, and so, aside from duties established by law, one needs to do for others only what one chooses to do. 

In contrast, Christianity sees human beings as inheriting Original Sin – that is, we are sinful in our very origins, in our DNA, as it were – and we have no ability to redeem ourselves from our sinfulness through any of our actions; only belief in a supernatural intercessor, Jesus, can redeem us from our sins and from the punishment for them, hell.  It is the individual who is saved, and while communities certainly exist, they have no theological import.  Our goal in life, then, is to acknowledge our sinfulness, affirm that only belief in Jesus can keep us from its just punishment, but also, in some forms of Christianity, to do the kind things that Jesus did during his life.   

As explained below, Judaism’s understanding of the nature of human individuals and communities, of who we are and who we should strive to be, differs from both the American and Christian concepts. These differences have an immense effect on specific moral questions, including not only the way back from harms we have caused but also many other topics, as discussed in some of my books listed below.   

Judaism’s Perceptions of Who We Are and Ought to Be  

Human Worth  

Jewish tradition places strong emphasis on the value of each and every human being. Human worth derives not from having inherent rights, as in American ideology, but from being created in God’s image—a conception the TorahRefers to the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, the Tanakh, also called the Five Books of Moses, Pentateuch or the Hebrew equivalent, Humash. This is also called the Written Torah. The term may also refer to teachings that expound on Jewish tradition. repeats three times in the opening chapters of Genesis to ensure we take note of it. (Gen.1:27, Gen. 5:1-2, Gen. 9:6) 

Exactly which feature of the human being reflects this divine image is a matter of debate within the tradition.  The Torah itself seems to tie it to humanity’s ability to make moral judgments—that is, to distinguish good from bad and right from wrong, to behave accordingly, and to judge one’s own actions and those of others on the basis of this moral knowledge. (See Gen. 3:1-7) 

Another human faculty connected by the Torah and by the later tradition to divinity is the ability to speak. (See Gen. 2:18-23) Interestingly, “ha-middaber,” “the speaker,” is a synonym for the human being (in comparison to other animals) in medieval Jewish philosophy. Maimonides claims that the divine image resides in our capacity to think. (Guide for the Perplexed, 1:1) Locating the divine image within us may also be the Torah’s way of acknowledging that we can love, just as God does (Deut. 6:5; Lev. 19:18, Lev.19:33-4).   

Our creation in God’s image may also refer to the fact that we are at least partially spiritual and thus share God’s spiritual nature, as expressed in the prayer in the traditional, early morning weekday service: “Elohai neshamah she-natata bi,” “My God, the soul (or life-breath) that you have given me is pure.  You created it, You formed it, You breathed it into me; You guard it within me….” (Siddur Sim Shalom). Similarly, the Rabbis describe the human being as part divine and part animal, with the latter consisting of the material aspects of the human being and the former consisting of that which we share with God; (Sifrei Deuteronomy 306; 132a.) 

The Rabbis invoke the idea that God created human beings in the divine image and, uniquely, not only to describe aspects of our nature, but also to prescribe behavior.  Specifically, the Rabbis maintain that because human beings are created in God’s image, we affront God when we insult another person. (Genesis Rabbah 24:7) Conversely, “one who welcomes his friend is as if he welcomes the face of the Divine Presence.” (Yerushalmi Eruvin 5:1) Even, Shammai, who was not known for his friendliness, nevertheless admonishes, “Greet every person with a cheerful face” (Avot 1:15), undoubtedly in recognition of the divine image in each of us.   

Finally, the Rabbis’ assertion of human worth is illustrated in their ruling that no one person can be sacrificed to save even an entire city unless that person is named by the enemy or guilty of a capital crime—and, according to an alternative rabbinic source, maybe not even then. (Yerushalmi Terumot 7:20; Genesis Rabbah 94:9; Yerushalmi Terumot 47a.)  

Free Will and the Responsibility That Goes with It  

Judaism also believes that humans are born morally neutral, with the ability to discern right from wrong, to make moral choices, and to act on them. All of the biblical commandments—and the rewards and punishments attached to them—make logical and moral sense only if we humans have the ability to obey or disobey them.  Thus, this assumption of free will and the responsibility that goes with it run very deep in Jewish thought. 

The Rabbis articulate this by asserting that we each have two impulses, one for good and one for evil. (Berakhot 61a.)  The good impulse controls the righteous, the evil impulse governs the wicked, and most of us are subject to them both. (Berakhot 61b) 

This does not tell the whole story. The Rabbis note that in the Creation story (Gen. 1), God declares each day’s creation “good,” but the sixth day’s work, in which the human was created, “very good,” because while animals have no moral sense and hence no evil impulse, human beings have both. (Avot d’Rabbi Natan 16)  But then, it is asked, is the evil impulse good—indeed, very good?  Yes, is the answer, for “were it not for that impulse, a man would not build a house, marry a wife, beget children, or conduct business affairs.” (Genesis Rabbah 9:7)   

“The evil impulse,” then, simply refers to self-serving instincts while “the good impulse” refers to our altruistic instincts.  According to the rabbis, we inherit the evil impulse, yetzer ha-ra, at birth and gain the good impulse, yetzer ha-tov, at age thirteen. (Avot d’Rabbi Natan 16; Sanhedrin 91b) Infants are completely self-oriented, understanding their parents to be extensions of themselves, designed to serve them.  To the Rabbis, it takes thirteen years for children to develop a mature sense of their responsibilities to others. Hence, the age of bar or bat mitzvah, when Jewish law makes people fully responsible for their actions.   

Through our “evil instinct” we are more likely to harm other people out of our self-serving motives than we are from our altruistic ones, even though our self-serving instinct motivates some very good things. On the other hand, the Rabbis recognize that an overabundance of altruism is also not good. They tell the story of a man who was so altruistic, he would give away any money he had; as a result, the court had to send people to accompany him to his daughter’s wedding, lest he relinquish her dowry on the way. (Ta’anit 24a) Similarly, friendships and marriages require reciprocity; they are often in danger of dissolving if only one party gives and the other party consistently receives. 

The trick is to balance both impulses. In the Torah’s commandment to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart” (Deut. 6:5), the Hebrew word for heart, levav, is spelled with an extra bet.  The Rabbis assert that this refers to loving God “with both impulses—the good and the evil.” (Sifrei Deuteronomy, 32.)       

So how do we live a good life? 

For most of us, the challenge is to control our self-serving instincts and channel them to good purpose. The Rabbis harbor no illusions that that is easy. Indeed, rabbinic literature abounds in descriptions of how difficult it is to live a moral life. (Sukkah 52a)  

The rabbis prescribe a variety of methods for overcoming temptation when it occurs, including, but not limited to, engaging in Torah study, God’s “antidote” to the evil impulse. (Kiddushin 30b) When we do something wrong, the Jewish tradition prescribes the specific path of teshuvah, literally, “return,” to the proper moral path and to the good graces of God and those we have wronged, as described above. (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Teshuvah 1-2) You can also find more about personal forgiveness in my book, Love Your Neighbor and Yourself: A Jewish Approach to Modern Personal Ethics, and communal forgiveness in  To Do the Right and the Good: A Jewish Approach to Modern Social Ethics.  

In the end, the moral life, with its choices, its responsibilities, its missteps, and its modes of repair, is an integral part of what it means to be Jewish. 

Moreover, we are connected to our families, other Jews, and, ultimately, to all people. This is not a connection that we can sever at will, as in the Western idea of voluntary community. It is rather an organic bond that we cannot escape, any more than your foot can decide to leave your body. This thick connection to other Jews means that “all Jews are responsible for one another,” a phrase that means that we can and do take pride in the good things that other Jews do and worry about the consequences for all Jews of the bad things that some Jews do.  It also means that we are responsible for supporting the welfare of all Jews, a duty that we cannot escape at will. 

If we are inherently worthwhile as unique creations of God in the divine image, then we must respect ourselves and each other, regardless of anyone’s age, gender identity, race, ethnicity, creed, sexual orientation, or level of abilities. We must seek the welfare of others as part of our respect for the divine image within them.  We must also establish and enforce just laws and moral norms, and when individuals violate such norms, an inherent respect must underlie our corrective treatment of them.    

At the same time, each of us has the duty to use our free will to preserve our own well-being. In fact, the TalmudReferring to one of two collections, the Jerusalem and Babylonian Talmuds, edited in the 6th century, that contains hundreds of years of commentary, discussion, and exploration of the ideas in the Mishnah. One could describe it as Mishnah + Gemara = Talmud says, “your life comes first,” (Bava Metzia 62a) both because you have inherent worth that you have a duty to preserve and also for the pragmatic reason that if you cannot function yourself, you cannot help others. (As we are told on airplanes, “First put the oxygen mask on yourself, and then help others.”)  Care of others must be preceded by, and balanced by, self-care.    

To balance our own needs and the needs of others, to fulfil our duties to both, and to be bound with others in a mutually supportive community provide us the foundation of how Judaism describes a good life. It also gives us many specific instructions about what we should do and avoid to live that kind of morally good and meaningful life.