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Dear Yeshiva Family:
In this week's parshah we encounter the mitzvah of teshuvah1 — repentance and return to Hashem. The Torah tells us (Devarim 30:11–14) that this mitzvah "is not in the heavens… nor is it across the sea… rather, it is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart."
At first glance, the Torah's wording is puzzling. When trying to provide a frame of reference, the natural way is to use comparative points that fit the situation. If something is far, we describe it in relation to something else that is distant — "It's not at the other end of the country, it's only at the other end of the state." If it is closer, we would say: "It's not all the way across the city, it's just a few blocks away." And if it is right at hand, we would say: "It's not at the other end of the room — it's already in your mouth." But the Torah does not take this approach. Instead, it references the most extreme distances — "in the heavens" and "across the sea" — and then contrasts them with the most extreme nearness imaginable: teshuvah is not simply closer than faraway places; it is "very close — in your mouth and in your heart." That stark contrast demands explanation.
Later in the parshah, the Torah warns about the danger of being drawn after idolatry. The verse says: "You saw their abominations and their detestable idols, wood and stone, silver and gold, that were with them" (Devarim 29:16).
Rashi explains: perhaps you will see their idols — described as "abominations" and "detestable things," expressions of filth and disgust — and be enticed to follow after them. But this raises a question: if they are so revolting, why would anyone ever be tempted to follow them?
The answer seems to lie in the progression within the verse itself. The idols are described in stages: first as disgusting and filthy, then as mere wood and stone, and finally as silver and gold — precious and desirable. How can the same idols be seen in such opposite ways? The truth is that before a person sins, he sees sin for what it is. The very idea of idolatry, or of any aveirah, is abhorrent. It appears like filth, a "detestable idol." But Chazal tell us in the Gemara (Kiddushin 20a) that once a person sins and repeats the act, it begins to appear to him as though it is permitted. Slowly, the sin loses its ugliness. With time, the once-repulsive action becomes "normal," and after further repetition, even desirable. What began as filth and disgust has now become, in his mind, silver and gold.
This explains how people can hold such radically different perspectives. One person sees the act as disgusting and morally abhorrent, while another, accustomed to it, sees it as valuable and even good. This is why some can justify killing over minor political differences, while others are horrified by the very thought. This is why some can insist that the definition of marriage must remain sacred and unchanged, while others promote broad new definitions as enlightened and noble.
The Torah warns us of this danger. A person might dabble in idolatry for any number of reasons — social pressure, political pressure, or even curiosity. The first time, it still looks disgusting. The second time, it already feels like wood and stone — something solid, useful, less repulsive. Continue further, and it shines like silver and gold, something precious, something to be desired. That outcome is what the Torah fearfully anticipates, "lest you be drawn after it with your heart."
With this in mind, we can return to our original question: why does the Torah emphasize that teshuvah is not impossibly far, but rather very close?
A person who has become accustomed to sin gradually legitimizes it in his own mind. When confronted with the Torah's true perspective, he may scoff: "Such a life is unrealistic! These views are outdated, even archaic." From within his distorted worldview, teshuvah feels impossibly distant.
But the Torah reassures us: it only seems far because of the lens through which you are looking. The moment a person begins to redefine his perspective and redraw the boundaries of his life, the picture changes and then the reverse thinking occurs. What once seemed like gold begins to lose its shine; it becomes stone, then filth, and ultimately the sin is recognized once again as the abomination it truly is. In that moment, teshuvah is no longer a mountain in the heavens or a distant sea — it is right here, "very close, in your mouth and in your heart."
This is the transformative power of teshuvah. It allows a person to reset, to strip away the layers of rationalization, and to reclaim the innocence and purity of a Torah outlook. Complete teshuvah restores clarity of thought and direction, enabling one to see or perhaps resee the world through Hashem's eyes2.
Have an amazing Shabbos!
Rabbi Moshe Revah Rosh HaYeshiva mrevah2@touro.edu
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[1] According to the Ramban. [2] With this approach, we can also address another question. Earlier in the parshah, the Torah says: "Hashem will circumcise your heart… so that you will love Hashem your God with all your heart" (Devarim 30:6). Many have asked: why does the verse need to emphasize "with all your heart"? If Hashem is the One doing the work, isn't it obvious that it will be complete? Hashem does not do things halfway. The answer, however, follows beautifully from our earlier discussion. Teshuvah is not only about erasing past mistakes; it is about reframing a person's entire way of seeing the world. Hashem's promise is not merely to fix a broken heart on the level it was before, but to reset the lens through which we view life. First He clears away the distortions, allowing us to recognize sin for what it really is. Then, with that clarity restored, He enables us to return fully — "with all of our heart." | 
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