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[This essay was originally recorded with Liel Leibovitz of Tablet Magazine on the morning of Friday, October 6, 2023. The next day was October 7th.] Let’s start at the end. This High Holiday season, as we do every year, we conclude the Torah with the Israelites as they are just about to enter the Land of Israel. You would think this would be a time for celebration. Yet instead, in those final moments, Moses details to the Jewish people how they have failed time and again, and predicts they will fail again. Then standing in sight of the most Promised Land, Moses dies, the greatest of dreams unrealized. And like a good first installment in a series, the screen cuts black – we are left on the edge of our seats. One of the clear messages we take away from this ending is delivered throughout the Torah: failure is part of the program. It is both our opportunity and our onus to return from it. This is also a classically American concept – or rather, it was. We were once a country that saw itself as a never ending project. Alexis de Tocqueville observed in Democracy in America that “the greatness of America lies not in being more enlightened than any other nation, but rather in her ability to repair her faults.” Something we’ve inherently understood as Americans is constantly striving towards the idea of ‘a more perfect Union.’ We love the comeback story, root for the underdog, and celebrate the triumphant return. But there is a crisis of the American soul today. First, the obsession with fixating on historical flaws cut the legs off what was once a unifying power. Now, in the place of a shared history is a void filled with attitudes of helplessness and division. Our country has become sick with self-flagellation, cancel culture, and dangerous conspiracy theories born from a victim mentality. It is a shift that leaves no room for forgiveness. And a society that hates itself cannot survive. America’s founders drew heavily from the Exodus and the Hebrew prophets. They studied Hebrew. Some even proposed it as the official language of the United States. Benjamin Franklin, for his part, suggested that the national seal feature Moses crossing the parted Red Sea. The reverence for the stories of the Torah runs deep in our national DNA. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (z”l) once wrote the question: “How do you live with the past without being held captive by the past?” Well, Judaism insists: a life without forgiveness of the past is a life without progress towards the future. We are a religion that does not shy away from our history. This is true even down to the commandments. The Talmud tells us that both sets of tablets, including the first ones that Moses broke when he returned to the scene of the golden calf, are together in the Ark of the Covenant. “Even though the first tablets were broken, their sanctity obligates one not to treat them with contempt.” (Brachot 8b) Judaism instructs us clearly; keep the faith, remember the past. Neither shame nor deny it, but move on from it. Our story, complete with flaws, is what allows us to return. In another example in the Gemara, Avoda Zarah 5a, we ask the question: Why is it so important to mention King David’s sin with Bathsheba? Why ruin the image of one of our iconic leaders? Rabbi Yochanan explains that that’s exactly the point. David’s moral collapse teaches us that we too can sin and repent, just as the generation of the golden calf shows that a community can do the same. Our free will begets failure, and we must believe in the pursuit of our own redemption. This concept is both one of forgiveness and assignment. Judaism does not let us off the hook – David pays for his mistake for the rest of his life. But even so, G-d still acknowledges David’s greatness and makes him the father of all future kings. We understand that the blood of our actions is on our hands, but it is also in our hands to fix it. The Hasidic concept of ratso vashov (run and return) echoes that inherent to the act of being alive is failing. There is no paradigm of constant growth. The founder of Hasidic Judaism, the Baal Shem Tov, compares the need for failure in life to a parent teaching his child to walk. The father’s goal as he moves his hands away is to let the child fall. When G-d accompanies us in life, He has to step back. Simply put, you cannot learn to walk on your own unless you learn to fall. Progress necessitates failure. Back in the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible), in a remarkable plot twist, Judaism extends the line of leaders from Judah instead of Joseph. Judah, who concocts the plan to sell his brother into slavery and sleeps with a prostitute who turns out to be his son’s wife. And yet when choosing the future King of Israel, how is it that he is chosen to be the model? The answer is that Joseph famously avoids failure. Judah knows how to lead because he has lived and grown. America, on the other hand, has become exceptionally bad at handling her past. In one extreme form, failure is now treated by many as an indelible stain that can never be forgiven. Tear down the statues, rewrite historical events to suit a modern stomach, nullify any merits with any demerits. And at the other end, there is the total avoidance of dealing with failure. Give everyone a participation trophy, excuse bad behaviors, coddle minds with the low expectations of a victim mentality. After all, there is no individual responsibility when the past – or others – are to blame. However you slice it, both tracks take the easy way out. Completely at odds with the Judeo-Christian values that form the bedrock of this country, they remove the core concepts of individual autonomy and liberty. How easy life would be with no expectation for change. Working towards ideals requires risk and hard work. Having a direct hand at the outcome means opening the chance to falling short. Failure is intrinsic to freedom. Yes, the United States has lost its center of gravity – but so did the Israelites. These were the people who witnessed G-d’s miracles through the ten plagues. Yet still, only chamushim (one-fifth) of Jews in Egypt chose to leave. These were the Jews who witnessed the splitting of the sea, yet still built the golden calf. They received manna, and still, the spies returned with lies. Today, we have miracles around us all the time. We have trees that grow and hearts that beat. But sure, we arguably don’t have the same awesome, in-your-face wonders. So perhaps we can be easier on ourselves for needing reminders when we fail too. The founders of both nations believed in the continuing, ever evolving stories of their people. We are two nations distinguished in our belief that nothing is predetermined. America, the great unfinished symphony. Judaism, with her structured mechanisms that remind us never to give up. It is the essence of the High Holidays that begin with Tshuva (repentance) and close out with the holiday of Simchat Torah. Just as we complete the Torah, we immediately start again with the first chapter. We are told clearly that it is only just the beginning. We must continue the story. So we end back at the beginning. Bereishit. Fail, the Torah tells us. Fail again. Fail better. It is so incredibly Jewish to keep trying. It is so deeply American to do the same.