The story of the Ten Days of Repentance, like the story of Rosh Hashana also begins with opening the heavenly account books. We considered these books in the context of Rosh Hashana as far as they apply to the righteous and the wicked, but now we must take a look at them once again as far as they apply to the intermediate group -- the spiritually mediocre -- the people to whom these ten days are dedicated. The story that unfolds may be different, but the starting point is the same.

Rabbi Kruspedoi taught in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: "Three books are opened on Rosh Hashana, one is the book of the totally wicked, one is the book of the totally righteous, and the third is the book of the spiritually mediocre. The totally righteous are written and sealed immediately for life into their book, the totally wicked are written and sealed immediately for death into their book, whereas the spiritually mediocre are held suspended from Rosh Hashana till Yom Kippur. If they merit it they are then written up for life, if not, they are written up for death." (Rosh Hashana, 16b)

Maimonides establishes this passage of the Talmud as the Halacha (Laws of Teshuva, 3,3):

Just as a person's merits and sins are weighed at the time of his death, so, too, the sins of every inhabitant of the world together with his merits are weighed on the festival of Rosh Hashana. If one is found righteous, his [verdict] is sealed for life. If one is found wicked, his [verdict] is sealed for death. A spiritually mediocre person's verdict remains tentative until Yom Kippur. If he repents, his [verdict] is sealed for life. If not, his [verdict] is sealed for death.

It thus appears that the Ten Days of Repentance between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are provided for the spiritually mediocre. The righteous don't need them, they have already been sealed for life. The wicked can't make use of them, as they have already been sealed for death.

The first issue that must be settled is who exactly are the spiritually mediocre.

Again, we refer to Maimonides (ibid, 3,1). Each and every person has merits and sins. A person whose merits exceed his sins is termed righteous. A person whose sins exceed his merits is termed wicked. If his sins and merits are equal he is termed spiritually mediocre.

But this surely cannot be taken at surface value; it sounds like a numerical test. More merits, righteous. More sins, wicked. If so, the spiritually mediocre is someone who is exactly in balance in the number and weight of his sins and merits. How many people can there have been in the history of the world who were so exactly in balance? Is it credible to suppose that the entire phenomenon of the Ten Days of Repentance was established only for them?

Basing himself on the writings of Rabbeinu Yona in "Sha'arei Teshuva," Rabbi Hutner explained that Maimonides doesn't mean a numerical balance. He is really talking about commitment. A person who is committed on the side of merit is righteous. A person who is committed to the opposite is wicked. The spiritually mediocre person vacillates between his commitments. He has not defined himself or made up his mind one way or another.

But even if this is so, it only helps to solve the technical problem. Now we can understand how there can be multitudes of spiritually mediocre people. In fact most people would fall into this category. Generally speaking, our commitments are always relative. If we are sufficiently tempted, we often discover that our commitment is too weak to insure resistance. According to Rabbi Hutner's test almost all of us fit into this category of the spiritually mediocre.

But the conceptual problem presented by the treatment of the spiritually mediocre person is not ameliorated one bit by Rabbi Hutner's explanation. What is so terrible about the mediocre person that he deserves to be sealed for death if he does not repent in the ten days? After all, it is a given that he is not wicked. Since when is life only for the excellent, and where does that leave all of us?

In order to arm ourselves with the information we require to answer this question, we must study the origin of these Ten Days of Repentance. What are they, and where do they come from?

The Talmud tells the story of how the prophet Isaiah was executed by his grandson King Menashe for heresy. One of the points of heresy he was accused of:

Moses your teacher said "And who is like the Lord our God, who is always there for us whenever we call out to Him," (Deut 4,7) while you taught, "Look for God when He is there." (Isaiah 55,6).

The Talmud answers the apparent contradiction:

He is always there for the public, but not always there for the individual. And when is this time that Isaiah refers to that God is present even for the individual? Rabbi Nachman said in the name of Rabbi Avohu: "These are the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur." (Talmud, Yevomot, 49b)

There is something very disturbing about this. Isn't God always present? Don't we pray to Him every day on the assumption that He is listening? Is it a waste of time to pray unless you have a quorum present?

What is more, this Talmudic statement does not seem to be accurate at first glance even regarding teshuva, "repentance." Maimonides writes (Teshuva, 1,4):

Even though teshuva atones for all sins and the essence of Yom Kippur brings atonement, [there are different levels of sin and hence different levels of atonement.] There are sins that can be atoned for immediately and other sins which can only be atoned for over the course of time.

He goes on to differentiate between the severity of various sins and the conditions for their atonement, but nowhere is there a mention of the Ten Days of Repentance. The rules of atonement are the same at all times. Yet Maimonides himself quotes this passage of Talmud later on (ibid 2,6). How can we make sense of all this contradictory information? In what sense is God especially present during these ten days, and how does this special presence relate to the teshuva of the spiritually mediocre individual?

A simple metaphor will help to bring the central idea down to earth.

Contrast two people listening to a musical performance. One bought a ticket to the Royal Philharmonic and is listening to the orchestra as a member of the audience. As he listens to each soloist, he is overwhelmed by the virtuosity and the talent displayed by the members of the orchestra. The second person is walking along a pedestrian mall where some street musicians are playing with an open violin case in front of them awaiting the coins of the passerby. He hears the music, stops to listen then moves on.

Even if you were to take the same musicians that play in the philharmonic and put them into this street orchestra, the person who was sitting spellbound as a member of the audience will give them nothing more than a passing glance. He is presently strolling the mall; his attention is not focused on music appreciation. Nevertheless if it were Isaac Stern who was playing the violin, even if he were to do so on the pedestrian mall, he would soon gather a large audience. When the virtuosity is world class and one of a kind, it will always make an impact even when people's attention is focused elsewhere.

As we will see, during the ten days, God and the heavenly court are going to attend the concert of teshuva. They are ready to appreciate the music of everyone's repentance even if he is no genius. During the year, God and the heavenly court are strolling the mall and it takes the great virtuosity of perfect repentance to attract their attention.

With this image in mind we will be able to appreciate the significance of the Ten Days of Repentance. The entire period beginning with Rosh Hashana and ending with Yom Kippur is known as the Days of Awe. God created man with the power of free choice. The full impact of this power, the truly awesome role it occupies in the universe only emerges at the time of judgment.

It is only when it is evident what man has accomplished through the use of his power of choice, that the greatness of man, and the brilliance of God's purpose in allowing man the opportunity to spread his wings, can be truly appreciated.

But what is the power of free choice?

Free will is granted to all men. If one desires to turn himself to the path of good and be righteous, the choice is his. Should he desire to turn to the path of evil and be wicked, the choice is his ... A person should not entertain the thesis held by the fools among the gentiles and the majority of the undeveloped among Israel that, at the time of man's creation, God decrees whether he be righteous or wicked.

This is untrue. Each person is fit to be righteous like Moses, our teacher, or wicked, like Jeroboam. [Similarly,] he may be wise or foolish, merciful or cruel, miserly or generous, or [acquire] any other character traits. There is no one who compels him, sentences him, or leads him towards either of these two paths. Rather, he, on his own initiative and decision, tends to the path he chooses. (Maimonides, Teshuva, 5,1-2)

Maimonides is speaking here about character traits, not actions. Thus while the outward expression of free will is in deeds, the true depth of free will emerges in self definition. A person must define his own being. Who am I? Am I a tzadik -- a righteous person? Then I should do X. Am I a rasha -- a wicked person? Than I can do Y.

If I am righteous than I must always set a good example for others like our teacher Moses. If I am wicked I only have to worry about what is best for me, and if that leads people astray, so be it -- it's none of my business. Choices are based on character. Character in turn rests on how a person chooses to regard himself.

The purpose of creation was to place man in the right surroundings to allow the expression of his free will. But what if man refuses to exercise it? What if instead of defining himself, he spends his life attempting to balance between the alternatives. What if he recoils from either alternative and chooses to vacillate instead? Rather than defining himself as either a tzadik or a rasha he avoids either definition. Thus he will not do certain things on the grounds that such actions will stamp him as a rasha, but he will not do other things because they will stamp him as a tzadik. What if he prefers mediocrity?

Thus he will avoid a life of crass materialism because that would make him lose out on his chance for holiness, but he will also avoid a life of holiness because he does not want to deny himself the pleasures of materialism either. Most of us are spiritually mediocre by choice, not by chance. We balance this world with the next. We want our creature comforts here; the nice house, the nice car, financial security, but we also want to go around thinking that we have some good deeds which merit us having a share in the World to Come. Instead of focusing on using our lives to define ourselves, we live our lives in such a way as to avoid having to define ourselves at all.

This sort of behavior is tolerable at other times of the year, but not during the Days of Awe. During these days of judgment man must present himself as a chooser, he has to demonstrate that he has made use of his life to do God's work. This means to do more than demonstrate good works. This requires a demonstration of commitment. God will renew the world for another year only for those who require life, because only the living are able to define themselves. For those who use their lives to balance on the tightrope between materialism and spirituality without making a commitment to either side, it is not necessary to be in this world at all. As they demonstrate no interest in exercising their free will powers, there is no need for them to stick around the free will environment.

Complete teshuva is effective at any time of year. A person who comes to the conclusion on his own that his life is headed in the wrong direction and makes a total commitment to correct it, is always noticed by God. He does not need the Ten Days of Repentance. He is akin to an Isaac Stern playing the violin. The beautiful sound of man's free will in the full power of its ability to highlight the majestic harmony of the universe that functions according to God's design is always inherently present in every act of teshuva that issues from the depths of the human heart.

But this is not the repentance of the mediocre. The sound that issues from the free will of the mediocre person who is finally, under pressure, making an effort to define himself, is the sound of a rusty violin played by hands that are sadly out of practice. It is only in the Ten Days of Repentance when God is hearkening to just such a sound that it manages to catch His undivided attention. The heavenly court is sitting in the auditorium listening to the concert of free will played by the human orchestra.

This might help us to gain some insight to the interesting language Maimonides selects to describe the efficacy of these days:

Even though repentance and calling out to God are beautiful (in Hebrew yafe), during the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur they are even more beautiful and will be accepted immediately, as Isaiah (55:6) states: Seek God when He is to be found.

Maimonides does not say they are good, or effective -- he says they are beautiful. "Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder" goes the old saying, and during these ten days God is a beholder; He is sitting in the audience judging man's performance, looking for teshuva. It is in these ten days that God finds the tiniest steps towards self-definition especially pleasing to His eye.

This idea of God watching man's performance is central to the holiness of the Days of Awe.

There are two different sets of holidays given to us Jews by the Torah. One set, Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, are known as the three regalim, literally "legs" in Hebrew. These provide us with the spiritual inputs that we can employ to inspire ourselves to use our free will to commit to God's service. Thus Passover, reminiscent of the Exodus, the freedom of the bondage of Egypt, inspires us to fight free of the shackles of materialism that bind us. Shavuot, reminiscent of the receiving of Torah at Mount Sinai, inspires us to accept the Torah as a guidepost for our own lives. And Sukkot, reminiscent of God's holy cloud that sheltered us during our 40-year sojourn in the desert, inspires us to joy and confidence in God's abiding love for us. These spiritual inputs are provided by God to aid us in the quest for spiritual excellence. They are times of pilgrimage where we are commanded to visit with God in Jerusalem to receive this input.

While the sanctity of the three regalim originates in God's spiritual input, the sanctity of the Days of Awe originates in the power of man's free will. The two holidays of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur represent the recognition of man's input into the struggle for holiness that is the historic purpose of all the inputs that God provides. They exist to celebrate the power and contribution of man's free will towards the creation of the human-divine relationship.

The record of man's successes and failures in the employment of his free will constitutes the human side of the God-man relationship. In calling man to judgment, God means to pay man the greatest tribute. The days of judgment, which are based on man's record of failures and successes in the exercise of his free will, are also holy days, no less than the days when God provides the inspiration of His spiritual input. The Torah affords the same degree of sanctity to the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, that originate in the inspiration provided by man's spiritual contribution, as it does to the three regalim which celebrate God's spiritual input. That is why these days are not days of pilgrimage. The source of their holiness is man. God comes to man rather than man to G-d.

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