Here we are, at the last 8 hours or so of this Ten Day voyage, the Ten Days of Teshuvah. I have suggested that we look at these days, commonly called the Ten Days of Repentance, as the Ten Days of Answering. The word “teshuvah” has many meanings, including ‘repentance’ and ‘return.’ It also means ‘answer’ or ‘response’ and ‘the act of answering and responding.’

In these ten days we are called upon to recognize that we must offer better answers to some fundamental questions, questions that we have heard since the beginning of time.

On Rosh Ha-Shanah and last night I set forth a number of those original questions as presented by the Torah’s first accounting of human life. These are, therefore, to be understood as questions that first came up at the dawn of our consciousness as human beings. And the questions can be understood as following one from the former, and as building in complexity and urgency.

Our Torah places us in the Garden of Eden as our starting point. The first question we had to answer, as we stood in the middle of that paradise, was: “Can’t we have it all?” And we tried to take everything we could see, including the fruit from the Tree, and we discovered, to our pain and shame, that we had given the wrong answer.

The next question asked, follows from the first exchange between God and humans. It is: “Where are you?” If we concede that we cannot have it all, then where does that leave us? We answered that we prefer to be in hiding, ashamed of our bereft state, our nakedness. Once again our response was poor. We threw away a chance to walk in God’s company. We threw away the chance to respond with trust to God’s concern, preferring to hide in our embarrassing nakedness.

Then we were asked, “Who told you that you were naked?” Since the correct answer to this question should have been, “No one told us,” the implication is clear. God asks, in effect: “If I didn’t tell you, for I don’t care, then why do you care?” Who are we embarrassed to face? Whom do we fear and whom do we trust? Who do we listen to, to tell us the unvarnished truth about ourselves? And what is the significance of what we are told? In a world in which we cannot function properly if we are naked, would we want to be told that we have no clothes on? If we are told that we are naked – and when we tell someone else that they are naked – is that meant to be a warning? A put-down? A compliment? When should we be ashamed of our nakedness and when should we be proud? Can we tell the difference?

The Torah tells us that Adam answered the question “Who told you that you were naked?” with an ungrateful non-sequitur as his defense: “The woman that You gave me – she gave me of the tree’s fruit, and so I ate.” At this point, were this a trial in a court of law, the prosecuting attorney would have said: “I move that the answer be stricken as non-responsive to the question.” The answer is no answer. The response is no response. There is no – teshuvah – no return, and the chance that repentance can offer – to retrieve a knowing innocence. – is lost in our non-responsiveness.

But God moves on. By now the situation is all too clear. There is no more hiding or denying it. And here is where the fourth and final question is posed to us. God turns to Eve and simply asks: “Mah zot `asit? – What exactly have you done?” (3:13)

“What have you done?” – God knows very well that we have miserably failed in answering the first three questions we had to face. In terms of the simple Bible story, told and re-told since our childhood, as individuals, as a people, and as a living species, God knows very well that we have eaten from the very Tree that we were prohibited to eat from. So God is not trying to find out new facts in the case. God knows very well that we did that.

Yet God asks us – “Mah zot `asit? – What exactly have you done?”

What is the question?

Just a bit earlier in the Torah we were told of the mysterious work of Creation. That process culminated in the Shabbat. The Shabbat has a purpose. It is a day of holiness, of feeding the soul. And what is the purpose of all the rest of God’s work? The Torah tells us: “Ki vo shavat mi-kol m’lakhto – asher bara Elohim laasot</strong></em>.” – “God created all God’s work for <strong><em>the doing – laasot.” (2:3) There is that same word: the doing. This world was created so that we would act within it, so that we would do something in it.

So the question is – “Mah zot `asit? – What exactly have you done?” And this question follows from all the previous questions that have been asked.

Can’t we have it all? No, we can’t have it all. So that means that we also can’t do it all. But what, actually, have we done?

We can’t have it all, but look at what we do have. What have we done with what we have?

Where are we? Are we hiding from the very things we could and should be doing?

Where are we? We are right here. What are we doing here?

Where are we? We are right here, and not there. “There” can be anywhere we think about – a sweet vacation spot, a room we grew up in, or the place where we knew our greatest sorrow. “There” is any other place but here where we might rather be, or any other place but here from which we cannot tear ourselves away. But, for better or for worse, we are not there. We are here. Now what do we do? What have we done – here? What can we do – here?

Where are we? We are here and not there. “There” is the Middle East, or any European country, facing myriads of people fleeing for their lives, seeking some shred of safety. Thankfully, we are not there; we are here, in a place of great abundance and relative peace. So what have we done with what we have and where we are?

When our son, Yonah, was little, there was a book that we sometimes read him. It was called “My Place in Space.” It was a guidebook that took us from our very local sense of home, out into the street.. the neighborhood.. the town.. and so on – to the larger world around us, and beyond, out into the mind-blowing stretches of this universe. And back again. It tried to teach us that where we are – the “here” in which we live, can be defined as narrowly or as broadly as we dare. If we were “there” we might be powerless. We might be running for our lives. But we are here and we can do so much. “Mah zot `asit – What, actually, have we done?”

“Who told you that you were naked?” We choose to look at ourselves through the prism of voices, in our own heads or from others, that tell us we are naked and unworthy. We create phony voices that create superficial myths such as “Jewish guilt” so that we can chuckle about it and then run the other way. We create phony voices that tell us that anyone who tells us a critical truth is really an anti-Semite and we can hide from doing anything about what they point out. We listen to voices that tell us that we are naked, devoid of the resources to go out and do what needs to be done. And we are relieved to be off the hook at the same time that we are furious with others who refuse to take responsibility for themselves but who have the hutzpah to need our help.

Who told you that?! To whom do we choose to listen? God told us in the Garden that we should live without fear and without shame. Then we will be empowered to do what the world was created for us to do – la`asot. But we listen to voices of fear, cowardice, rage and selfishness instead of to the voice of our best selves and the One Who cares for us the most.

“What, exactly, have you done?” – Not – what did the other person do? God’s question is directed at Adam precisely as he tries to deflect the blame to someone else. The question asked of each of us is not – can you tell me what so-and-so did? The question is – What have you done?

“What have you done?” – Have you tried to constructively solve problems, or have you attacked others because their efforts are not perfect? Have you sought a way to work with others or have you sought a path that blocks any cooperation and collaboration? What have you done to overcome your own fear and suspicion? What have you done to help others overcome their own fears and rage?

Because we answered these questions so poorly we were thrust out of the Garden and the gates were locked behind us. What have we done to unlock and open those gates?

“Mah zot asit – What, actually, have you done?</em>” – This is not a condemnation, but a call. You are meant to do – <em>laasot – so what have you done? Imagine if we had calmed down a bit and responded to God – Well, what would You have me do? I have messed up. What shall I do now?

During these days of Elul and the holidays, we recite a psalm. In it the Psalmist says: “l’kha amar libi – bakshu fanai; et panekha [YHVH] avaqesh – For Your sake my heart says: seek My Face;” and we immediately answer – “I will seek Your Face.” (Ps. 27:8) Our own heart is begging to be heard, speaking for our Creator – stop hiding, seek Me.

Moses, our Teacher tells us – seven times – “v`asita ha-yashar v’ha-tov b’eynei Ha-Shem.” (Ex. 15:26; Deut. 6:28; 12:25; 12:28; 13:19; 14:19; 21:9) “Do what is just and good in God’s eyes.”

Isaiah tells us in today’s prophetic reading: “ki tir’eh `arom, v’khisito” (Isa. 58:7) – when you see someone naked, you will not shame them and tell them that they are naked, but, rather, you will give them clothing to cover themselves.

The prophet continues: Only if you do these things, “az tiqra va-Ha-Shem yaaneh, t’shavea, v’yomar ‘Hineni.” (v. 9) “Then you will call out and the Eternal will answer you; you will cry out – t’shave`a – the letters of this year, 5776, and God will say, “I am here.”

With the first story of humans in the Garden at the back of his mind, Micah, the prophet says: higid l’kha adam, mah tov, u-mah Ha-Shem doresh mim’kha – ki ‘im asot mishpat, v-ahavat <span style="text-decoration: underline;">h</span>esed, v’hatznea lekhet `im Elokekha!” (Micah 6:8)

“Adam – human being! God has already told you what is good” – a direct reference to their seeing that the Tree was good to eat from – no, God has already told what is truly good – “to do what is right, to love love itself, and – let us remember that this encounter in the Garden happened precisely when God had sought us out so that we could join for a leisurely walk together – instead of hiding from Me, says Micah’s God – what I want of you is “ to walk humbly along with your God.”

We can give better answers to these primordial questions. And we are off to a good start.

On this Day of Atonement, when we relinquish the basics of food and drink, we accept that we cannot have it all.

As we gather in this sacred space, we affirm that “we are here.”

On this day of silence, of whispers, sobs and singing, and of the final shofar blast, we choose to listen to voices and sounds that urge us forward instead of scaring us into hiding or recrimination.

That leaves the last question for us to respond to – “Mah asinu – What have we done? Mah naaseh – What shall we do?”