When We Do It Again
There is an old Steely Dan album called Can’t Buy a Thrill. One of the best-known songs on the album is “Do It Again.” It has that unmistakable Steely Dan sound, a relaxed, bluesy groove that almost seems to invite you to settle back and enjoy the ride. But underneath that easygoing rhythm is a story about a man who keeps making the same mistakes. He gets himself into trouble, escapes, gets involved in another destructive situation, promises himself that things will be different, and then, somehow, ends up doing it all over again. The refrain says it with almost casual resignation: “You go back, Jack, do it again.” There is something deeply familiar about that pattern. We make mistakes, regret them, promise ourselves that we will do better, and then, somehow, we find ourselves doing the same thing again.
That is one of the great problems with repentance. We can regret something without truly repenting of it. We can feel badly about what we have done and still not change. We can apologize without confronting the reason we needed to apologize in the first place. We can confess what has already been corrected, shift the blame to somebody else, or point out the shortcomings of others so that nobody has to look too closely at our own. We can go through the motions of repentance while remaining fundamentally unchanged. We can say that we are sorry and then go back and do it again.
That is why the story of the prodigal son is such an appropriate reading for Shabbat Shuvah. It is a story about a person who makes terrible choices, experiences the consequences of those choices, and eventually has to decide whether he will remain trapped in the cycle of his own behavior or turn around and go home. The younger son wants his inheritance and his freedom. He wants to experience life on his own terms, so he takes what has been given to him and leaves for a distant country. There he spends everything, including his money, his opportunities, his relationships, and eventually his dignity. When the money is gone, so is the life he thought would satisfy him, and he finds himself in a pigpen, hungry enough to envy the food being fed to the animals (Luke 15:11–16).
When We Come to Ourselves
It is at that moment that Luke gives us one of the most beautiful descriptions of repentance in Scripture: “When he came to himself” (Luke 15:17). Before he can return to his father, he has to return to himself. That is where teshuvah begins. It begins when we are willing to look honestly at ourselves and acknowledge what is true. The son has to stop running long enough to recognize where he is and how he got there. He has to stop making excuses and blaming circumstances. He has to come to himself.
The rabbis understood how difficult that can be. In the Midrash’s account of Balaam, when he finally says, “I have sinned,” the Midrash makes a remarkable observation: “Whoever sins and says, ‘I have sinned,’ has no permission for the angel to touch him” (Numbers Rabbah 20:14). There is tremendous spiritual power in those words: “I have sinned.” Not, “I made a mistake.” Not, “Things got out of hand.” Not, “I’m sorry if someone was offended.” Simply, “I have sinned.” The Talmud makes a similar point in its discussion of Yom Kippur, teaching that the essential confession is, “But we have sinned” (Yoma 87b). Repentance begins when we stop defending ourselves long enough to tell the truth about ourselves.
Yaakov makes much the same point when he writes that each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire (James 1:14). This does not mean that other people never hurt us or that circumstances never contribute to our failures. It means that we cannot completely externalize our problems and still expect God to liberate us from them. If everything is always somebody else’s fault, there is nothing for us to repent of, and if there is nothing for us to repent of, there is nothing for us to change.
But recognition alone is not enough. We can know what we have done wrong and still do nothing about it. The prodigal does something more. He gets up and goes to his father (Luke 15:18–20). Teshuvah means turning around. The Hebrew word carries the idea of returning. It is not simply an emotional experience; it is a change of direction. Isaiah says, “Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return to the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him” (Isaiah 55:7).
The past cannot be changed. We cannot go back and undo what we have said or done. But we can decide that we are not going to continue in the same direction. That is the difference between repentance and the cycle described in “Do It Again.” The man in the song goes back to the same behavior. The prodigal goes back too, but he goes back in a different direction. He returns because he has recognized that his old life was destroying him.
When he returns, he also takes responsibility. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son” (Luke 15:18–19, 21). There is no blame-shifting and no attempt to explain himself. He simply acknowledges what he has done.
That matters because sin is rarely confined to our relationship with God. When our actions have harmed another person, repentance has to move in that direction as well. The rabbis taught that for transgressions between a person and God, Yom Kippur brings atonement, but for transgressions between one person and another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until the wrong has been addressed and reconciliation has been sought (Mishnah Yoma 8:9). Sometimes repentance requires more than prayer. Sometimes we have to pick up the phone, sit across from someone and say, “I was wrong,” or make an effort to repair what we have damaged. We cannot always control whether the other person will forgive us, but we can take responsibility and make amends where we can.
The Road Home
This is what makes the prodigal’s story so beautiful. He returns to his father without any expectation that he deserves restoration. He is prepared to accept a diminished place in the household. But then he discovers something he could never have earned. Luke tells us that while the son is still a long way off, his father sees him, is filled with compassion, and runs to him (Luke 15:20). Before the son can finish his carefully prepared speech, the father embraces him. He calls for the best robe, puts a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet, and orders a celebration. The son who came home prepared to become a servant is received again as a son (Luke 15:21–24).
This is the part of teshuvah that is ultimately beyond our ability to accomplish. We can recognize, confess, make restitution, and change our direction, but restoration is a gift. We have no claim on divine forgiveness. We cannot buy it or bargain for it. Forgiveness is grace.
And that brings us back to the title, Can’t Buy a Thrill. The younger son thought he could buy what he wanted. He had money, and money gave him access to experiences he imagined would make him happy. He went looking for freedom, excitement, pleasure, and fulfillment, but eventually discovered that the things he could buy could not give him what he most needed. What he needed was home.
That may be one of the great lessons of teshuvah. We spend much of our lives looking for fulfillment in things that cannot ultimately satisfy us. We pursue success, possessions, pleasure, recognition, relationships, experiences, and control, telling ourselves that if we can just have a little more, achieve a little more, or experience a little more, we will finally be content. Sooner or later, however, we discover that we have been trying to buy something that cannot be purchased. The prodigal son learns that lesson in the pigpen, and perhaps we learn it in our own ways.
Shabbat Shuvah asks us to stop and ask whether we are living in a cycle of “Do It Again.” Are there things we keep repeating even though we know where they lead? Are there apologies we keep making for the same behavior? Are there relationships we keep damaging in the same way? Are there sins we keep explaining rather than confronting? Are there people we keep blaming because it is easier than admitting our own responsibility?
Teshuvah gives us another possibility. It requires us to see ourselves honestly, feel the weight of what we have done, make right what we can make right, and change the direction of our lives. The rabbis taught that “the gates of repentance are always open” (Devarim Rabbah 2:12). The Midrash continues by comparing repentance to the sea, which is always open, and teaches that the hand of the Holy One, blessed be He, is always open to receive penitents (Devarim Rabbah 2:12). There is no moment when it is too late to turn around, no distance that makes returning impossible, and no failure that has to become our permanent identity.
There is one more person in the story whom we cannot overlook: the older brother. He never left the house, but he is still lost. The younger son is lost because he ran away. The older son is lost because he cannot forgive. One is separated from the father by rebellion; the other is separated from him by resentment. We can be lost in many different ways. Sometimes we need to repent of what we have done. Sometimes we need to repent of what we have refused to forgive (Luke 15:25–32).
Perhaps that is why this story speaks so powerfully during these Days of Awe. Somewhere in this story, most of us can find ourselves. Sometimes we are the younger son, sometimes the older brother, and sometimes both. We may be the person who needs to say, “I have sinned,” or the person who needs to acknowledge that we have been holding on to anger. Wherever we find ourselves, Shabbat Shuvah reminds us that the first step toward home is always possible.
The world tells us, “You go back, Jack, do it again.” We know the pull of old habits, old resentments, old desires, and old patterns. We know how easy it is to return to what is familiar, even when what is familiar is destructive. But teshuvah tells us that the cycle can be broken. We can return without returning to the same life. We can go home without going back to the person we were.
That is the promise of Shabbat Shuvah. The Gates of Repentance remain open. The road home remains open. The Father remains ready to receive those who turn toward Him. The younger son could not buy the thrill he was looking for, and neither can we. What he eventually discovered was worth far more than anything he had tried to purchase. He discovered that the place he had been trying to escape was actually the place where he belonged. Most of all, he discovered that even after everything he had done, the door was still open.
Luke tells us that when the father saw his son coming from a long way off, he ran to meet him (Luke 15:20). That is where the story of teshuvah ultimately leads us. We turn around, and we discover that God has not been waiting to condemn us. He has been waiting for us to come home.