By Cailin Acosta in San Diego
With Rosh Hashanah approaching, Brandon Fisher’s “The Four Elements of Teshuvah” series at Beth Jacob Congregation began with a deceptively simple question: What does it mean to be human?
To explore that question, Fisher turned to an unlikely source: Avatar: The Last Airbender. The animated series centers on four elements: air, water, earth and fire and the Avatar’s ability to master them. While the concept may sound like fantasy, Fisher explained that the idea of four elements also has deep roots in Jewish thought, including Kabbalah and the teachings of the Rambam.
The comparison offered a framework for understanding human nature. Just as the Avatar must learn to master the elements, human beings must learn to recognize and master the different forces within themselves.
“We’re all supposed to be avatars,” Fisher said. “We all are composites of these four elements, and we’re supposed to master them and use them in our own unique way.” That idea became the foundation for a discussion about teshuvah and the unique challenge of being human.
Rosh Hashanah is traditionally associated with the creation of Adam, the first human being, on the sixth day of creation. Humanity was created immediately before Shabbat, and according to the Torah’s account, Adam’s first mistake came almost immediately. In that sense, the need for teshuvah is nearly as old as humanity itself. But what distinguishes a human being from an animal or from an angel?
Animals primarily operate according to instinct. If they are hungry, they eat. If they are tired, they sleep. Angels, according to the approach discussed in the class, exist at the other end of the spectrum. They are spiritual beings who do not possess the same physical instincts and free will that characterize human beings. People exist somewhere between those two worlds.
“We’re like a bridge,” Fisher explained. “We have this weird balance between having a neshama, a soul that can fulfill Hashem’s will, and instincts.” That balance is both humanity’s greatest challenge and its greatest gift. Following instinct is easy. Choosing deliberately is much harder. Human beings can recognize an impulse and decide whether to follow it. We can notice that a behavior is harmful, acknowledge that we have made a mistake and choose to change. That makes the familiar expression “I’m only human” worth reconsidering.
If being human simply meant giving in to instinct, the phrase would make sense. Judaism, however, presents a far more ambitious vision of humanity. We are not merely animals with the ability to reason. We possess free will and the capacity to recognize our mistakes and move toward something greater.
The difficulty begins when instincts become habits. Repeated behaviors can develop into attitudes and patterns of thinking that eventually feel like part of who we are. Once those patterns become familiar, following them requires little conscious thought.
Fisher discussed the ways popular culture and social media can reinforce this process. Television, music, influencers and online trends can normalize particular attitudes and encourage people to follow what feels easiest or most popular. The problem is not that technology, entertainment or convenience is inherently bad. The deeper concern is what happens when people consistently choose the easiest path and stop asking whether it is the right one.
Pixar’s Onward provided another illustration. The film depicts a magical world whose inhabitants gradually discover technological alternatives to the magic that once defined their lives. As those conveniences spread, the characters become increasingly disconnected from abilities they once possessed.
“Everything just gets lazier,” Fisher said. “We find an easier way to get by.” The danger is not convenience itself. It is allowing convenience to replace effort, curiosity and intentionality.
The same idea can be seen in the modern concept of an “NPC,” or non-playable character: someone who seems to move through life on autopilot. “I’m going to work. I’m going to this. I’m going to that. I’m going to check this out,” Fisher said, describing the repetitive cycle of the “rat race.” A person can be busy every day and still fail to make meaningful choices.
The same thing can happen when we follow trends without thinking about why we are following them. Fisher recalled studying hospitality and watching travel trends develop. One person discovers a destination, others follow, and eventually people visit simply because they have been told it is the place to go. Even something as harmless as taking a photograph at a famous location can raise a deeper question. “You’ve outsourced your brain on a vacation,” Fisher said. The point is not that popular destinations or photographs are wrong. The question is whether we are making choices for ourselves or allowing the people around us to make those choices for us.
That question led to another distinction: the difference between an escape mindset and an adventure mindset. Fisher shared a story from his years working in hospitality in Vail, Colorado. A longtime guest named Hank returned every year with friends to ski. One year, Hank attempted a jump he had successfully done when he was younger and seriously injured himself. When asked whether he intended to sue the resort, Hank refused. “It was my fault,” he said. After recovering, Hank returned the following year. On his first run, he attempted the same jump again—and succeeded.
The story illustrates two very different ways of responding to difficulty. An escape mindset asks, “How can I get away from this?” An adventure mindset asks, “What can I learn from this? How can I grow?” That distinction is central to teshuvah. When we recognize that we have moved away from Hashem, our instinct may be to avoid the discomfort. We may make excuses, blame circumstances or simply move on. Teshuvah requires something more courageous: turning around.
One of the class’s central concepts was trajectory. An object in motion continues along its trajectory. Human beings, however, are different. Because we possess free will, we can change direction. “Humans specifically, because of this God-given ability of free will, and this pre-programmed idea of teshuvah, are able to change directions at any point in time,” Fisher explained. That ability is what makes teshuvah possible.
Fisher offered a memorable image for Rosh Hashanah: Imagine that Rosh Hashanah takes a Polaroid photograph of your life. The question is not simply whether the photograph looks good or bad. The more important question is: Which direction are you moving? Are you moving toward Hashem or away from Hashem? Rosh Hashanah provides an opportunity to stop and examine that trajectory. It asks us to consider not only where we are today, but where our current choices are taking us.
That process begins in the month of Elul, when the relationship between a person and Hashem is emphasized in a particularly intimate way. Rather than thinking only of Hashem as a king who judges or a father who disciplines, the class encouraged participants to think about Hashem as someone with whom we have a meaningful relationship. Hashem wants us to succeed. He wants us to become partners in fulfilling our potential. When we repeatedly follow our instincts and unhealthy patterns, we create distance in that relationship. Teshuvah is the process of recognizing that distance and beginning to close it. This makes teshuvah much more than simply feeling guilty. It is an active process of awareness, honesty, change and return.
The final portion of the class began connecting the stages of teshuvah with the blessings of the weekday Amidah. The first blessing discussed was Binah, the blessing asking Hashem for wisdom, understanding and discernment. The connection is significant because change begins with awareness. Before a person can correct a mistake, he or she must recognize that the mistake happened.
Fisher illustrated this with one of his favorite everyday examples: being sent to Trader Joe’s. Suppose his wife asks him to buy five things, including coffee creamer. He walks into the store, sees the many varieties of mochi, discovers new gummies and becomes distracted by everything else around him. He eventually returns home with plenty of purchases—but without the coffee creamer. Before he can correct the mistake, he has to recognize it. That recognition is essentially the beginning of teshuvah.
The next stage involves regret and the desire to return. The second blessing discussed in the class explicitly asks Hashem to bring us back to Torah and help us return through complete repentance. The progression is important. Teshuvah is not simply about feeling bad after doing something wrong. It begins with awareness, requires honesty and ultimately demands action.
The discussion of the four elements is ultimately a discussion about human potential. Like the Avatar, human beings are not meant to remain controlled by a single force within themselves. We contain instincts, desires, emotions and spiritual capacities. Our task is to recognize those forces, master them and use them intentionally. Mistakes are inevitable. In fact, making mistakes is part of what it means to be human. But so is the ability to change. We can stop. We can examine where we are going. We can acknowledge that our current trajectory is taking us somewhere we do not want to go. And then we can turn around. That may be the most powerful message of teshuvah: our past does not have to determine our direction.
Rosh Hashanah gives us the opportunity to take that Polaroid, look honestly at the picture and ask whether we are moving toward the person and the relationship with Hashem we are meant to have.
Because being human does not mean being trapped by our instincts or our mistakes. It means having the freedom to choose a different direction.
Fisher’s 4 Elements of Teshuvah Series will be at 8:15 p.m., Tuesday, August 25 at Beth Jacob Congregation. Click here to join the WhatsApp group for more information.
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Cailin Acosta is the assistant editor of the San Diego Jewish World.