I heard this story from Rabbi Dannel Schwartz of Temple Shir Shalom:

A new rabbi at the shul went to visit the Hebrew school. Hearing a class discussing the bible, the rabbi asked the students a question: “Who knocked down the walls of Jericho?” A young boy named Scott Shapiro responded, “I don’t know who did it, Rabbi, but I can assure you, it wasn’t me.”

The rabbi gave the teacher a puzzled look, to which the teacher remarked, “Rabbi, Scott Shapiro has not left this classroom. I assure you, he didn’t do it.”

The rabbi went down the hall to speak with the principal to share what had just transpired. The principal quickly spoke up: “Rabbi, I stand behind my teachers. If the teacher says Scott Shapiro didn’t do it, I’m going to believe it.”

That night, just prior to the board meeting, the president pulled the rabbi aside: “Listen,” the president said. “I’ve heard about the incident involving the Shapiro boy and the wall. It’s all over town. Scott Shapiro’s father is a client of mine. I’d like to put an end to this. Here’s $200 so you can get the wall fixed.”

What a cute story, with so many possibilities. But let’s start with that opening scene, those words we hear so often—I didn’t do it. It reminds me of a recurring feature in the long running comic strip, The Family Circus, about a home inhabited by an imaginary figure named not me. Whenever the parents approach any of the children to see who broke something in the house, they all give the same answer—It was Not Me!

There’s a whole lot of sinning going on, but thankfully nobody’s doing it!

In 1931, a nineteen year old man in New York, named Francis Crowley, went on a three month crime spree, including the unprovoked killing of a policeman. Considered to be one of the city’s most dangerous criminals, Francis Crowley, nicknamed Two Gun, was ultimately captured, tried and convicted.

After being captured, a bloodstained note that he wrote expressed: Under my coat is a weary heart, but a kind one—one that would do nobody any harm. And after being sentenced to the electric chair, Two Gun Crowley declared: This is what I get for defending myself.

An extreme case, I admit, but sentiment which we find all too often in others and even in ourselves. The human being has an innate ability to see oneself as better than he or she really is. We justify our improper behavior, and lay the blame anywhere but on ourselves.

A young woman told her rabbi: I got involved in a bad relationship, then I became pregnant. I was devastated. She asks the rabbi: Why has God done this to me?

To understand this tendency—one that we must struggle to overcome if we truly want to be better people—we only need to look at the first generation of human beings, Adam and Eve. Most readers of the bible focus on their transgression of eating the forbidden fruit, thereby disobeying what God has commanded them. I suggest a simple, yet different view of Adam and Eve. Perhaps their worst transgression is not in eating the forbidden fruit, but rather in what follows. Both of them, one after the other, denies any wrongdoing, and in fact, shifts the blame elsewhere—Adam to Eve, and Eve to the serpent. Blame someone else for something you did wrong—we’ve never heard that before. And people say the bible is irrelevant!

If only we could be moved to follow the teaching of the Talmud (Yoma 35b), which describes the Yom Kippur ritual during Temple days, and forms the basis of the Avodah service in our machzor.

The High Priest would enter the holiness of the Temple and say: O Lord. I have done wrong, I have transgressed, I have sinned before thee, I and my household.

The first step in leading a better life, and I think we can all agree that this is our ultimate goal, is being honest with ourselves, and about ourselves. Then and only then, can we begin, step by step, to travel on the challenging but so important path toward true teshuvah—which we can translate as repentence, but also: change, improvement, transformation.

In last weekend’s US Open Tennis Semi Finals, star player Serena Williams was called for a foot fault. Instead of accepting the call with grace, Serena cursed the official and went into a public tirade. As a result of her inappropriate behavior, Serena was assessed a one point penalty, resulting in the end of the match, which she lost to eventual champion, Kim Clijsters. My sad hunch is that if we were to ask Serena Williams why she lost, she would lay the blame on the official’s call, rather than her poor playing, not to mention her behavior.

Fortunately, there are heartwarming stories out there, too.

Constrast the story of Serena Williams with that of male tennis star, Andy Roddick. Playing against Fernando Verdasco in the Rome Masters Tournament in May, 2005, Roddick was at match point, when Verdasco’s second serve went out, and the match was apparently over. Andy Roddick won, but he did not accept this victory. He believed that Fernando Verdasco’s serve actually landed in, and he convinced the official to overturn the call, thereby giving Verdasco a fighting chance to come back. Wouldn’t you know it, Verdasco went on to win that match. Don’t feel bad for Andy Roddick. He remained content with his decision to choose honesty over victory.

Back in 2003 a high school quarterback in Illinois named Nate Haasis was on the verge of setting a new state record for passing yards. In the final game of his illustrious high school career, Nick needed only to complete a 30 yard pass. With his team trailing by 16 points and the game out of reach, Nick didn’t notice a conversation taking place between his coach and the coach of the opposing (about to win) team. Nick didn’t hesitate when his coach called for him to attempt a 37 yard touchdown pass. The play was successful, in fact it was a little too easy. No one was even guarding Nick’s receiver. But hey, he had his record and the celebration began.

It wasn’t long before Nick Haasis discovered the truth—the two coaches had made a deal to allow Nick to set the record, so long as the opposing team’s victory would not be in jeopardy. The record was handed to Nick; he didn’t really earn it. When Nick learned the truth about what had happened, he wrote a letter to officials requesting that his final pass be nullified. His request granted, Nick Haasis remains in second place on the career leaderboard. An honest second place beats a dishonest first place in his mind, and hopefully in ours.

Last Saturday night prior to the Selichot service, we showed the Woody Allen movie, Crimes and Misdemeanors. The main character, played by Martin Landau, is on the surface, a model citizen, named Judah Rosenthal. Judah is a respected Ophthalmologist, beloved by his family and honored by his community. He is also living with secrets—an ongoing extramarital affair, some shady financial deals, and ultimately his arranging for the murder of his mistress. The most distressing of Judah’s qualities is that he can live with himself as long as no one discovers his sins and crimes. Rather than seeking to becoming a better, changed person, Judah’s goal is simply “not getting caught.”

In contrast to Judah Rosenthal is Clint Eastwood’s recent portrayal of Walt Kowalski in the Detroit based movie, Gran Torino. Walt, unlike Judah, is on the surface a most unlikeable character. He is unfriendly, bigoted, insulting, with no apparent regard for his family or the local priest who reaches out to him following the death of Walt’s wife.

Unlike Judah Rosenthal, Walt Kowalski demonstrates openness and honesty even to a fault, and he has no tolerance for the dishonesty of others—including the priest’s eulogy for his wife, and the phony pretentiousness of his children who have moved to the suburbs. Unlike Judah, Walt harbors few secrets. When he finally attends confession, his sins are minor, yet they weigh on his mind because that should be the way of those who are truly and sincerely introspective.

I found myself surprised to be sympathetic to Walt Kowalski—on the surface, he is a mean old man with a foul mouth and an intolerance for anyone different from himself. But his ultimate goal is not just to serve his own needs, as is the case with Judah Rosenthal, but rather to do what is right for his community and his country.

And finally back to real life. Twenty four years ago, a young man named Marc Buoniconti was a member of the football team at the Citadel. Marc is the son of Nick Buoniconti, a successful and famous member of the Miami Dolphins championship seasons of the early 1970’s. Marc, Nick’s son, was a troubled teenager. He was a bad student with a bad attitude, hanging around with the wrong crowd and on the path to self destruction. His life of privilege, as a result of his father’s success both on and off the playing field, only made Marc’s irresponsibility as a human being worse.

Somehow, the family managed to get Marc accepted to college and to convince him to actually attend. Playing football was about the only thing he truly cherished. He was clearly a star, playing defense and making tremendously aggressive tackles. One such tackle changed his life forever. Marc suffered an irreparable neck injury and has remained, ever since, a quadriplegic, requiring round the clock care.

The injury changed Marc’s life—for the better. At first there was self pity. There was also a desired to assign blame. He and his family sued the Citadel, claiming they should not have let him play, as he had already shown signs of neck problems. The court ruled in the college’s favor—not a single dollar changed hands.

It was just as well. Money would not have improved Marc’s life. Help came not from his wallet, but from his spirit. A tragic accident had the result of having Marc re-assess himself and what was truly important. Having once lived recklessly, on the path to self destruction, Marc Buoniconti now devotes his life to a cause—to raising money to help others with spinal cord injuries—to bringing hope and recovery to those whose injuries, unlike his own, are potentially able to respond to new therapies.

This is teshuvah—change, improvement, transformation—that begins with a hard look in the mirror, and honest assessment of who a person really is, and who that person really wants to become. Blame never figures into the equation.

The book of Lamentations written in the aftermath of the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem in 586 BCE, and read each year on Tisha B’av (in the summer) focuses not so much on why the tragedy occurred, but rather on what we can do now that it has happened. The following words (3:40), which are also found in our daily siddur sum it up best for me, and I hope for you:

Nachp’sah d’rakheinu v’nachkorah, v’nashuvah el Adonai

Let us examine our ways, study them, and then do teshuvah (change our path)