SHABBIS SHUVA 2026: RETURN, REPENT & FILL OUT THE FORM
by devadmin | September 17, 2026 8:45 pm
Raboyseyee and Ladies,
SHABBIS SHUVA: RETURN, REPENT & FILL OUT THE FORM
So let me get this straight. We have this one Shabbis every year between Rosh Hashono and Yom Kippur, one of the most spiritually loaded Shabbisis of the entire Jewish calendar, and we call it Shabbis Shuva because the haftoirah begins with the word “Shuva,” meaning “Return, O Israel?” That’s it? Seriously? Well, blow me down because when growing up, this shabbis was the big one, at least so I thought. I was certain it was deep-rooted and would bring about pre-forgiveness and salvation; a new slate. And the fact that the Shabbis Shuva drosho was always given later in the afternoon to mark it as its own event, had me thinking that this day was mamish important. But, after thousands of years of Toirah scholarship, Gemora, Medrish, halachic arguments, minhogim, commentaries, rabbis arguing with rabbis, and Jews arguing with everyone, it turns out that we basically named an entire Shabbis after the first word of the haftoirah!? What’s pshat here? Where are the medroshim with some color? Had the haftoirah begun with “Oy,” or “Oy Vey,” would we all be sitting around this weekend celebrating Shabbis Oy Vey? Nu, knowing how we Yiddin operate, mistama someone would have written a sefer about the spiritual significance of Oy Vey by now.
Of course, as I would soon discover, there is more going on here than just the first word of a haftoirah. Shabbis Shuva falls smack in the middle of the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, and the haftoirah itself was chosen because its message is exactly what these days are supposed to be about: “Shuva Yisrael ad Hashem Elokecha” — return, O Israel, to Hashem your God. So maybe the name is simple, but the timing is anything but accidental. The name may come from “Shuva,” but the entire Shabbis is essentially one giant reminder: return.
As an aside, growing up and well into my 20s, the rabbi always wore a tallis while delivering the Shabbos Shuva drosho. Why? Ver veyst? Was this but rabbinic theatrics, designed to remind the crowd that this was not your ordinary shabbis sermon? Or was there something deeper going on? So happens that I did a little digging, and believe it or not, there actually was a minhag -still happening in 2026 in many Chasidic shuls all over the world- for the rov or rebbe to wear a tallis while delivering the Shabbos Shuva drosho. One explanation given is that the tallis was worn out of kovod (respect) for the tzibbur, while another explanation connects it to protection from the ayin hara, whatever that means. Apparently the tallis wasn’t just for dramatic effect; who knew? And then there was the presentation. The rabbi didn’t simply walk up to the shtender and start talking. No sir. He came prepared. He arrived carrying a pile of seforim, each one already opened to the exact page he intended to quote. Mostly he quoted one or two lines from each. One sefer, then another, then another. He would pick one up, quote from the page, close it, move to the next one and demonstrate to all of us that this drosho was backed by enough rabbinic firepower to withstand a small war. Looking back, I have to wonder: Was this the nineteenth-century Jewish equivalent of PowerPoint? Did the sight of seven open seforim make the drosho more authoritative? Was the message somehow more compelling because the rabbi could physically point to the page? Or was there another reason for the entire production? Whatever the answer, one thing was certain: Shabbos Shuva was serious business. The rabbi wore the tallis, the seforim were lined up, the pages were marked, and the tzibbur was expected to listen. And what was the subject? Teshuvah, of course. Returning. Repenting. Taking stock of the past year. Same topic, different year!
Which brings us back to the question: after all those seforim, all those pages, all those words, and all those warnings, what exactly -aside form reviewing and critiquing the rabbi, the length of his speech and its content- are we supposed to do differently when we walk out of shul? We should avada know that Shabbis Shuva is not another Yom Tov. It is not a separate biblical holiday. There is no commandment in the heylige Toirah stating that this particular shabbis shall be known as Shabbis Shuva. It is a traditional designation connected to both its place in the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah and the opening word of the haftoirah. That’s it! Perhaps that simple origin is actually fitting, because the entire purpose of the shabbis is to stop for a moment and pay attention to something we spend the rest of the year trying very hard to avoid: ourselves. Because teshuvah is a funny thing. We all know the word. We hear it constantly during this time of year. The rabbi tells us we need more of it. The machzor tells us we need more of it. The prayers tell us we need more of it. We say “Al Chet” and “Oshamnu” and beat our chests and admit to sins that, depending on how honest we are being, may or may not have crossed our minds since last Yom Kippur. We ask the RBSO to forgive us. We ask other people to forgive us. We promise to do better. We promise to change. We promise to become better husbands, better wives, better parents, better friends, better Jews and, for approximately 24 to 48 hours, perhaps even better human beings.
And then? Life starts again. Reality. Facts on the ground! We are bad! Shoin! The Rambam, however, does not make teshuvah nearly as simple as saying “I’m sorry.” In Hilchis Teshuvah, he lays out a process that includes recognizing the wrongdoing, abandoning the behavior, regretting what was done, resolving not to repeat it, confessing verbally and making a real change. The Rambam’s discussion of complete teshuvah goes even further. That’s a lot! He describes a person who finds himself in essentially the same circumstances in which he previously sinned, has the opportunity to repeat the behavior, and nevertheless refrains because he has changed. That is a very different standard from simply feeling bad in shul. But suddenly we have a problem. How many of us actually meet that standard? Every year we stand in the same shul, say the same prayers, confess to many of the same sins and promise to do better. Then, twelve months later, we’re back at the same place, saying many of the same words. So, what exactly happened during those twelve months? Did we actually do teshuvah, or did we simply renew our annual subscription to “I’m sorry”? This is mamish the reality for many of us, the not such heylige Ois included!
To be fair, perhaps teshuvah is a process. Human beings are complicated. Change is difficult. A person can sincerely regret something, honestly resolve to improve and still fail. We talked about failing mamish a few weeks ago. Falling down does not necessarily mean the original attempt at change was fraudulent. We are not angels; farkert! We were somehow programmed to be the way we are. The heylige Toirah does not expect us to become perfect human beings overnight. Maybe never, but that for another day. But there is still an uncomfortable question lurking underneath all of this: if we keep making exactly the same promises and keep committing exactly the same behaviors, at what point do the promises themselves become meaningless?
And perhaps an even more uncomfortable question is whether a person can truly do teshuvah for something he does not believe was wrong in the first place. Imagine someone saying, “Yes, I did it. Yes, I said it. Yes, I hurt that person. Yes, I lied. Yes, I behaved badly. But I don’t regret it.” What exactly is he supposed to confess? Can the calendar manufacture remorse? Can a Shabbis Shuva sermon -with or without the talis draped over the rabbi- suddenly convince a person that something he believed was perfectly acceptable was actually wrong? Can Yom Kippur create regret where none exists? Mamish excellent questions I must admit! Perhaps not. Perhaps genuine teshuvah begins with something far more difficult than reciting the correct words. It begins with honesty. Before we can change, we have to admit that there is something to change. Before we can return, we have to acknowledge that we have wandered somewhere we should not have gone. The word itself, “teshuvah,” is often translated as repentance, but the literal concept is closer to “return.” The prophet Hoshea says, “Shuva Yisrael,” return, Israel, to Hashem your G-d. That raises an interesting question: return to what? Are we returning to the person we were before we sinned? Are we returning to the RBSO? Are we returning to the person we were supposed to be? Maybe the answer is not about going backward at all. Maybe teshuvah is about returning to the path we were supposed to be walking in the first place.
Ober, that raboyseyee and ladies avada, brings us to another problem that tends to arise around this time of year. We are very good at identifying other people’s sins. In fact, we can be spectacular at it. Give a Jew five minutes at a kiddush and he can explain exactly what is wrong with the person standing across the room. We know who is arrogant, who is selfish, who is dishonest, who is rude, who talks too much, who doesn’t talk enough, who isn’t religious enough, who is too religious, who doesn’t give enough tzedakah and, naturally, who gives tzedakah for the wrong reasons. Our own shortcomings, however? Ah nechtiger tug (fuhgeddaboudit)! Those seem to require considerably more investigation. And this raboyseyee, may be one of the great ironies of teshuvah. The entire exercise is supposed to turn our attention inward, yet human beings have an extraordinary ability to turn it outward. We can spend hours discussing someone else’s behavior while avoiding the one person whose behavior we are actually responsible for: ourselves. Nu, efsher we can kler that maybe that is one reason Shabbis Shuva matters. Shabbis forces us to stop. We are not supposed to be running around doing everything we do during the week. We have time to sit, eat, talk, daven and think. And somewhere between the gefilte fish and the cholent, perhaps we are supposed to ask ourselves what we have actually accomplished during the past year besides accumulating more stuff and becoming better at complaining.
Then there is the issue of forgiveness, and this is where things become particularly interesting. We spend a tremendous amount of time asking the RBSO for forgiveness during this season. But Jewish tradition makes an important distinction between sins committed against the RBSO and sins committed against another human being. If I have wronged another person, Yom Kippur does not magically erase the obligation to deal with that person. I cannot simply stand in shul, pound my chest and tell Hashem that I am very sorry for what I did to somebody else while refusing to speak to the person I actually hurt. Grada, that seems obvious when we say it out loud, but it is considerably harder in practice. Because sometimes we don’t want to apologize. Sometimes we believe the other person deserved what we did. Sometimes we think we were justified. Sometimes we say, “I’ll apologize when he apologizes.” And sometimes the problem is that we have been holding the grudge for so long that we have forgotten what the original argument was even about. Which leads me to another Shabbis Shuva question: Can you really do teshuvah while still holding a grudge? What if I ask the RBSO to forgive me while I refuse to forgive someone else? What if I want mercy from Heaven but justice for everybody who has ever annoyed me? That sounds right. What if I expect the RBSO to understand my circumstances while I have absolutely no interest in understanding anyone else’s? That raboyseyee and ladies is where teshuvah becomes much more than a theological exercise. It becomes a test of whether we are capable of seeing other people as human beings who are just as imperfect as we are. And perhaps that is why the process of asking forgiveness can be so uncomfortable. A real apology requires humility. It means saying, “I was wrong.” Not “I’m sorry you were offended.” Not “I’m sorry you misunderstood me.” Not “I’m sorry, but here’s a list of seventeen reasons why it was actually your fault.” That’s not an apology. That’s a closing argument. A real apology requires us to accept responsibility without immediately explaining why we shouldn’t have to accept responsibility.
And then comes the hardest part: actually changing. Because if I apologize to you every year for the same thing and then do it again every year, what exactly am I asking you to forgive? At some point, the apology begins to sound less like teshuvah and more like a scheduled maintenance procedure. So happens that the Rambam’s standard forces us to confront this. Complete teshuvah is demonstrated when the same temptation appears and we make a different choice. In other words, the proof of change isn’t what we say when the temptation is gone. The proof is what we do when the temptation comes back. That’s a hell of a test. It’s easy to promise to stop eating something while you’re full. It’s easy to promise not to lose your temper after the argument is over. It’s easy to promise to stop gossiping when nobody is standing there with an interesting piece of gossip. It is easy to promise to be patient when everyone around you is behaving perfectly. The real test comes when the opportunity presents itself again. That’s when teshuvah either becomes real or remains another collection of beautiful words.
And perhaps we should apply that test to the coming year. Instead of asking only, “What sins have I committed?” maybe we should ask, “What situations keep bringing out the worst in me?” Instead of simply confessing that we have been impatient, perhaps we should ask why we are so impatient. Instead of saying we have spoken badly about others, perhaps we should ask why other people’s business is so fascinating to us. Instead of saying we have been selfish, perhaps we should ask what we are afraid will happen if we give something of ourselves away. Those questions are harder because they require us to look beneath the behavior. And that may be the real purpose of Shabbis Shuva. Not to make us feel guilty. Not to make us miserable. Not to give the rabbi one more opportunity to tell us how badly we have behaved. But to give us a moment to stop and ask whether the person we are today is the person we want to be when we arrive here again next year. Because we will arrive here again. Another Rosh Hashono will come. Another Yom Kippur will come. Another Shabbis Shuva will come. The question is whether we will arrive as exactly the same people carrying exactly the same baggage, making exactly the same apologies, or whether something will actually have changed.
And maybe, that’s taka the challenge hidden inside that deceptively simple word “Shuva.” Return. Not pretend. Not perform. Not recite. Return. Return to Hashem. Return to the people we have hurt. Return to our better instincts. Return to the values we claim matter to us. Return to the person we know, somewhere deep inside, we are capable of becoming. And maybe that is why this particular Shabbis has survived as such an important moment in the Jewish calendar. Not because the name is particularly complicated. It isn’t. We call it Shabbis Shuva because the haftoirah starts with “Shuva.” But perhaps the simplicity of the name is the point. Shuva. Return. The entire message can fit into one word. The hard part is actually doing it.
Shoin, one more and! And perhaps there is one final piece to this whole business of teshuvah that we don’t talk about enough: forgiveness of ourselves. We spend these days asking the RBSO to forgive us. We ask other people to forgive us. We examine our behavior, admit where we screwed up, and hopefully try to do better. But some of us carry things around for years, sometimes decades, long after the damage has been repaired, the apology has been made, and the lesson has been learned. Maybe teshuvah also means knowing when to stop beating ourselves up. If the RBSO is willing to forgive us when we sincerely return, perhaps we need to learn how to forgive ourselves as well.
Finally, with Yom Kippur mamish looming, I suppose there is no better time for the heylige Ois to resurrect another annual tradition. After all, if the rabbis have their Machzor, their Al Chet, their Vidui, and their Shabbis Shuva drosho, I have my paperwork. And so, once again, I present my Pre-Yom Kippur Official Michila Form, designed for all guilty parties, big and small.
Because apparently, in today’s world, even asking for forgiveness requires documentation.
🕊 PRE-YOM KIPPUR OFFICIAL MICHILA FORM 🕊
For All Guilty Parties, Big and Small
Because a simple “sorry” just won’t cut it this year.
WHO SHOULD USE THIS FORM?
☑ Speakers, facilitators, and participants of loshoin horo or richilus.
☑ Listeners who secretly enjoyed the gossip.
☑ Anyone who upset a friend, spouse, relative, or colleague this past year — intentionally or not.
⚠ WARNING: Half-truths, exaggerations, or outright lies — “I didn’t really forward that email” — will void this form in the eyes of the RBSO.
SINNER INFORMATION — THAT’S YOU!
1️⃣ Name:
2️⃣ Cell #:
3️⃣ Email(s) used to bad-mouth others — list all:
FORGIVENESS REQUESTED FROM
4️⃣ Name & Email of Person(s) You Offended:
To: _________________________________________
Use a new form for each recipient. Extra sheets allowed.
SPECIFIC SINS / CONFESSIONS
5️⃣ What I Specifically Said or Wrote:
Attach copies of emails, text messages, forwards, screenshots, WhatsApp messages, and any other incriminating evidence.
Optional Financial / Mischief Confession:
Describe lies told to creditors, unpaid debts, or other “creative adventures.”
TYPES OF SIN COMMITTED — CHECK ALL THAT APPLY:
☐ Loshoin Horo
☐ Richilus
☐ Exaggerated stories
☐ Other: _____________________________________
FREQUENCY — CHECK ONE OR MORE:
☐ 1–5 times
☐ 6–10 times
☐ Weekly
☐ Whenever opportunity presented
☐ Whenever your name came up in conversation
☐ Daily… while brushing my teeth
☐ Multiple times in my dreams
THE APOLOGY STATEMENT
I am truly sorry!
ADDITIONAL NOTE TO THOSE OFFENDED
We are in this together. I admit my guilt as a conduit for others, forwarding schmutz I dug up, and while I may have enjoyed it at your expense, I beseech you to offer me michila so the RBSO will go easy on me.
MUTUAL ACCOUNTABILITY CLAUSE
Why forgive me? Because you probably did the same. Don’t walk around like a victim. If you refuse, you are a hypocrite — and yes, I will badmouth you all over again and tell everyone on my email list.
I am willing to forgive you if you forgive me.
Shoin!
SIGNATURES
Signature of Sinner: ___________________________________
Date:
FINAL REMINDER
By completing this form, you have officially confessed, admitted, apologized, and participated in a pre-Yom Kippur cleansing ritual more effective than flowers, jewelry, or sweets.
Tip: Keep this form handy — it can also be used when you offend people during the year.
And now, after all the serious talk about teshuvah, forgiveness, repentance, the Rambam, the rabbi’s tallis, the pile of seforim, and whether any of us actually changes when we walk out of shul, perhaps we have finally arrived at the simplest definition of all.
Maybe that’s really what Shuva means. We return to the RBSO, we return to the people we’ve hurt, we return to the values we claim to hold dear — and every once in a while, we even return to the same damn mistakes. The goal, I suppose, is to make sure there are fewer of those each year. And if not, well, at least I have the form ready.
A Gut Shabbis, a meaningful Shabbis Shuva, and a Gemar Chasima Toiva.
The Heylige Oisvorfer Ruv
Yitz Grossman
Source URL: https://oisvorfer.com/shabbis-shuva-2026-return-repent-fill-out-the-form/