Perhaps the most Jewish work of fantasy was written by Charles Dickens. And it’s called A Christmas Carol. It’s so Jewish it should be taught in yeshivas. I’ve been saying this to rabbis for years mostly, I confess, to get a rise out of them. But I also think it’s true, even though Dickens wasn’t Jewish, didn’t draw on any Jewish text or tradition, and wrote a story that has nothing to do with Jews or Judaism. Bear with me a moment.
A current Forward article points out that the story can be read as being about teshuvah.
Now, teshuvah is typically translated as “repentance” but is better understood as “return” – a return to a moral life. Repentance is a feeling: “remorse or contrition for past conduct or sin” according to the American Heritage dictionary. “Return,” on the other hand, is something different: it’s an action.
The guy who literally wrote the book on teshuvah was Maimonides (1135-1204), the preeminent Jewish philosopher. That book was Hilchos Teshuvah (“The Laws of Teshuvah”), and it continues to guide how traditional Jews regard and practice the concept.
Maimonides delineated several key steps or components of teshuvah:
• Remorse, true shame and embarrassment over a sin
• Vow to change one’s behavior
• Action to change one’s behavior
• And, when the sin is against another person (rather than against God), asking for forgiveness and making amends
When Ebenezer Scrooge awakens from his night of nightmares and ghosts, he doesn’t just feel remorse or contrition. He goes the full Maimonides and then some, making A Christmas Carol a classic case study in teshuvah.
Remorse: “Spirit!” he [Scrooge] cried, tight clutching at his robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I just have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?”
Vow to change: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.”
Action/Amends: Upon finding that the Spirits have done all their work in a single night, Scrooge acts with similar alacrity, setting a land-speed record for the making of amends. Immediately he buys the Poulterer’s prize turkey (“not the little prize turkey; the big one”) for the Cratchits, apologizes to the alms-collector and makes the donation that he’d refused to make the previous day, and accepts the invitation to Christmas dinner he’d previously refused from his nephew. The next day, he raises Cratchit’s salary and promises to help Bob raise his struggling family.
The unfunny joke about New Year’s resolutions is that they often fade before the month is out. But Scrooge’s resolutions do not. He promises to change and delivers that change in spades. He becomes what the rabbis call a Baal Teshuvah, a master of return.
“Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world…. And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!”
None of which is to say that Dickens drew upon Maimonides. It’s likely the case that A Christmas Carol is also very much a Moslem story, and a Hindu and Buddist one as well. The clothes of Dickens’ story may be Christian, but its flesh and bones are universal – much as Fiddler on the Roof is performed today in China, Japan and elsewhere by people who may never have seen a Jew, because its themes of family and tradition know no bounds of culture.
I’ll close as Dickens closed. At this time of year, at this moment in history, whatever you believe in, whatever you hold dear, Dickens’ parting wish seems as appropriate now as it was in 1843: “As Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!”