Posted on October 9, 2025
“Are You Ready for Your Close-Up?”
Kol Nidre Sermon 5786/2025
Rabbi Lisa Eiduson
Temple Shir Tikva, Wayland MA
This past year, Sunset Boulevard played at the St James Theatre on Broadway. Despite the great reviews, the sold-out crowds, and the standing ovations, it ran for only nine months.
The production, which began last October, was only intended to be performed for a short time. It was a limited revival of a legendary story. And so, in July, as planned, the lights went down, the orchestra packed up, and the velvet curtain fell for the last time.
But some shows remain with us and echo in our consciousness. For me, Sunset Boulevard lingers — not because it’s glamorous, but because it is instructive, poignant, and touching.
The story centers on Norma Desmond, a once celebrated silent film star. When Sunset Boulevard opens, Norma is aging, alone, and desperate to return to the screen.
Toward the beginning of the production, Joe Gillis, a young screenwriter, sees Norma and recognizes her. He said to her: “I didn’t know you were planning a comeback.” Norma responds: “I hate that word. It’s a return, a return to the millions of people who have never forgiven me for deserting the screen” (Webber, 2025).
Norma didn’t want a new beginning. She yearned to go back to her life as she remembered it. Erase the present. Driven by ego and the external validation of the audience, she wanted to recapture her past glory and prove to the world that she was still “big” (Webber, 2025). She wanted to be guaranteed that her audience hadn’t forgotten her and that she was still relevant. Once a Hollywood star, she becomes a caricature of one, living in a decaying mansion and creating her own mythology to sustain her. Lost in the illusion of her own fame that she was unable to see the truth of her own self.
Norma was not seeking a comeback in which she could reinvent herself. Instead, she wanted a return to the exact spotlight she had left behind. Some might call it a “do-over.” Norma’s heartbreak was that she was not interested in growth. Her tragedy was not that she aged, rather, it was that she refused to change.
And that’s where I want us to begin this Yom Kippur, because unlike Norma our change and change is at the very heart of teshuvah.
This is the season of teshuvah — repentance, return. But not Norma Desmond’s kind of return.
Sometimes our teshuva, too, takes a wrong turn. How many of us come into this place longing to go back to the past? Do we come to these high holy days to be transformed? Or is really validation that we seek? Do we pray for a return to the “good old days,” when we were more involved, more energetic, more committed? Do we yearn to be remembered as the young, vital heroes we once were — or at least imagined ourselves to be?
This is what an unhealthy, incomplete return looks like. Performed for an audience, it focuses outward, on what others think, rather than inward, on what our souls need. This return is inauthentic because it demands perfection. It asks that we return to a pristine state that never existed, and sets us up for a devastating fall when reality sets in.
We translate teshuvah as “return.” It is the theme of these Days of Awe. On Yom Kippur in particular, our liturgy, music, and meditations are filled with suggestions of teshuvah. And yet, the questions that we ponder each year are: To what or to whom do we return? Is it the hope to return to an earlier version of ourselves? That process, which in the world of technology I have learned is called “versioning,” which allows you to restore individual files or entire systems to previous states (Zola, 2022)?
I’m afraid not. Approaching the teshuvah of Yom Kippur in this way is not only unhealthy, but it leaves us empty because it is built on falsehood and illusion. And, most of all, it fails to reveal our missteps, our failures, and our spiritual rust — even to ourselves. It denies the truth of who we really are – flawed and imperfect.
For Yom Kippur’s repentance, true teshuvah, is predicated on our flawed condition as human beings and Jews. We are imperfect. The question is a different one altogether: How do we imperfect souls move ourselves to accurate teshuvah? To the frame of mind that helps us to leave here feeling that we have accomplished something? The goal is that we grow and emerge at sundown tomorrow feeling better. More whole. More tuned in with ourselves and our community — today, in the present, not in the past. We must start tonight – by having the courage to look in the mirror and see ourselves as we are – so that we can imagine the person each of us would like to be.
The Biblical roots of teshuvah – a word that means both repentance and return – may be found in a simple and direct statement in Malachi:
“שובו אלי ואשובה אליכם” – “Return to Me, and I will return to you.”
— Malachi 3:7
God is not asking us to go backward in time.
God is asking us to return to positive relationship. To rediscover our highest selves.
To aim to restore the parts of us that were never completely lost, only concealed, out of sight.
The great Hasidic master Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav (Golshevsky, 2022) taught:
“If you believe that you can destroy, believe also that you can repair.”
This is the true power of teshuvah. Not a return to how things were — but an entrance into the possibility that we can heal ourselves and our souls.
Now don’t get me wrong, it is not that we don’t have illusions. We continually look for ways to maximize our goodness, control our power, and permanence. We construct narratives that reflect the best aspects of ourselves. We are constantly editing the moments of our lives, working to improve and enhance our stories.
But on Yom Kippur, the reel ceases to turn. We stop. The screen goes dark and the curtain falls. And we are left with ourselves as we really are. Yom Kippur strips us of our illusions. The High Holy Days humble us, and remind us of our true nature and of our minuscule place as human beings, as Jews, on the real stage – the stage of life:
“We are clay, you are the potter.
We are the dream; you are the dreamer.
We are fleeting shadows.”
~From the Kol Nidrei Liturgy. Author unknown, 12th century France, translated from Hebrew in Mishkan HaNefesh.
But remember, we are the raw materials. The desire for a proper and healthy teshuva depends on us as much as God. Without the clay, there is no need for the potter.
One of the key liturgical moments of Yom Kippur is the Viddui — the confessional.
We say:
“Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu…”
“We have trespassed, we have betrayed, we have stolen…”
~ Hebrew and English text, from “Viddui” Yom Kippur Confessional, from Mishkan HaNefesh, CCAR.
We proceed through the entire alphabet of sins.
It’s not glamorous or polished. It’s messy and brutally honest.
We pronounce all these sins aloud, together with our community. No one knows who is asking forgiveness for what. There is safety in anonymity. But each of us knows where we have not measured up. There is nothing illusory about this process. We are called to return—not to what we were, but to what we might be. This is true teshuvah.
Norma Desmond couldn’t face that question, and instead she lived her own delusion.
We don’t have to.
A healthy return is the acknowledgment that we are more than the hero or the villain in our own story. We are human beings on a journey, and our task is not to recapture a fictional past but to live fully in the present with our whole selves.
These are the fundamental elements of teshuva — This is actual spiritual return.
It’s not about being flawless.
It’s about being faithful to our growth.
It’s not about becoming someone new.
It’s about returning to the most authentic version of you — the you who chooses better this time.
From the Talmud we learn (Avodah Zarah 17a):
Elazar ben Durdaya was a man who had, in the rabbis’ words, “not left one sin uncommitted.”
But one day, after a moment of awakening, he placed his head on his hands and wept until his soul left his body.
A voice from heaven declared:
“Rabbi Elazar ben Durdaya is invited to the World to Come.”
The Talmud calls him Rabbi — not because he had mastered Torah —
But because he had mastered teshuvah.
He didn’t go back to who he was.
He aimed higher and moved closer to his best self.
That’s what Yom Kippur offers us.
Not a chance to return to a perfect version of ourselves — but to come back into life.
A rabbinic colleague tells the story of his first stress test. The cardiologist came in and got him started on the treadmill – first walking then jogging and finally running. He felt like he was in pretty good shape and thought he would show his doctor what great condition he was in. So they turned up the speed and the incline, and he was really moving. His heart rate took a while to increase because of his conditioning, and he topped out at 130 beats per minute.
He said: “They kept bringing it up and I was doing really well — 130 – 130. ‘I am just killing this stress test!’ It took a while for them bring my heart rate up to where they wanted it to be.
At the end of the test, I looked at the doctor and said: ‘How did I do?’ I was feeling really proud of myself. The doctor looked at me and said: ‘We are not measuring how fast or how long you can run. We are measuring how long your heart takes to return to normal after it has exerted itself’” (Franklin, 2024).
He realized that is exactly what Teshuva is as well. Teshuva is how long it takes us to return to ourselves after we have gone a bit astray. We don’t measure people souls by how they never sin. We measure souls by when people do sin, how long it takes for them to come back to who it is they are. Teshuva is a return to ourselves; it is a return home.
Yom Kippur asks us to try to return home. To come out from behind the curtain of our curated lives. To stop pretending we’re fine when we’re not, to stop reliving old glory days, to stop performing forgiveness and actually seek it, do it. Yom Kippur gives us a chance to change our ways and live lives that are more fulfilling, more gratifying, more loving.
And like Sunset Boulevard, Yom Kippur is a limited revival of a legendary story. It comes only once a year. We know the story. We hear it here; and each year we try to internalize its familiar yet formidable lessons.
When will we see that it is not so difficult? When will we realize that we are the producers and the directors of this drama that is life? When will we recognize the power of this day? That at the moment we feel most vulnerable, Teshuva is right within reach to strengthen us.
Teshuvah is not glamorous. But it is real.
Let’s come back to Sunset Boulevard, one last time.
In the final scene, Norma finally returns to the stage. Her stage.
She walks toward the camera, believing it’s finally her moment.
Her voice is soft, trembling, hypnotic:
“All right, Mr. DeMille… I’m ready for my close-up” (Webber, 2025).
But the tragedy is: she’s not.
She’s not in touch with the truth, and not ready to be seen — not by others, and not by herself.
On Yom Kippur, we are offered something she wasn’t:
A real close-up.
Not a camera.
A soul.
Not for the world to see you.
But for you to see you.
To return to the truth.
To write a new scene.
To return home.
And so today, with hearts open and illusions stripped away,
in the quiet space between confession and compassion —
We stand here not as who we were, but as who we might become.
May each of us have the courage to say:
“I’m ready for my close-up.”
References
Central Conference of American Rabbis (Ed.). (2015). Mishkan hanefesh: Machzor for the days of awe. CCAR Press.
Franklin, Rabbi J. [@Rabbijoshfranklin]. (2024, September 11). A Story about Teshuva: The Jewish concept of “repentance,” and its deeper and more spiritual meaning. [Video]. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/reel/C_yaiqnvE6O/?hl=en
Golshevsky, Y. (2022, February 21). You can fix it! Breslov Research Institute. https://breslov.org/you-can-fix-it/
Webber, A.L. (Writer) and Lloyd, J. (Director). (2025, June 24). Sunset boulevard. Live performance at the St. James Theatre. New York, NY.
Zola, A. (2022, February 22). Versioning. TechTarget. https://www.techtarget.com/searchsoftwarequality/definition/versioning