The Love of Tochecha (Yom Kippur 5786)

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The Love of Tochecha
Rabbi Angela Buchdahl, Yom Kippur 5786

Growing up, my Korean mother was not really one for telling me, “I love you.” But I never doubted that she did.

My mother had other love languages: like…food. Even after she worked a full day, mom whipped up a multicourse, Korean dinner every night and relished packing a healthy lunch for me each day – paying no heed to my embarrassment at being the only one with seaweed rolls instead of peanut butter and jelly.

She had another, very Korean, love language: cash incentives. A dollar for every “A” on my report card. 50 cents for every slug I removed from her tomato garden. And on long summer days, she induced me and my sister to write “books”  by paying us 10 cents for every page. I can thank Mom that I will finally get one published in a few weeks.

But my mom’s real love language? I don’t know what you call it in Korean, but the Hebrew word for it is tochecha.

Tochecha doesn’t have a natural English translation. It’s usually defined as “rebuke,” a critical reprimand, a censure – for failures, hurts or mistakes. The etymology of “rebuke” is the Germanic word for “thicket,” or “brush,” that you would beat back or repel. A “Rebuke” is a verbal weedwacker wielded against undesirable behavior.

But “rebuke” doesn’t quite capture the spirit of tochecha. Tochecha is not about pushing someone away, it’s about drawing them close.Tochecha comes from the Hebrew root for “offering proof or evidence.” When you give tochecha it’s like holding up a mirror to someone so they can see evidence of how they fell short – it’s an act of intimacy and truth-telling. 

As I said, my Mom was big on tochecha. She set high standards for me and my sister, and tochecha was the way she let us know when we were not living up to them. This often went down harder than her pickled lunches, but I experienced it as love nevertheless.

What does love, or tochecha, have to do with this holiday of Yom Kippur? Pretty much everything. The Torah portion we read on Yom Kippur afternoon comes from Leviticus 19. It’s known as the “Holiness Code.” On this holiest day of the year, our ancestors instruct us to practice a series of commandments in order to live lives of holiness.

And at the very center of this portion is arguably the most famous verse  of the entire Torah, also known as the Golden Rule:

V’ahavta l’reyacha kamocha.
“Love Your Neighbor as Yourself.”

But how exactly do we express this love for our neighbor? The verse immediately before these famous words gives us some instruction:

לֹֽא־תִשְׂנָ֥א אֶת־אָחִ֖יךָ בִּלְבָבֶ֑ךָ
הוֹכֵ֤חַ תּוֹכִ֙יחַ֙ אֶת־עֲמִיתֶ֔ךָ
וְלֹא־תִשָּׂ֥א עָלָ֖יו חֵֽטְא

“Do not hate your kinsman in your heart, you shall surely rebuke him, and incur no sin because of him.”

This verse, commanding us to give tochecha, placed right before the command to “Love Your Neighbor” teaches us that Judaism also understands rebuke as a love language. The Talmudic Rabbi Yosi bar Chanina goes so far as to say: “A love without tochecha is no love.”

I’m guessing that for many of you, this is the first time you’ve ever heard of the Jewish concept of tochecha, and now your rabbi is arguing that you cannot have love without it?

That’s exactly what I’m saying. We are all seeing what happens in a society that doesn’t know how to give tochecha. Where we are afraid to draw close enough to tell someone the truth. Where relationships feel so fragile they can’t tolerate critique. Or we think it’s not our business to weigh in: it’s their life – who am I to intrude?

But we are commanded to love our neighbors.And to love sometimes means to give tochecha.Because if we are disappointed, hurt, or angry – feeling someone did something they shouldn’t, or is not doing what they should, or is not living up to their potential – and we say nothing to them, that’s not love. It’s giving up. It’s deciding they can’t do better. Too often, relationships fall apart over this. One in four Americans today is estranged from a parent, sibling or child. I’m sure all of us feel distant from someone we once called a good friend, mentor, or colleague. Tochecha takes courage, and care, but we cannot live lives of holiness without it.

Our Torah not only instructs us to give tochecha, it teaches us how to do it properly. The opening of the Torah verse says: “Do not hate your kinsman, achicha, in your heart,” from the word ach: brother. Classical commentators emphasized that the primary obligation for rebuke is our kin: our family, friends, and community. Because tochecha presumes a relationship and some sense of obligation. We generally don’t give our enemies tochecha. We can protest, reproach, or campaign against them, but tochecha is an act of love for achicha– for your people.

Within that category, the 16th century rabbi Kli Yakar explicitly exempts 3 categories of people from tochecha: the wicked, the idiots and the mockers. He draws from the Book of Proverbs which warns: “Do not rebuke a mocker, he will hate you; but rebuke a wise person, and he will love you.” In other words, only rebuke someone who is decent enough – open enough – to really take it in – otherwise it may even make things worse. But when you give tochecha to someone with wisdom and humility, your words can engender greater closeness, trust – and love.

This first phrase of the verse also says: “Do not hate your brothers in your heart.” Bilvavecha. What are you keeping inside, and not saying – to your friends, to your own family – that has made you feel hate? Do they even have any idea why you might be upset? Disappointed? Hurt?

This command reminds us, we cannot just keep it all in our hearts, we must be willing to confront the difficult truths. Which brings us to the next words of the verse: hochayach tochiach. Whenever you see a word doubled in Hebrew, it’s the Torah’s way of expressing emphasis. A grammatical underlining of the concept. Hochayach tochiach. You must surely rebuke. Giving tochecha is not a suggestion, it’s a command. There are pragmatic reasons to give tochecha: to prevent harm, to correct injustice, to restore trust. But the deeper Jewish reason is this: we believe people can change. That is the beating heart of Yom Kippur. If teshuvah—return—is possible, tochecha is a handrail that guides someone along the path. And what is more loving than helping someone return to their best self?

The final clause in the verse is essential: “do not incur sin because of him.” The rabbis interpret this warning in two ways: FIRST: if we stay silent in the face of our kinsman’s wrongdoing, and we do not offer tochecha, we are complicit. And we incur sin, too. SECOND: If you give tochecha the wrong way – if you shame or humiliate, if you offer it when it cannot be received, or cause more harm through your rebuke – then your tochecha becomes its own sin.

Offering tochecha is not easy.

And our tradition has long recognized that doing it properly is like walking a tightrope.

Maybe it's not surprising that even 2000 years ago, the Talmud records Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah complaining: “I would be surprised if there is anyone in this generation who knows how to give tochecha correctly.” So is there any way to get it right? Well, our people have never stopped trying. And this Yom Kippur, I want to share four rules for giving tochecha as an expression of love, distilled from centuries of rabbinic commentary, and decades of personal experience with my mother, so that we might give tochecha without incurring more sin for which we will have to atone today.

RULE NUMBER ONE: Know Thyself
The first person tochecha must address is… oneself. Hasidic masters teach: when we notice a flaw in another, it’s often a mirror reflecting our own rough edges. Before we confront someone else, we should ask: why does this bother me? Is it about their action, or my own flaws or insecurity? The 19th Century rabbi known as Chafetz Chayim says: Rebuke must be free of personal anger or insult, otherwise it is not for the sake of Heaven. Mussar, the Jewish mindfulness tradition, demands a cheshbon hanefesh—an accounting of the soul—so that our rebuke emerges from humility, not ego.

RULE NUMBER TWO: Timing is Everything
Never give tochecha when the person is flooded with grief, anger, fear, or – when you are. We cannot give reproof when someone is already spiraling, or in a heightened fight or flight mode. Sometimes, tochecha just has to wait. The Talmud instructs: “Just as it’s a mitzvah to offer tochecha when it will be heeded, so is it a mitzvah to NOT give tochecha when it cannot be heeded.”

RULE NUMBER THREE: Location. Location. Location.
Never give tochecha in public. Humiliation is a cousin of violence in Jewish law; and is compared to spilling blood. The moment you add an audience to your reproach—whether three friends at a dinner table or three thousand followers online—the conversation stops being about growth and starts being about power. This is what the Torah verse warns against when it says, “do not bring sin upon yourself.” When you’re ready to offer tochecha, and they’re ready to hear it, close the door. Sit face to face. And draw close.

RULE NUMBER FOUR: Show, don’t tell.
“Show don’t tell,” is not just a principle for good writing, but for good tochecha. Sometimes the right story, or the right question is the best way to hold up a mirror to someone.

The prophet Nathan employs this method when he gives King David the most dramatic example of tochecha in the Hebrew Bible. King David had just committed the most grievous sins: he spied beautiful Bathsheba bathing on the roof, and despite knowing she was married, slept with her and then sent her husband to the front lines of battle, to be killed. Nathan, the king’s advisor, feels compelled to reprimand David for what he has done. But how do you rebuke an almighty king? Very carefully!

So Nathan decides to tell David a story: “There once was a rich man who had everything,” he tells David, “and a poor man who has only a single lamb, that he loves so much that she eats at his table, drinks from his cup and sleeps in his bed. When a traveler comes to town, the rich man prepares a feast for him, but instead of taking from his extensive flocks, he steals the poor man’s only lamb.”

David stops Nathan, and exclaims: “The rich man deserves to die!” And then Nathan turns the mirror on David: “You are that man.” Nathan’s parable disarms David’s defenses, enabling him to respond: “Chatati—I have sinned.”

This story shows the direct connection between tochecha and teshuva. And reminds us why we read the Holiness code on Yom Kippur.

You might imagine this Day of Atonement as the day on which God offers us tochecha. We chant a catalog of ways that we have fallen short as we beat our chests in the Al Cheyt – not because God enjoys listing our faults, but because God believes we are strong enough to face them, capable of improving.

And God does not single us out individually– we confess in unison, to preserve our dignity. And engage in our own self-reflection in the safety of a community all trying to do the same. On Yom Kippur, God’s tochecha is not meant to push us away, but to draw us close. To invite us to RETURN. To make teshuva. Tochecha is the ultimate act of God’s love.

So as we sit in prayer and contemplation this holiday, consider where love is calling you to courage. Consider the relationships in your life – a friend, colleague, family member– and how a story, a question, a gentle rebuke, offered at the right time, in the right place, and with thoughtful intention, could draw someone back, inspire repair, or change a life—maybe your own.

If we can give tochecha like that—if we can love like that—then our tochecha will not be a thicket that repels; it will be a mirror that reveals. It will not be a blow; it will be a blessing. It will be, as the Torah commands, a path to holiness itself.