On every cereal box, right next to the picture of those plump, perfect strawberries perched neatly on the flakes, there’s a little disclaimer in small print: “For illustrative purposes only.”
So let me say that up front. I don’t mean to, chas v’shalom, compare the great figure of Tanach with secular generals. This is…for illustrative purposes only. A news item that stirred some of my thoughts, which were spurred by some comments that I received.
Recently, a picture was placed, or rather replaced, in the library of America’s most prestigious Military Academy.
Let me explain. General Robert E. Lee led the Confederate army in rebellion against the Union. He lost the Civil War and, with it, he lost his citizenship. He died in 1870, his request for clemency denied. However, in 1975, more than a century later, President Gerald Ford praised Lee’s “character” as an example for future generations and reinstated him. Indeed, he was a remarkable general and his years at West Point were meritorious without a single demerit.
But trends in America swing with the times. Despite being hailed as a hero in the South and having his portrait hang in the library of West Point where he once excelled, Congress — driven by political correctness — had it removed, along with many other Confederate symbols across the country. Retired Brigadier General Ty Seidule explained: “Robert E. Lee chose treason. He is the antithesis of West Point’s motto — Duty, Honor, Country.”
And now, in 2025, the pendulum has swung again. A portrait of Lee in his gray uniform — with a black man leading his horse — has been re-hung in the academy library. His bust may soon follow, along with a quote about “honor.” Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth defended the move as “restoring truth and sanity to American history.” Critics call it whitewashing. But the fact remains: Lee is back.
I’m not here to comment on the political aspect of the restoration, just the theological one.
A half-religious friend of mine quipped: “We need Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, Selichos, viduy, fasting, reflection, regret and resolutions. Even then, it’s a struggle to get restored. All Lee needed was a friendly president with a pen!”
And it made me think. What takeh did Lee ever do to deserve restoration? He never apologized. He never renounced the Confederacy. He never expressed regret for slavery. Pete Rose, baseball’s all-time hits leader, can’t get into the Hall of Fame because he gambled on games, so why should Robert E. Lee get back into West Point?
His one-time nemesis, Union General Ulysses S. Grant, was also in the doghouse. At least from the Jewish perspective. During the Civil War, he issued the infamous General Order No. 11, expelling Jews from his military district. President Lincoln rescinded it immediately, but the stain lingered.
Grant, however, admitted his error. He said that the order was issued “without reflection.” And more than words, he changed. As president, he appointed Jews to positions of prominence, attended the dedication of a Washington, D.C. shul, and used his office to defend persecuted Jews abroad. By the time he left office, many Jews viewed him not as an enemy, but as a friend. His reputation was restored — not by politics, but by remorse and change.
In Yiddishkeit, it’s clear: Restoration requires teshuvah. And teshuvah requires charatah and then some. Without humility, without tears, without effort, there is no way back.
A bas kol offered Yerovom Ben Nevat, the notorious chotei umachti, restoration: “Chazor becha — repent — and you, I, and Ben Yishai will stroll together in Gan Eden.” Imagine the offer! But when he heard that Dovid Hamelech would walk first, his bruised ego stopped him. If his picture in the library wasn’t front and center, he wasn’t interested. The door was wide open — but he turned away.
Elisha Ben Avuya — Acher. He heard a bas kol declare, “Shuvu bonim shovavim — Return, wayward children… chutz mei’Acher — except for Acher.” And with that, he gave up. Instead of pushing back, he surrendered. Perhaps his ego couldn’t bear the humiliation of begging, of breaking down, of crying his way back into the Bais Hashem. Maybe he wanted the easy way out — the equivalent of a presidential pardon or a ceremonial restoration. But teshuvah doesn’t come with shortcuts. It demands yegiah, it demands humility, and it demands sweat and tears.
But Rav Meir never stopped pulling at him. Again and again, he dragged him into botei medrash, hoping that a spark of Torah would penetrate and bring him back. And here’s the key: the Acharonim are unanimous. No one is ever truly barred from teshuvah. There may be obstacles, there may be roadblocks and barriers, but if a Jew really wants to come back, he can.
I once heard this insight from my dear friend, to whom I consider myself a talmid-chaver, Reb Sruly Bornstein, quoting the Reishis Chochmah and many others. Chazal say, “Kol mah sheyomar lecha baal habayis asei chutz mitzei.” Whatever the master of the house tells you to do, you obey, except if he says, “Leave.” That’s the one command you do not follow.
And in penimiyus, the baal habayis is the Ribono Shel Olam. Every mitzvah, every lo sa’aseh, every gezeirah derabbonon, we obey. But if it seems that Hashem Himself is saying, “Tzei — I don’t want you anymore, you’re finished, you’re out,” then don’t listen. Keep banging on the door until it opens. Push your way back into the Bayis Gadol, the Big House of the Ribono Shel Olam.
That was Acher’s tragedy. He heard, “Get out!” and he accepted it. He acquiesced when he should have fought. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was despair, but instead of humbling himself and crying his way back, he chose the easy way out. He quit.
Rav Elazar Ben Durdaya chose a different route. After a life of chasing sin, a bit of mussar from the most unlikely of sources changed his perspective. He broke down in tears and cried himself to death through his charatah. A bas kol announced, “Rabi Elazar Ben Durdaya is summoned to the World to Come.” Rebbi wept and said, “There are those who acquire their world in one moment.” In one moment of humility and tears, he reached eternity.
So what did Lee do to get restored? Actually, nothing. But what did he really get? Actually, nothing.
Lee’s picture may hang on a wall for a few years. Until the next president says, “Take it down!”
Because that’s not teshuvah. That’s politics. Teshuvah is not about shortcuts or ceremonial restorations. It’s about facing the truth, swallowing the ego, and crying until the gates open.
The difference is stark. History may restore a picture to a wall, but the Ribono Shel Olam restores neshamos to Olam Haba. And that restoration is forever.
Just saying.
