ה. רִגְשֵׁי הַתְּשׁוּבָה בְּכָל הוֹד יִפְעָתָם, בְּכָל דִּכְדּוּכֵי־נַפְשָׁם הַיּוֹתֵר עֲמֻקִּים, מֻכְרָחִים לְהִגָּלוֹת בַּסִּפְרוּת, לְמַעַן יִלְמַד דּוֹר הַתְּחִיָּה אֶת הַתְּשׁוּבָה בְּעֹמֶק נֶפֶשׁ, בִּתְכוּנָה חַיָּה וְרַעֲנַנָּה, וָשָׁב וְרָפָא לוֹ. וְקוֹם יָקוּם לָנוּ מְשׁוֹרֵר הַתְּשׁוּבָה, שֶׁהוּא יִהְיֶה מְשׁוֹרֵר הַחַיִּים, מְשׁוֹרֵר הַתְּחִיָּה, מְשׁוֹרְרָהּ שֶׁל הַנְּשָׁמָה הַלְּאֻמִּית הַהוֹלֶכֶת לְהִגָּאֵל.
Rav Kook powerfully states that the profound **emotions of teshuva (repentance/return)** — in all their majestic beauty and in their deepest states of soul-crushing despair and brokenness — **must be revealed and expressed in literature**. This is essential so that the generation of national revival (dor hatchiya) can learn teshuva at the deepest level of the soul, in a living, fresh, and vibrant way — and through it, "return and be healed" (וָשָׁב וְרָפָא לוֹ).
The author explains that Rav Kook poses a challenge that has not been properly fulfilled even today: connecting literature in its various forms to the theme of teshuva, one of the most wondrous and deepest movements of the human soul.
Historically, literature was once limited to the educated few, but in modern times — especially among Jews — literacy spread rapidly, printing became cheap and accessible, and literature became extremely popular and influential. It served as a window into the world, culture, politics, and the human psyche, shaping public consciousness. In the Jewish context, the national revival included the rebirth of the Hebrew language and Hebrew literature, which matured toward the end of the 19th century and reached greatness in the works of Bialik, Tchernichovsky, Agnon, Brenner, Mendele Mocher Sforim, and others. These writers expressed the spirit and feelings of their generation and touched wide audiences.
However, the core of modern Hebrew literature largely did **not** deal with holiness, tradition, or the Jewish vision of repairing the world (tikkun olam). When it did touch on religious life, it was usually from a critical or negative standpoint (as in Brenner or Mendele). This created a glaring absence: the richest emotional field for deep literary creation — the inner processes of teshuva, with its accompanying feelings, crises, lows and highs, despair to joy, weakness to strength — was almost completely neglected.
Rav Kook sees this as especially unfortunate in the generation of revival. Many viewed the national awakening merely as rebellion against the old, but true teshuva includes both the breaking away and the deeper aspiration toward something nobler and more perfect to replace what was flawed. This requires a profound inner revolution in self-perception and worldview — far beyond external changes in lifestyle. Literature that authentically captures the emotions of teshuva (rather than shallow scare-tactics about hellfire sermons) is vital to support this inner transformation.
Literature, more than intellectual or theological discourse, is suited to touch hearts, stir emotions, and potentially bring real change. The full spectrum — from the deepest self-abasement and brokenness to the radiant beauty and elevation that teshuva can bring (illumination, closeness to the ideal, spiritual refinement) — offers immense raw material for artists: mountains of gold and diamonds waiting to be shaped into great works. Yet writers often pass by this treasure and settle for minor, superficial feelings.
Rav Kook, himself possessing a poetic soul sensitive to deep emotion, acutely felt this lack. He could not fill it alone (as literature was not his primary calling), so he longed for worthy creators to arise.
Such literature would teach teshuva through emotional identification and living connection — not merely technical performance of acts (important as they are). He gives the example of shemitta observance during the Second Aliyah: many observed it only formally due to the Baron's officials, without inner soul connection to the land, mitzvot, or national revival. Deep literary expression of the proper feelings around shemitta, the land, and revival could have awakened genuine identification.
True literary teshuva would be **vital and fresh** — renewing the present with great future aspiration, not a nostalgic return to a small, museum-like past. It should not merely preserve or prettify remnants of the past (like building tombstones for the righteous); rather, it should creatively advance and complete the unfulfilled aspirations of earlier generations, based on their teachings.
Through such deep soul-learning of teshuva (also via literature), healing comes: the generation of revival needs spiritual medicine. Life in Eretz Yisrael should stem from aspiration, fulfillment, vitality, and joy — not merely as an escape or necessity from exile's persecutions. Art and literature play a key role in this healing and sign of health (as Rav Kook wrote to Boris Schatz regarding Bezalel and the demand for beauty/art as proof of renewed national vitality).
The passage ends with Rav Kook's visionary hope: **may the poet of teshuva arise** — who will also be the **poet of life** (in all its complexity), the **poet of revival**, and the **poet of the national soul on its path to redemption**.
This poet would reveal the unity and harmony between life's depths (including divine connection and lofty aspirations) and simple, pleasant everyday life — without one negating the other. Such literature would help lead the people toward a brilliant future and the full realization of its potential.
Even today, we still await that great poet of teshuva.
