The $41 Million Wakeup Call: What Shedeur Sanders and the Torah Teach About U-Turns
Sometimes, the most powerful lessons about life don’t come from a holy book or a spiritual teacher—they come from unexpected places—like a football field or a skin condition described in an ancient Torah portion. At first glance, these two stories couldn’t be more different. One is about an NFL draft pick who fell from grace. The other is a puzzling law in the Torah about a person afflicted with a strange skin discoloration. However, when we look closer, both stories shine a light on a deep truth about human nature: we often avoid responsibility until we’re forced to face ourselves. And yet, that moment of honesty—that one-second shift—can change everything. Let’s explore what a fallen quarterback, a mysterious Torah law, and your own journey toward growth might have in common.
In the Torah, there’s a fascinating law about a condition called tzara’at—an unusual skin affliction that wasn’t just physical, but spiritual. When someone showed signs of it, they would go to a Kohen (a spiritual leader, like a priest), who would examine it and decide what to do. Sometimes the person would be isolated for a week and rechecked. But here’s the surprising twist: if the rash was small, the person was considered impure, but if their entire body was covered in white from head to toe—they were actually declared pure. Hold on a moment; this seems counterintuitive. If a little bit is bad (i.e. a small amount of this skin condition renders a person impure), then shouldn’t a lot (when it covers his whole body) be worse? Yet the Torah says that if the person is completely covered in this condition, they’re no longer impure. Why would a greater amount of “leprosy” remove the impure status of a person?
Some explain this as a powerful spiritual insight: No Jew is ever completely lost. If someone seems totally consumed by spiritual darkness (symbolized by seeing that his body is covered from head to toe with ‘leprosy,’) the Torah teaches us it can’t be the real thing—because no Jewish soul is beyond hope or redemption. If a person looks entirely cut off, it must mean something deeper is happening beneath the surface because no one can be completely overtaken by badness. A sports event last week gives us an example of a different way to view the phenomenon.
Those following the NFL draft know about a young superstar quarterback named Shedeur Sanders. All year long, the word on the street was that he would go first in the NFL draft. His father, Deion Sanders, one of the most versatile professional athletes in modern times, hyped it up in every media appearance. Shedeur even skipped last year’s draft to be eligible this year—fully confident he’d be #1. But something happened. He went to team meetings… and bombed the interviews because he didn’t feel he needed to try. He assumed he could choose his team because everyone wanted him. The pride was unmistakable.
King Solomon wrote (Proverbs 16:18), לִפְנֵי שֶׁבֶר גָּאוֹן, וְלִפְנֵי כִשָּׁלוֹן גֹּבַהּ רוּחַPride precedes destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Team after team passed on him. Round one went by—nothing. Round two—still nothing. Round three—still unpicked. Teams chose quarterbacks that everyone agreed were less talented because talent without humility is toxic. You can’t coach arrogance. From a projected $45 million contract, he settled for a $4 million contract. Arrogance cost him $41 million.
Now let’s circle back to the guy with the leprosy-like skin condition. Why is a person only declared pure when he’s completely covered in tzara’at (leprosy)? As long as he has even one spot that’s healthy, he’ll cling to the idea: it’s not my fault. I’m mostly okay; there’s no compelling reason for me to change my ways. However, when the affliction covers every inch of his body, there is no one left to blame. That’s when he can finally say, it’s all on me. I must have done something or offended someone in some way that made me deserve this skin affliction.
Most people think that spiritual growth—or “repentance”—starts when someone stops doing something wrong, but it begins even earlier. The first and most important step is simply being honest with yourself and saying, “I made a mistake. This is on me.” That moment of taking full responsibility—without blaming others—is what opens the door to real change. It’s the beginning of coming back to your best self, which is what the Hebrew word teshuva really means: returning—to who you’re meant to be.
People think the first step in teshuva is stopping the sin but that’s not accurate because the first step is taking responsibility and saying it’s my fault. Not my spouse. Not my boss. Not my child.
Me.
People often confuse responsibility with blame but there’s a simple distinction; blame is about who caused it but responsibility is about who’s going to fix it. When mother is pushing a stroller at the supermarket and her child knocks a carton of milk off the shelf, it’s not her fault, but it’s still her responsibility. She didn’t knock it on the floor but she picks it up and returns it to the shelf even though it wasn’t her fault. You didn’t drop a wrapper in shul but you saw it, which means it’s yours to pick up. And so too with marriage, jobs, volunteering, and being a member of a nonprofit board. Every relationship is a two-way street. As long as you’re still in it, you give it your all—regardless of what the other person is doing; until you walk away, you are responsible. In your marriage, in your work, and in every part of your life—including your spiritual life.
Those of us from New York are familiar with highway signs saying “last exit before the toll.” If you miss it, you’re going to pay—and then have to turn around. But why wait for the toll; why not turn around now? Don’t wait for the pain to change. Don’t wait for life to force your hand; turn back before you pay the price.
Whether you’re a top NFL prospect, a struggling parent, a searching soul, or just someone trying to do better—remember this: greatness isn’t about never failing; it’s about having the courage to stop, own your story, and turn around before life makes you. The Torah’s message is clear: when you stop pointing fingers and start taking ownership, you’re not falling—you’re rising. That’s not weakness; that’s wisdom. And that’s the road back—not just to G-d, but to your truest, best self. Turn before the toll. It’s never too late—and it’s always worth it.
Good Shabbos
(based on an address given by Rabbi Shlomo Farhi)