Apology and Forgiveness
Yom Kippur evening, 2021
Congregation B’nai B’rith, Santa Barbara CA
For sins between human beings and God, Yom Kippur atones. For sins between one human being and another, Yom Kippur does not atone until one has made peace with the other person. For two thousand years, this has been the single most fundamental teaching for this holy day. Beyond the fasting, beyond the prayers, beyond the donations to charity, beyond the study sessions and beyond all of the myriad options for on-line and in-person services during this strange pandemic Yom Kippur, this day asks of us one thing. A conversation. Whether or not we will have that conversation, and how we have it, is the great question of this season.
In South Africa at the end of the apartheid era, they established a commission called the Commission for Truth and Reconciliation. That would be a good name for the conversation which is at the heart of Yom Kippur: a conversation of truth and reconciliation.
With whom do we have this conversation? Probably, it is someone close to us. An old friend with whom we have fallen out. Our spouse after an unresolved argument. A sibling. A coworker. Our parent. Our child. These are the people with whom we need most urgently to make peace. But it is so much easier said than done. Over the years, I have accumulated a list of compelling reasons NOT to attempt this difficult conversation. Here are a few:
#1. It’s hopeless! We have tried talking about this before and we always end up fighting.
#2. It’s over. What happened, happened. Now time has to pass and let things heal. To discuss it again would just reopen old wounds.
#3. We were both wrong, and while I am willing to admit it, he or she is not. And I refuse to be the only one apologizing.
#4. It’s too painful. I don’t want to bring it up because what happened was embarrassing and humiliating for both of us. I don’t want to put either of us through the pain of remembering.
#5. I don’t want to be a hypocrite and apologize if I’m not really sorry. And I’m not!
#6. She won’t forgive me.
I like this list! It’s not complete, of course, but this list begins to make clear why the Yom Kippur conversation is so difficult. Tonight I would like to explore more deeply why apology and forgiveness are so important, and some of our tradition’s wisdom about how to do it.
About eight hundred years ago, Rabbi Moses Maimonides did his own deep thinking about what exactly is involved in making peace. Here is what he wrote, beginning with when someone has cheated or defrauded another person out of some money:
* Even after he repays the person all the money he owes him, he must still ask him for forgiveness.
* Even if he only hurt him with words, he has to plead with him until he forgives him.
* If the person does not want to forgive him, he should bring a group of three friends, and they plead and ask for him.
* If he still refuses to forgive, he brings a second and then a third group. If he still refuses, then he leaves him and is done. And the one who refused to forgive is now the sinner.
We could study this text all night long. But let me call your attention to just one detail: the words “he must ask for forgiveness.” There is an enormous difference between saying “I’m sorry,” and asking “would you forgive me?” “I’m sorry” does not require a response. “I’m sorry” leaves both people wondering: “are we done?” Was there forgiveness? Maimonides says “he must ask for forgiveness,” because the response reveals whether or not forgiveness has occurred.
Have you seen the Netflix series Shtisel? If not, I highly recommend it. It’s an affectionate, honest, complex and intelligent glimpse into the ultra-orthodox Jewish community in Jerusalem. But long before Shtisel, there was Ushpizin,made in 2004. In one scene of Ushpizin, the lead character, Moshe, learns that his sukkah—which a friend had found for him—was actually stolen from another man’s courtyard. He runs frantically to that man’s house and yells up to him “Hey, come out! I’m the one who stole your sukkah!” The man comes out on his balcony and says angrily “You ruined my holiday. Get out of here.”
But Moshe yells back, “Please! Forgive me!” The man replies “Go away!” Again he yells, “Please say it! Forgiven!” The man grumbles, “Forgiven. Now leave me alone!” But still, he won’t leave. “You have to mean it! Please say it: forgiven!” At which the guy upstairs finally smiles, just a little bit, and says “Forgiven. There. Now, have a good holiday.” And Moshe, vastly relieved, says “Thank you!” That scene captures perfectly the difference between “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me.”
Over the course of my career, a few people have confided in me that they have had an affair, and their spouse found out, and now the affair is over and they want to reaffirm their commitment to the marriage. But they weren’t sure how to do that. (Being a rabbi is so interesting! Right?) But what would YOU advise? Sometimes I have suggested: “have you asked her (or him) to forgive you?”
To ask for forgiveness is an act of profound vulnerability.
If we have hurt someone, then by asking for their forgiveness, not simply saying “I’m sorry,” but genuinely asking: “can you forgive me?”…we place ourselves at their mercy. It’s a good, healing thing to do.
Maimonides understood the vulnerability, because he continues as follows: “It is forbidden to be cruel, and to refuse to forgive. Rather, he should be quick to forgive, and slow to anger, and when the person who sinned asks his forgiveness, he should forgive him with a full heart and willing spirit.” Here we come to the heart of the matter, the reason behind all of the reasons that we avoid the Yom Kippur conversation of Truth and Reconciliation. We avoid it because it is risky, for both people: if I ask you for forgiveness, I take the chance that you will not forgive me, and will leave me convicted by my own words, and unforgiven. And if I am the one being asked to forgive, how do I know that you are sincere, and that you won’t hurt me again tomorrow?
More often than not, we play it safe and just avoid the conversation. Sometimes we make a feeble effort that falls far short of what is necessary, and often just make it worse. Here’s an example: “I am sorry that what I said made you feel that way.” That statement contains the words “I’m sorry,” but it is not an apology, and we all know it! “I’m sorry it made you feel that way” really means “I’m sorry that you have a problem with your feelings!” Asking forgiveness can only mean one thing: “I did a bad thing; can you please forgive me?” Asking forgiveness means saying “I am not perfect, but I want to take responsibility for my mistake.”
Granting forgiveness, by the way, can also fall short. We know how profoundly unsatisfying and unresolving it is when we ask for forgiveness and the other person says “it’s OK.” And we know that when we say to someone “don’t worry about it,” we are not giving them the forgiveness they need. ‘Don’t worry about it” too often means “I’m not done being angry.”
With my beloved mother’s permission, I will share one simple and true Yom Kippur story from her life, which she shared with me at the time it happened. I have never forgotten it and share it now because it might inspire someone who is listening. My mother was one of only two children in her family; she was nine years older than her brother. Despite the age difference between them, it was an intense relationship because their mother, my grandmother, died when my mother was in college, and my mother returned home from college at age nineteen to help raise her ten-year-old brother. A nineteen-year-old raising a ten-year-old, after both have just lost their mother. Try to imagine the complexity of that relationship.
A time came when they were both much, much older that for some reason, they stopped speaking to each other. Several painful years went by. Then one year, on Yom Kippur, because it was Yom Kippur, my mother picked up the phone and called her brother, who responded gratefully and they made peace with each other. Many years after they had reconciled, my uncle passed away, but their relationship had been made whole. Thank goodness my mother had picked up the phone and called him. Thank God for Yom Kippur.
Here is another Yom Kippur story, from my own life. Earlier this year, something happened between me and a member of this community and we stopped talking to each other. In fact, we stopped even looking at each other. I know you’re dying to know the details but you know I can’t tell you that! I can tell you though that this is the kind of thing I think about when I am backpacking. This year, the day I returned from our hike, I sent a short email to this person. I will read that email almost verbatim in case you ever want to borrow some of the language.
Dear _______, In the spirit of the approaching New Year and Yom Kippur, I wonder if you would be open to meeting with me somewhere quiet to have a face-to-face conversation, to try to get back on track as friends going forward. I want you to continue to be an important part of the CBB community, and I do not want either of us to feel uncomfortable in each other's presence. I have great faith in the power of clear, simple, peace-making conversation.Would you be open to that? I look forward to hearing from you!
I sent the email the day I returned from backpacking and received a reply, literally, within minutes. “I’d love that.” We met, we talked, and we began again, for which I am deeply grateful. I won’t say it was an easy conversation, but it was liberating.
I was speaking about Yom Kippur a few days ago with a group of residents at the local retirement home Vista del Monte. After 45 minutes of discussion, one resident spoke up and said “I appreciate everything that you have said, but so far it has only been about making peace between individuals. Does any of this apply to conflicts between groups?” When I asked “do you mean Israelis and Palestinians?” he said “yes.” I was not entirely satisfied with my answer so let me try again now. In my view, the conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians is not about religion, and it’s no longer even about land. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is about fear and forgiveness. Both sides are suffering. Both sides live in fear. Both sides need forgiveness, and both sides need to forgive. It is a long way off, but there will be no peace between Israelis and Palestinians without something resembling a Commission for Truth and Reconciliation.
There is one thing that we in Santa Barbara can do to bring nearer that day, and that is to courageously conduct conversations of truth and reconciliation in our every day lives. Each time we do, we perform a small miracle…and increase the possibility of that miracle repeating in the world.
Hatred, resentment, a bitter grudge. These emotions linger in our bodies. We know this. They do not dissolve with time. They just burrow down and gnaw at our heart, for a lifetime, unless we undertake to heal them.
In one of our religion’s most brilliant flashes of insight, Yom Kippur teaches us the awesome liberating, therapeutic power of a conversation. It won’t be easy. It may feel dangerous. But a conversation of apology and forgiveness can actually heal the wounds of our heart, and can relieve the deep pain buried in our soul. That potent medicine is the miracle of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of our lives.
Gmar chatimah tova. May you be sealed in the Book of Life for a sweet, good, healthy year.