Nurturing a Culture of Forgiveness
Judaism is an interesting faith. Having been born into it, and having taken a self-selected list of mitzvot, which means simultaneously blessings and obligations, into my adulthood, I claim no credit for this particular part of my identity—any more than I would expect to be singled out for my Midwestern birthplace, my scholastic diversity as a child of snowbirds in California and Florida or even my excellent college education (also California, my choice). All are parts of an acculturization process; all human beings experience it, albeit differently in different cultures.
Judaism is also most often a cultural identity, and ethnic identification, which is why we have all stripes of Jews (including atheists and agnostics, humanists and secularists). The various stripes of orthodoxy (in all faiths) and of Protestantism in Christianity tend to be more theological and dogmatic. Thus we Jews have a smorgasbord of choices in daily life: daily observance? Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur Jews just like Christmas and Easter Christians? Lox and bagels from Goldman’s? The Jewish Comedy Channel?
There is one High Holy Days tradition, however, I cherish. Between Rosh Hashanah, the New Year (presently 5775, always my age, having been born just before 5700), and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, are the Days of Awe. Jews are expected to make amends, to ask forgiveness from anyone we might have wronged, so that with a clean slate we may be given another year of life. People in this town have received such notes from me and have forgiven me. (If they do not choose to forgive, it becomes their problem. Judaism is practical that way.)
From whom do I ask forgiveness? Almost exclusively the recipients of my sudden, unbridled anger. I have always had a hair-trigger temper, in adulthood almost always under control—but I can be quick to lash out and am almost as quick to regret my words. (Apologizing on the spot, or soon after, negates the obligation of a written note.) But there is a note or two to write this holiday season. Psychologically, it is a great balm; I suggest non Jews consider it as a New Year’s resolution.
But even more than friends or relatives, colleagues or associates, there is another, more important forgiveness to muster. That is the ever more difficult task of forgiving ourselves. We’re few of us perfect, and we sometimes fail in areas and with individuals with whom we most want and need to succeed. Banish that grief. Send it beyond memory. Look ahead with love and hope and faith in our own capacity for growth and wisdom.
And l’shanah tovah—may you be inscribed in the Book of Life for a sweet and healthy and happy new year.
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