Forgiveness

One day, out of the blue, I got a call from an elementary school classmate. 

She was calling, of all reasons, to apologize. She was going through something at the moment, she said, and she decided to make amends. She remembered that she had tormented me in our young days, and she asked for my forgiveness. 

I was gobsmacked. I actually didn't bear her much of a grudge (she was the sidekick to the bully who really went for me) but I was truly blown away by the amount of courage it took for her to make this call. 

A few years previously, a woman called my mother under the same premise; her daughter was "older," unmarried. She had walked away from friendship with Ma to pursue "loftier" options. But she was asking forgiveness, all these years later.  

Luke was initially unimpressed by these women's gestures. "Oh, sure," he said, eyes rolling, "they call only when there's 'something going on.'"

"But," I countered, "doesn't it beat the alternative? Rather than making gestures that don't help anyone, like lighting extra candles on Friday night or saying Tehillim backwards, they did something really difficult." 

He had to agree. 

It is said it doesn't matter what our motivations are, as long as our actions are the right ones.  

Asking for forgiveness is a tricky thing. Are we asking to exorcise our own guilt? Are we asking because we are truly sorry to have hurt another? 

Then there is the question if the hurt party is even able to forgive. Sometimes wounds go to deep. In my case, any submerged grievances against my classmate vanished (against the major bully, not so much). Danielle Berrin, who was assaulted by a prominent author, cites the Jewish forgiveness process: 

Judaism offers a prescription for restorative rather than punitive justice that I think can provide a template for all of us — not just Jews — in determining what it should take to readmit transgressors into public life.

In Judaism, a religion that prizes deeds over faith, atonement is not an easy process. And why should it be? It is designed to effect nothing less than personal transformation. This is why the Hebrew word for “repentance” is “teshuva,” or return — as in a return to your higher self, a return to your essential goodness, a return to recognizing your own dignity and the dignity of others.

The repentance process begins with an “accounting of the soul” (heshbon ha’nefesh), an examination of how one has failed or fallen short. God can forgive sins against God, but notably, sins between people can be forgiven only by the aggrieved.

Judaism requires that transgressors seek out those they’ve hurt and ask forgiveness of each and every person. If rebuffed, the tradition demands the transgressor ask no fewer than three times before moral responsibility is lifted. . . 

While prayer, “tefillah,” is also a key component of atonement in Judaism, it is a private, personal affair between human beings and God, so I won’t suggest it for everyone. I do believe, however, that prayer is meaningless if not married to moral action.

The third element of true return is “tzedekah,” often translated as “charity,” but it comes from the Hebrew root of the word “righteousness.” Judaism is not alone in reminding us that those who have hurt others can redeem themselves through giving — perhaps the most quantifiable aspect of atonement. A complete rehabilitation should include a commitment of time and money to a cause that uplifts and empowers those in need. Engaging in a reasonable period of community service could help inculcate humility and selflessness in those who once thought only of themselves.

She does say, as well: 

I’m not ready to forgive him — at least not yet. Until restitution is made publicly as well as privately, his reckoning rings hollow. But as Judaism reminds me: It is never too late to repair what’s been broken.

There is also "How to Forgive" by Malia Wollan, which reminds us that holding on to grievances is simply not healthy. That's what I do when I find myself telling off the mirror, pretending it's the transgressor: You're going to give yourself an ulcer. (There's also some tips in there how to properly let go.)