I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a
“Gamar Chatimah Tovah,” may you be sealed in the Book of Life for a good, sweet, and healthy new year.
A man once had too much to drink at a party. He made a fool of himself and then passed out. Friends helped his wife take him home. The next morning, he was very remorseful and asked his wife to forgive him. She agreed to forgive and forget the incident completely. Perhaps this story hits close to home for some of you...
As the months went by, however, his wife referred to the incident from time to time, always with a little note of ridicule and scorn in her voice.
Finally, the man was fed up with being reminded of his bad behavior and said, “I thought you were going to forgive and forget.”
“I have forgiven and forgotten,” the wife said, “but I don't want you to forget that I have forgiven and forgotten.”
Friends, we’ve all been hurt, offended, betrayed, or mistreated at some point in our lives, and it’s natural to cling to our resentments. We might get a strange satisfaction in doing so.
Maybe something happened to you when you were younger, someone wronged you. Perhaps someone lied about you or cheated you. Nevertheless, for your emotional and spiritual health, you should choose to forgive.
Forgiveness does not require that you approve of someone’s outrageous behavior or subject yourself to it again. It means letting go of your resentment and anger. If you attempt to bury the hurt in your heart, it will seep out and contaminate your character, your behavior, your life. True freedom begins when we can release the burden of resentment.
Harboring grudges poisons life in much the same way that any other toxin does. A few decades ago, several American companies secretly buried toxic waste products underground. They filled large metal containers with poisonous chemicals, sealed the drums tightly, and buried them deep below the topsoil. They thought that was the end of it.
Soon, however, many of the containers began to crack and leak and the toxic waste started seeping to the surface. In some locations, it killed off the vegetation and ruined the water supply. People had to move out of their homes. In one section near Niagara Falls, known as the Love Canal, many people began dying of debilitating diseases.
What went wrong? They tried to bury something that was too toxic. They thought they could be rid of it once and for all. But they didn’t realize that the materials were so powerful, that they were, in fact, too toxic for the containers to hold. They never dreamed that one day these contaminants would resurface and kill people. Had they disposed of them properly, a terrible tragedy could have been averted.
It’s the same with us. When someone hurts us, someone does us wrong, instead of letting it go and trusting G-d to make it up to us, we bury it deep inside. We attempt to cram un-forgiveness, resentment, anger, and other destructive responses into our “leak-proof” containers. We seal those lids tightly. Then we say, “Good. I’m not going to have to deal with that. I’m rid of it once and for all.”
But just as toxic waste tends to resurface, the things you have crammed into your subconscious or buried deep in your heart will rise to the surface and contaminate your life. We can’t live with poison inside of us and not expect it to eventually do us harm.
We can see this vividly in what I think is the saddest love story in the entire Bible. Chapter six of the second book of Samuel describes what should have been the happiest day in King David’s life. He has united the northern and southern tribes of Israel into a single nation. This is the beginning of the ancient Jewish empire. He has conquered Jerusalem and made it Israel’s capital, setting down stones that you can touch today. And, as the centerpiece of his efforts, he has arranged to bring the Ark of the Covenant to its permanent home in Jerusalem with great celebration. Many years earlier, the Philistines had captured it; its return would serve as the ultimate, glorious symbol of the Jewish people’s triumph. It would be a parade the likes of which had never been seen.
The procession with the Ark includes singing and dancing, and King David enthusiastically joins in the dancing with everyone else. David’s wife, Michal, daughter of his predecessor King Saul, watches from a palace window and is disgusted by the spectacle of her husband dancing wildly in the streets. When he comes in – exuberant, ecstatic – Michal greets him with a torrent of sarcasm: “Well, Mr. King of Israel,” she says, “you’re a real class act, jumping in public like a peasant street dancer!” The implication is, “I didn't grow up on a farm shooting coyotes with a slingshot like you. I grew up in a palace and know something about how kings are supposed to behave. You are undignified, an embarrassment.” Kings were supposed to act like kings.
David is deeply hurt by her disapproval, which spoils the day of celebration, and he strikes back at her where she is most vulnerable, saying, “I was dancing before G-d.” But he is so hurt and so upset that he doesn't stop there. He goes on to say, “I was dancing before G-d who rejected your father and made me king in his place.”
And then the chapter concludes with these poignant words: “Michal, Saul’s daughter, never had a child to the day she died,” meaning, that David and Michal never approached each other as husband and wife after that argument. A flip comment leads to a permanent and bitter separation.
I find that so sad. Here are two people who once loved each other so much that they risked their lives for each other. David fought in one-on-one battles with many Philistines to win Michal’s hand in marriage. And when Michal's father, afraid that David would usurp the throne, plotted to kill him, she put her life in jeopardy helping David escape hired assassins.
So what happened to all that love? Was it one argument, one set of angry words that destroyed it? No!
What destroyed their love was the fact that when David and Michal woke up the next morning, they didn’t forgive each other. They could have had a conversation infused with empathy and reconciliation. Instead, the resentment lingered and contaminated their relationship.
Resentment destroys love, it destroys relationships, it spreads quietly and destroys life.
The Bible's point is as clear today as it was thousands of years ago: If a husband or wife, or two siblings, or friends carry resentment, if they do not forgive each other, love is unlikely to survive, no matter how deeply the two people once cared for each other.
The Hebrew word for forgiveness is mechilah. We say it over and over again in our Yom Kippur prayers. It is related to the word machol, to dance in a circle. What is the connection between a circle formed in dance and forgiveness?
We are all part of a circle of life, a Jewish dance that stretches across history, a brilliant and vivid choreography. When I remain angry at a member of my family or community, when I refuse to forgive you, I push you out of the circle of belonging. When you remain angry at me and refuse to forgive me, you push me out of the circle. We are no longer moving in unison.
When we carry grudges, hate, and negative energy, we can’t dance. Think of it like circulation in the body. The heart circulates the blood through the body thousands of times each day, transporting oxygen and nutrients that are vital for health.
What happens when there’s a clot?
The blood is not allowed to dance through the body. G-d is the heart of the Jewish people. And every Jew is a limb, and when I block you out, I create a clot and the dance is diminished, the movement compromised, because everyone has a blessing to give. We lose our agility and forfeit our grace and energy.
When I grant others forgiveness, we join in a “dance” of reconnection. When I let go of ill feelings and anger, the obstacle to the flow of the circle is removed and we can dance together in happiness.
This Sunday eve is Yom Kipper, the day of mechilah, of forgiveness. It is time to dance — to dance with each other and to dance with G-d. So let us have the courage to forgive the people who have hurt us. Forgive the spouse who did you wrong. Forgive the friend who betrayed you. Get rid of all that poison today. Don’t let the bitterness continue to contaminate your life. It is time to dance.
But, for many of us, it is not easy to let go of a grievance and to forgive the offender. How do we forgive? How do we actually let go of the hurt and the anger?
Well, here are five strategies that I personally find helpful to allow resentment to melt away:
First: Reflect on the troubled life of the one who offended you. Imagine your way into their experience and perspective. Consider their psychological problems. Of course, those factors do not exonerate their behavior, but thinking about them with empathy will make it easier for you to forgive them. Understanding can often be the catalyst for forgiveness.
Second: Consider the whole person rather than fixating on the bad behavior. Remember the kindnesses that the offender may have done for you and others, not just the mistakes they made.
Two best friends once got into a fight. In the heat of the moment, one deeply insulted the other. The man who received the insult said nothing. But he wrote in the sand: “Today my best friend hurt me terribly.” Days later, the man who had been hurt was pinned under a fallen horse. His friend pulled him out and sped him to a doctor. This time the injured man carved into stone: “Today my best friend saved my life.” That’s a wise way to handle an insult. Record it lightly, where the winds of forgiveness can erase it. But the kindnesses we receive, engrave them permanently and recall them often. Focus on the whole person. This will help you to forgive them.
Third: Think about any unintended good that resulted from the wrong done to you. When others hurt us, it often pushes us to grow in ways we would not have otherwise. As hard as it is to see sometimes, pain can be for the best. Obstacles can make us stronger, and defeats can prepare the way for future victories. So, if you find it tough to forgive someone — especially someone who has asked for forgiveness — see whether you can find any personal growth or other good that resulted because of what happened. On the basis of that, find it in your heart to forgive the person who hurt you. Your strength can be the basis for forgiveness.
Fourth: This strategy only works if you believe in G-d. When the person who hurt you asks for forgiveness and gives you confidence that they will not repeat the bad behavior in the future, you should accept their apology and offer them wholehearted forgiveness. Why?
Because people have the ability to change, improve, and grow. To ignore the possibility that people can change is the essence of atheism! Human beings are made in G-d’s image, so to denigrate people and to deny their ability to change is to denigrate and deny G-d!
But if you’re a believer, try to forgive. We owe the offender the opportunity to demonstrate that he is a different person today than he was last month. It matters to G-d how we treat one another because we all bear His image, we are all precious. He forgives those who themselves forgive others.
Finally, the faith: This strategy is morally courageous. It is not always applicable, but I’ll share it because I love it. In the 11th century, there was a great scholar named Rabbi Shmuel Hanagid. Shmuel was prime minister to the King of Spain, who held him in high regard. Among the nobles, many were jealous that the King had appointed a Jew to high office and kept trying to besmirch him.
One day, the King went with Shmuel on a tour of the city. As they were walking, a shopkeeper stormed out of his store and shouted humiliating insults at Rabbi Shmuel. Shmuel paid no attention to the nasty language. But the King was enraged and said to Shmuel, “Arrest that man and cut out his vile tongue.”
Rabbi Shmuel inquired about the man and found that he was impoverished and could not support his family. He sent the man money in regular installments.
Sometime later the King and Rabbi Shmuel were out in the city again when they came across the same man, who greeted Shmuel with lavish praise. “Didn’t I tell you to have that man’s tongue cut out?” the King asked.
“I did exactly as Your Majesty said,” Rabbi Shmuel responded. “I removed his vile tongue and replaced it with a noble one.”
That is a wonderful way to respond to those who hurt us — to help them. Our resentment over the offender’s sin will melt way and be replaced by love.
So we have five strategies:
· First, reflect on the troubled life of the offender
· Focus not just on their evil but also on their kindness
· Consider the unintended good that resulted
· Remember that a person has the ability to change
· And finally, (consider cutting out their vile tongue and replacing it
with a noble one) letting go of hurt by helping the offender. I hope these strategies work for you. Forgive, however hard it is, because that’s what G-d does for us. Forgive because schlepping resentments is like getting up every morning and filling a big wheelbarrow with old garbage and bringing it into the new day. Let it go. Friends, if you have been to Jerusalem, you probably remember that the southern gate to the Old City, the one closest to the Kotel, is known today as the Lions Gate. It used to have another name. It used to be called Sha'ar Ha'ashpot, the Dung Gate, or the Gate of Dirt. The reason for that name is that for centuries, Jewish pilgrims came to Jerusalem from around the world to pray at the Kotel.
They came on foot across the desert. By the time they reached the gates of the city, their feet were covered with mud and dirt. They didn’t want to defile the Temple Mount by entering the city in that condition, so they washed all the mud and filth off their feet at that southern gate. Today, we stand at the gate leading to a New Year. We want to enter it clean and pure. So, we ask G-d to forgive us and to help us to forgive others. We ask G-d to wash off those resentments, those grudges, and that lingering anger. As they melt away, may we dance through the gate as one people, into a sweet New Year.
Shabbat Shalom and a happy and sweet New Year,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Tom Peacock wrote...