When saying sorry, don’t just speak–act
Last week, I betrayed a trust.
Last week, I betrayed a trust.
One hashtag on the rise is #sorrynotsorry, a phrase meant to indicate that the apology — the “sorry” — comes because it’s expected of you, but not necessarily because you mean it.
For many of us, the month of Elul and the High Holy Days are our personal and communal time for introspection. The work we do for ourselves as Jews is significant as we take the opportunity to make teshuvah (forgiveness) to others and to God and to improve our lives.
I confess there’s something that’s always bothered me about this time of year, when we put such a big emphasis on reflecting on our mistakes. Why only now? Isn’t this something we should be doing all year? As a community, we certainly do plenty of it, through the very act of constantly challenging one another.
How many of us have been going around during these Days of Repentance apologizing to those we have wronged during the past year? Be honest. Have you made your list of the people you have hurt and the offenses that have hurt them? When you have apologized, have you settled for the classic cop-out: “If I have hurt you in any way, please forgive me”? Or have you simply asked for mechilla — forgiveness — and moved on?
Robert Downey Jr. at an awards ceremony in Los Angeles urged the Hollywood community to forgive Mel Gibson for his recent troubles.
Jews tend to be a forgiving people. We also tend to be an apologetic people. There is good reason for this: We are commanded to seek forgiveness from those we have wronged. We also are encouraged (strongly) to accept apologies from others when they are sincere.
Now that the election is over and campaign exaggerations can give way to reality, in schools, and everywhere else, people are making efforts to put things back into perspective. While a lot of healing may still be needed before that sort of unity can move beyond a Saturday night at the beach, one uniting factor all agree on is that this election brought a new level of political awareness and passion across party lines and across ages.
Film directors call this end-of-day light the \”golden light.\” It\’s not the bright, naked light of the mid-day, nor the dramatic darkness of the night. It\’s the light that bridges those two worlds. Spiritually, it\’s the time when the past and the future caress each other — the day is still fresh in our mind, but we can feel the breath of the approaching night.