On Forgiveness.

Forgiveness is hard.

This year, I have never felt more connected to my humanity. Throughout these holidays, we have heard sermons and read messages highlighting the strength and resilience of our Jewish people and our congregation. However, we must also begin discussing the process of forgiveness.

One of the central ideas in Jewish thought is Teshuva, meaning repentance or return. Teshuva involves recognizing one’s mistakes, feeling genuine remorse, making amends, and committing to change. This process is not easy; it requires deep introspection and a sincere effort to repair the harm done.

During our Jewish New Year, we are encouraged to reflect on our actions over the past 12 months, seek forgiveness from those we have wronged, and forgive those who have wronged us. This practice underscores the belief that forgiveness is essential for personal and communal harmony.

Asking for forgiveness, or apologizing for your actions, reveals deep inner strength. It demonstrates your honesty and ability to confront your mistakes, take ownership of them, and show personal humility. Brené Brown shared, “To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest. It is also a process that does not exclude hatred and anger. These emotions are all part of being human.” When sincere, asking for forgiveness shows great moral grit and the ability to learn from your errors.

Forgiving others, however, can be incredibly difficult, especially when the wounds are fresh and deep. Mahatma Gandhi wrote, “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Jewish values teach that holding onto anger and resentment can be more damaging to oneself than to the offender. By accepting forgiveness, one can find peace and move forward.

As a student at The Ohio State University, I took a Holocaust and Genocide Studies course. During this class, we took a critical dive into Simon Wiesenthal’s book, The Sunflower. To summarize the story: A Nazi soldier is dying and asks a Jewish prisoner to come and comfort him at his deathbed. While asking for comfort, the Nazi also asks the prisoner to forgive him for all of his sins and transgressions against the Jewish people. The prisoner ultimately remains silent at the bedside of the Nazi as he dies.

The Sunflower has led to numerous commentaries on the concept of forgiveness. Was remaining silent right or wrong? What would you have done? What is the ethical decision? Can someone offer or ask forgiveness for transgressions against a people other than themselves?

A more modern approach to offering forgiveness on behalf of an entire people can be analyzed through Dara Horn’s recent publication, “October 7 Created a Permission Structure for Antisemitism.” Over the past year, unfortunately and unimaginably, it has become commonplace for physical assaults, harassment, and death threats to be perpetrated against Jews. It has become a matter of business for synagogues to receive bomb threats and have heightened security. It is no longer a surprise when Jewish people remove any outward symbols that mark their heritage and religion—hiding their necklaces and removing the Hanukkah candles from the windows. Horn states, “[…] people who care about civilians do not generally express that compassion by harassing and intimidating other civilians.”

I struggle to think about our new reality and where I would even begin to start offering forgiveness or Teshuva. Moreover, I struggle with simply defining who I would be forgiving—the antisemites, terrorists, perpetrators of unspeakable actions. If, in time, the perpetrators of the intolerable acts mentioned above ask for forgiveness, would I be able to offer it to them? Would they ask for my individual forgiveness or for communal forgiveness? As of now, this concept is so painful to think about that I cannot imagine being in a place of sane mind and saying, “It’s okay… I forgive you.”

One example shared by Horn is a story of people gathered in the New York City subway. Most wearing face coverings are instructed to ‘Repeat after me’ by the leader—someone also hiding their identity. The mob begins to chant “Raise your hand if you’re a Zionist” and “This is your chance to get out.” Horn states, “The group’s loyal repetition of the leader’s words is chilling. It is an act of faith, a declaration of belonging, a placement of oneself inside the circle of good and right. It is the sound of a society capitulating.” How would you be able to forgive this act? How would you be able to forgive this mob for their transgression against our community—our family?

Forgiveness in Judaism is not unconditional. It requires the offender to genuinely repent and make amends. The Talmud teaches that one should forgive if the offender sincerely asks for forgiveness up to three times. This highlights the balance between justice and mercy, ensuring that forgiveness is not taken lightly or granted without genuine effort. Revisiting the commentary on The Sunflower, Sven Alkalaj stated, “[…] the question of forgiveness must be defined in individual or collective terms, just as guilt must be defined in individual or collective terms.”

The idea that permission to offer forgiveness is not universal, but rather independent of others, shows the fundamental opportunity of Teshuva. It shows that there is hope—even for the greatest offenders. As we have heard many times throughout this holiday and over the past year from Rabbi Berman and others, Jewish teachings believe that where there is evil there is good, where there is darkness there is hope. The concept of hope and recognizing that nothing is fated and that change is possible returns me to the connection to my humanity.

I now ask you for forgiveness—I have thought and recognized my faults, imperfections, and transgressions. For those that I have hurt willingly, please know that I have learned from my errors and will not intentionally perpetuate the actions again. For those that I have transgressed unknowingly, I ask for forgiveness and commit to furthering my path of self-discovery to lessen future errors.

I hope that, over time, forgiveness will no longer be hard.