It wasn’t a good year for Masataka Shimizu. He earned terrible marks for his leadership of the Tokyo Power Company, as the March nuclear disaster engulfed the Fukushima Dai’ichi reactor in Japan.
In short order, experts concluded that Shimizu’s faulty leadership was responsible: for the accident’s environmental impact, which will equal that of Chernobyl; for the tainted food and water, which even resulted in the detection of plutonium in Tokyo’s tap water…and for the human impact - whereby 50,000 families permanently evacuated their homes. They all must now start over again, because TEPCO couldn’t fulfill its obligations to the Japanese public.
Japan might be half a world away. But surely all of us have survived nuclear disasters of one kind or another in our personal lives.
For example, I am still grappling, years later, with unanswered questions about the friend who repeatedly lied to me, and about the family member who callously said horrible things about me to my face. Both individuals’ words ruptured my relationships with them…in one case, permanently.
The Fukushima Dai’ichi incident is a sad analogy for our personal lives. All of us are haunted by disasters in our past. They begin as moments of anguish. But they turn into seasons that stretch on, in which the hurt of being wounded prevents us from picking up the pieces, and going on with the rest of our lives.
The Torah describes today as the Sabbath of Sabbaths: a day of rest in which time stands still. When we forget the other obligations of our lives, and concentrate instead on seeking forgiveness for ourselves, and – as we shall specifically explore tonight: granting forgiveness to others as well.
We will confront hard questions…questions about whether there are sins that are unforgivable. And how it is that we are supposed to “move on”, when we have been hurt so deeply that we can barely get out of bed, let alone turn the page on a painful chapter of our life.
But before all of that, I want to begin by acknowledging what Judaism takes for granted: that none of us is perfect. All of us have made mistakes. And according to the Jewish value of teshuvah – of repentance – we must seek forgiveness from those we have wronged.
Yet our rabbis cautioned that forgiveness is a two way street. We seek forgiveness for that which we have done wrong…and at the same time, we forgive those who have wronged us.
Thus we read in the Talmud: “Whose sin is forgiven? The sin of the one who forgives others.” Our tradition believes that our ability to attain forgiveness is contingent on our willingness to absolve others.
Rabbi Joseph Telushkin tells the story of Linda Kenney, a woman who almost died at the hands of her anesthesiologist after he made a mistake during a procedure. Upon leaving the hospital, her husband immediately engaged a lawyer to sue the anesthesiologist for everything he had. But Linda and her husband were caught off guard by the handwritten apology that they soon received. In the letter (and you can just hear the hospital’s lawyers groaning in the background), the doctor takes full responsibility for the errors that he made!
Over time, the doctor’s wish to apologize to Linda in person had the desired effect: the Kenney’s decided to forgive him. And from that forgiveness came the joint establishment, with the doctor, of a new organization devoted to helping doctors and patients deal with trauma resulting from medical errors.
In telling Linda’s story, Telushkin teaches us that her capacity to forgive made her more righteous…and thus more deserving of being forgiven by the ones that she had wronged in her own life.
There are certainly situations in which Judaism advises against forgiving: like when a murder has been committed. Murder is unforgivable because the victim cannot do the forgiving.
Gossip is also unforgivable, because, like murder, it is not un-do-able. Our reputation can be assassinated when an evil gossiper spreads terrible lies about us.
And of course there are pre-meditated violent crimes that are considered unforgivable too: violations like rape, other kinds of sexual and physical abuse, kidnapping, and even mugging. When a criminal commits these heinous acts, he obliterates the innate and precious trust we have of our fellow human beings.
But putting those exceptions aside…on this Yom Kippur we come to terms with our own shortcomings. And as we do so, we can channel that awareness into the realization that everyone else is also flawed. Even as we seek to accept our own shortcomings, I would challenge you to take this season to become more accepting, and forgiving, of the flaws in others as well.
Forgiveness, of course, is not something that should be offered automatically! Even when we consider a situation that doesn’t involve an extreme example like rape or murder, Jewish law dictates that forgiveness should only be granted after the offender has done teshuvah, or fully repented.
There are three basic steps to doing teshuvah, and we should be familiar with them – so that we ourselves can repent, and so that we can judge whether others should be forgiven.
The first step towards Jewish repentance is cheshbon nefesh: an accounting of our soul, that enables us to be self-reflective about our actions. This is the critical first step of repentance because without it, we would never even REALIZE that we had done something wrong!
Consider two of this year’s most public sinners, and the way they handled their chesbon nefesh.
First, we have former baseball superstar Roger Clemensample evidence to the contrary. Clemens continues to maintain his innocence, and thus he has never apologized. He does not seem to have received the memo about cheshbon nefesh!
And on the other hand, we have former congressman Anthony Weiner. The congressman does not deserve any rewards for his wildly inappropriate use of Twitter. But give him an ounce of credit: at least he resigned and apologized. He took responsibility for his mistakes by doing a cheshbon nefesh, even though the damage of his transgressions had already been done.
Maimonides emphasized the criticality of an apology, and so it is the second necessary ingredient for repentance. Maimonides wrote that: “It is…praiseworthy for the penitent to confess…and announce his sins, and reveal…the transgressions he committed against his neighbor. He should say to them: ‘Truly I have sinned ….But now I am turning, and repenting.”
Anthony Weiner apologized. And so did our friend Masataka Shimizu, who even went on an apology tour…visiting several shelters throughout Japan to meet with, and apologize to, displaced families impacted by TEPCO’s mismanagement of the nuclear disaster.
Nonetheless, teshuvah is not fulfilled simply by doing cheshbon nefesh, and apologizing. Real teshuvah happens when the penitent proves she’ll never repeat the same mistake again.
The staff at Fukushima Dai’ichi won’t have the ability to do this teshuvah because their plant will never come back online. We’ll be cleaning up there for decades to come.
But consider another Japanese example: Toyota made a number of manufacturing errors over the last year or two. It did cheshbon nefesh, and offered its apologies. Only time will tell if the company has really changed…whether it is taking its responsibility for safety seriously, or whether it will cut corners again to make more money by producing cars on an ever larger scale.
On this Day of Repentance, like God, we sit as Judges against the ones who have harmed us. As they ask for forgiveness, we must discern whether they have been self reflective, offered apologies, and truly changed. And if they have: we must re-embrace and forgive them. Our tradition is clear. So long as we have not been the victim of an unforgivable sin, and so long as the offender has done teshuvah: then we are obligated to forgive.
The trouble is….that’s easier said than done.
I return, once again, to the imagery of a nuclear explosion. Think about the word “meltdown.” Doesn’t that word convey the whole range of emotions that we experience when the people we care about most do terrible things…that don’t just hurt us, but actually call into question the future viability of the relationship? There is the pent up blast of anger and rage that is eventually released in a furious confrontation! And then…the disturbingly quiet aftermath that is as depressing as nuclear winter.
Our upset doesn’t go away after a single day, week, or year. For some of us, the hurt is so deep that we become convinced that we will never be able to get over it.
The question is: what are we supposed to do if the person that we are really, really, angry with comes and seeks forgiveness before we’ve cooled down?
Rabbi Harold Kushner, writes, that during the months, years, or even decades that we remain angry – it is as if we are holding a white hot club in our hands…always waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back against the one who wronged us. But of course, Kushner writes, those moments never come. The only thing that comes of all that anger is that we wind up metaphorically burning ourselves, by holding onto the anger for so long.
Seneca, of ancient Rome, suggested that “anger will cease and become more controllable if it finds that it must appear before a judge every day.”
He notes that one we way can cope with our anger, and ultimately find the strength to forgive, is by acknowledging the pain that lies within us, and talk about it.
Some of us do that in therapy, or in a private conversation with clergy. Others do it by practicing the Jewish art of musar in a casual support group, where we can learn how to be self reflective by listening to one another.
Sometimes, forgiving becomes easier if we just practice saying the words “I forgive you” out loud.
One Jewish tradition suggests that we take on the spiritual practice of reciting the following meditation each night, just before saying the Shema and going to bed: “Master of the Universe, I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me, or who sinned against me – whether they did so accidentally, willfully, carelessly, or purposely.”
What a beautiful practice: naming our anger out loud…and then letting it go.
Even if we don’t actually mean it: by getting into the habit of offering forgiveness each day, we prepare ourselves for the moment when it will actually count. When another person will approach us. When we hold the power in our hands to release them from the guilt they suffer for what they once did to us.
Our obligation to forgive is a serious one. And yet Jewish Law allows that if a person comes to us the first time begging for forgiveness: we can ignore them! After all…they hurt us so deeply – it can’t possibly be reasonable to expect that we’ll forgive them the first time they come apologizing.
And even if we brush them off a second time a few weeks later…our tradition is compassionate. The pain we carry around is real. Letting go is not easy.
But if the person comes to us a third time…we have no choice. We must forgive. However much it hurts us. However impossible it seems. As long as they haven’t raped, murdered, mugged, or lied about us to others…then we must forgive. And if we don’t, then we are in the wrong. For we have shamed the one who has come to us in authentic repentance. And now, we must go to them, and beg forgiveness for being stubborn.
It is fitting that on Yom Kippur afternoon we read from the Book of Jonah. In that story, God discovers abundant compassion to forgive the people of Nineveh for their transgressions, for they repented, and changed the way that they lived.
In contrast: it was Jonah who was stubborn, for he could not find it within himself to forgive. He was convinced that the Ninevites were monsters. He could not open his eyes to see that they were just flawed and imperfect – not unlike himself.
Jonah failed God’s test, not because Jonah didn’t trust God. But because he was so stubborn that he couldn’t trust in the possibility of good within others.
This is the very task that lies before us today, and in our lives. It is the task that the people of Japan must confront, as Masataka Shimizu continues his tour of repentance. And it is what you and I are called to do at this very hour as well.
Yehuda Amichai wrote:
And on the other hand, we have former congressman Anthony Weiner. The congressman does not deserve any rewards for his wildly inappropriate use of Twitter. But give him an ounce of credit: at least he resigned and apologized. He took responsibility for his mistakes by doing a cheshbon nefesh, even though the damage of his transgressions had already been done.
Maimonides emphasized the criticality of an apology, and so it is the second necessary ingredient for repentance. Maimonides wrote that: “It is…praiseworthy for the penitent to confess…and announce his sins, and reveal…the transgressions he committed against his neighbor. He should say to them: ‘Truly I have sinned ….But now I am turning, and repenting.”
Anthony Weiner apologized. And so did our friend Masataka Shimizu, who even went on an apology tour…visiting several shelters throughout Japan to meet with, and apologize to, displaced families impacted by TEPCO’s mismanagement of the nuclear disaster.
Nonetheless, teshuvah is not fulfilled simply by doing cheshbon nefesh, and apologizing. Real teshuvah happens when the penitent proves she’ll never repeat the same mistake again.
The staff at Fukushima Dai’ichi won’t have the ability to do this teshuvah because their plant will never come back online. We’ll be cleaning up there for decades to come.
But consider another Japanese example: Toyota made a number of manufacturing errors over the last year or two. It did cheshbon nefesh, and offered its apologies. Only time will tell if the company has really changed…whether it is taking its responsibility for safety seriously, or whether it will cut corners again to make more money by producing cars on an ever larger scale.
On this Day of Repentance, like God, we sit as Judges against the ones who have harmed us. As they ask for forgiveness, we must discern whether they have been self reflective, offered apologies, and truly changed. And if they have: we must re-embrace and forgive them. Our tradition is clear. So long as we have not been the victim of an unforgivable sin, and so long as the offender has done teshuvah: then we are obligated to forgive.
The trouble is….that’s easier said than done.
I return, once again, to the imagery of a nuclear explosion. Think about the word “meltdown.” Doesn’t that word convey the whole range of emotions that we experience when the people we care about most do terrible things…that don’t just hurt us, but actually call into question the future viability of the relationship? There is the pent up blast of anger and rage that is eventually released in a furious confrontation! And then…the disturbingly quiet aftermath that is as depressing as nuclear winter.
Our upset doesn’t go away after a single day, week, or year. For some of us, the hurt is so deep that we become convinced that we will never be able to get over it.
The question is: what are we supposed to do if the person that we are really, really, angry with comes and seeks forgiveness before we’ve cooled down?
Rabbi Harold Kushner, writes, that during the months, years, or even decades that we remain angry – it is as if we are holding a white hot club in our hands…always waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back against the one who wronged us. But of course, Kushner writes, those moments never come. The only thing that comes of all that anger is that we wind up metaphorically burning ourselves, by holding onto the anger for so long.
Seneca, of ancient Rome, suggested that “anger will cease and become more controllable if it finds that it must appear before a judge every day.”
He notes that one we way can cope with our anger, and ultimately find the strength to forgive, is by acknowledging the pain that lies within us, and talk about it.
Some of us do that in therapy, or in a private conversation with clergy. Others do it by practicing the Jewish art of musar in a casual support group, where we can learn how to be self reflective by listening to one another.
Sometimes, forgiving becomes easier if we just practice saying the words “I forgive you” out loud.
One Jewish tradition suggests that we take on the spiritual practice of reciting the following meditation each night, just before saying the Shema and going to bed: “Master of the Universe, I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me, or who sinned against me – whether they did so accidentally, willfully, carelessly, or purposely.”
What a beautiful practice: naming our anger out loud…and then letting it go.
Even if we don’t actually mean it: by getting into the habit of offering forgiveness each day, we prepare ourselves for the moment when it will actually count. When another person will approach us. When we hold the power in our hands to release them from the guilt they suffer for what they once did to us.
Our obligation to forgive is a serious one. And yet Jewish Law allows that if a person comes to us the first time begging for forgiveness: we can ignore them! After all…they hurt us so deeply – it can’t possibly be reasonable to expect that we’ll forgive them the first time they come apologizing.
And even if we brush them off a second time a few weeks later…our tradition is compassionate. The pain we carry around is real. Letting go is not easy.
But if the person comes to us a third time…we have no choice. We must forgive. However much it hurts us. However impossible it seems. As long as they haven’t raped, murdered, mugged, or lied about us to others…then we must forgive. And if we don’t, then we are in the wrong. For we have shamed the one who has come to us in authentic repentance. And now, we must go to them, and beg forgiveness for being stubborn.
It is fitting that on Yom Kippur afternoon we read from the Book of Jonah. In that story, God discovers abundant compassion to forgive the people of Nineveh for their transgressions, for they repented, and changed the way that they lived.
In contrast: it was Jonah who was stubborn, for he could not find it within himself to forgive. He was convinced that the Ninevites were monsters. He could not open his eyes to see that they were just flawed and imperfect – not unlike himself.
Jonah failed God’s test, not because Jonah didn’t trust God. But because he was so stubborn that he couldn’t trust in the possibility of good within others.
This is the very task that lies before us today, and in our lives. It is the task that the people of Japan must confront, as Masataka Shimizu continues his tour of repentance. And it is what you and I are called to do at this very hour as well.
Yehuda Amichai wrote:
A man doesn't have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn't have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.
A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.
Would that we were immortal! Would that time stood still every day of our lives as it does on this Sabbath of Sabbaths! Would that the length of our days was unending, so that we could put off the task of forgiving others until tomorrow.
But the sun will set on this day, and Yom Kippur will be over. And we will be left with the unavoidable realization that our presence on this earth is finite. The clock is ticking. The time to forgive with compassion is: Now.
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