The holiest days of the Jewish calendar are drawing near. Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) are steeped in many traditions, one of which is repentance, the act of asking G-d to forgive our sins. We also ask our fellow humans for forgiveness in the wrongs we may have committed against each other. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking – and teaching – about forgiveness, as a general concept.

I recently asked someone for forgiveness because I had allowed a misperception about my family to persist rather than correct it. That person assured me that there was nothing I needed to be forgiven for. He could see that the situation causes me great pain, and understood how the prospect of going through belaboring it over and over again was too daunting at the time. I’d created a lie of omission, and it hadn’t been with malintent, but it had been dishonest all the same, and I had carried the guilt of that dishonesty around for months in addition to the turmoil of the situation in itself. I’m grateful that my atoning for this lie was met with support and compassion. It’s rarely so simple as that.

Forgiveness is complicated. It’s messy. People say “forgive and forget” like it’s flipping a switch and you can just walk away from it. It doesn’t end there. We want it to be a black-and-white thing, but in reality it’s just endless shades of gray. Even my fourth graders don’t like the idea of “forgive and forget”; the consensus of our class discussion on Friday was that both the wrong-doer and the wrong-receiver don’t truly learn from the experience if the end goal is to forget all about it (aren’t they smart?! I’m so proud of them). If you’re like me, and you’ve had wrongs and atrocities committed against you for much of your life, the pressure to forgive can leave a real bitter taste in the mouth.

In Judaism, the concept of forgiveness is threefold. There is Selichah, which is the first part, where a wrong-doer apologizes, and the wrong-receiver accepts that someone is owning up to doing something wrong. (Selichot is also actually a time of year, a week leading up to Rosh Hashanah itself, where we begin to say special penitential prayers and take time for personal reflection, hence the nature of this blog post.) The second part, Mechilah, is about not “forgetting”, but about moving forward without further repercussions placed on the wrong-doer. It’s about choosing to let go of the hurt. I view Selichah as a more external process while Mechilah is a much more internal, intimate decision one has to make for themselves. Mechilah is much harder. (The third part, Kapparah, is beyond human capacity, it’s essentially where G-d is receptive to our atonement, forgives us for our sins and says, “Be comforted.” We seek this on Yom Kippur.)

So how do you forgive people who don’t deserve it? How do you forgive people who don’t, won’t, or can’t apologize to you? How can you find it in your heart to forgive wrong-doers when it ends up feeling like you’re just letting them off the hook, when it feels like there’s no accountability?

Well…you don’t.

In such cases, it’s fruitless to wait for apologies that will never come. Selichah isn’t an option. All you can do, all you’re left with, is Mechilah, the decision to move forward and try not to carry that hurt with you anymore. I know, I say that like it’s so simple; I assure you, I have six years’ worth of therapy sessions and counting to demonstrate that I know it’s the most difficult thing you’ll ever do. I understand the inclination to hold grudges, to make offhand comments and jokes about karma…but grim satisfaction is a much less sustainable emotion than inner peace. It takes a lot of work, and a long time, to get to that point. But if someone comes up to you and asks you about a wrong-doer, and why you don’t “just forgive them already” – well, first of all, tell them to mind their own beeswax, but second of all, tell them you’re working on it, not for the wrong-doer, but for yourself. It’s not on you to make the wrong-doer feel better; it’s on you to make yourself feel better, because that reassurance won’t come from the wrong-doer, and because you deserve it. And, just like my fourth graders say, don’t forget, but learn from it. Forgiveness includes an apology, and the promise to try to do better next time.

Say this to yourself: “I’m sorry for all the pain you’ve gone through. I promise to take better care of you, to try to protect you more from experiencing this pain again. I’m here for you.”

Pain is heavy; set it down. If anything, forgive yourself.

I know that I am nowhere near an expert on these things, and I am not perfect by any means. To anyone I’ve hurt or wronged over the last year, I sincerely apologize and hope that you can forgive me. I humbly beseech G-d to spread light and peace to all, to provide comfort to those in need of healing. May we all share a sweet new year in 5783.