The hard work of apologizing and forgiving
We are in the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah, the Ten Days of Return, stretching from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, the tenth day of Tishrei. We are called to more than remorse. We are called to return: to God, to ourselves, and especially to one another.
Teshuvah (Repentance, Return) is not confined to the sacred space between a person and God. The work of these days is also, and urgently, bein adam lechavero, between human beings. Jewish tradition teaches that God does not forgive the wrongs we commit against another person until we have sought that person’s forgiveness. That teaching protects the dignity of the wounded. It reminds us that no spiritual practice can erase harm we have not honestly faced. Because people are not abstractions, every apology, every wound, and every possibility of repair touches a particular heart and life.
Simon Wiesenthal’s ‘The Sunflower’ gives this question its most piercing form. After liberation, Wiesenthal was brought to the bedside of a dying Nazi who begged forgiveness for atrocities he had committed. Could Wiesenthal forgive? Was it even his forgiveness to give? The question remains deliberately unresolved, but it teaches something essential: no one can forgive on behalf of another. Forgiveness belongs to the person who was harmed.
For the one who has caused harm, a casual “sorry” is not teshuvah. Neither is a vague apology for “anything I may have done.” Teshuvah requires specificity. It says: I know what I did. I understand that you deserved better. I am sorry. I will do the work not to do this again.
Maimonides teaches that the fullest measure of repentance comes when we encounter a similar situation, have the capacity to repeat the wrongdoing, and choose differently. That is not a performance of regret. It is a transformed life. We cannot control whether another person forgives us. We can only tell the truth, repair what we can, and change our conduct.
And for those of us who have been hurt, forgiveness is also demanding work. We must never confuse forgiveness with excusing, forgetting, or surrendering our boundaries. But when someone approaches us with real accountability, contrition, and change, Judaism invites us to consider whether our hearts can soften enough to make relationship possible again.
Since the destruction of the Temple, our tradition teaches, the Holy of Holies is found within the human heart.
During these intense days, may we enter that holy place with courage. May we name the harm we have caused. May we seek forgiveness with humility. May we learn to forgive where forgiveness is possible.
Life is short. These days matter. Each of us does, too. Let’s get to work.
