These Days of Awe
Your sincere attempt to make good, is good enough
To truly forgive or be forgiven, we have to step out of our own story — in order to acknowledge another’s.
Here we are again. More than three quarters of the way through the Days of Repentence — also known as the Days of Awe.
That’s the 10-day period when faithful Jews make good with the world. We reach out to friends and family we may have offended, and ask for “forgiveness.”
If you believe in such things, we have 10 days — until sundown on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement — to potentially alter God’s decree.
Eek. That’s tomorrow!
By now, the ink is nearly dry where our names are written:
Who shall live and who shall die.
Who shall boom and who shall bust.
Whose sails shall fill and whose shall slacken.
Of course, we might already be inscribed for good fortune. But she likes to keep us guessing.
Because only through teshuvah (repentance), tefilah (prayer) and tzedakah (charity), can we be our best selves.
That’s why I prefer to call these days ahead the Days of Awe. It’s awesome to do the right thing. For ourselves and for our fellows.
Merriam Webster defines awe as “an emotion variously combining dread, veneration, and wonder that is inspired by authority or by the sacred or sublime.”
I get the wonder. And I’m down with sublime.
But I can’t identify with dread. Especially when it’s imposed by figures of authority.
The news is full of tyrants and takers. Toxic stories make me anxious and I can’t put a word on a page.
But worse, I begin to feel smug.
I forget that even I have said and done things that are closed minded. Dismissive. Marginalizing. Or worse.
It’s far easier to bellyache about others, than it is to look in the mirror.
So I make my list. I apologize. And I expect to be forgiven.
But wait — How does forgiveness even work?
How do we go about the business of forgiving?
Caryn Aviv, a rabbinical student who helps lead groovy services at Judaism Your Way in Denver, clarified two types of forgiveness: mechilah and selichah.
In an email blast, Aviv wrote: “Both require that the person who caused harm seeks to repair the relationship by doing teshuvah — being accountable and seeking to apologize.”
(See step one above.)
But the difference is in how the apology is received. And what happens next.
“Mechilah is like a pardon granted to a criminal…The crime remains; only the debt is forgiven.”
Think of it like this: I said something harmful to a Sister. I’ve thought about it. I regret my action. And I apologize very sincerely.
She listens. But she doesn’t find it in her heart to truly forgive me.
She says, or she texts, Got your message, Girl. No worries. TTYL. Or she doesn’t answer at all.
Selichah is the real deal. The whole megillah, as we say in Yiddish. My Sister bought it — my whole, long, involved story — hook, line and sinker.
She hears me. She believes me. And she abandons her anger and her pain.
Aviv wrote (quoting Rabbi David J. Blumenthal),
“When we grant selichah, we take the risk of stepping out of our own story (even if momentarily), to see the humanity of the perpetrator seeking to repair the damage they’ve done.”
When I caused harm, I stood inside my own story. I acted out of habit or ignorance. Now, she stands inside hers, where [fill in the blank] is absolutely true.
In other words, true forgiveness — selichah — means acknowledging each other’s stories. Hearing, accepting, understanding, empathizing. Maybe even revising together.
What, then, are we to make, of these Days of Awe?
Either form of forgiveness — mechilah or selichah — can free us from the burden of the grudges we carry.
Once we recognize the shared humanity of the person who hurt us, we can choose, still, not to trust them, or we can re-open our hearts.
Whaat? That’s genius. And oh so practical.
In order to move on, we don’t have to fully forgive — or be forgiven.
We can just accept new rules of engagement. Release our rigid expectations.
We can refocus our story on awe.
In this story at theAtlantic.com, UC Berkeley psychologist Dacher Keltner says that “brief doses of awe move us from a model of self-interest to really being engaged in the interests of others.” Awe “starts to break down this us-versus-them thinking.”
And in the Huffington Post, Keltner describes awe as an emotion “in the upper reaches of pleasure and on the boundary of fear.”
Looking ahead to the Jewish year 5779, I have a wish:
May these Days of Awe last all year.
May we all start with a clean slate. Because our sincere attempt to make good has been good enough.
And may we take our stories out to the ledge — where we are scared and vulnerable and telling the truth.
Because that is where we can truly connect with one another.
About the Author
After decades of advancing universities, companies and brands, Barbara is now hacking away at happiness one writing gig at a time. Subscribe to her blog here.
