Every year as Yom Kippur approaches, we think about seeking forgiveness (mechila) from those we have hurt. Yom Kippur is that incredible day when our aveiros are forgiven; yet, the Mishna (Yoma 85b) teaches that Yom Kippur will not bring about atonement for any infraction we committed towards another person unless we have appeased that individual. In fact, the Rema (606:2) writes that there is a specific custom on erev Yom Kippur to ask others for forgiveness.
How
does one go about asking for forgiveness? Often apologies are not done properly,
and I want to devote this article to elucidating the elements of a proper
apology. I first want to explain what asking mechila is not. I remember
when I was in middle school and how, before Yom Kippur, children would go
through the halls asking everyone they met, “Are you mochel? Do you
forgive me for anything I did?” This type of cheap, insincere request for
forgiveness is not meaningful. Also, the subject who may have been hurt does
not even have the opportunity to contemplate what was done to him and if he
actually forgives. Furthermore, there is not even an option not to forgive,
since saying, “No, I’m not mochel,” to this type of wholesale request
for forgiveness would be socially inappropriate.
It’s
not only children who have a hard time asking for forgiveness. As adults, we
also struggle to do this properly. One year, there was an individual who
regularly asked me somewhat obnoxious questions. It wasn’t a big deal, but it
was annoying. I happened to pass by him on erev Yom Kippur; we briefly
greeted each other and continued walking in opposite directions. After we each
continued a number of paces, he called out to me, “Are you mochel me?” I
smiled and wished him a good Yom Tov. He persisted, “Well, are you mochel?”
I remember thinking, “I don’t know if you really have to apologize, but if you
do, that’s certainly not the way to do it. Please don’t disrespectfully call
out to me and keep persisting until you can get the words out of me. Rather,
come over respectfully and submissively and say something sincere.”
The
impression that I got from the situation was that the individual was intent on
ensuring that he received a full atonement on Yom Kippur and it was my mechila
that was in the way between him and that atonement. So, he needed to persist
until he got what he needed. My feelings or experience was irrelevant. I was
the “lulav,” and he was doing the mitzva that he needed to do.
It
is so important the remember the medrash quoted by the Reishis Chochma (Shaar
Hayirah 12) that in the World of Truth, Hashem will ask us if during our
lifetime we treated our friends royally. All the ba’alei mussar grapple
with the meaning of treating our friends royally. Since when do we need to
treat everyone like a king? I heard that the Alter of Slobodka explained that,
although we ultimately fulfill all mitzvos because of Hashem’s command,
regarding mitzvos bein adam l’chaveiro, the recipient should not feel
that this is our intention. The mitzva should be done in such a way that the
beneficiary feels that he is being treated like a king; i.e., that he deserves
the royal treatment, not that he is being used as a means to serve Hashem.
Now
let’s discover what asking for forgiveness should be. I read a description in a
marriage book about a powerful apology that a husband offered his wife. I want
to share it here since it portrays the key elements of asking forgiveness in an
optimal way. We will call the husband Eli and the wife Rachel. Rachel once suspected
that she had developed a terminal illness and came home in tears. She needed a
lot of emotional support. Eli, due to his own insecurities, just ignored her
and went on with his business as usual. Rachel was silently devastated by his
apathy and carried the wounds around with her for years. Eventually, during
couple’s therapy, Rachel vividly described the extent of her suffering from
this experience, and Eli finally understood the depth of her pain.
The
therapist then facilitated an apology, and Eli said, “I know that I really let
you down. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I was overwhelmed and left
you all alone to face the fear of an illness. It’s hard for me to admit that I
was the type of husband who let you down like this. But I was. You have every
right to be angry. I didn’t think that my support was important, but now I know
that it was and that I really hurt you. I didn’t know what to do, so I did
nothing. I have learned my lesson. I want to rectify this if you will let me. And
next time that you need me, I want to be there for you.”
There
are six elements to note in this genuine apology. First, the whole tone of the
apology conveys that Eli really cares about Rachel’s pain. Second, he clearly
conveys that her pain and anger at him are legitimate. Third, he owns up to
exactly what he did wrong and doesn’t try to deflect responsibility. Fourth, he
expresses his embarrassment at his own behavior. Fifth, he conveys his desire
to be there to help her heal. Finally, he commits not to repeat the offense. In
a broader sense, Eli’s vulnerability in the apology is apparent throughout, and
that makes it real and effective.
Of
course, not every apology needs to be this intense and specific. The extent of
the apology should be adapted according to the degree of the hurt. But I think
that we can keep this stellar apology in mind as a source of inspiration the
next time we want to ask forgiveness with an evasive, “I hope you’re mochel
if I did anything” or an irritated, “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”
I
hope that this inspiring apology will help us transform our entire experience
of asking forgiveness, truly heal wounds, and ensure us all a k’siva v’chasima
tova!
