Do You Forgive Me?

Another year has passed and here we are again. This is the time to start anew. It’s a time to reflect on the things we have done and the words we have said, the transgressions we have made, and the mitzvot we let slip away. It is customary at this time to call our family and friends, we treasure dear, and ask them to forgive us. And yet, I find myself questioning how many of us truly fulfill this task with our hearts. Do we actually take the time to think about what we may have said or done that could have brought pain to others? When we ask for forgiveness, do we pick up the phone and express true remorse or do we simply say it as an afterthought? Do we just send a mass text—or worse—make a proclamation on Facebook? Do we identify what is that we want forgiveness for? In order to receive true forgiveness, we must first understand and accept that we may have said or done something that others have taken offense to.

Quite often we speak without thinking. What may have been a joke or sarcastic remark could have been misunderstood or perhaps we spoke a truth without realizing the consequences. Maybe we did not hear all sides or spoke in anger. It is not sticks and stones that harm us—for those wounds will heal—it’s words which leave scars that can never mend. Once spoken, whether in anger or frustration, they can never be taken back.

There are also times when you simply did something without realizing that you were doing it. Perhaps you did not call or visit a loved one. Perhaps you slighted someone unintentionally or maybe you did something that others found offensive.

The worst part is that these things are often done to those you love the most, your family. We have a certain sense of comfort that no matter what we say or do, our family will understand. We don’t say ‘I am sorry,’ because they know we love them. What we all fail to realize is that blood alone does not mean love. It is family that you need to ask forgiveness from the most.

I am not immune from these misdeeds. I often say things I later wish I could take back. I always try to refrain from speaking in anger, but there are times when the anger takes over. For all those moments, and I hope there were few, I must personally ask to be forgiven. I must say I am sorry.

Every year we stand before Hashem and ask for a new slate. We beg forgiveness, we call out our transgressions in viduy, we fast, we cry and we pray. As soon as we are old enough to understand, our parents, our teachers and our rabbis teach us that Hashem is forgiving. He will always welcome his children should they ask sincerely. And so we stand before him with our hearts in our hands and confess our sins hoping that he accepts our apologies and welcomes us into his heart once more. And every year he grants us mercy and welcomes us with open arms.

Yet I find that most of us will not grant that same mercy to our fellow Jews. If Hashem can bestow mercy on us, who are we to choose not to forgive. Who are we to be stubborn, and selfish? Who are we to not ask for and bestow forgiveness? We are nothing.

So let this be the year to forgive. When you reflect, think about the things you have said and done. Whether it was intentional or not, whether you think it was hurtful, or not, recognize that it hurt someone else. Admit your wrong doings. Clear the slate. Start over.

Do not just say “do you forgive me,” as a statement. Ask it, as a question. While we may never forget what was said and done, two simple words can help heal the pain—I’m sorry—but only if said with your heart.