“Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go.” Herman Hesse
Yom Kippur, the most serious day of the Jewish calendar, is almost upon us. As always, we will go to shul on erev Yom Kippur to make our final preparations for the awesome day. Printed in the machzor is a prayer I must admit I haven’t recited as well as I should have over the years. It is called tefillah zaka (pure prayer) and speaks in great detail about how we have sinned, including how different parts of our anatomy and mind were misused for illicit purposes. Later in the text we arrive at a paragraph that, though positioned toward the end, is really the essence of the prayer:
“But since I know that there is hardly a righteous person who never sins between man and his neighbor, Yom Kippur does not atone until one appeases his neighbor…behold, I extend complete forgiveness to anyone who has ever sinned against me…or injured me…and just as I forgive everyone, so may You grant me favor in every person’s eyes, so that they will grant me complete atonement.”
(Due to this paragraph’s central importance and the fact that many people do not complete the entire prayer before Kol Nidrei, the Chofetz Chaim urged people to read it at an earlier stage of the prayer so as to ensure its recitation.)
When I say I haven’t recited this prayer properly I refer mainly to the above paragraph. After all, there have been people who have hurt me, sometimes in serious ways. They seemed content with their behavior and most did not seek forgiveness.
Even though I recognize that if we all – myself included – were to willingly forgive one another we would all be able to approach Hashem for the atonement we so desperately seek, it is hard to forgive sometimes, especially if someone’s behavior hurt my career and/or affected my family.
I suspect that most of us have struggled with this point. We have a hard time letting go and are prepared to hold grudges indefinitely – even to our own detriment – when we feel we are right.
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It’s not as if we don’t have ample role models for how to behave under such conditions. Perhaps the greatest of them all, at least in this area, was Yosef. He undoubtedly felt deeply hurt and betrayed by the harsh treatment he received from his older brothers, having been seized, threatened with murder, and then sold as a slave to a group of idolatrous merchants. Within a very short period of time he had gone from the role of favored son – dreaming of the day he would assume a leading role within his special clan – to that of a depressed servant, alone on foreign soil. The pain of separation was compounded by the strange, licentious, and idolatrous culture that greeted him upon his arrival in Egypt.
Yet when his brothers arrived in Egypt long after Yosef had ascended to the throne, the viceroy did not use his power to exact revenge. Even his heavy-handed treatment of them was meant to bring them to a point where they would recognize the folly of their past ways and make amends. In the end, when he finally revealed his true identity, he did not give them a scolding but rather illustrated how the entire episode was the Divine Plan. “But now do not be sad, and let it not trouble you that you sold me here, for it was to preserve life that God sent me before you” (Bereishis 45:5).
Yosef understood that everything he had endured for the previous twenty-two years was preordained as a way of ensuring that he could provide for his family at a time of great distress. He also saw this as God’s way of fulfilling an earlier promise, one made to his great-grandfather Abraham nearly two centuries earlier:
“You shall surely know that your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them and oppress them, for four hundred years. And also the nation that they will serve will I judge, and afterward they will go forth with great possessions” (Bereishis 15:13-14).
Others who demonstrated how to react in the face of torment included Moshe Rabbeinu (with Korach), Dovid HaMelech (Shaul, Avshalom), and Chanah (Peninnah). So if we have people like that to look to for guidance and direction in terms of how to deal with others’ actions, why is it that so many of us struggle in this area?
It is said in the name of the Tzemach Tzedek of Lubavitch that the rebbe asked why it is that children don’t bear grudges and adults do. Children may get upset at their parents, teachers, friends, and others. They’ll say, “Mommy, you’re the meanest parent ever!” and genuinely mean it. They will tell a friend that they have no intentions of playing with him or her ever again, and storm off to another part of the playground. Yet, within a few minutes all is typically forgotten and they move on in those same relationships.
Adults, by contrast, can hold onto grudges for decades. Someone who mistreats us in business, does not extend to us the requisite respect, speaks badly about us, or commits some other unforgivable act (this especially holds true for family members) can receive the silent treatment (or worse) for the rest of their lives. Why, asks the Tzemach Tzedek, are adults so much more reluctant to forgive?
His answer is simple yet deeply profound. Children, he says, choose being happy over being right. Adults choose being right over being happy.
My interpretation of this is that children care most about their relationships. They define themselves by their social connections and will make that a top priority. Even when they have been wronged they seek to quickly move on so that they can get back to what they enjoy most, playing and spending time with others. Their happiness – defined by the relationships they have – remains paramount and serves as a Teflon coating around their egos.
