The other day, I asked the spiritual community that I lead, “Why is it so hard to forgive, to truly release the anger that we’re holding?”
One of our members said so simply, “I’m not ready.”
Those three words conveyed so much.
“I’m not ready….”
I’m still hurting.
I’m still angry.
If I forgive, it feels like I’m betraying myself.
I want justice.
What if I forgive them and then they do it again? That disappointment would be too much to bear.
Judaism has much to say about our obligation to forgive someone who comes to us, asks for forgiveness, and is working on behavioral changes. And of course, we are also obligated to ask for forgiveness when we have missed the mark.
But interestingly, there is way less written on forgiving when the other person has not asked to be forgiven. I think of so many examples: My brother will never be able to recognize the impact of what he did, or my best friend died and I’m still really angry, or my step-mom has mental health struggles and will never ask me for forgiveness.
What then?
It feels so different to have someone truly acknowledge the ways they fell short, the harm they caused. But in cases where that will never happen, what do we do?
The Jewish middah, or virtue, of hassidut (lovingkindness), encourages forgiving someone who has not asked for it. Middat hassidut is a voluntary act of lovingkindness that goes beyond the minimum requirements of Jewish law.
One example is the bedtime Shema where we recite the words, “I hereby forgive anyone who has angered me, or sinned against me, either physically or financially… whether accidentally or intentionally, by speech or by deed, by thought or by speculation, in this incarnation or in any other. May no one be punished on my account.”
These words are a spiritual cleansing at the end of the day, covering our bases for any grudges we hold.
But how do we say these words and mean them in our kishkes, our depths?
I can logically understand why someone acted harmfully, and even feel compassion for their background or history that might have caused them to behave a certain way. But there are times my emotions are not fully there. There is a difference between understanding someone’s behavior intellectually, versus truly forgiving. If I say, “I hereby forgive…” I want to feel it fully–without a part of me still holding onto resentment.
Maybe what I’m noticing in the bedtime Shema example is the difference between forgiving and letting go. This discernment is subtle. Perhaps forgiveness is the decision to not continue to punish the transgressor. And letting go involves healing and transformation that this is not going to have a hold on my life anymore. Letting go may be more about freeing ourselves more than the other person
These nuances are more of a Venn diagram than distinct categories. There are layers. We can choose to let go without ever forgiving another person. For instance, “What my boss did was not ok, and I don’t forgive them, but I have released any bitterness or grudges and my mind and heart feel clear, without malice.”
Inversely, we can forgive and still hold onto all our anger, or pain and disappointment.
“I know my grandma acted this way because of her mental health struggles. I forgive the acts she committed, I know she would never intentionally cause me harm. But the impact of her actions penetrate the stories I tell myself, I blame her for my failed relationships. She infiltrates how I see my life.”
***
“I’m not ready.”
And yet…I don’t want this resentment to weigh on me. I don’t want to keep ruminating on the hurt, or for it to loom so large in my story. I see how I am actually punishing myself, because I can’t punish the offender.
***
So…how do we change? How do we let go of old hurts?
For me, there are two pieces. The first is grief. Grief for what we didn’t receive. Grief for the ways we weren’t seen. Grief for what was lost. I don’t think that we can get to a place of true forgiveness without allowing ourselves to grieve. We mourn the hope that the past could have been different. We feel the depth of what we didn’t receive–what we so needed, or deserved.
I believe that lasting forgiveness and letting go asks us to be with ourselves through the grief in a way that we didn’t receive when the wrong was committed. There is a lot of healing in actively witnessing our own grief in a way we never felt in the past.
We are giving ourselves what we so desperately wanted someone else to offer. We reclaim our agency. Compassionately, gently.
Deep presence with our own grief softens us. It opens space to accept the other for who and what they actually are. This begins to free us.
***
Rabbi Jessica K. Marshall leads a heart-centered spiritual community called Sacred Journey, offers spiritually inclusive rituals and retreats, facilitates pre-marital and newlywed spiritual programs, and offers 1-on-1 spiritual guidance.
Guiding folks via deeper connection to their own rich soul-wisdom, she helps nurture lives of meaning and joy!
Find out about her upcoming retreats and virtual gatherings at: rabbijessicamarshall.com. Instagram: @rabbijkm
