Public Atonement

There is comfort in hiding, pulling a blanket over our heads, and pretending to be invisible. We hide our mistakes, our flaws, and even the shame associated with these flaws and errors. 

Then comes Yom Kippur, and we confess it all in public, likely while sitting next to the very people most directly affected by what we do that embarrasses us. We join these other people to sing together the litany of our transgressions. And we don't stop there, we confess to a list of transgressions that are likely worse than what we have actually committed. This is the type of situation that most people prefer to avoid, or at least do in a more private setting; however, we do it every year, communally, on the very day when the most people attend services.

I suspect many of you can relate when I share that the Vidduy prayer has been a painful ritual for me over the years. I am acutely aware of my flaws. In fact, I am sure that people are carrying around hurt on my account that I am not sensitive enough even to recognize. A few years ago, I had to re-frame Vidduy and Yom Kippur writ large to stop it from triggering unproductive self-disappointment and shame. This ritual's public and collective nature began to represent the reality that we have all done wrong, protecting me against the sort of lonely embarrassment that can make a person want to hide. I have even come to experience a collective forgiveness in apologizing together in this communal and public vidduy. There is a deep wisdom in our tradition that compels us to be open and public about our flaws, stopping us from hiding them and the shame they bring.

I often think about figurative hiding: when and why we choose to hide, the immediate comfort it provides, and the long-term pain it can cause. I think about it every day when I welcome our kids to school. I wonder what they are bringing with them that is invisible to those around them and what they are intentionally trying to conceal. Who doesn't remember the desire to become invisible at some point, if not every day, of their elementary and middle school education? I remember it all too well, and it is part of why I love and believe in small schools.

When we are doing our job well as educators, there is nowhere to hide at Beit Rabban, neither physically nor emotionally. When we know each child to the degree that multiple adults will notice positive or concerning changes in a student, we can ensure that neither their talents nor their pain is hidden. Children (and adults) have social issues that can be ignored or addressed. A holistic Jewish education encompasses learning to navigate these challenges, name your feelings, understand those of others, disagree respectfully, express anger, articulate your reasons, explore solutions, apologize when necessary, and forgive when appropriate.

I have a ritual that I practice every year between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I visit each class and ask for mechila, forgiveness, from the students. I can accomplish this practically because our school is sufficiently intimate that I have enough time in each classroom. I can achieve this with integrity because I know every student and can look at each one with a sincere desire for forgiveness. In each class, I tell the students that I know I have hurt the feelings of some of them this year through intentional and unintentional actions.

I never intentionally hurt them, but I sometimes make decisions that have that impact. Then I ask them to pause and consider whether this has occurred in the past year and, if so, to consider forgiving me silently in their thoughts and hearts rather than out loud. Spoiler alert- students always scream out their apologies! Finally, I tell them I sincerely appreciate it when someone asks me for an apology because I know we can repair our relationship and move forward. In fact, last year, a courageous and insightful middle school student pulled me aside during a class I was teaching to share that she felt I was presenting as irritated by her, which was hurting her feelings. She was right that I was irritated, but I had not articulated the irritation to myself, let alone been aware that I was acting differently toward her. She gave me the great blessing of an opportunity to apologize, which turned out to be the beginning of a powerful relationship.

I stop by each class to ask for forgiveness for two reasons: 1) the obvious one- I want to be forgiven,  and 2) I want to model this behavior for our students. The behavior I am modeling is not the precise way to apologize. We teach whole lessons on how to apologize as part of our social-emotional curriculum. Rather, I am trying to model what it looks like to make the decision not to hide, to join in a communal Vidduy, and to experience both the vulnerability and the relief that comes with it.

And now I ask you for mechila, forgiveness, both personally and on behalf of our institution. Please forgive Beit Rabban and me for any harm we may have caused you, whether intentional or unintentional, this year or in the past.

A community like ours, with our children at its center, is inherently complicated and emotional. We inevitably and regularly make mistakes, some more consequential than others, impacting the people most precious to us. Please know that we love your children and are deeply grateful to be a part of their lives, supporting their ongoing growth and development. I hope you will accept my apology today (and in the future) as we continue on this powerful partnership of growing great children.