As we turn the corner from the end of one Jewish year toward the opening of a new one it is a time for seeing and reflecting on our lives with clarity; and for seeking and offering forgiveness.
At the Jewish Community High School of the Bay (JCHS) Shabbaton last weekend, I led a guided meditation about reflection and forgiveness opening with the following story.*
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A teacher boards a train for an overnight trip. She takes the first open aisle seat finding herself seated next to a young woman at the window. The teacher turns to introduce herself to the girl but the girl is looking away. She is intently staring out the window. She looks tense and anxious. The teacher wonders to herself, "How old is this girl? Sixteen? Seventeen? And that look on her face -- what is it? Fear? Shame?"
As the train moves through the night the girl keeps staring out the window -- seemingly oblivious to anything or anyone in the train. The teacher sees the girl drop her head against the window as her hands clench the ledge. She quietly begins to cry. The teacher hands some tissues to the girl. After a long time the girl turns to the teacher asking, "do you know what time we arrive in Greenville?"
"No," replies the teacher, "do you live there?"
"Yes. No. Kind of. Well, I used to live there."
"Going home then?" asks the teacher.
"Maybe . . ." the girl's voice drops and she turns back to the window.
More time passes.
Then the girl starts telling her life story. A few years ago she did something wrong; so wrong that she ran away from home. She couldn't face her parents and left without seeing anyone. Since then she has been wandering from job to job and place to place. "Now I am tired of wandering and just want to come home," she says.
The teacher sits quietly for a while then asks the girl, "Do your parents know that you're coming home?" "Yes," says the girl.
"Then they'll be at the station to meet you."
"I am not sure," says the girl. "I sent them a letter last week. After what I did, I am not sure they can forgive me. All this time they haven't known where I was or how I am. I wrote them last week saying I will arrive in Greenville today. I know I hurt them terribly. I could understand if they never forgave me. So in the letter I said I'd come home if they wanted me. There's a big tree right near the tracks in Greenville. My brother and I used to climb that tree. I told them I'd look for a white ribbon on that tree. If they put a ribbon on the tree it means they want me back and I'll get off the train. Otherwise I will just keep riding."
As dawn breaks outside the train a kind of silent companionship develops between the teacher and the girl. Both now are waiting for Greenville.
After the conductor announces Greenville as the next stop, the girl turns to the teacher asking, "I'm too scared. Will you look for me. I don't know what to expect."
"Sure, glad to," the teacher replies switching seats with the girl. The teacher wonders what she will see on the tree. The girl looks down at her feet.
As the train slows the teacher sees a tree near the edge of the tracks. Then she shouts so loud everyone in the train hears her. "Oh my! That tree is covered with white ribbons." The girl and the teacher embraced with tears of relief and gratitude.
I bring this story for the High Holy Days because this is our season of "white ribbons." Some of us are wondering whether those whom we have hurt will forgive us; others are wondering if we can forgive those who have hurt us. For some of us it is both.
Each of us has been, like the parents in this story, waiting for someone who broke a relationship or caused us pain to return. Or like the girl in the story we are afraid that by the time we seek forgiveness it will be too late. Or like the teacher in the story we are soothing or comforting someone on the path of forgiveness and renewal.
The path toward forgiveness and renewal is not an easy one -- even for small hurts such as uttering an unkind word at the wrong time, forgetting to say something important at the right time, neglecting someone in need, misunderstanding a gesture or comment, creating disappointment, or overlooking another. Even for these hurts the path can seem dark and long, uncertain and lonely.
In the days ahead may each of us have the courage to acknowledge our mistakes from the past year, the strength to seek forgiveness for them, a heart large enough to make space for others to seek forgiveness from us, and the wisdom to grant forgiveness.
May this be, in each of our lives, a season full of white ribbons.
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*The "white ribbon" story is adapted from a version I heard from my mentor and teacher Rabbi Lee Bycel. There are many versions of the "white ribbon" story -- the earliest seems to come from a 1961 edition of "Reader's Digest."
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