For the Wrong I Did Before You

On Saturday, September 19, I hosted our monthly story slam at Wham! Bam! Thank You! Slam! The theme was, Who You Calling Disabled?

Very few people attended compared to past events, and I wanted to understand why. I had an inkling that it might be like this when ticket sales didn’t pick up as they usually do in the last couple of days before an event.

During the show I shared my gut feeling about why our audience was so light.

“I think people are afraid of this topic. Disability frightens folks.”

The audience jumped in immediately and agreed, because that’s been our experience of the world when living with a disability.

I know what it feels like to be shunned. My disabilities made me a kinder person––for the most part. The pain of the rejection I endured as a child taught me to see more deeply. The other disability I suffered, helped even more. And even with an insider’s perspective, I was afraid of difference, too. I felt foolish around people with needs that were different from mine, especially the ones that were more obvious. The wheelchairs, the developmental delays. I wanted to say and do the right things, and I was embarrassed to ask what they were, so instead I’d make believe I couldn’t see it. There was even a small part of me that was afraid I’d “catch” the other person’s affliction.

How silly. I was a kid. I think adults act that way, too. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it.

When we didn’t get the ticket sales I hoped for, it made me wonder if that really was the reason.

On Sunday, instead of working with my video editor to get the show replay posted by Monday morning (our monthly goal), I needed a day or two to contemplate and my editor was sick and needed a day for herself. And I was exhausted. Sunday night was also the beginning of Yom Kippur, the most important day of the Jewish year and I needed to attend services. I needed to sit with the feelings I had about the event, and inquire deeply about how to go forward. I needed to connect with Grace. I needed to review my year.

Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. The day my former rabbi preferred to call The Day of At-One-Ment. A more loving definition of a time we come together as a community to look at our ourselves with love and compassion for our human failings. We don’t whip ourselves for our misdeeds while sporting hairshirts that broadcast our shame and inflict even more pain.

Some go to services dressed in white as a gesture of humility. We desire a clean slate, an annual fresh start. We want to be held in the holier vision God intends for us. The practice is also linked to the garment that’s customary in Jewish burial. A white shroud. A plea for purity as the transition from life to death takes place.

The idea of a fresh slate when I was a self-critical kid felt like a very convenient loophole.

Oh? We mess up, we say we’re sorry, and then we get to mess up all over again, year after year? Aren’t we supposed to stop messing up? I was a kid with a black and white view of the world. It’s what I learned from my family, from my teachers, from the world we occupy. I think most people are taught that binary. Good, bad. Up, down. Yes, no. Extremes. Absolutes. But that’s not the whole truth. There’s nuance, too. And there’s grace.

As a kid, I didn’t understand one simple piece. We’re human. We’re flawed. We make mistakes every day. And forgiveness is a necessary element to learning new ways to be.

In the last few years, I added a spiritual practice that works to complement my Jewish identity. My Jewish identity isn’t religious, but it is deeply cultural and spiritual. There’s a big difference.

I adopted a 12-Step practice, and that’s where the concept of amends was added to my self-improvement goals. It’s where I learned an important distinction. The difference between an apology for an undesirable behavior and truly making what program refers to as “an amends.” Though grammatically incorrect and very awkward, (the plural form for addressing a single infraction, amending one’s behavior). I’ve embraced the difference because what it’s called isn’t as important as the action it speaks of.

An “amends” requires a change of behavior. An apology doesn’t come with that requirement or guarantee. An apology without correcting a negative behavior you’re apologizing for is meaningless…except for one detail.

When we make an apology, we’re admitting a wrong we’ve done. We’re opening to the possibility that something in us needs to be fixed. It’s a gentle starting point. The real work comes with the commitment to change.

Change needs to happen everywhere I turn these days. We need to do real work. Look at the world. Look at the mess we’ve made of things. Fixing things is a big job that has to start on an individual level. None of us are perfect.

Back to the service, yesterday. The always-long service. 10 hours of prayer, song, connection, and fasting, with a little afternoon break. I don’t fast. It’s a choice I make and I’m good with it.

When Yom Kippur ends each year, the reading of Torah comes to completion, and we begin reading it again in the new year. A cycle that’s repeated over and over, year after year for thousands of years. God decides who will live and who will die in the coming year. Our names are inscribed in the Book of Life, or they aren’t. It’s not a punishment. It’s just life…and death. The nature of things.

We reflect on where we failed ourselves and each other, and then we begin again. The rabbis conducting the service added something beautiful. An important reminder.

They didn’t want us to only take an inventory of where we fell short in our lives, they also asked that we celebrate our successes; the ways in which we’ve changed and grown. To look honestly at the things we did that contributed to our well-being and the well-being of others. I know I’ve done good work this year. I know there are things I have to fix. I’m living a life I’m proud of. I’m more honest with myself than I used to be.

I spend a lot of time doing for others because it matters to me and it’s part of my morality. I’ve gotten better at owning the errors I make and correcting them as soon as I can. That’s new for me. I’m not as invested in being right in order to save face. I’ve mostly stopped beating myself up. I come from a place of curiosity and I change what needs to be fixed. Not always, but often. I’m human, remember?

I needed yesterday’s services more than I realized when I initially entered the space. I’ve been living a very busy life for the last few years. It got even busier when I started the story slam project almost a year ago. I work every day now. The work has become play (mostly), because I’ve discovered the work that makes me happy and makes a difference. I’m a creator of story and art. I’m a creator of connection and love.

The afternoon services ended with a recitation of the things we want forgiveness for. This happens every year. There are pre-written “infractions” in the established prayer, The Viddui.

We also write our own list of things we want forgiveness for––especially if we observe in more non-traditional spaces. As we list each failing, the tradition is to beat our chest with a loose fist after each one is uttered. In this congregation we use an open palm instead. That little adjustment, that gentle caress is filled with love and mercy. Every fault begins with, “For the wrong we did before you by…”

At that point in the service, a little miracle occurred.

The rabbi sang the list. As she gave voice to the contributions of the congregants, she got to this one, and Grace showed up for me in that moment, like a gentle lightning bolt and told me maybe I was right about my impression on Saturday at the slam.

For the wrong we did before you for being afraid of others disabilities...

Tears popped from my eyes and wet my cheeks. Because yes. We feel that fear. It’s not uncommon, and Grace was in the room.

I don’t use the word God. I don’t relate to it. Grace is the word I choose instead, because grace depends on me, too. And grace is available to all of us, without the trappings of religion. Big G or little g. It doesn’t matter. It comes in the form of forgiveness, and offers me an opportunity for growth.

Fear IS a completely human reaction. It limits me. I lose so much when I turn away from the things that scare me because I’m trying to avoid the discomfort I don’t want to feel. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid the things that make me uncomfortable. The avoidance often leads me to shame.

I’m not recommending shame; I’m sharing this aspect of my personhood.

There’s Grace that comes when we learn to trust ourselves.

Here’s one more thing I want to share with you before I end. Its weight is heavy on my heart and my soul. It’s scary for a lot of us to be Jewish right now. I don’t talk about it much. A lot of Jews don’t even want to talk to one another, because of the giant elephant wearing the blue yarmulke sitting in the middle of the sanctuary. You know why. So do I. I’ll leave that alone for today. But I will say that everyone in Middle East needs to start making some big amends. Because the behaviors are unacceptable.

I’ve turned away from attending synagogue services in person. Now, I use Zoom instead, because I’m afraid for my safety. Fear is a human response. I don’t like being afraid. I’m giving myself time, space, and Grace to let it go.