A Yizkor Prayer for those who were abused as children

The Awareness Center wants to thank Rabbi Robert Sax and the Rabbinical Assembly for creating a very special Yizkor prayer for including this meditation for survivors of abusive parents.  To the best of our knowledge this is the first prayer of it's kind to make its way into a prayer book for the High Holidays. 

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A Yizkor Meditation in Memory of a Parent Who Was Hurt
By Rabbi Robert Sax
Mahzor Lev Shalem - For Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur
Published by The Rabbinical Assembly

Dear God,

You know my heart. 

Indeed, You know me better than I know myself, so I turn to You before I rise for Kaddish. 

My emotions swirl as I say this prayer. The parent I remember was not kind to me. His/her death left me with a legacy of unhealed wounds, of anger and of dismay that a parent could hurt a child as I was hurt. 

I do not want to pretend to love, or to grief that I do not feel, but I do want to do what is right as a Jew and as a child.

Help me, O God, to subdue my bitter emotions that do me no good, and to find that place in myself where happier memories may lie hidden, and where grief for all that could have been, all that should have been, may be calmed by forgiveness, or at least soothed by the passage of time. 

I pray that You, who raise up slaves to freedom, will liberate me from the oppression of my hurt and anger, and that You will lead me from this desert to Your holy place. 

—robert Saks

A Thought On Forgiveness

Healing From Child Abuse –– The Awareness Center, Inc.

Equal Rights for Jewish Women in Synagogue

What's Your Synagogues High Holiday Polices For Sex Offenders?

Child Abuse and the High Holidays

Tashlich and Healing from Child Abuse

Tashlich (תשליך) is a ritual that many Jews observe during the High Holidays. "Tashlich" means "casting off" in Hebrew and involves symbolically casting off the sins of the previous year by tossing pieces of bread or another food into a body of flowing water. Just as the water carries away the bits of bread, so too are sins symbolically carried away. In this way the participant hopes to start the New Year with a clean slate.

Forgiveness and The High Holidays

Forgiveness and The High Holidays
© (2009) by Vicki Polin, MA, LCPC


Considering it is the month of Elul (a time for self-examination, meditation and prayer), many of Jews around the world are emotionally and spiritually preparing for the High Holidays. 

I was recently discussing the term "forgiveness" with a group of people on Facebook.  One of the individuals in the conversation suggested "forgiveness, helps us to heal our past," another suggested that, "forgiveness, means being able to get on with your life".  A third person suggested,"forgiveness does not change the past". Forgiveness is about the present moment. It transforms us in the moment so we can go forward doing teshuvah and Tikkun Olam.

After advocating for survivors of sex crimes for so many years, I don't believe one needs to "Forgive" to heal. I also personally do not believe the term "forgiveness" means giving up our hope for a better past. I think acceptance is a much better word for that.

I also disagree with the notion that the only way to "get on" with your life is to forgive, again I think the word acceptance for what happened is really the key.

I think Saint Francis of Assisi said it best. Please note he does not use the word forgiveness in the serenity prayer:  "Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

There are times in which one can forgive someone, there's other times when I think acceptance of what happened is all one needs to strive for or accept into their life's reality.

The question I pose was -- Do you forgive someone who has committed a heinous crime against you?  I personally believe it depends on the situation. If someone was a drunk driver and killed a friend or relative, are you required to forgive them?  What if someone came into a bank and murdered someone dear to you?  Or if you were are a survivor of a sex crime, do you have to forgive your offender or should you be told the only way to heal is to forgive? I personally don't think believe it is true or necessarily to heal and know many survivors who have healed without forgiveness.

What if a murderer or a rapist asks for forgiveness, then are we required to give it? I just have a difficult time with blanket statements. They can harm those who need to feel empowered. I think it's a good spiritual exercise for people to have choice on the matter of forgiveness. I also think the only spiritual being who can give absolution is G-d.

I'm not trying to be nick picky, the problem is that the language we use can hurt those who need to be protected, honored and respected, especially when they choose not to forgive.

Regarding the month of Elul on the Jewish calender

For those of you who are not familiar with the Jewish custom, the month of Elul is a time for self-examination, meditation and prayer as we prepare for the High Holidays.

As we begin the month of Elul, we all must keep in mind that one out of every four children will be sexually violated by the time they reach eighteenth birthday; one out of every 6 women and one out of every 33 men will be sexually assaulted during their lifetime. My wish is that we each and everyone of us will take time to focus on ways as individuals we can help empower those who have been sexually victimize and come up with a plan in how you will do that in the years to come.

My hope for survivors, is that each and every survivor will find ways to heal, reach out to others and if you are good place, to start speaking out about the crimes that were committed against you. Your voice is part of the solution.

We also need to mourn those survivors who lost their lives directly from the abuse, from suicide and or drug overdoses.

Vicki Polin

Executive Director - The Awareness Center, Inc.

Forgiving, forgetting:Jews use the High Holidays

Forgiving, forgetting
Jews use the High Holidays
by Richard Greenberg, Associate Editor
Washington Jewish Week - October 19, 2008


To err is human, to forgive divine. - Alexander Pope, 1688-1744

Judaism says basically the same thing. That is, humans can emulate God by accepting a heartfelt apology, an act that has metaphysical merit as well as psychological benefit.

Simply put, Jewish tradition teaches that remorse alone cannot atone for a sin committed against another individual. God does not forgive the perpetrator until that person has been forgiven by the victim.

Hence, the custom of baring one's soul to another is a key component of the Yomim Noraim, the Days of Awe, which close today with Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the chief deadline for the resolution of nagging interpersonal conflicts, among other important issues.

"It's a highly cathartic process," Rona Fields, a District-based clinical psychologist, said of the act of bestowing forgiveness, known in Hebrew as granting mechilah, or pardon. "It passes to the victim the power that he or she had lost in the original victimization. It's very important, and it sometimes gets lost in formulaic rituals."

Falls Church resident Geoff Michaelson, also a clinical psychologist, said the emphasis on sincerely making amends at this time of year demonstrates the inherent wisdom of Judaism.

"It involves something beyond mindfulness," he said, referring to a popular meditative concept that involves "awareness of living in the moment." He added: "It also takes into account your effect on another human being. It requires your soul, your heart and your mind as well as your body, since you have to walk over to another person and open your mouth. As a psychologist, I call this integration. It really pulls together the whole person."

Both Fields and Michaelson have themselves either sought or granted mechilah in a High Holidays context in conjunction with unresolved conflicts, some more traumatic than others.

Fields, for example, who attends Conservative Tifereth Israel Congregation in the District, once asked her daughter to forgive her as Yom Kippur approached. Her transgression: Not believing her daughter when she said she had been the target of "predatory sexual advances" by a former colleague of Fields'.

"I didn't listen to her," said Fields, 74, a District resident. "She kept trying to tell me about it, but I was so insensitive to what she was trying to tell me. I tried to rationalize it because I couldn't believe this person could behave that way. But the truth came out later." Her daughter, Fields said, eventually forgave her, "but not fully. I think she still carries that with her."

Fields' own father once pleaded for mechilah under somewhat similar circumstances, she said. As a teenager, she recounted, she had been molested by a relative by marriage who happened to be seeking a big loan from her father.

Her father, Fields said, believed the perpetrator when he pre-emptively professed his innocence, maintaining that Fields was "loose" and should be watched closely.

"My father was very angry at me for that," she said. "I cried, and I told him what had happened, but he didn't believe me."

Her father, Fields continued, asked her for forgiveness during the High Holidays some 20 years later when he realized what had actually transpired. Did she grant his request? "Of course I did," she said. "I cried horribly at the time and so did my father."

She added: "It was like a horrible weight had been lifted from me. I was relieved, because I loved my father more than anything else, and I was horrified that he had lost his trust in me. But that trust had been restored."

Michaelson, who attends Chabad in both Fairfax and Tysons Corner, said that this year he asked forgiveness of a rabbi with whom he has studied Torah. He sensed from a teasing remark the rabbi made that he had been overly contentious during their study sessions. "I thought that maybe I was not only disagreeing, but being disagreeable," Michaelson said. "He immediately forgave me on the spot."

Michaelson, 56, said the outcome of his exchange with the rabbi "was a relief to me; a concern I had was relieved. But I also felt that I had made a commitment to approach my [Torah] discussions in a different way in terms of how I was presenting my opinions." Heather Moran, a member of Reform Temple Micah in the District, said asking mechilah from others has been a critical element of her High Holidays ritual for years.

"What surprises me," she said, "is how surprised the other person usually is when you bring up the subject."

For example, last year, Moran, a resident of Kensington, was asked by a friend to forgive her "for something that had really been bothering her for a while." It involved a sarcastic remark the friend reportedly had made about Moran's son.

"I had no idea what she was talking about, but she was clearly mortified and the event had haunted her," said Moran, 35, who immediately granted her friend's request. "It clearly lifted a weight off her shoulders; I was so glad she had asked."

That episode and others like it, Moran said, "made me wonder what things I might have done to others that I wasn't aware of. It's made me much more willing to approach others at this time of year."

Still, making such an overture can often "take lots of humility and courage," she added, "because you don't always know what's going to take place on the other end of the conversation."

Moran said she can remember only once being turned down flat when she sought mechilah. As a teenager, she recalled, her synagogue youth adviser (not at her current congregation) had made it clear that he was displeased with her efforts on behalf of a synagogue-related activity.

He rejected her request for forgiveness. "He actually turned me down in shul," Moran reported. "I remember thinking that his response was not Jewish. But it was crushing at the time. It hurts."

Several classical Jewish texts, including the Talmud, explicitly state that in virtually all cases the victim of a sin is obligated to forgive the perpetrator, and thus emulate a compassionate God.

In that respect, Moran said she also takes her cue from her late mother, who was always ready to grant mechilah. "I learned through her how to forgive," she said.

Although making amends is potentially uplifting, it can also be an unsettling process because "it involves getting near those who you've had bad blood with" and raising the possibility of opening up old wounds, said Rabbi Robert Nosanchuk of Reform Northern Virginia Hebrew Congregation in Reston.

For example, Nosanchuk said he once sought forgiveness via e-mail from someone who had told him nearly 20 years earlier that he never wanted to speak to him again.

"The response was lightning fast and specific," he said, explaining that his apology was summarily rejected. "It was as if the [original] event had happened only a week or a month ago. It startled me, but when I read it carefully, I was absolutely certain the person was right."

Nosanchuk said he and his correspondent mended fences, however, after exchanging more e-mails. "Once that happened," he said, "I felt the impact of growth and maturity and responsibility taking hold. I'm the same person, but I've grown through the experience."

The possibility of achieving rapprochement with an old friend named Dawn has prompted Arlington resident Erica Steen, 36, to seriously consider reaching out to her.

They had known each other since eighth grade, but became alienated from each other about 10 years ago when Dawn was going through a difficult period in her life, reported Steen, director of the Morris Cafritz Center for Community Service at the Washington DC Jewish Community Center.

"I should have been the friend I had always been and asked her what was going on," Steen, a member of Reform Washington Hebrew Congregation in the District, said when contacted on Rosh Hashanah eve. "I should have offered my support and helped her through whatever problems she was having. Instead, I decided that I lived 500 miles away and that it was just easier to back off."

She added: "I think there's been a part of me over these years that has felt horrible about severing our friendship. I've grown up a lot over the past couple of years. For some reason, I have a different perspective [on] life now and feel it's time to make things right. I'm nervous; I've never had to ask forgiveness from someone that I truly wronged in the past, but it's time."

Forgiveness and the Jewish High Holy Days

© (2003) by Marcia Cohn Spiegel, M.A.

- reprinted by permission

 

During the month preceding the Jewish High Holy Days, Jews spend time examining their behavior of the past year and asking forgiveness of those whom they have wronged. However for some people there is a dilemma. Are they required to forgive acts which may be truly unforgivable? Are there, in fact, acts which are unforgivable? Each fall as we approach the Days of Awe, victims of early childhood sexual abuse, and others who have survived psychological or physical abuse at the hands of those whom they loved and trusted may ask themselves these questions. They may never have reconciled with the perpetrator of the terrible acts against them; the perpetrator may have refused to even acknowledge the abuse or may have died without ever taking any steps to make amends. At the very time when we should be looking inward to examine our actions, and to make atonement to those whom we have wronged, the survivors of abuse may be overwhelmed by anger or resentment for the painful memories that continue to plague them. When memorial prayers in the synagogue encourage us to laud the virtues of parents or spouses who have died, these survivors may feel even more isolated and alienated from the very community to whom they turn for support. Judaism teaches us that a person who has committed an act against another must go to that person to ask forgiveness, to rectify their behavior, to do tshuvah. While we are not required to forgive the wrong doer, we are encouraged to do so. Asher ben Yehiel admonishes us "each night before retiring, forgive whomever offended you." But how does one forgive the perpetrator of early childhood sexual abuse, or violence that has left us with deeply scarred?

 

When we are struggling with flashbacks and nightmares and a variety of ailments brought on by the abuse, forgiving the offender may be far from our minds, or our ability. While we may not be able to forgive, we cannot continue to live with rage, fear and anger. Perhaps we need to find a word other than forgiveness in order to move forward. Judaism has the concept of shlemut, wholeness, personal integrity and peace. Seeking shlemut may help us find our way toward recovery. During the Holy Days we may use the prayers that speak of forgiveness as a time to draw deep into ourselves to begin to heal the pain.

 

When we say kaddish, the memorial prayer, we remember that we are not praising the dead, but rather praising God who acts in this world. We can use this season to look at our own actions so that we do not use what was done to us as an excuse for what we have done to others. As we grow in strength and courage we may eventually be able to leave the past behind, and for some forgiveness may be possible. 

 

Marcia Cohn Spiegel, M.A., Hebrew Union College, is working to create change in the attitudes of the Jewish Community towards addiction, violence and sexual abuse. She is the author of "Women Speak to god: The Poems and Prayers of Jewish Women" and serves on the Center's Jewish Advisory Committee.

A Jewish Survivor Reflects on the Meaning of Forgiveness

Harriet Lane Baggett, Ph.D., LCP
Staunton, Virginia

Originally Published on AdvocateWeb.org

L’Shana Tova! 

That is, Happy New Year! The evening of September 6th, 2002 marks the beginning of the New Year in the Jewish calendar, 5763. It is the beginning of a ten day period that we usually call “The High Holy Days,” marked at the beginning with Rosh Hashanah (New Year) and at the end with Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement). The entire ten days are referred to as The Days of Awe, or sometimes, The Ten Days of Repentance. Tradition holds that during these initial ten days of the year, God considers who will live through the year to see the next. Those who are clearly righteous will be written into the Book of Life on the first day, while those who are clearly wicked will be written into the Book of Death that day. For the rest of us, who fall somewhere in between, the Days of Awe are a time to make it all up, so to speak, so that God might finally write us into the Book of Life before sealing it on Yom Kippur. It is a time for us to closely examine our behaviors in the prior year, to evaluate our ethical and moral and religious standing, and to make repairs and repentance. Even those of us who do not really believe that God is up in heaven determining our destinies take seriously the basis of this tradition: that in order to have a sweet new year, we need to deal justly with the things we have done to sour the years that came before. Thus, the High Holy Day period is all about repentance and forgiveness, a topic that is so much at the core of the pain felt by victims/survivors of professional exploitation. 

My very first Jewish service was the eve of Yom Kippur 15 years ago, which I attended with several Jewish friends. I did not consider myself to be a very spiritual person; I was not practicing the religion in which I was raised, and was not inclined to seek out other paths. I went in order to support my friends, and perhaps with a bit of anthropological interest. 

But I was deeply moved. What most stands out in my memory is the part of the service in which the congregants recited what I now know to be Al Khet; this prayer is essentially a confession to a litany of sins committed during the prior year. Everyone in the congregation names every sin; some prayer books are more specific than others in the naming of the sins, but the implication is that we are all part of a community that has sinned against God in each and every one of these ways. So, on this first Yom Kippur, I stood with my friends as they set pride aside and spoke aloud all of these sins against God and asked for God’s forgiveness. This was an awesome contrast, for me, to the secret shame of the confessional on which I was brought up. What freedom, I thought, to let go of the chains of silence and secrecy and to say the shame out loud, as a group, acknowledging that we all have sinned.

It took a lot of years and a lot of thought and finally a lot of courage before I started attending synagogue services with the idea that I might actively participate, not just observe. Now I lived in a small southern town with not many Jews, and a neighbor, friend and synagogue leader took me under her wing. For more than a year I was almost like a member of her family, celebrating holidays, studying Torah and the prayers, enjoying traditional music and food, learning the rituals and language, and developing meaningful appreciation of Jewish theology. So much of the theology speaks to me. But the part that was most healing for me, that brought me closest to my spiritual center, was the theology around repentance and forgiveness. For me, it all went back to that first Yom Kippur: the healing power of open acknowledgement of wrongdoing. 

But, there is a catch in Judaism, a big difference from Christian theology: Yom Kippur only allows atonement for sins we commit against God. God does not grant forgiveness for sins that we commit against other people. For that, we must approach and make repentance to the person whom we have wronged; then it is up to that person to grant forgiveness. I took to heart this teaching, often explained by my friend and then reiterated by rabbis during High Holy Day sermons. I searched inside myself, I let go of my pride, I faced my shame and I sought out people, some of whom I hadn’t had contact with in years, and I acknowledged my wrongs. Some responded favorably, some did not. It was a gift to me when they responded with acceptance and forgiveness, but regardless of their response, I was free of the binds that had held me from authentic relationship with those people. I felt more relaxed, more at ease in all my relationships than I had in so many ages. With each reminder of this important piece of Jewish theology, whether sermon or reading or discussion, I remembered again to handle my current relationships with equal authenticity and clarity. It was a sweet and joyous time in my life, a time of connection with people and with God, the kind of connection and authenticity that I imagined must permeate the relationships of all people who are serious about their spirituality. Especially rabbis. 

It has now been almost five years since the beginning of my sexual exploitation by the woman who was my rabbi during the course of my conversion. The ensuing years have witnessed numerous additional betrayals by rabbinic and synagogue leaders as I have sought the kind of justice that I had been taught was at the heart of Jewish tradition. The High Holy Days have taken on a new, and confusing, significance. It is impossible for me to understand how these rabbis, with their flowery sermons urging us toward repentance to other people and not just to God, are able to face the High Holy Days, “The Days of Awe,” year after year without making honest repentance to me for the abuse and the collusion and all of the heinous consequences of these betrayals. 

There have been a few supportive clergy (Jewish and Christian) who have helped me to hold to my faith and my theology, and to continue to hold the rabbis accountable for their sins against me. Ironically, the rabbi “supporters” have been more likely to tell me to “forgive and forget,” that phrase so dreaded by victims of clergy sexual abuse. Or they might say, “forgive but don’t forget,” in the mixed up belief that somehow that meshes better with our theology. 

But I cannot forgive. Repentance has not been made and, in Jewish tradition, my tradition, there is no context for forgiveness when there has been no repentance. (A corollary to this Jewish teaching is that another cannot forgive the offender in my place; in other words, in the absence of meaningful repentance, the synagogue or rabbinic leadership cannot forgive my perpetrator even though I don’t. This is an important point for many clergy abuse victims, who have seen their congregations “forgive” their perpetrator while the victim is left to hang in the wind.) 

To be honest, I’m not sure I even know what forgiveness would look like. How can I know when there has been no repentance? There seem to be so many definitions of forgiveness; it is very subjective. Based on my experiences in other situations, I think forgiveness would mean that I can verbalize acceptance of, belief in, the regret expressed by the offenders’ gestures of repentance if they made them; this, in turn, would mean more open and authentic relationship with them, a potential for growth. Perhaps forgiveness would be my “gift” to them of lifting the pain of their guilt and shame by allowing for future meaningful, healing relations…meaningful relationship that can only come from both parties being open and honest with themselves and each other, which can only come when repentance has been made. 

The dictionaries I’ve looked at all seem to include “to pardon” in the primary definition; to me “to pardon” implies letting go of the expectation for justice. The second definition often includes “letting go of anger.” In the absence of repentance, I just don’t think I can do either of these things without compromising my personal ethics or diminishing my experience and feelings. I cannot in good conscience “pardon” the rabbis, excuse them from doing what their own ethical guidelines demand; I continue to expect them to adhere to their ethics and morals, to care about the justice on which their religion is based. Neither can I put a lid on my feelings of hurt and anger; they betrayed me, they have made promises not kept, and to “let go of my anger” would be to diminish the importance of the experience and the injustice. That is not to say, however, that I can’t grow. 

But first, while I’m not completely certain what forgiveness would look like, I do think I have an idea of what it would not look like for me. It would not mean forgetting, as the astute rabbis pointed out. It would not mean compromising the expectation for justice; justice is required for forgiveness in my theology. It would not mean becoming friends with the offender. But most important for me, one who has not received a just response, forgiveness does not equal “acceptance,” it does not equal “understanding” the perpetrator/colluders, it does not equal “moving on.” I can do these things without repentance or forgiveness. I have found that I am better able to accept that this has happened and that the rabbis are not who they claim to be. I am better able to understand their humanity, and the fact that in the unconscious (if not conscious) minds of almost all organizational leaders, the preservation of the organization’s image (and thus the leaders’ power) becomes more important than the ideals upon which it was founded. And, finally, I am becoming able to “move on” in many aspects of my life, even my spirituality. 

With the help of so many wonderful people (almost all of whom I’ve connected with through AdvocateWeb, directly or indirectly!), I have moved through the initial confusion and self-denial, through the raw pain of all the losses, through the desperate and angry attempts to claim justice and reclaim faith, through the excruciating moments of disillusionment and outrage, and through so many complicated feelings of wondering where God is in all this. I’m not done with these feelings; they are not all gone, and I don’t think they will ever go away completely, particularly not in the absence of justice. But neither are they as overwhelming nor as constant as in the first years. Now I can focus on acts of charity, I can paint a room in my house, I can savor a day on the water, I can converse meaningfully about topics that are not at all related to the exploitation. I have been able to meet new people, even to date. And now not a day goes by that I am not compelled to thank God for all the good things in my life, especially even those I’ve found through this nightmare: compassionate family, friends and advocates; moving new prayers and music; eye-opening new perspectives on life and God and all faith traditions; and even restful new vacation destinations where retreats were held. I am learning how to pray again by myself, and have even joined another synagogue (albeit 50 miles away). Perhaps I’ll even attend services there someday soon; maybe I’ll be able to do some of the home rituals in coming years…probably not this High Holy Day season, but maybe the next, or the one after that. And I am learning constructive ways to use this experience and the bad feelings it has caused; if I suppressed my angry feelings with premature “forgiveness,” there are so many good things I might not be motivated to pursue (such as writing, or supporting other victims). What I’ve finally discovered, by hanging on to my truth and surrounding myself with people who will hear it, is that THERE IS HOPE for claiming a new joy in Judaism and in life. The experience of hope is among the many blessings that I have learned again to count every day. 

I have not forgiven, I have not forgotten, I have not ceased my effort for justice, and in many ways I am still affected by the betrayals and the losses, as I always will be. But, I am moving on, healing and growing, learning to put my feelings to helpful purpose. I may not receive repentance, and thus won’t be able to grant forgiveness, but I will still find sweetness in this New Year. And so, I pray for L’Shana Tova for all of us.