My Public and My Privates

Friday September 5, 2025/ 12 Elul 5785/Parshat Ki Tetze

Hevre/Friends,

Most of us think of the work of repentance as intensely private work. When reflecting upon our actions over the last year, we tend to do so in the interior spaces of our hearts and minds, keeping the work of repair to ourselves. Sometimes, if we’re courageous and humble enough, or in enough pain, we may invite someone we’ve hurt, or someone who has hurt us, into a conversation in which feelings are shared and apologies are made so that, hopefully, forgiveness can unfold. But even if we do engage someone with whom we have unfinished business, that exchange remains just between the two of us. Why would we even think about inviting anyone else into that moment? Admitting guilt can feel shameful; asking forgiveness can be embarrassing. Who wants an audience for that? 

And yet, in a little-known text on the subject we find a reminder of the critical role community can play even in our intimate, private efforts to repent. Rambam (Maimonides), in his writings on teshuvah/repentance, explains how we might go about seeking forgiveness from one who is no longer able to forgive us because they are no longer alive. This can be agonizing for the surviving individual carrying the burden of their guilt. Rambam teaches: “One who committed a sin against a friend, and the friend died before the person who did harm asked for forgiveness, should bring ten adults (10 is the number of Jews required to constitute a minyan/quorum) to witness at [the harmed person’s] grave and say: “I have sinned against God and against this person (naming them), and I have done against them thus and such (naming the sins).”

Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg writes achingly about her journey seeking forgiveness decades after her mother’s death for leaving her bedside one night to be with her friends when her mother was critically ill. Following Rambam’s guidance, she gathered ten of her people who knew and loved her. “I told these 10 witnesses the story of my regret and shame. I showed them a place of pain and remorse that I had been holding for 25 years…my witnesses held me, as I lifted my darkness up to the light and said, here, yes, look at this thing that I did. And their faces held me as I cried my way through it and named my bitter regret…”.

Having revealed and owned her shame in the presence of community, those gathered around her began to gently offer other ways of understanding the choice she made that night. They weren’t absolving her of her guilt - that was not, nor could it be, their task. But a community brings multiple, diverse views that can help frame, and sometimes redeem, the regrettable things we’ve done. Rambam’s idea of this public confession certainly isn’t about shaming, it’s “To help give the darkness air and space. To clean out the wound so that healing might be possible…It is about inviting others to witness the process of growth and healing.” This most intimate exchange between Danya and her late mother could not have been as effective or healing were it not for the presence of community.

But actually, she acknowledged, those gathered were not there for her, they were there for her mother. As she reflected, “I don’t think that Maimonides demands that we own the harm that we caused publicly at the grave of the dead so that other people can help us find ways to let ourselves off the hook, out of the cage of our own shame. I think that it’s because witnesses are holding the truth in trust for the dead, because the dead cannot speak for themselves anymore.” Community not only supports the one seeking forgiveness; it represents those aggrieved who can no longer participate in the process of healing. The community can’t forgive on the injured one’s behalf, but they can hold up the truth of the pain they suffered so that the one burdened with guilt can finally do business with it.

In an even more challenging text, Rambam summons us to share with one another the mistakes we’ve made with others who are alive and the process of repentance we’ve undertaken with them. We should acknowledge to our friends that we’ve sinned and that we’ve taken steps to repair. Why would anyone want to share that over coffee?

This morning in my weekly study group here in the mountains, people offered heartfelt answers. Maybe inviting community into our most awkward, regrettable, vulnerable spaces creates the setting for deeper compassion, less judgment, between people. Maybe it serves to motivate others to do the work of their own repair they've been avoiding. 

Wherever these ideas take you in your own teshuvah journey, remember that you’re not alone in this hard work. Teshuvah doesn’t have to be isolating; it can deepen and strengthen our bonds not only with those from whom we’re estranged, but also the ones we rely on daily. 

May our efforts to heal ourselves bring healing to others, to our community, and the world around us.

With continued prayers for our ability to bring home all the hostages, protect the soldiers, heal the injured, comfort the bereaved, and build a lasting peace in Israel and around the world, and with blessings for a Shabbat Shalom,

Dini

(Photo by Ronen Avisror)