The Ring of Forgiveness

The date was October 14, 2003; the location, Wrigley Field – specifically, Aisle 4, Row 8, Seat 113. The scene was the eighth inning of game six of the National League Championship Series, with the Chicago Cubs up three games to two against the Florida Marlins. The Cubs were winning 3-0, just five outs away from clinching their first National League Pennant in a very long time – a curse-induced drought dating back, depending on how you look at it, to 1945 or to 1908. As legend goes, it was during the 1945 Cubs/Tigers World Series that William Siannis was refused entry into the stadium on account of the billy goat that accompanied him, an insult to which Siannis responded by placing a curse on the Cubs. From the ‘69 black cat incident against the Mets, to the collapse of the ’84 team against the Padres and much, much more, the “curse of the billy goat” has wrought unbearable heartbreak to the Northsiders of Chicago – like the Jews themselves – a tribe living by the wistful lament of “Wait until next year.”

In those days, Debbie and I were living a few blocks from Wrigley Field counting down the days until the birth of our third child or a Cubs pennant – not necessarily in that order. With one out and one on, the Marlins’ Louis Castillo hit a lazy fly ball that headed foul toward the left field stands, and Moises Alou charged to the wall to catch it. As Alou leapt up with glove extended, a fan wearing a Cubs hat, green turtleneck, and headphones, seated in aisle 4, row 8, seat 113, reached out, deflected the ball, and in a point to which we shall return, was potentially responsible for denying Alou a caught ball and second out. The Cubs pitcher, Mark Prior, pointed to the bleachers demanding that fan interference be called. Alou slammed his glove to the ground in frustration, scowling at the fan. It was as if the very air had been sucked out of Wrigley, followed by incessant replays of the incident, and then,  unrelenting anatomically referential chants that began to emanate from Waveland Avenue, from the stands, from everywhere, as the friendly confines turned much less friendly toward that suddenly deeply unpopular Cubs fan by the name of Steve Bartman. Bad as the incident was, what was to come was far worse. Castillo drew a walk on a wild-pitch, advancing the runner. Pudge Rodriguez then smacked a single to drive in the Marlins’ first run. The Cubs shortstop, Alex Gonzalez, bobbled what should have been an inning-ending double-play ground ball, thus loading the bases and setting up Derek Lee’s base clearing double. The Marlins would score eight unanswered runs that inning: a 3-0 Cubs lead ending with an 8-3 defeat. The following night the Marlins would overcome Kerry Wood to win the pennant and then, by defeating the Yankees, the World Series.

As for the Cubs and their fans – their ire remained focused on Steve Bartman, who needed to be escorted out of the stadium in disguise. The vilification of Bartman would only grow in the months and years to come. Despite the apology he issued, the combination of the severity of his misdeed, the duration of the curse, and the proximity of the Cubs to victory that evening would mark him as public enemy number one. Bartman’s offense came to embody the frustrated hopes of an entire city and he, understandably, feared for his life. Bartman was forced to live as a recluse, a JD Salinger-like existence, off the grid, afraid even to use his credit card lest he be recognized. Bartman declined hundred-thousand-dollar offers to be interviewed, to appear publicly, and to tell his side of the story. No doubt the combination of embarrassment and genuine fear halted any forward momentum in this young man’s life for fourteen years of living under the shadow and threat of a deafening “if only.” If only Bartman hadn’t touched that ball – a gnawing question in the heart of every Cubs fan ever since.

Not long ago, a congregant and dear friend recommended that I read Michael Lewis’s latest book, The Undoing Project, a story about the intellectual and personal relationship between Nobel Prize winning economists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Twersky, z”l. In the titular chapter of the book, Lewis describes a series of Twersky and Kahneman’s collaborative investigations into the manner in which people construct alternative realities in order to manage the difficult truths of their lives. When faced with regret, remorse, disappointment, or other negative emotions, we human beings are wont to create a series of “what-if scenarios,” what historians call “counterfactuals,” in order to cope with the loss or frustration we face. It could be a mundane matter like missing a bus or a plane. “If only,” traffic hadn’t been so bad on the expressway, we would have gotten there on time. Or it could be a loss of far greater magnitude, like losing a loved one in an accident. “If only” he had taken an alternate route, he might still be with us. We utter those two deceptively simple words, “if only,” in order to create alternatives to our reality: a project of “undoing,” thus the title of the chapter and the book. Despite the fact that these counterfactuals are whole-cloth inventions of our imagination, they are necessary in that they help us cope with the inevitable ups and downs of our lives. They are the “go-to” remedies with which we respond to the aspects of our experience for which, if we could, we would ask for a do-over.

The danger in being too quick or too plentiful with our “if onlies,” is that the alternate realities we construct can become a mode of avoidance and escape, a scapegoat of sorts to sidestep the necessary reflection, introspection, and self-correction with which we must all engage. It is easy enough to say, “if only” Archduke Ferdinand had not been assassinated, World War I would never have begun; If only Lehman hadn’t failed, the financial crisis of ‘08 wouldn’t have happened; or if only certain emails hadn’t been released when they were, an election would have swung the other way. It is only human to seek a hook upon which to hang blame, a scapegoat that enables us to cope with reality. Yet anyone who has studied any of these moments – historical, athletic, political, and otherwise – knows that the so-called trigger incident was but one piece of a far more complex puzzle. Almost always the precipitating incident or episode being singled out was either (a) not decisive, (b) representative of a much bigger problem, or (c) should never have been allowed to play the decisive role it came to have. The Monday morning quarterbacks who focus unduly on such “if onlies,” invariably ignore or obfuscate the larger forces at play – the systemic issues lying beneath the surface. We assign blame to what is actually a symptom, not a cause, and in doing so shirk responsibility, avoid learning any lessons, and worst of all, dodge the underlying issues in such desperate need of being addressed.

No question, in a perfect world, Bartman would have stayed in his seat and allowed Alou to catch the ball. If only he had, we comfort ourselves saying, the Cubs would have won, an assertion that elides a few key details like Gonzalez flubbing that easy double play, Dusty Baker keeping Prior in the game too long, relief pitcher Kyle Farnsworth imploding, Sammy Sosa missing his cut-off man and, for the superstitious among us, Bernie Mac, z”l, flubbing the words of “Take Me Out to The Ball Game” during the seventh-inning stretch. All these, and so much more, were the real reasons behind the Cubs' loss in ’03, not to mention the most obvious data point that it was not that night, but the following night, that the series was decided – a game in which, incidentally, the Cubs were up 5-3 before they were defeated 9-6. These are the real reasons for the Cubs demise in ‘03, not the unfounded and unfair “if onlies,” heaped on the pitiable figure of Steven Bartman.

Today, Yom Kippur, is the day upon which we marshal our strength and courage to identify, name, confront, and do away with all the accumulated “if onlies” of our year gone by. There are so many hurts, so many disappointments, so many frustrations with which we arrive in synagogue today. And because we are only human, in the face of it all, we understandably review the year gone by “undoing” our past in order to find the hooks upon which we can hang blame for our tzuris and justify the rightness of our position. If only my sister had made the effort to come to come to my simcha, our communication would not have sunk to where it is today. If only my parents had been more supportive of my relationship, we would not be where we are right now. If only he had bothered to pick up the phone after my loss, maybe we would be talking. If only my colleague actually took the time to appreciate my contributions, maybe then we would be on speaking terms. Our year gone by is littered with such “if onlies.” The point is not to suggest that we have not been hurt by others. Of course we have; there have been wrongs committed against us, knowingly and unknowingly, sins of commission and of omission. The point is to redirect our focus, expand the horizon of our vision, and consider whether we, in our rush to assign blame, have not engaged in the self-serving project of letting ourselves off the hook.

Today is Yom Kippur. Today we take that bold and courageous leap into that infrequently visited place called humility and acknowledge that there is enough blame to go around, and some of it may just fall on us. Throughout the year we view our relationships through the prism of our own perspective. Not today. Today we flip the angle of our vision around and ask how we are perceived by others. In the words of the poet Robert Burns: “O Wad some power the giftie gie us, to see ourselves as others see us.” Today we allow for the daring possibility that in a world filled with “If only he’s,” “If only she’s,” and “If only they’s,” there must surely also be a least a few “If only I’s” needing to be claimed. If only I had handled that situation differently. If only I had chosen my words more carefully. If only I had been more forthcoming with love, with candor, with generosity of spirit, with all those qualities that I would like to think I embody, that I tell myself I embody, but I know deep down I don’t demonstrate with the earnestness and frequency that I should. Today we put an end to the deflection and parrying of blame. Today we take agency and ownership for our missteps and concede that we ourselves are in fact contributors to the fractured condition of our lives.

Unlike every other festival, Yom Kippur is not anchored in any historical event – no Exodus from Egypt, no giving of the Torah, no triumph of the Maccabees. Only in post-biblical literature is the suggestion made that it was on Yom Kippur that our patriarch Joseph was thrown into the pit by his brothers and subsequently sold into slavery. The Joseph story is instructive for us every day, but especially today, because his tale provides us a window to the spiritual heroics asked of us in this sacred hour. It would be years later, when Joseph – now in a position of power in Egypt and having revealed his true identity to his brothers – had, at long last, the opportunity to settle the score of his youth. Having been left for dead, sold into bondage, and sentenced to prison, Joseph could have, had he so chosen, mustered all the “if onlies” he wished in order to justify and exact the revenge that was his due. But he didn’t. In fact, he does exactly the opposite. In what the scholar David Konstan identifies as the first recorded instance of forgiveness in history, Joseph elevates both himself and his brothers, releasing them from guilt and relieving himself of any pent-up anger and frustration. Yes, Joseph assigned his travail to God’s will, but I would also like to believe that embedded in Joseph’s magnanimous demeanor was a concession that his descent into the pit and then into Egypt was not entirely his brothers’ fault. Maybe, just maybe, he reflected to himself, “If only I had held my tongue in sharing those indelicate dreams of my youth. If only I had not been so quick to be a talebearer against my brothers. If only I had not flaunted my coat of many colors quite so brazenly. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have been thrown into the pit in the first place. Joseph’s ability to forgive his brothers was contingent on his ability to accept agency for his role in the unraveling of his family dynamic and, in so doing, to end to the cycle of hurt that pitted the brothers against each other in the first place.

And that, my friends, is exactly the task that falls on us all today. “Humanity,” wrote Jean Paul Richter, “is never so beautiful as when forgiving another.” Forgiveness is a commandment that falls, by definition, on at least two parties – the forgiver and the forgiven – a process and achievement, as the very word signals, that is a transaction between one party and another. Depending on the relationship, depending on the year, we may be on one side of the equation or the other, but either way, you have a role to play; it takes two to tango . . . two to do teshuvah. Today we engage in the act of heshbon ha-nefesh, a self-inventory of the soul, and we turn to our loved ones seeking forgiveness, in all our vulnerabilities, ready to admit our missteps.

So too, today, we are also called on to forgive. Courageous as it may be to seek forgiveness, even more so, we know, is granting forgiveness. “Every man,” wrote Harry Ward Beecher, “should keep a fair-sized cemetery in which to bury the faults of his friend.” Lest we forget, the Yom Kippur ritual related in the Torah describes the communal act of laying our sins on a scapegoat that is then sent out into the wilderness. To let go of a wrong, to let go of the entire cycle of emotions that are rightfully ours by way of another’s misdeeds – that is a gift not easily given, which is probably why it is commanded. It is forbidden, writes Maimonides, for a person to refuse to be appeased, so much so that if a person refuses, once, twice, three times, it is the one who refuses to grant forgiveness who becomes sinner.

Difficult as it is, deep down we know that granting forgiveness is as much about our own need to forgive as it is about another person’s need to be forgiven. We also benefit from letting go of our anger and hurt, if only we could learn that there are more important things in this world than being right. As anyone familiar with the twelve steps knows: “Resentments are like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

Today we put an end to spending our time and energy laying blame at each other’s feet. Today we reach for the “If only I’s” in the toolbox of our soul and aim for the humble allowance that none of us (to repackage Lincoln) can be right about all of the things all of the time. We too are participants in the broken dramas of our lives, and in order to move forward we must each do our part toward mending those relationships in such desperate need of repair.

All of which brings us back to where we began. Because it was this year that the Cubs could finally declare: “Next year . . . is here!” In the seventh-game, extra-inning, rain-delayed, come-from-behind victory against the Cleveland Indians, the Cubs ended the longest world championship drought in North American professional sports history, “Lovable Losers” no longer.

The redemptive coda to our story, however, is not about the Cubs victory, but about what happened this summer to our dear friend Steve Bartman. On July 31, the Cubs organization chose to honor Bartman by presenting him with a 2016 World Series Championship Ring. In his public statement, Cubs owner Tom Ricketts declared:

“…We hope this provides closure on an unfortunate chapter of the story that has perpetuated throughout our quest to win a long-awaited World Series. While no gesture can fully lift the public burden [Steve Bartman] has endured for more than a decade, we felt it was important Steve knows he has been and continues to be fully embraced by this organization.”

As for Bartman, while he has yet to participate in any public ceremony or interview, he did issue a public response that read in part:

“Although I do not consider myself worthy of such an honor, I am deeply moved and sincerely grateful to receive an official Chicago Cubs 2016 World Series Championship ring. I am fully aware of the historical significance and appreciate the symbolism the ring represents on multiple levels. My family and I will cherish it for generations. . . . I humbly receive the ring not only as a symbol of one of the most historic achievements in sports, but as an important reminder for how we should treat each other in today’s society. My hope is that we all can learn from my experience to view sports as entertainment and prevent harsh scapegoating. . . . Moreover, I am hopeful this ring gesture will be the start of an important healing and reconciliation process for all involved.”

It was a magnanimous gesture of forgiveness – forgiveness extended and forgiveness received – an act of healing on a grand public scale for a windy city currently on the hunt for its next pennant. On the surface, no question, it was an act of forgiveness that served to welcome our friend Steve Bartman back into the fold; no longer would he bear the blame and burden of ’03. On closer inspection, however, I believe it was an act of forgiveness whose primary beneficiary was not the party being forgiven, but the party doing the forgiving. It was almost as if the Cubs were saying (without saying), “Mr. Bartman, this was not all about you, the failure of ’03. It is we who need to own it. The blame is lifted; you are the scapegoat no longer.” Most of all, it was an act of forgiveness that sent a message to Cubs fans everywhere, and more importantly, to each one of us today. All the “if onlies” of the past, let’s set them upon that goat, and, as the Yom Kippur ritual suggests, put it out to pasture. We are the agents of our lives. We are the drafters of our destinies. In our ups and downs, victories and losses, we are the ones responsible for the outcomes, good or bad, of our existence. Today we commit to moving on, to opening up a new chapter. Win or lose, from here on out, no more scapegoats, the future is ours to determine.

Friends, the calling of the day is forgiveness: Forgiveness requested and forgiveness given. It is in our power to both offer and accept that transformational ring of forgiveness; we do not need to wait until next year. It is a gift that will bring healing to those seeking forgiveness. It is a gift that will bring you healing. It is a gift that is ours to give, if only we have the requisite wisdom and courage to lay all our “if onlies” to rest. May we have the strength and courage of heart to do so, for our sake, for the sake of our loved ones, and for a year of blessing, of reconciliation, and of peace – Shalom.