tribute to a friend

Each morning I wake up and throw a stone. An early first century rabbi suggested this and as his advice was generally humane, I follow it. Being as I am without sin (except possibly of hubris) I keep my record clean by aiming at an inanimate object, often a photo of a politician or a terrorist. Duty done I retrieve the stone, not wanting to be accused of the sin of untidiness and go forth onto the world at large.

It’s not that I don’t confess sin; I do that annually. But those confessions are mumbled sotto voce. The problem is that I haven’t actually committed any of them and some I would never think to commit. Nevertheless, based on the theory that someone somewhere did these things I repent of them, beating my breast with the strings of my tallis wrapped around my fingers.

I mention this because of a discussion in my schul last week. My rabbi, Alvan Kaunfer, is retiring from the pulpit (again—he’s done this once before to head up the Schechter School, but this time I fear it’s for real). In his penultimate d’var torah he led a discussion: “When someone commits any wrong toward a fellow, thus breaking faith with the Lord, and that person realizes his guilt, they shall confess the wrong that they have done and shall make restitution” (Numbers 5:6-7).

He then presented three commentaries. Maimonides says this confession must be in words spoken to the offended party accompanied by a promise not to commit such an offense again. A contemporary went one step further explaining that with the oral confession the person “will become careful not to do the same thing again; and as a result, becomes reconciled with his Creator.” In fact, says a still earlier commentary, “If a person is guilty of a transgression, and makes a confession but does not change his behavior…it is to no avail.”

The question Rabbi Kaunfer posed to the assembled was, “How important is confessing/admitting to wrong, in the process of changing one’s behavior? How important is it to do this verbally?” Hands flew up (but under the circumstances not mine, of course). We talked about sins against God and sins against people and debated the different means of obtaining absolution, or even if absolution was possible. One congregant whose professional life puts him in contact with violent criminals, people who have been convicted of rape, murder, armed robbery, etc. said that in such circumstances restitution is impossible; the only way to atone is to show publicly one’s genuine remorse. But I wondered at the relevance of this. I’m pretty sure that most of the people in my congregation do not commit, nor would they think to commit, such heinous sins. We promise something and forget to deliver; or we add a dubious deduction onto our tax return and if challenged will pay up; I know a fellow who took a pen home from the supply cabinet at work; and a pad of paper as well. These are the sins I imagine most people in that room capable of committing. Murder? I think not.

Then someone suggested what I’d been thinking. Maybe we do more harm by confessing than by keeping quiet. If against all odds I sinned against someone and they don’t know about it (which was the premise of the Torah statement) why tell them? A silent vow not to repeat accomplishes the same object without injuring again, though differently, the party sinned against. Back and forth the ideas flew. As they did, I remembered the 2004 presidential election. Mr. Bush was asked if he had made any mistakes in his first term. He essentially responded, “no.” He was asked if he’d ever made a mistake and replied certainly in letting Sammy Sosa get away when he’d owned the Texas Rangers and possibly in some of his sub-cabinet appointments, but he didn’t say whom. Apparently George Bush believes that if he did it there’s nothing to atone for. I’m not so sure.

Last Sunday there was a festive gathering to honor Rabbi Kaunfer, in case this really is his final departure from Temple Emanu-El. By count 613 people came to hear his praises sung and to concur in the encomiums. He will be missed; thought provoking discussions such as we had last Shabbat are but a small reason. If ever someone deserved the honorific “mensch” it’s Alvan Kaunfer, my friend, who never lets an opportunity to do good pass.