Ecclesiastical White-Out

This is my family’s favorite time of year. Close friends feel the same way.

No, not because summer heat gives way to cool autumn breezes bringing fresh energy and enthusiasm.

No, not because football season is here.

Not because we anticipate golden leaves eventually falling underneath our feet as we crunch our way to work.

And not because new television shows finally pull us away from Internet chat rooms.

Family and friends enjoy this time of year because it’s almost Yom Kippur and that means they’ll get to hear me say, “I’m sorry.”

This Saturday, Jews everywhere will observe a Day of Atonement. The week or so preceding Yom Kippur is usually spent contemplating our lives, figuring out what went wrong, and making every effort to improve in the upcoming year.

Then we spend our High Holy Day in synagogue, fasting and praying, asking God to forgive our sins.

Sometimes, beforehand, we apologize to loved ones as well. For years I’ve followed this tradition because it makes sense. Before asking God to forgive us, we must first forgive each other.

My mea culpa is humbling and entertaining.

Relatives laugh.

Friends applaud.

Some of them list grievances and allow me to apologize alphabetically.

I’ve had to clarify this process several times.

For example, I am not sorry for voting Democrat or for coloring my hair.

I do not regret cheating at Scrabble or ignoring chain e-mails.

I won’t apologize for liking Howard Stern and Starbucks.

Dad would like me to include “rooting for the Red Sox” in my list of wrongdoings.

No way, Yankees fans. Not going to happen.

Instead, tomorrow, I look across the table or speak sincerely into the phone and apologize for any harm I’ve caused. I’m sorry for hurtful words and actions, not only for what it does to them, but to me as well. These people mean the world to me and so I vow to work hard not to make the same mistakes again. Sometimes tears fall as they accept my apology and offer their own as well.

Then we laugh a little when I bring up that dinner party a while back where the soup was cold and the bread, stale. My last apology involves a sincere promise to try a cooking class. Or at least order take-out. ‘Cause someone could chip a tooth.

All in all, a beautiful way to end the Days of Awe.

And then I proceed to starve myself for twenty-four hours, just to drive home the deal.

And then we’re good for another year.

This ritual of asking for forgiveness and offering the same is a way of professing love to those we cherish. Hopefully God smiles down as we smile at each other.

Plus I really will learn how to cook this year. Pinky swear.