During the Days of Awe this year, I have been thinking a lot about a conversation I had last Sunday with my 8-year-old son, Ezra, after he angered me with his defiant back-talk. I have been asking myself – do I continue to forgive him for the same infractions over and over again?
Ezra is very good at apologizing for talking back and not listening. He is sincere, contrite and adorable. Until I ask him to do something he is morally against, such as teeth brushing or bed making. Then there is no justice, no peace.
It has been especially bad over the last few weeks. He talks back. He doesn’t listen. He apologizes. I forgive him. He talks back. He doesn't listen. He apologizes. I forgive him.
This predicatable cycle was repeating itself last Sunday. He talked back, he didn’t listen, he threw a fit, and then he apologized as we walked to his soccer game together.
"Do you forgive me, Mom?"
"I do. But what good are all these apologies if you don't work to change your behavior?" I asked him.
Maimonides writes that true repentence for a transgression against a principle of the Torah doesn't end with the confession and apology itself, but when you resist the temptation to commit the same sin again. Ezra in his transgression – against the commandment to honor his mother and father – is nowhere near atonement.
In fact, as I write this, he is currently locked out on our third-floor deck because he mouthed off, shouted at me to shut up, kicked over my office trash can and refused to pick it up. Why? I asked him to do his writing homework. This would be the second time today he sassed me – there was an incident before school as well.
If anyone has any tips on how to shut this nonsense down, I am all ears.
After a good 20 minutes of fits and sass, Ezra chills out and is allowed back into the house. He sits down on my office floor to complete the homework that got him in such a twist – writing each of this week's seven spelling words in a sentence.
He sits obediently in front of his paper, looks at me with his red, swollen eyes and asks politely for spelling help. He shows me each of his seven lovely sentences. He is sincere, contrite and adorable. And I forgive him.
"I should act this good all the time," he says.
Yes, darling. You should. And I will continue to forgive you until the magical day that you learn to truly repent.