The Israelites were not at their best in the Book of Numbers. Many stopped being grateful for freedom, lost faith in God and became expert complainers. (“What? Manna again?”) The Israelites did not wander the desert for forty years because they had a lousy sense of direction; the wandering was God’s punishment.
But before Numbers reaches the Forty Year Plan, head counts and household management fill the pages. God’s commandments about practical matters include placement and care of the Tabernacle, cleanliness and order. These time-consuming activities were not punishment related. They were designed to instill obedience and a sense of community. And while many of these commandments appear removed from modern day life, Numbers 5:5-7 contains a crucial teaching. If one person harms another, this wrongdoer must “…confess the sin they have committed… and make restitution.” The passage makes clear that compensation is not enough to right a wrong. The words “I’m sorry” are essential.
Unfortunately, many people consider these words unnecessary or too difficult to say. When I was growing up and stubbornly refused to offer an apology, my father reminded me of a boyhood experience that illustrated the importance of Numbers 5:5-7. And I never forgot the story of Mrs. Kleinfeld, the Cat Lady.
My father’s mother, Nana Evelyn, hated cats. “Awful creatures,” she used to say. “They sneak around and look for an opportunity.” (An opportunity for what, she never specified.) Unfortunately, Mrs. Kleinfeld, who lived a few doors down the street, owned five cats. She also enjoyed painting pictures of her four-legged friends. Flowerpots crowded her front stoop, each decorated with a cat’s face. Nana Evelyn made it a point to walk on the opposite side of the street. “I feel like I’m being watched,” she once told my father.
When my father was twelve, he was playing with friends and dove to catch a ball. He landed right on Mrs. Kleinfeld’s stoop and smashed one of the flowerpots. Geraniums, soil, and pieces of feline-adorned pottery flew into the air. My father ran home and confessed to Nana Evelyn. She told him to go to Mrs. Kleinfeld, apologize and give some of his savings for a new flowerpot. My father gathered up the princely sum of fifty-seven cents (an amount he never forgot), cleaned up the mess on Mrs. Kleinfeld’s stoop and knocked on the door. He explained what happened, and Mrs. Kleinfeld came outside to see which pot was broken. Mrs. Kleinfeld took the money and told my father he was a hooligan who would end up sharing a cell with Al Capone. My chastened father slunk home but grew angrier with each step. Why didn’t Mrs. Kleinfeld appreciate his honesty? Fifty-seven cents was a lot of money! And wasn’t it partly her fault? Who told her to keep all those pots outside? And what’s with the stupid cats?
When he complained about Mrs. Kleinfeld’s reaction, Nana Evelyn said: “Well, if Mrs. Kleinfeld stays mad, you might have to apologize again.”
Apologize?
My father realized he never said, “I’m sorry.” Nana Evelyn told him to march back over to Mrs. Kleinfeld’s. Now my father was really upset. He said, “I should have kept my mouth shut about the whole thing.”
“No,” Nana Evelyn said, “It was right to open your mouth. You just didn’t open it wide enough. Say the words. They matter. But don’t go unless you are truly sorry. If you are fake, it means nothing.” In a last-ditch attempt to avoid the return trip, my father reminded Nana Evelyn how she said Mrs. Kleinfeld was so meshuga for cats, she was going to grow a tail. Nana Evelyn shook her head. “But it’s not about me or you and what we think. It’s about Mrs. Kleinfeld and how she feels. We’re talking about a neighbor, and we must live together.” As my father walked to Mrs. Kleinfeld’s, he thought about the amount of time she spent painting that flowerpot and how much she loved her cats. And he felt badly. After listening to his sincere apology, Mrs. Kleinfeld told him he was the nicest boy in the neighborhood and would find great success in life. (She did not, however, return the fifty-seven cents!)
What Nana Evelyn taught my father was straight out of Numbers with a twist of Maimonides thrown in for good measure. Even if Mrs. Kleinfeld had not forgiven my father, he was still right to say “I’m sorry.” At Yom Kippur, we express remorse and ask God for forgiveness. But we can say “I’m sorry” any time of year even if we have tried to compensate. Words matter. Just as Nana Evelyn did with my father — and as he tried to do with me — we need to make our kids understand these important words have value, but only when sincerely offered. Too often, kids focus on their own thoughts and feelings to justify hurtful actions or to decrease the worth of the wronged party. It doesn’t help that people in public life offend and insult without remorse and believe an apology is a sign of weakness. We should remind our kids that a person who takes ownership of his actions shows an admirable strength of character. We don’t need to wander around a desert to call up this inner strength in the interest of community.
I once asked Nana Evelyn if she remembered the flowerpot incident. “Charles broke a flowerpot? Mmm. I’m not sure. But I’ll never forget Mrs. Kleinfeld.” Nana Evelyn laughed. “She was meshuga for cats. I think she even grew a tail.”
This article was published in The Jewish Advocate on June 7, 2018.
